September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  “I’m not tired anymore,” Renie protested. “In fact, I’m starving. Did you eat all the prawns?”

  “I didn’t eat any of them.” Judith turned off the tap. The huge ebony tub was a sea of churning bubbles. “Everything’s in the fridge. Except the bread—it got dried out in the oven. Help yourself.” Blissfully, Judith sank into the tub.

  Renie left the master bedroom. Above the purr of the soothing waters, Judith heard her cousin opening the refrigerator door and the cupboards. Judith closed her eyes and sank deeper into the jasmine-scented bath. A Jacuzzi would make a wonderful addition to the third-floor family quarters at Hillside Manor. To heck with the guests. If she had it installed on the second floor, she’d feel obligated to raise her rates to pay for it. Nor would Judith be able to use it in the evenings when she needed it most. She wondered how much a Jacuzzi cost. Maybe that’s how she should use the thousand-dollar fee, instead of taking a trip. Joe would like the Jacuzzi, too; she was sure of it. The pulsating jets gently eased her tired body; the total submersion calmed her jumbled mind. This was luxury, heaven, complete abandonment to the senses…

  Judith sat up sharply. She had been drifting off to sleep. No wonder Renie had become so stupefied after a couple of brandies on an empty stomach. The Jacuzzi pampered all too well. Neither Judith nor Renie was used to such elite treatment. Turning the jets off, Judith opened the drain, got out of the tub, and toweled off.

  “Don’t you dare eat all those prawns!” she yelled out to Renie. “I haven’t had a real dinner, either.”

  Her cousin was just dishing up when Judith entered the kitchen in her blue bathrobe. “I’m still hungry, too,” she admitted with a sheepish look.

  “Hey,” said Renie, giving the salad an extra toss, “if we were in Europe, we’d just be sitting down to eat. It’s only ten-thirty.”

  “You must feel better,” Judith remarked, ruffling the damp hair at her neck.

  Renie nodded. “I’ve got a headache, but the main thing is that I’m famished.” To prove the point, she began wolfing down pasta and prawns.

  “Okay,” Judith sighed. “I’ll recap what went on while you were out with the Sandman.”

  The cousins had both finished eating by the time Judith had gone over the evening’s events. She’d tried to relate every detail and nuance. Renie had listened attentively, asking only occasional, pertinent questions. When Judith finally stopped to hear Renie’s reaction, the goose wings on the kitchen clock pointed to eleven.

  “What stands out,” Renie said carefully, “is your idea that Burrell had been here before, and yet only Bates Danfield acknowledged him as someone he knew before his arrival today. At least Bates sounded as if he wasn’t a complete stranger.”

  Judith agreed. “There are several peculiar things about this situation. The missing briefcase. The references to September. Doc’s reasons for giving up his medical practice. Rafe’s behavior.”

  “I thought you said Rafe was very gallant,” Renie put in.

  “He was,” Judith allowed. “But there’s still something about him that bothers me. He seems like a man with a past.”

  Renie rolled her eyes. “Everybody’s got a past. You’re hung up on that because he’s got that mysterious, romantic look to him. So does our milkman. But his life’s an open half gallon of one percent.”

  “No,” Judith persisted. “It’s not just that. It’s what he said. I told you—about how people regret things and blame themselves, even when they’re not entirely at fault.”

  Renie, however, wasn’t buying Judith’s argument. “Everybody has regrets. I regret hitting H. Burrell Hodge over the head with that dinner plate. I regret drinking that stupid brandy. I regret coming up here with you.” She gave Judith a wry smile. “It’s not the pleasure of your company that upsets me. It’s being on the short list of murder suspects. No matter how Burrell died, I didn’t give him a very good send-off. And I’m sure you regret saying yes to Jeanne Barber.”

  “I’m afraid so,” Judith admitted. “In fact, Herself has already managed to sink her hooks into Joe’s hide.”

  “Oh, yes,” Renie nodded. “Do tell me about her burned buns.”

  Judith did, remembering to include Joe’s mention of Adhab. “So now Joe is going to be holding her hand while she dries out. If she decides to attend AA, what do you bet she’ll drag Joe along to the meetings?”

  “Coz,” Renie said on a weary sigh, “Joe married Herself while he was in a drunken stupor. Not only wasn’t he in love with her, he didn’t really know the woman. Then, before he could figure out how to get out of the marriage, you hooked up with Dan. Joe was stuck, and it’s to his credit that he and Herself stayed married for as long as they did. What was it—twenty-five years?”

  “Not quite,” Judith replied in a meek voice. “They’d been separated for a while when I met Joe again five years ago. Herself had moved to Florida a year or two before that. She wanted sunshine. But I guess she got tired of it. She does gripe about the rain, though. I never do. I like it.”

  “Me too,” Renie agreed. “The point is, whatever Joe felt for Herself must have grown out of simply being together. That can be love, I won’t deny it. But it isn’t the same kind of love that the two of you have for each other. And don’t forget, Herself put Joe through a lot of misery.”

  “Just like Dan did with me,” Judith remarked, getting up to clear the table. “I suppose I loved Dan in much the same way that Joe loved Herself. You know,” she went on as she looked up from the open dishwasher, “Joe and I’ve never really talked about that. Not specifically.”

  “Maybe you should. It might make both of you feel better.” Renie was checking the stove to make sure it was turned off. “More secure.”

  “Secure.” Judith breathed the word. “Yes, maybe it would. Then I wouldn’t resent Joe trying to help Herself do something that’s really admirable. H. Burrell Hodge was right about one thing—alcohol has ruined too many lives.”

  “I’m not arguing the point,” Renie declared. “But Burrell’s attitude made me crazy. I wouldn’t have agreed with him if he’d insisted the earth was round. That’s the trouble with me—I let idiots like him drive me nuts. Look where it’s got me.”

  “Next to the stove?” Judith smiled at Renie. Renie threw up her hands. “No, I mean it made me do something I regret. Deeply. Unless someone actually came along and whacked Burrell with a crowbar, I’ll always feel responsible for his death.”

  Judith considered Renie’s words, though not precisely in the context that her cousin had intended. “It could have been a crowbar,” she finally said. “But I suspect it was something else.”

  Renie’s eyes widened. “You really believe he was murdered, don’t you?”

  Slowly, Judith nodded. “Yes.”

  Renie shook her head. “Usually, I try to talk you out of your flights of fancy. But for once, I hope you’re right.”

  SEVEN

  IT HADN’T BEEN easy for Judith to get up at six o’clock to bake three kinds of muffins. She was still bleary-eyed when she removed them from the oven at a quarter to seven and slipped them into the two breakfast baskets. Renie, who hadn’t been able to get to sleep right away after her long evening’s nap, was still in bed when Judith headed out for the cabins.

  The morning fog swallowed up the path and shrouded the view from the grassy area by Doe, Buck, and Fawn. It was a silent world where Judith trod, with the sound of the sea muffled in the distance. She tiptoed up to Fawn and placed the basket by the door, then did the same at Doe. Passing Buck, Judith shuddered. The little building looked eerie in the shifting mist. It was no wonder that she let out a small shriek when a figure suddenly emerged from the fog.

  “Mrs. Flynn!” cried Cilla Carr, then immediately lowered her voice. “I didn’t expect you out this early!”

  Judith discovered she was breathing hard. “The feeling is mutual,” she said with a hand at her breast. “Do you always start by seven o’clock?”

  Cilla sh
ook her head. “No, not unless people have checked out by then. But I guess Mr. Hodge checked out in more ways than one, huh?”

  “I’m afraid so,” Judith said. “How did you find out?”

  “Doc called us last night. He got hold of the Danfields, too. I guess it’s no wonder I didn’t sleep very well. Though after I finally got that toilet fixed…” Cilla’s voice trailed away as she set some of her cleaning equipment on the ground. “Have you notified Jeanne yet?”

  “No,” Judith replied, feeling another attack of guilt coming on. “I should have phoned you and the Danfields myself. But I feel like an interloper. Who needs a complete stranger to give them bad news?”

  “It’s not your fault,” Cilla said, her elfin features sympathetic. “Besides, Doc is our local news source. He keeps tuned to the weather reports and whatever other news affects us on Chavez. Do you want me to call Jeanne for you?”

  The offer was tempting, but Judith had an obligation. “No. I’ll phone after eight. Whatever guests do at the spa should start happening by then.”

  “Probably.” Cilla retrieved her mop, broom, and the pail with its load of cleaning products, rags, and plastic sacks. “I’ll start in on Mr. Hodge’s place. He probably didn’t make much of a mess, though. He wasn’t there very long.”

  The plastic sacks reminded Judith of the empty garbage can. “Did you come back to Buck yesterday after Mr. Hodge checked in?”

  Cilla’s green eyes grew puzzled. “No. Why?”

  Judith made a wry face. “It’s nothing, really. But…ah…I was wondering if you forgot to line the garbage pail.”

  The pixielike features quivered with the effort of concentration. “I don’t think so. As a matter of fact, I know I didn’t forget. You know how those garbage bags are sometimes almost impossible to open after you tear them off the roll? Well, the one for Buck was such a pain that I thought I was working with the wrong end. I finally pulled it apart, though, but I was kind of steamed. I don’t like things that slow me down.”

  “So,” Judith inquired casually, “when is the garbage picked up?”

  Cilla’s perplexity deepened. “It isn’t—not the way you city people mean. Once a week, usually on Tuesdays, Rafe hauls it over to the Laurel Harbor dump. Did something important get thrown out?”

  Again, Judith was faced with a dilemma concerning candor. Cilla Carr was such a friendly, open person—surely she could be trusted. “Mr. Hodge’s briefcase is missing,” Judith said. “I thought maybe somehow it got into the trash.”

  Cilla’s blond brows lifted. “Like on purpose? Who’d do a thing like that?”

  The young woman’s apparent naïveté made Judith realize that she wasn’t aware that H. Burrell Hodge’s death might have involved foul play. Doc Wicker must have reported only a fatal accident.

  “I don’t know who’d toss his briefcase,” Judith admitted, after making a decision not to further enlighten Cilla until the autopsy findings had been announced. “But it’s definitely gone. Rafe and I went to the cabin last night to check things out.”

  “Oh?” Cilla’s skin colored ever so slightly. “I don’t know anything about it. I never saw a briefcase because I never saw Mr. Hodge. Do you want me to check the Dumpster when I empty the trash?”

  “Would you?” Judith put on her most winning face. “He might have had valuable papers in there. His next of kin would want to get them back.”

  Cilla gave a noncommittal shrug. “Excuse me, I’ve got to get my rear in gear. But I’ll look in the Dumpster. See you.”

  When Judith returned to the house, Renie was getting dressed. “I’ve got extra muffins,” Judith announced. “I couldn’t figure out a way to cut back on the recipe without screwing it up. We might as well eat Burrell’s share.”

  It was the wrong thing to say. Renie poked her head through a University of Wisconsin T-shirt and glared at her cousin. “Thanks. Now the sheriff will figure my motive for murdering Burrell was to get not only the prawns, but the muffins, too.” She yanked at the T-shirt. “Why don’t you get one of these that says ‘I’m with Killer’ and has an arrow pointing to me?”

  Judith couldn’t help but laugh. “Stop it, coz. How about some scrambled eggs and bacon to go with the muffins?”

  Still looking disgruntled, Renie turned to the lighted vanity mirror over the sink in the master bedroom. “Okay. Some fruit wouldn’t be amiss, either. Is it foggy out or am I still half-asleep—as usual?”

  Renie was rarely fully functional before ten o’clock, but this morning she had apparently gotten enough sleep to render her semialert. Judith assured her cousin that it was indeed foggy. Renie made a grumping noise and proceeded to apply her makeup.

  In the kitchen, Judith mixed eggs, split a grapefruit, and put bacon in a frying pan. Then she scanned Jeanne Barber’s notes, looking for the phone number of the California spa.

  It wasn’t written down anywhere. Judith scratched around the counter by the telephone; she checked the calendar and the guest book; she even looked on the refrigerator door.

  “Damn!” she exclaimed as Renie entered the kitchen. “That wretched Jeanne didn’t leave her phone number in Palm Desert. I wonder if Doc has it.” She dialed 4.

  Doc, however, didn’t have the number. Nor, he thought, would Jeanne have left it with Rafe or anyone else on the island. “She must have forgotten,” Doc said, stating the obvious. “Her daughter probably knows what it is. You ought to be able to find Marcia’s number in Jeanne’s address book. Her married name is Andersen, with an ‘e’.”

  “Thanks, Doc,” Judith said. “How are you feeling?”

  “What? Oh, better, thanks. I guess Hodge’s death upset me more than I realized. How’s your cousin?”

  “Guilt-riddled,” Judith answered with a glance at Renie who was tending the bacon.

  “She shouldn’t be,” Doc asserted. “The more I think about it, the more I’m certain that somebody intentionally bashed in Hodge’s head. He couldn’t have done that to himself unless he’d backpedaled into a solid oak beam at about fifty miles an hour. Tell Mrs. Jones to stop being so hard on herself.”

  Judith passed the message along to Renie, who acknowledged it with a grateful, if unconvinced, little smile. After hanging up, Judith went into the master bedroom to look for the address book. She hadn’t seen any sign of it in the kitchen.

  Sure enough, it was in the drawer of the writing desk. Judith opened it to the A’s. Marcia Barber Andersen and her husband lived on the other side of the state. Since it wasn’t yet seven-thirty, Judith decided to wait to call until after she and Renie had eaten breakfast.

  While the cousins downed their meal, Judith told Renie about meeting Cilla by the cabins. “I wish,” Judith said in conclusion, “that someone would own up to knowing H. Burrell Hodge.”

  “Bates Danfield did,” Renie pointed out.

  “I think Doc knew who he was, and maybe Esther, too,” Judith said thoughtfully. She rose from the table, taking away her empty plate. “I’m going to call Marcia Barber Andersen now.”

  Renie pitched the grapefruit rinds into the garbage. “What do we do then? Wait for the sheriff to haul me away?”

  “Hardly.” Judith had punched in Marcia’s number. “Frankly, I feel at loose ends. The autopsy report won’t be in until later today. There’s no real work to do. And I don’t feel right about going around asking a lot of…Damn!” She put her hand over the mouthpiece. “It’s an answering machine,” she whispered, then removed her hand and spoke into the phone: “This is Judith Flynn at Chavez Cove. Would you please call me at your mother’s number as soon as it’s convenient? Thank you.”

  To Renie’s surprise, Judith immediately dialed again. “Could you please give me the number for Adhab? No, I don’t know the address.” She waited. At last, the operator pulled up multiple listings. Judith opted for the corporate offices.

  “If this is the right outfit,” she said to Renie, “they’ve got a center halfway up the mountain pass, one across the sound,
and another out on the peninsula. But the headquarters is in the ’burbs, across the lake. That’s who I’m…Drat, they’re not in yet.”

  “It’s only eight o’clock,” Renie noted. “Maybe whoever should be in is out. Permanently.”

  “You mean Burrell?” Judith blanched. “I never thought of that.” She abandoned the phone with a futile feeling. “Let’s call on the Danfields.”

  “Let’s not,” Renie said. “I don’t feel like getting shot at this early in the day.”

  “Elrod Dobler knows us now,” Judith reminded Renie. “He’ll be okay. Besides, I’d kind of like to talk to Elrod.”

  “I’d rather talk to a Doberman than Dobler,” Renie declared. But she went into the bedroom to get her jacket.

  While Judith waited, there was a knock at the back door. It was Cilla, with her cleaning supplies.

  “I checked the Dumpster,” she said, bursting across the threshold. “Rafe must have gotten an early start. It was empty. He must have things to do in Laurel Harbor before the first ferry gets in.”

  Judith was puzzled as well as disappointed. “But there aren’t any guests arriving today. The Estacadas and Miss Hennessy aren’t due to check out until the weekend, and nobody knows that Mr. Hodge’s cabin is…vacant.”

  “Rafe has to check for mail and other deliveries,” Cilla explained, stepping down into the kitchen. “Say, you and your cousin cleaned up pretty well after yourselves.” She began to delve in the trash can. “Oh, too bad! You broke one of Jeanne’s favorite plates!”

  Renie had approached and was standing on the step that led from the living room. “I’ll replace it,” she said in a woeful voice. “I was the one who did the damage.”

  Cilla examined the broken pottery. “I think it’s out of stock. Oh, well,” she said, giving Renie a cheering smile. “Accidents happen. Look at poor Mr. Hodge.”

  Judith put a hand on Cilla’s arm. “You look at him, Cilla. Tell me who you see. Mr. Hodge had been to Chavez before yesterday, right?”