September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  Cilla flinched at Judith’s touch. “I wouldn’t know. I’ve never met the man. But maybe he came here, and I didn’t see him.”

  Judith withdrew her hand. “What makes you think that?”

  Placing the crockery pieces back in the garbage bag, Cilla made a frustrated gesture. “It was sort of odd—when I mentioned Mr. Hodge’s name to my mother, she threw up.”

  “She what?” Judith was incredulous.

  “You’re kidding,” Renie said.

  Cilla shook her head. “No. Yesterday morning, I mentioned who all was coming to Chavez—like I usually do, because my mother keeps to herself and tends to live vicariously—” She darted both cousins an ironic look. “—and she turned all pale and clutched her stomach and said she was going to be sick. And she was. Then I had to leave to come over here and introduce myself.”

  Judith remained startled. “Did she recover?”

  “Oh, sure. She always does.” Cilla got a can of furniture polish and a dust rag out of her pail.

  Renie was now looking as confounded as Judith. “Does she do this often?”

  “Not exactly often,” Cilla responded. “Just when something or somebody upsets her.”

  “Did she say why she was upset?” Judith queried.

  “No.” Cilla shook her head. “I don’t ask. It’s better that way. Otherwise, I get long, involved, nonsensical explanations. Like the Roto-Rooter man.”

  Judith felt as if she were getting a nonsensical, if not long and involved, explanation from Cilla. “Dare I ask?” she murmured.

  “Sure,” Cilla replied. “When we first moved here, the drain got stopped up. I worked and worked, but I couldn’t free the line, so we had to call Roto-Rooter. They don’t come right away, as you can imagine. It was a two-day wait. When the guy finally showed up, he looked like my mother’s Uncle Rudy, who was killed on Iwo Jima. Mother was only two at the time, and I doubt that she remembered him, but she went into this big story about how he used to take her to the zoo and they’d watch the monkeys. She’d never been to the zoo since. Just seeing the Roto-Rooter man made her realize how much she missed the zoo—and Uncle Rudy.” Cilla raised both hands in a helpless gesture.

  “I see,” Judith said, though she wasn’t entirely sure she did. “In other words, certain people—or situations—trigger sad memories.”

  “You could put it like that, I guess.” Cilla headed for the living room.

  Still befuddled, Judith led Renie out through the front door. “Poor Cilla. I thought my mother was daffy.”

  “She is,” Renie said. “Actually, her mother’s antics don’t seem to bother Cilla too much. She takes them in stride.”

  “Good for her,” Judith muttered. Taking Gertrude in stride was easier said than done.

  The fog was still thick as the cousins proceeded down the road. They were practically at the Wicker Basket before they could see the building’s homely exterior. Doc was outside, fiddling with an outboard motor.

  “Hi, Doc,” Judith said in greeting. “Have you got a boat?”

  Doc smiled at Judith and Renie. “You bet. It’s just a little runabout. I keep it over at Salmon Gap.”

  Judith gazed at the map that was displayed on her left. “Isn’t that on the other side of the island?”

  “That’s right.” Doc used a tattered rag to wipe grease off his hands. “But it’s the only available moorage. I wouldn’t feel right taking up space in Chavez Cove. Rafe doesn’t have room, either. And the Danfields—well, they sort of reserve their dock space for themselves and their guests.”

  Renie was studying the map, too. “What’s at Salmon Gap?” she inquired.

  “Not much,” Doc replied, now wiping off his glasses with a clean handkerchief. “It’s a nice little inlet with a decent stretch of beach. There’s a makeshift boathouse, mostly for storing kayaks and canoes, and a floating dock. That’s where I keep Frannie.”

  “Frannie?” Judith eyed Doc with curiosity. “I thought that was the name of Rafe’s cruiser.”

  Doc resettled the glasses on his nose. “No, Rafe’s is Fannie. It’s a coincidence. I was here first.” A faintly bitter note echoed in Doc’s voice.

  “Say,” Judith said, deciding that it might be tactful to change the subject, “what did Rafe do before he came to Chavez Island?”

  “He was a seaman, I believe,” Doc answered, bending down to tinker with the outboard motor. “He’s been all over the world.”

  “So how does he support himself?” Judith asked.

  “We all sort of chip in,” Doc said with a grimace as he apparently encountered a recalcitrant piece of machinery. “Jeanne reimburses him for bringing the bed-and-breakfast guests over from Laurel Harbor, I share my fee for manning the postal station, and everybody pitches in for deliveries. He doesn’t make much, but he doesn’t need much. Rafe prefers a simple life. His great love is nature.”

  “That cruiser must have cost a lot,” Renie commented. “Where did he get the money to buy a boat like that?”

  Doc grunted as he wrestled with something inside the motor. “That I couldn’t tell you. I get the impression—just an impression, mind—that Rafe has some kind of nest egg. But he’s not one to discuss personal matters. If you want to talk to him, stick to boats, the weather, and the environment.”

  “The strong, silent type,” Judith murmured.

  “Silent about himself, that’s for sure,” Doc agreed. “Strong, physically anyway.”

  Judith and Renie left Doc to his tinkering. The dampness from the fog lent a chill to the air as they approached the picket fence that guarded the Carr house. Judith slowed her step, trying to peer through the heavy vapors.

  “I can’t even see the house in this fog,” she remarked. “I wonder when this stuff lifts? It was gone by the time we got here yesterday around eleven.”

  Before Renie could speculate, a ghostly figure plunged through the wooden gate. Dressed all in white, with long, pale hair, the apparition made both Judith and Renie jump. Apparently, the figure was equally startled by the cousins: A little keening cry escaped its lips, before it cringed and began to slowly withdraw back through the gate.

  Judith had recovered herself, and was trying to focus on the specterlike being. Through the swirling fog, she realized that it was a woman in a long nightgown and robe. “Mrs. Carr?” called Judith.

  The figure stopped retreating. “Yes?” Mrs. Carr’s voice quavered on the chilly air.

  “It’s me,” Judith said. “Mrs. Flynn. Remember, from yesterday?”

  Timorously, Mrs. Carr moved closer. She was a bit taller and thinner than her daughter, Cilla. As she neared the cousins, Judith could see very little resemblance between the two women except for their fair hair. Rowena Carr had sharp features, brown eyes, and no dimples. There was nothing elfin about her, though Judith might have described her appearance as fey. Indeed, her apprehensive demeanor was distinctly different from the rude creature of Monday afternoon.

  “I thought you were her,” Mrs. Carr whispered, then pointed to Renie. “Who is this?”

  “My cousin, Mrs. Jones.” Judith waited for Mrs. Carr’s reaction. There was none, except that she cocked her head and eyed Renie in a birdlike manner. “You thought I was who?” Judith asked after a long pause.

  “Never mind.” Rowena Carr’s voice was suddenly shrill. She placed her hands inside the sleeves of her robe, turned abruptly, and disappeared back into the fog.

  “Woo-woo!” Renie exclaimed under her breath. “Definitely three eggs shy of an omelet!”

  “She is a bit unpredictable,” Judith said in her more charitable fashion. “Who do you suppose she was looking for?”

  “Cilla?” Renie suggested. “Maybe she’s coming back home from our place before she does the cabins.”

  In the distance, a foghorn uttered its mournful sound. “I wonder how Rafe navigates in this kind of weather,” Judith remarked.

  “Maybe he’s got radar,” Renie said. “He sounds a little weird, too. Doe
s everybody who lives here have to be peculiar?”

  “Cilla seems fine. Doc’s okay, if a little close-mouthed about some things. And except for being forgetful—which I can’t criticize, given my current mode of operation—Jeanne Barber is fairly normal. No one’s mentioned anything odd about the late Duane,” Judith pointed out.

  “No one mentions the late Duane much at all,” Renie noted. “He strikes me as a nonentity, except for carving three-eyed ducks.”

  “I never met him,” Judith admitted. “I don’t think he attended the class reunions with Jeanne.”

  “I don’t like dragging Bill to mine. Nothing is more boring than watching a spouse try to remember who used to have hair and who didn’t weigh three hundred pounds in high school.”

  The stone fence slowly appeared through the fog. Elrod Dobler showed up much faster. He all but sprinted down the road, shotgun at the ready.

  “Good morning,” Judith called out in an overfriendly manner. “How are you, Mr. Dobler?”

  “You again,” Dobler said wearily, lowering the weapon. “What now?”

  Renie offered Dobler a big, phony smile. “Shot anybody lately, Mr. Dobler?”

  “Naw.” The gnarled little man shook his head. “I missed last night. Not by much, though.”

  Dobler had fallen in step with the cousins. “Last night?” Judith echoed. “Who was that?”

  “How should I know?” Dobler demanded. “It was gettin’ dark. I don’t see as good as I used to. But that doesn’t mean I can’t aim.”

  “When was it?” Judith still tried to keep her voice on a conversational level.

  “Hells’ bells, I don’t know. Six-thirty, maybe seven o’clock.” Dobler eyed Judith suspiciously. “Why you askin’?”

  “Just curious,” Judith replied. “If you’ve sighted some strangers around here, I should know about it. Jeanne Barber would want me to do that, don’t you think?”

  “Nobody pays me to think,” Dobler retorted. They had reached the entrance to Stoneyhenge. “I told you, I didn’t see whoever it was up close-like. But the Danfields weren’t expectin’ nobody, so whoever it was, shouldn’ta been here.” In a protective stance, the old man had turned his back to the wrought-iron gates. “Now what was it you two are wantin’ this time?”

  “We were just out for a stroll,” Judith fibbed. “We could hardly pass by without saying hello. Are Mr. and Mrs. Danfield up?”

  Dobler snorted. “Up half the night, after Doc called with the news about that Hodge fella. You’da thought he was their best friend or some damned thing. Maybe you can talk some sense into ’em.” He went over to the little grill and pressed a button. “You got visitors. Missus Finn or whatever her name is, and the short one. Wanna see ’em?”

  Esther Danfield’s reply was distorted as it came through the grill, but her response was in the affirmative. A minute later, Judith and Renie were in Stoneyhenge’s entry hall. Esther, wearing a quilted satin robe, greeted them warily. Her classic features seemed drained and there were dark circles under her eyes. She led Judith and Renie into the living room.

  “Do sit,” she said, indicating two blue sofas and a gold brocade loveseat. “I’ll fetch coffee.”

  Settling onto one of the blue sofas, Judith put up a hand. “Please don’t bother. We can’t stay long. But I felt an obligation to call on you because of the…accident we had at Chavez Cove last night.”

  Esther Danfield couldn’t conceal the stricken look on her face, though she made a noble attempt at equanimity. “Oh, yes,” she said carefully. “That was a terrible thing. The poor man! How is his family taking it?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith admitted, trying to assess Esther’s responses while also taking in the living room’s Belle Époque decor. “Deputy McLean was going to track them down. We haven’t heard from her yet this morning. Of course it’s still very early.”

  “Yes,” Esther agreed, her long fingers plucking at the quilted satin. “Yes, it’s quite early. These things take time, I suppose. Santa Lucia County is ill equipped for such emergencies. Well, now. I hope this hasn’t completely ruined your stay?”

  The comment struck Judith as fatuous. Obviously, the news of Hodge’s death had deeply disturbed Esther. Perhaps she was rattled.

  “It’s been an awful blow,” Judith said, with a quick glance at Renie, who was frowning into her lap. “Actually, I was hoping that since your husband knew Mr. Hodge, he might be able to help the sheriff’s people contact the next of kin or at least the business associates.”

  Esther ran an agitated hand through her short silver hair. “I have no idea. I didn’t see Mr. Hodge when he called on Bates yesterday. It’s a shame he’s not here right now. He went over to Laurel Harbor with Rafe St. Jacques.”

  Judith tried to hide her disappointment. She also couldn’t help but wonder if Esther was telling the truth. “Oh—that’s too bad. We shouldn’t have bothered you, but Mr. Dobler acted as if Bates was at home.”

  A flicker of uncertainty crossed Esther’s face. “He did? Oh, that’s probably because he was out wandering in the woods when Bates left. Mr. Dobler’s morning surveillance, you see.” She made a wry, faintly apologetic face. “You must find our security system rather extreme. I do, too, but we humor Mr. Dobler, and trespassers are a very real problem, especially during the summer.”

  Judith had assumed a sympathetic look. “I thought Rafe was in charge of security.”

  “He is, officially,” Esther replied. “But he can’t be everywhere. Besides, Mr. Dobler takes a very proprietary view of the island.”

  Renie, who had been studying the bold pattern of the nineteenth-century needlepoint rug, turned her gaze to Esther. “According to Elrod, you had a trespasser last night, around the dinner hour. He took a shot at whoever it was. Do you think it was someone who didn’t belong on the island?”

  Esther made a helpless gesture with her hands. “Honestly, I’ve no idea. Mr. Dobler is always shooting at something. He may not have seen a person at all. It could have been an unfamiliar sound, an animal, a bird. Firing his gun makes Mr. Dobler feel as if he’s doing something useful.”

  Renie made no effort to hide the fact that Elrod’s cavalier discharge of firearms appalled her. “But what if he hits somebody? Has that ever happened?”

  Esther’s laugh was musical. “Heavens, no! His eyesight is very poor. I doubt that he could hit a target that’s more than five feet away. I don’t think he’d want to—Mr. Dobler is a very kind man under that gruff exterior. It’s just that he’s…well, he’s never been a particularly gregarious person, and after he was widowed several years ago, he grew more and more cantankerous.”

  Renie evinced surprise. “Elrod had a wife?”

  “You didn’t know?” Esther’s forehead furrowed and she clutched at the lapels of her robe as she turned to Judith. “Her name was Flora. Flora Barber, Duane’s sister. Since you’re a friend of Jeanne’s, I assumed you knew that. But…Jeanne didn’t…fill you in?” Esther suddenly seemed short of breath.

  “She left in such a rush that I was lucky to get some written instructions,” Judith admitted. “As for Duane Barber, I know next to nothing about him. In fact, I don’t know Jeanne very well. We haven’t been close over the years.”

  “Oh, of course,” Esther remarked vaguely, relaxing her hand and letting it drop into her lap. “Flora was several years older than Duane. She died of cancer about twelve years ago. M…Mr. Dobler was bereft.” There was another catch in Esther’s voice, and a glint of tears shone in her blue eyes.

  Judith was touched by Esther’s compassion. “That’s a shame,” she said as she got to her feet. “We’ll be on our way. I just wanted to make sure that the regular residents of Chavez Island don’t think me irresponsible.”

  “Hardly that,” Esther assured Judith. “Accidents happen.” She paused at the door to the entry hall. “It was an accident, wasn’t it?”

  “That’s what it looked like,” Judith answered, not daring to meet Renie’s ga
ze. “Why would you think otherwise?”

  Esther seemed to shrink inside her robe. “Oh! I don’t! It’s just that…Doc sounded rather strange on the phone last night. Do stop by again. Shall I have Bates call you when he gets back from Laurel Harbor?”

  Judith said that would be fine. Outside, the fog was beginning to lift. There was no sign of Elrod Dobler on the road.

  “Let’s go see Salmon Gap,” Judith suggested.

  “What’s to see?” Renie was digging her heels into the dirt.

  Judith shrugged. “I don’t know. Weren’t we going to explore the rest of the island? The fog’s thinning out.”

  They could see at least ten yards down the road now. Above them, the mist swirled in the trees. The air had warmed up already, promising another beautiful afternoon. Somewhere, they could hear birds twittering. To all appearances, the cousins were on an island paradise. Not even a dead body could completely ruin the appeal of their surroundings.

  “Okay,” Renie finally relented. “I checked the map back at Doc’s. Salmon Gap is probably about a quarter of a mile from here.”

  But there was an obstacle that Renie apparently hadn’t noticed: At the next bend, just beyond the farthest reaches of Stoneyhenge’s wall, the road came to an abrupt halt. There was no trail as such, only a barely perceptible path that was probably a deer run.

  “How did you ever win any beads as a Camp Fire girl?” Judith asked her cousin. “You sure can’t read a map.”

  “In my group, beads were earned by how many doughnuts you could sell,” Renie replied. “I sold a ton.”

  “Sold or ate?”

  “It came to the same thing,” Renie said, not looking at Judith. “Eventually, I got promoted to Faggot Finder.”

  “I don’t think they call them that anymore,” Judith said, stepping off the road and heading through the beaten-down ferns and berry bushes.

  “Probably not. The language has changed. They don’t sell doughnuts anymore, either. They’ve had mints for years. I liked the doughnuts better.” Renie started to follow Judith, but stopped after they’d gone only about fifty feet. “Hey—do you know where we’re going?”