September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  Judith turned to look over her shoulder. “You don’t.”

  “If this is a deer run, it doesn’t necessarily lead to the beach. What we should do—according to the map—is take a right, then a left when we see the water. That’s the way to Salmon Gap.”

  The suggestion had merit. “Okay,” Judith agreed. “It shouldn’t be too far. Stoneyhenge has a view of the water from its southern exposure. We just passed the end of the wall, so we must still be in line with the shore.”

  While the going was more difficult, the cousins were proved right: Within five minutes, they were at the edge of a bluff that overlooked the sea. The ground had become very rocky, and the footing was treacherous. Judith and Renie walked with great caution. As they moved along the bluff, the fog began to evaporate on the water. Soon they could see Perez Island in the distance, and at least two of the smaller islands. The cousins were about to shed their jackets when they reached a trail.

  “This must be the hikers’ route from Eagle Lake,” Renie said. “We can go back that way. It should take us right up to the cabins.”

  “What about the north side of the island?” Judith asked as they began a zigzag descent down the face of the cliff.

  “I don’t think there’s much to see,” Renie responded, panting a bit. “It looked like a bunch of woods with no shoreline until you get to the inlet where Rafe lives. The helicopter pad is between his place and the Wicker Basket.”

  Except for the false lead about the road’s continuation, Judith was mildly impressed by Renie’s comprehension of the map. “So we’ll go by Eagle Lake on our way back to the house?”

  “Right.” A shower of dirt and pebbles was dislodged as Renie misstepped. “Sorry, coz. This trail’s kind of steep.”

  “We’re almost down,” Judith said, pausing to admire the lagoonlike inlet. The tide had just turned, exposing a horseshoe of pearl gray sand speckled with a few small rocks, sand dollars, and heart cockles. In the curve of the little bay, the floating dock bobbed while the runabout tied to it bounced on the waves. “There’s Doc’s boat,” Judith noted, as the cousins hit the beach. “See? It says Frannie.”

  “It’s cute,” Renie commented as she studied the jaunty lines of the nineteen-foot craft. “There’s the boathouse.”

  The boathouse was taller but not much wider than a phone booth. Finding the weathered little edifice unlocked, Judith couldn’t resist peeking inside. “It looks more like an outhouse than a boathouse,” she remarked, eyeing a kayak, a couple of canoes, and a half dozen paddles of various shapes and sizes. Judith closed the door, which was made of the same fir slats as the rest of the structure. “The kayak and canoes must belong to the residents.”

  Renie had again turned to stare at Doc’s runabout. “It looks like Uncle Vince’s boat,” she said.

  “It does,” Judith agreed. “Except Uncle Vince is always fiddling with his motor so that when we visit him and Auntie Vance on the island he can never take anybody out in the boat.”

  “Uncle Vince is afraid of the water,” Renie asserted, referring to their uncle and his wife who had retired to one of the larger islands inside the sound. “Uncle Vince is afraid of everything, including Auntie Vance.”

  “You can hardly blame him for that,” Judith said, as they strolled along the water’s edge. “Auntie Vance has such a sharp tongue. Even my mother is afraid of her. The last time Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince came down from the island, they…Hey, look at this!”

  The cousins had almost reached the far side of the inlet. There, above the usual tidemark in the sand, were the faint impressions of footprints. They led on a diagonal from the last high-tide mark to the general direction of the trail which Judith and Renie had just descended. Either two people had made them, or someone had come and gone via the same route.

  “These prints are fairly fresh,” Judith said in a puzzled voice. “Has somebody been here this morning?”

  Renie bent down to examine the impressions. “They may be fresh, but they’re not very clear. Except for a couple of them, the sand is too dry to tell very much. It looks to me like a less-than-average-sized man or a slightly more than-average-sized woman wearing some kind of sneakers or deck shoes.”

  Judith concurred. “Doc?”

  Renie stood up. “Could be. What’s your point?”

  Judith gave Renie a sheepish grin. “I don’t have one. But I think I should. Who did Elrod Dobler shoot at last night? Who did Rowena Carr see?”

  “The answer, dear coz, is nobody. One is half-blind and the other is three-quarters nuts.”

  Judith didn’t agree. She started back for the trail. “I’m guessing we had a visitor to Chavez Island in the last few hours. The question is,” she continued, beginning the climb up the face of the bluff, “who was it? And when did he or she come and go? Most of all, why did whoever it was visit Chavez via Salmon Gap? It’s the back door to the island. Could it be that our unknown caller had a date with H. Burrell Hodge?”

  EIGHT

  RENIE WASN’T ENTHUSIASTIC about Judith’s theory. She all but scoffed as they reached the top of the bluff and headed along the trail to Eagle Lake. The route was well maintained, with solid, relatively even footing. Gradually, the cedar, fir, hemlock, sword ferns, and salal gave way to a verdant meadow dotted with bright buttercups and cowslips. A trio of deer grazed peacefully, looking up only when Judith and Renie drew within twenty feet.

  “They like us,” Renie whispered. “We’ve found friends.”

  But as the cousins moved quietly along the trail, all three animals leaped through the long grasses and raced off among the trees. Judith and Renie exchanged droll expressions. A moment later, they could see the lake, not much bigger than a city block. Two cedar snags rose out of the placid waters, and a beaver dam had been built at the far end. A kingfisher sat on one of the snags and a pair of canvasback ducks glided across the deep green water.

  “Pretty,” Judith murmured. Even though the deer had fled, the tranquil scene invited quiet.

  It did not, however, invite humans to come much closer. As Judith and Renie moved toward the lake, the meadow turned marshy. Renie’s sandals threatened to pull from her feet, and Judith’s Keds grew damp.

  “We’d better stick to the trail,” Judith suggested.

  Near the beaver dam, however, the trail branched into two forks. The path on the right seemed like the logical choice to Judith. Renie didn’t agree.

  “That’s going to take us north instead of west,” she protested. “In fact, I don’t think it’s going to take us anywhere. If I remember the map correctly, it peters out on the other side of the lake.”

  Judith appeared undaunted. “If that’s so, let’s see why it exists. Somebody—Rafe, maybe—is keeping the trails up very well. Why bother creating a spur that goes only about fifty yards to nothing of consequence?”

  It seemed to Renie that Judith’s logic was faltering. “I still say the other branch will take us back to the cabins,” Renie averred.

  Judith kept walking, but Renie was right. The trail ended at the edge of the woods. It led to something of consequence, however: In the shade of the giant evergreens, the cousins saw a small Grecian temple, with a half dozen Ionic columns supporting a dome. The building, which appeared to be made of limestone, stood on a slight rise and overlooked a carefully tended cemetery. The grounds were enclosed by a wall built from stones which Judith recognized as the same kind that had been used on the Danfield property.

  “I’ll be darned,” Judith said under her breath. “Was this on Doc’s map?”

  “I don’t remember seeing it,” Renie answered.

  There was no gate, only a discreet sign that read “Private Property—Please Keep Out.”

  “Does that mean us?” Renie inquired.

  “Probably,” Judith said, but she entered the little cemetery anyway.

  The path that bisected the manicured lawn was covered with limestone pebbles. There were no more than a half dozen tombstones, but each was
large and elaborately carved. The closest was also the most recent. The earth had still not settled completely over the new grave.

  “It’s Duane,” Judith exclaimed. “Look, ‘Duane Edward Barber, born April 11, 1937, died July 27 of this year.’ He’s got a duck on his headstone.”

  Renie gazed critically at the carving. “It’s your run-of-the-mill mallard. Duane must have carved it himself. It’s got lips. Ducks don’t have lips.” Gingerly, Renie touched the decoy. It wiggled. “This must be temporary,” she said. “I’ll bet Jeanne is having one made in limestone or granite to go with the rest of the cemetery.”

  Judith was less interested in the graveyard’s aesthetics than in who was lying under the emerald green grass. “Look, next to Duane—Flora Barber Dobler, Elrod’s wife. Esther was right—she was quite a bit older than her brother, Duane. There was about a twelve-year difference between them.”

  Renie admired the graceful angels which clasped the headstone with one hand and held out the other, apparently to Flora’s departed spirit. “Do you suppose this is sacred ground?” Renie asked.

  “I don’t know,” Judith said, making her way down the path. “Here are two more Doblers, Albert and Violet. They have a fawn sitting on them. I’ll bet they’re Elrod’s parents. Born 1895 and 1900, respectively, died 1959 and 1964. ‘Home at Last,’ it says.”

  Farther down, at the foot of the temple, Judith found a large, simple monument with the name “DANFIELD” inscribed in bold, handsome letters. Underneath, in smaller, but matching letters, were the names “Arthur” and “Clarice.” There were no dates.

  “That’s strange,” Judith remarked.

  Renie shrugged. “In a private cemetery, I suppose you can do whatever you like. That’s a fairly old tombstone, though. I’d guess it was put there when the temple was erected. It’s made of the same limestone.”

  “Could be.” Judith glanced up at the temple. Seven steps led to the little rise, and she could see the name “DANFIELD” carved into the temple’s base. “I wonder if somebody from the Danfield family is actually buried there, such as Bates’s parents.”

  Renie was squinting at the temple. “Maybe,” she suggested, “the name puts their stamp on the cemetery itself.”

  “That’s possible.” Judith moved off the main path to a plot that was nestled in the curve of a rock garden. The marker here was flat, and upon it lay a dozen dark red chrysanthemums. Judith bent down and carefully moved the flowers so that she could read the information on the plain granite stone. “‘Francesca.’ That’s all.”

  Noting that the grass was still very wet from the fog, Renie knelt on the tombstone. “It’s not a new one,” she said, feeling the contours in the carved letters. “But that’s about all I can tell. The flowers are fairly fresh, though.”

  “We can ask Doc who Francesca is—was,” Judith said, as Renie awkwardly stood up. “We could ask anybody on Chavez, for that matter. A cemetery is hardly a secret.”

  “The Carrs wouldn’t know, probably,” Renie pointed out as the cousins walked back down the limestone path. “They just moved here in the spring.”

  “True,” Judith allowed. “But the rest of them would.” At the entrance, Judith turned to admire the setting and the temple one last time. “It’s a nice idea, having a graveyard just for those people who’ve lived—and died—on the island.”

  “Right, really nice, really cute.” Renie shot Judith an ironic look.

  “Well, it is,” Judith declared, now moving briskly down the trail. “It enhances the sense of community.”

  Renie snorted. “I don’t see these people being very chummy. The Danfields seem to keep to themselves, Rafe does his job, then takes off in his boat or tucks himself away in his hidey-hole, Mrs. Carr is goofy, and old Elrod would just as soon use his trigger finger to plug one of his neighbors as offer a helping hand. Only Doc and Cilla seem normal.”

  Judith, however, wasn’t inclined to take such a dim view of human nature. “Jeanne mentioned in her letter that everyone had been very kind after Duane died. It’s just that we’re strangers.”

  “It’s just that they’re strange, if you ask me,” Renie retorted.

  The cousins had reached the fork where the main trail kept going straight ahead. Despite careful maintenance, the part of the track closest to the lake was quite marshy. Judith and Renie had to proceed gingerly to keep from getting stuck in the mud.

  “It might be easier to walk in the grasses,” Judith remarked, going off the trail. “My Keds are getting soaked.”

  “My sandals are about ruined,” Renie admitted, following her cousin. “It’s a good thing I brought five pair.”

  But after only a few steps, Judith suddenly sank up to her calves. “Damn!” she cried. “It must be a gopher hole!”

  Grabbing Judith’s arm, Renie tried to pull her cousin out of the depression, but Judith felt herself sinking farther into the mire. Struggling to get a firmer foothold, Renie braced her weight on her heels and tugged harder. Judith heard a sucking noise somewhere in the vicinity of her feet, then lunged upward. Renie pulled so hard that she fell over on her back. With another slurping sound, Judith bounded out of the hole and fell on top of Renie.

  “Oooof!” cried Renie. “Move! You’re smashing me!”

  Judith tumbled over onto the grass. “My Keds are gone. They came off in the mud.” She gazed wistfully in the direction of the hole from which she’d just been liberated.

  “Forget the Keds. They’re probably ruined anyway.” Breathing hard, Renie sat up and surveyed her soiled clothing. “Damn! I’m a mess!”

  Judith was eyeing her mud-covered feet. “I paid twenty bucks for those Keds,” she grumbled.

  “So what? I paid a hundred and twenty for these.” She pointed to her sandals which had suffered mightily on the excursion.

  Judith was now standing up, trying to wipe off her bare feet. “That was no gopher hole. It’s too big and too deep.”

  Renie had twisted around in an attempt to check out the seat of her slacks. They were covered with mud and grass stains. “It’s probably an otter burrow. Or maybe a muskrat house. Be thankful you didn’t get your toes bitten off.”

  “I guess we found out why we should keep to the path,” Judith said ruefully, as she shook clumps of wet earth from her green pants. “Unless you know the route, you stick to what you can see. Aha!” What Judith could see next to the deep hole were footprints in the muddy trail. There were at least a dozen of them, smudged and indistinct, but footprints nonetheless. “They’re only on this part of the path for a couple of yards. As if,” Judith said excitedly, “the person who walked this trail knew where to avoid stepping in a hole. What do you think?”

  Renie yawned. “I think I want to get back to the house so I can change. Of course whoever walked here knew the route. We’re the only pair of dunces on this island who don’t know it. Except maybe the Estacadas. So what?”

  Her enthusiasm dampened by Renie’s remarks, Judith resumed walking more slowly. The trail dried out almost immediately as they moved away from Eagle Lake and found themselves once again in the forest.

  “I’m just wondering if whoever made those footprints down at Salmon Gap also made the ones on this trail,” Judith countered, though there was an apologetic note in her voice.

  Renie sighed. “Give it up, coz. Stacie and Rob may have gone hiking yesterday. They probably combed the island, just like we’re doing now. There isn’t that much ground to cover. Or maybe it was whoever put those mums on Francesca Whoozit’s grave. It might have been the person who tends the cemetery.”

  Judith wouldn’t admit out loud that Renie was probably right. They walked for some time in silence, trying to ignore their damp and dirty state. The fog had completely dissipated, and the blue sky was studded with fluffy white clouds. It was only when they came out by the cabins that Judith spoke again:

  “At least we didn’t get lost. But how do you get to Rafe’s place? Or to the helicopter pad?”

 
Renie put a firm hand on Judith’s wrist. “Call AAA. I can already feel the damp seeping into my bones.”

  But before they could cross the flagstone walk, June Hennessy appeared from around the corner of her cabin. “Yoo-hoo!” she called. “Any news?”

  Judith turned, shielding her eyes from the sun. “Not really. We’ve been out for a couple of hours. Maybe there’s a message from the sheriff on our machine.”

  Drawing closer, Miss Hennessy stared at the cousins. “My! What happened? You’ve soiled yourselves.”

  With an abject glance at her wet, muddy clothes, Judith nodded. “I’m afraid so. I fell in a hole by the little cemetery at Eagle Lake.”

  Miss Hennessy shook her head. “That’s a shame. You weren’t injured, I trust?”

  “Only some pulled muscles from trying to get out,” Judith replied.

  “I’m flatter than I used to be,” Renie put in.

  Judith ignored her cousin. “We’d better head back to the house. I really don’t expect to hear anything until this afternoon.”

  Miss Hennessy nodded in her brisk manner. “Government employees move even more slowly in the Santa Lucias than in the city. Of course their idea of crime is litter. Thank heavens!” she added with a burst of appreciation. “Such a relief to live where you don’t have to worry about sex fiends and other miscreants.”

  Fleetingly, Judith tried to recall the last time she’d worried about sex fiends. Living in the heart of the city, she probably should worry about them occasionally. Maybe being married to a policeman had made her careless.

  “I don’t suppose,” Judith said in a casual manner, “that you ever met Mr. Hodge on any of your previous visits to Chavez Island?”

  Miss Hennessy looked aghast. “Good heavens! No! Has he been here before?”

  “I think so,” Judith answered, unable to conceal the lack of certitude in her voice. “He didn’t exactly say as much, but he seemed familiar with the locale.”