by Mary Daheim
“Perhaps,” Miss Hennessy allowed, now wearing a prim expression that suited her plain white blouse, navy blue slacks, and matching cardigan. An antique cameo brooch at her throat was the only concession to adornment. The contrast between the disheveled cousins and their tidy guest made Judith squirm. “Mr. Hodge must have known Mr. St. Jacques,” Miss Hennessy asserted, making Judith momentarily forget about appearances. “They wouldn’t have spoken in such a way if they weren’t acquainted with one another.” Miss Hennessy sniffed with disapproval.
Judith was confused. “When was that? That Mr. Hodge and Mr. St. Jacques…spoke?”
“Oh, dear…” Miss Hennessy appeared to reflect. “I’m not certain. Late afternoon? On Chavez, I ignore the clock. It’s my master the rest of the year.”
Apparently, Renie was also bewildered. “Wait—are you saying that Rafe and Burrell had an argument yesterday?”
Miss Hennessy arched her gray eyebrows. “I abhor gossip. I’d call it a heated exchange. I happened to be sitting on the veranda reading a most fascinating biography of Mary Lyon, the founder of Mount Holyoke College. Such a marvelous woman and such a daring educator! I couldn’t help but overhear. Mr. Hodge had a very loud voice, and the tenor of their conversation distracted me.”
Judith’s forehead furrowed. The previous evening, Rafe had implied that he’d had nothing to do with H. Burrell Hodge after bringing him to Chavez Island. Perhaps Judith hadn’t understood Rafe correctly.
“You’re sure it was Rafe St. Jacques?” Judith asked, a bit diffidently. “Did you actually see him?”
“I did not,” Miss Hennessy replied. “I went inside. I’d reached a most exciting chapter in my book, about Mary Lyon attending Amherst. I was agog.”
“Amherst,” murmured Renie. “Wow.”
Judith hoped that Miss Hennessy didn’t realize Renie was being facetious. “You didn’t…um…” Judith sought for a tactful way to ask her next question. She didn’t want Miss Hennessy to think she was prying. “They weren’t arguing about the amenities or anything like that, were they?”
Miss Hennessy looked repelled. “I think not. I tried very hard to disregard their conversation. But it seemed to revolve around ferns.”
“Ferns?” Judith blinked. “They were arguing about ferns?”
Miss Hennessy nodded gravely. “Mr. St. Jacques was all for them. Mr. Hodge was definitely against them. That’s when I retired to my cabin.”
“Well, certainly!” Renie said in a low voice.
“Ferns,” Judith repeated in a baffled tone. She thought for a moment, then gave Miss Hennessy an off-center smile. “Sometimes people can be very odd. I’m glad Mr. Hodge wasn’t complaining about his stay. Thank you, Miss Hennessy. We’ll let you know when we have any news.”
Miss Hennessy nodded abruptly, then marched off in the direction of her cabin. Judith and Renie resumed their route back to the house.
“Why,” Judith asked after they were out of hearing distance, “would anybody quarrel over ferns?”
“The environment,” Renie replied, looking just a bit smug. “Rafe is for it, Burrell was against it. Ferns are a hot topic only in that context.”
Judith stared at her cousin. “You may be right,” she said, vaguely surprised by Renie’s acuity.
Renie gave a little shrug as the cousins came out into the open area by the rear of the Barber house. “Of course I’m right. What else, unless you’re talking about floral arrangements?”
“It makes sense,” Judith agreed. “What doesn’t is that Rafe would have had to make a special trip to call on Burrell. Why would he do that if he didn’t know anything about the man?”
“‘H. Burrell Hodge’,” Renie intoned. “‘The Man Nobody Wants to Know.’ Including me,” she added ruefully. “I wish I’d never met him.”
Judith wished the same thing when she entered the back door, looked through the front windows, and saw Deputy Lulu McLean sitting in the lawn swing on the deck. “Oh, dear,” breathed Judith, going to the front door, “there must be hot news, or Lulu wouldn’t have come all the way to Chavez Cove.”
Lulu, however, wasn’t alone. Seated on the step below the swing was Rafe St. Jacques. The pair appeared to be in deep conversation when Judith came out onto the deck.
“Well!” said McLean, getting up with surprising grace for a woman of her size. In the full light of day, the deputy’s color seemed heightened and the tendrils of red hair that peeked out from under her regulation hat shimmered in the sun. “You’re back! We wondered what had happened to you.” Her eyes raked the cousins’ unkempt state. “Nothing good, it looks like to me.”
“We were playing Lewis and Clark,” Renie said, as she joined Judith on the deck. “My cousin is Lewis, and I’m Clark. Sacajawea went out for cigarettes. What’s up?”
Ignoring Renie’s flippancy, McLean assumed a stern air. “We’ve got a homicide on our hands. H. Burrell Hodge was killed by a blow to the head with a blunt instrument.”
Renie swallowed hard. “How do you define ‘blunt instrument’?” Her voice came out in a squeak.
McLean literally looked down at Renie. “Something hard, heavy, substantial. A baseball bat, a hammer, a two-by-four. Why? Have you seen anything suspicious around here?”
None too deftly, Judith stepped in front of Renie. “We wouldn’t know what to look for,” Judith said. “Your definition has wide parameters.”
“Early days,” McLean replied, “as they say in detective fiction. We didn’t expect to have the autopsy results so soon, but things slow down this time of year. The coroner doesn’t have to spend so much time patching up accident-prone tourists. But we’ve narrowed the field because of the way Hodge’s skull was smashed. It was something about two inches wide, maybe circular or oval, and—as you can guess—very solid.”
Judith had seated herself on one of the benches. The description of the weapon didn’t suggest anything specific. “Are you in charge of the investigation?” Judith inquired of McLean.
“I sure am,” the deputy replied, with a toss of her head. “I’ve got a couple of men going over Hodge’s cabin. We’ll give back his key when we’re good and ready.” She glanced at Rafe, who had stood up and was leaning against the rail of the deck. “You know I mean business, don’t you, big fella?”
Rafe’s smile conveyed a touch of mockery. “That’s right. I’m confident you’ll catch the culprit.”
McLean beamed at Rafe. “You got that right, kiddo. Now let’s get on with it.” She swerved around, her hazel eyes fixed on Renie. “You and I are going to have a little talk, Short Stuff. Tell me all about last night, starting with, say, six o’clock.”
“Six o’clock?” Renie repeated in a faint voice. “Was I there?”
“Don’t get smart with me,” McLean snapped, taking a menacing step toward Renie. “You tell me what happened after H. Burrell Hodge arrived at this house around six.”
Judith could see from Renie’s stormy expression that her cousin was at war with herself. But after a long moment, she appeared to give in. Indeed, Judith realized that her cousin was wearing her boardroom face, which was usually reserved for graphic-design presentations to CEOs and other corporate nabobs.
“Burrell barged in here just as we were about to eat,” she began, her voice dropping a notch as she sat down on the bench next to Judith. “He had a fixed idea that my cousin served dinner to guests. We’d tried to tell him otherwise, but he wouldn’t listen.”
“I left a note at his cabin,” Judith put in, and received a warning glance from McLean for her efforts.
Renie, however, darted a grateful look at Judith before resuming her narrative. “Burrell was overbearing, demanding, and rude. He had the nerve to upbraid us because we were having a cocktail.”
McLean had moved next to Rafe at the rail. “You were drinking?” the deputy inquired in an insinuating tone.
Judith couldn’t hold her tongue. “We’d had just one drink,” she put in. “I made us each a refill, but
Mrs. Jones said she’d rather eat.”
“Butt out,” McLean admonished Judith. “You’ve already been interrogated.” She turned back to Renie. “Go on.”
Renie’s round face was puckered in concentration. “Burrell refused to leave. He became insulting. It was obvious that he didn’t like women. He indicated that he considered them inferior.” Judith caught the sly glimmer in her cousin’s eyes. “Naturally, I was enraged.”
“Naturally,” McLean agreed, her broad face suddenly betraying a jot of sympathy. “So what happened next?” The deputy folded her arms across her jutting bosom and once again became the soul of officialdom.
“I blew my stack.” Renie clasped and unclasped her hands. “I conked him with a plate. On top of his head.” She jutted her chin out and threw McLean a defiant look. “It didn’t knock him out, it didn’t kill him, and don’t ever call me Short Stuff again!”
The merest flicker of respect showed in McLean’s expression. “Okay, I won’t. Keep talking. How did Hodge react after you delivered the blow?”
Renie winced at the terminology. “He was furious. He threatened to sue. Finally, he left.”
“And?” McLean prodded.
As Renie hesitated, Judith again leaped into the fray: “At least a couple of minutes went by. Then we heard…”
“Belt up!” McLean roared, shaking a fist at Judith. “Do you want to get arrested for interfering with a police investigation?”
Judith shrank back onto the bench. She was just a little ashamed of herself, imagining how Joe would react to interruptions from a witness.
Renie was fingering her upper lip. “You know, it’s odd—I’m not exactly sure what happened next. We heard a thump and a cry—or maybe it was the other way around.” Renie couldn’t resist giving Judith a look that seemed to ask for help.
McLean said nothing. She now had one foot planted on an empty bench and was resting her elbows on her knee.
Apparently, it finally dawned on Renie that the deputy expected her to continue without prompting. “When we heard the noises—in whichever order they occurred—Mrs. Flynn and I raced out to the back porch. We saw Burrell lying at the bottom of the stairs. We thought he’d fallen. The steps are very long and very steep. Mrs. Flynn went down.”
For a moment, the only sounds came from the chattering bluejays and the wind in the trees. Then McLean nodded once. “That’s when Mrs. Flynn called 911, I assume?”
Judith started to open her mouth, thought better of it, and bit her lip. “Right,” said Renie. “Then she called Doc Wicker.”
“You discovered the body when?” McLean asked.
Again, Renie considered. “I’m not sure. Six-fifteen, maybe? We came in from the deck a little after six. Burrell arrived just a few minutes later. He bellowed and blustered for—what?” Again, she darted a glance at Judith. “Five minutes? Maybe not that long. I really don’t know.”
Without another word, McLean straightened up, squared her broad shoulders, and marched into the house. Judith rose from the bench and peered through the window to see what the deputy was doing. For the first time in a quarter of an hour, Rafe spoke.
“I suspect Lulu is checking the crime scene. This is her first chance to see it in full daylight. Just before the two of you got back here, she said she wanted to have a good look.”
Judith was pacing back and forth in front of the windows. “I can hardly believe Burrell was murdered. What will Jeanne Barber think?”
“She’s bound to be upset,” Rafe said with a frown. “This has been a bad summer for Jeanne.”
“It’s not so hot for me, either,” Judith said grimly. “I feel responsible.”
“It’s not your fault,” Rafe responded, then rested his dark-eyed gaze on Judith. “At least I assume it’s not.”
Renie had kept a lid on her temper long enough. “What’s that supposed to mean?” she demanded.
Rafe gave a careless shrug. “Look, I’m unofficially in charge of security for the island. I feel some responsibility, too. But let’s face facts—the number of suspects is limited.” His cool gaze took in both cousins.
“Not necessarily,” Judith countered. “Why couldn’t someone we don’t know about have come onto the island?” She waved a hand in the direction of the water where a dozen sailboats glided and dipped in the wind. “There are boats everywhere. If not here, they could dock at the Danfields, at Salmon Gap, at your place.” Judith shot Rafe a meaningful look.
“Touché,” he said lightly. “But no one did. I would have seen them.”
“You wouldn’t have seen anyone coming into Salmon Gap,” Judith retorted. “And I believe someone did, probably about the time that Burrell was killed.”
Rafe’s eyes narrowed. “What makes you think that?”
“High tide was around six last night, which means the best time to safely navigate the waters into Salmon Gap would have been then,” Judith explained, now sounding reasonable and calm. “I realize that an experienced sailor like you could probably manage under almost any conditions except maybe a minus tide. But as you told the Estacadas, it’s very tricky when you don’t know the local hazards.”
“So?” Rafe appeared highly amused.
“We saw footprints this morning at Salmon Gap and on the trail by Eagle Lake,” Judith went on doggedly. “They were fairly fresh. We think someone tied up at Salmon Gap, walked the length of the island, and—well, I leave the rest up to you.”
To Judith’s disappointment, Rafe appeared neither impressed nor dismayed. “It’s possible, I suppose,” he said in a casual voice, then broke into a grin. “You’ve done some sleuthing, it seems.”
Judith felt the color rise in her cheeks. “Under the circumstances, it’s the least I can do. As I said, I feel responsible.”
Before Rafe could reply, Lulu McLean returned to the deck. She gestured at Rafe. “Come on down and take a look. I want to see what you think.”
With his customary pantherlike grace, Rafe followed the deputy through the house. Judith grabbed Renie’s arm.
“Let’s see what they’re looking at,” she whispered.
The cousins hurriedly tiptoed to the back entrance. Renie remained behind the screen door, but Judith quietly slipped onto the porch and concealed herself on the love seat in the alcove. She saw McLean and Rafe at the bottom of the stairs, pawing at the tall, thick shrubbery which grew next to the house.
“Somebody could have hidden in there,” McLean said. “Check out the ground. Some of those flowers and plants look as if they’ve been trampled.”
Rafe rustled about in the rhododendrons. “You’re right. I wonder if you could get a footprint. Unfortunately, the Saint-John’s-wort covers most of the ground.”
“I combed that area pretty well just now,” McLean replied. “Except for the trampling, I didn’t see any other evidence.”
Rafe emerged from the bushes, brushing leaves from his dark hair. “No cigarette butts, notepaper, lipstick-marked cocktail napkins?” Though his back was turned and Judith couldn’t see his face, his voice conveyed amusement. “Come on, Lulu, you’re slipping.” To Judith’s surprise, he reached out and playfully cuffed McLean’s cheek.
“I don’t expect to have this case handed to me on a silver platter,” she huffed. “It’s my first time as primary on a homicide, after all.” She poked Rafe in the chest. “You’d better not be mixed up in it, kiddo. I’d hate like hell to have to haul you in.”
“Would you?” Rafe was now standing very close to McLean. With her regulation hat, she was almost as tall as he was. Judith’s eyes widened as Rafe tipped up the brim of the hat and lightly brushed her lips with his. He said something low, which Judith couldn’t hear. Fearing discovery, she skittered out of the alcove and dashed into the house, almost knocking Renie over in her haste.
“What’s with them?” Renie inquired. “Collusion?”
Judith shook herself. “More like a collision—irresistible force meets immovable object. Or something like that. My
, my.” Judith now began to pace the living room.
“Hadn’t you better try to track down Jeanne?” Renie had flopped onto the couch.
Judith glanced at her watch. “It’s going on for noon. I’ll try calling her daughter again.” She started for the phone in the kitchen, then snapped her fingers. “Shoot! I forgot to check the answering machine for messages.”
To Judith’s relief, Marcia Barber Andersen had called at 10:08. In a girlish voice, she informed Judith of the number where her mother could be reached in Palm Desert, adding that Jeanne should only be disturbed in the event of a serious emergency.
“I think this qualifies,” Judith said. But before she could punch in the spa’s number, McLean and Rafe returned from outside.
“I’m heading out now,” McLean announced, all but swaggering through the kitchen. “Rafe brought me over in his cruiser.” The deputy smirked just a little. “By the way, I assume neither of you plan to leave Chavez soon.”
“We can’t,” Judith blurted. “We’re stuck for at least a week.”
McLean nodded abruptly. “Good. Don’t get any ideas about making an early exit. I’ll be in touch. Come on, Rafe, let’s head for Laurel Harbor.”
When Rafe and McLean had disappeared down the stairs to the cove, Judith dialed the Palm Springs spa. She was transferred five times before Jeanne came on the line.
“Judith! Is something wrong? Do you have a question? What broke?”
Judith grimaced into the phone. “We’ve had a problem, Jeanne. Remember Mr. Hodge?”
“The late Mr. Hodge,” Renie murmured, opening the refrigerator.
“H. Burrell Hodge?” Jeanne’s voice had turned suspicious. “What about him?”
“He’s sort of…dead,” Judith said, avoiding Renie’s bemused gaze. “Last night—early evening, actually—he…ah…um…got killed.”
“What?” The word seemed ripped out of Jeanne’s throat. “Judith, is this a joke? You always had such a wonderful sense of humor. I remember in Mr. Quimbly’s botany class, you once brought in a plant that your mother found in the yard and it turned out to be poison ivy and we all ended up with…”