September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  Something clicked in Judith’s memory. “One of the Danfields mentioned somebody named Harry. He worked here, right? Like…what was his name? Tom Lowman?”

  “That’s right,” Renie chimed in. “Tom, Dick, and Harry. You’re Dick, aren’t you Doc? Hickory-dickory-Doc.” She laughed in a self-conscious manner. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist. And I haven’t been near the brandy jug today. Honest.”

  Doc finally seemed satisfied with his efforts at facing out the vegetables. He turned slowly and smiled at Renie. “I know that. I’m just trying to figure out what to do with all that dog food, especially if Cilla changes her mind about getting a pet. How can I help you ladies?”

  “Two things, actually,” Judith said. “We were wondering if Rafe could take us over to Perez Island so we could stroll around Laurel Harbor. I tried to call him, but he was out.”

  Doc was using a Swiss Army knife to open the canned fruit carton. “Rafe’s kind of a will-o’-the-wisp. When he’s not going between here and Perez, he spends a lot of time just cruising around on that boat of his. It’s a fine day—I imagine he’s off exploring some of the outer islands. Now that the tourists are mostly gone, he’ll have them to himself.”

  “Oh.” Judith sounded disappointed. “Say, Doc, do you know why Mrs. Carr is opposed to Cilla seeing Rafe?”

  Doc made an attempt to smooth his fluffy white hair. “I told you, Rowena Carr is a bit eccentric. She gets notions about people. In Rafe’s case, she probably thinks he’s too old and too worldly for Cilla. As the only eligible man under sixty on the island, it would be natural for Cilla to develop a crush on Rafe. He’s quite good-looking.”

  The explanation seemed plausible to Judith. Yet it struck her as almost too smooth, too pat. Doc began unloading more fruit. Judith had one more question for him.

  “We walked over to Salmon Gap and back this morning,” she began. “We found the little cemetery. It’s lovely. Who’s Francesca?”

  The can of peaches that Doc had been transferring to an upper shelf fell out of his hand. He kept his back to the cousins as he fumbled around on the floor. “Damn! It’s rolling all over the place…Now where did it go…?”

  At last, he looked up. “The Danfields—Bates’s parents—established the cemetery around the time of the First World War. Chester Danfield settled on Chavez just before the turn of the century.” Doc had recovered the peaches and was placing them on the shelf next to the pears. “Chester’s wife refused to move from the city, so he left her. He built a cabin more or less where Stoneyhenge is now and became a bit of a hermit. When he died along about 1917, his wife wouldn’t bury him in the family plot. She said that if he wanted to live alone on Chavez, he could be dead alone there, too. Arthur—that would be Bates’s father—wanted to bury the old man at sea, but he couldn’t get permission. Maybe it had something to do with the war, I don’t know. So he established the cemetery and built the temple over his father’s grave. I guess he thought his mother would give in and be buried there, too. But Mrs. Danfield made her wishes known that she wanted to be laid to rest in town. She passed away shortly before Arthur married, around 1921, I think.” Doc finished unloading the fruit cans, then began folding the cardboard box, presumably for recycling. “Arthur and his wife, Clarice, liked the place so much they decided to build a real house. Stoneyhenge was the result.”

  “It’s a beautiful place,” Judith said. “I gather from talking to Bates that the family has always had money. Investments, of some sort.”

  “So I hear,” Doc responded in a noncommittal manner. “Whatever it is that Bates does to earn his keep doesn’t make very many demands on him. In the twenty-two years I’ve been here, I’ve never seen that man put in a day of real work.”

  Renie was inspecting a can of smoked oysters. “You’d think,” she remarked, hastily putting the can back when she saw the exorbitant price on the bottom, “Bates would get bored.”

  Doc nodded in agreement. “I would. Esther, too. Oh, once in a while they go away for a few days, but not often and not far. It makes you wonder, doesn’t it?”

  Judith wasn’t sure what Doc meant. “You mean…about their lack of drive? Or involvement? Or…?” She made a helpless gesture with her hands.

  “Those things, yes,” Doc replied, now opening the dog food box. “Heck, I’m not sure what I mean. But when I see that handsome house and those wonderful furnishings and how Bates and Esther always look as if they’ve just stepped out of some magazine ad for a country squire and his lady—well, I have to speculate a little.” He laughed, sounding vaguely embarrassed. “I’m probably foolish, imagining things that aren’t there. That’s easy to do up here on the island, especially in the winter when you can’t get out as often and nobody comes around. Too much time alone. Yes, it bothers me once in a while. But,” he added, with a musing glance at the cousins, “it never seems to bother Bates and Esther. I have to wonder why.”

  Speculating on human nature was one of Judith’s favorite pastimes. She took Doc’s words seriously and tried to come up with some sort of explanation. Her mind drew a blank.

  “I guess,” she said in apology, “I don’t know them well enough to understand their behavior. They have children. Surely they keep involved with them. Esther mentioned that they might be coming up to the island soon for a visit.”

  Doc chuckled, though there was an edge to his voice. “Esther is always saying they’re coming for a visit, but they never do. I haven’t seen Eugenia or Elliott in five years. Maybe they sail into the Danfields’ dock, and I don’t know they’re here. That could be. But neither Bates nor Esther ever mention the visits when they come to get—”

  Judith snapped her fingers. “The mail! I almost forgot! That’s the real reason we stopped by.”

  “Oh, of course.” Doc went behind the counter and pulled out a Nike shoe box marked “Barber.” Apparently, his postal system consisted of keeping the mail in shoe boxes with the individuals’ names lettered in black-felt pen. Judith could see a Rockport box bearing Rafe’s name, a Timberlands box for Elrod Dobler, and an Adidas box on which the name “Lowman” had been crossed out and “Carr” had been inked in underneath.

  “Two days’ worth,” Doc said, handing Judith two thick rolls of mail which were held together with wide rubber bands. “Most of it’s probably junk. But don’t throw any of it away—Jeanne gets a lot of catalogues, and she enjoys going through them. Do you want me to have Rafe call you if I see him in the next hour or two?”

  Judith gave Renie a questioning look; Renie shrugged. “I guess so,” Judith said to Doc. “It’s not yet two. We’d still have time to spend at Laurel Harbor.”

  “Okay,” Doc said, returning to his dog food. “By the way,” he called to Judith and Renie as they headed for the door, “I hear it’s official. We have a murder on our hands.”

  Judith turned in the doorway. “You thought so all along, didn’t you, Doc?”

  Doc nodded solemnly. “My opinion was formed strictly from the physical evidence. Somebody hit Hodge hard enough on the back of the head to fracture the skull and cause internal bleeding. That’s not an accident.” He winked at Renie. “It’s not a dinner plate, either.”

  “So what’s your guess, Doc?” Judith asked.

  “You mean whodunit?” Doc chuckled again. “I haven’t any idea. If I had to take a wild stab, I’d say that somebody with a boat followed Hodge to Chavez, waited around the grounds of the B&B, and clobbered him a good one. How does that sound?”

  Judith gave a little nod. “Not bad—for a wild stab.”

  “It had to be something like that,” Doc said in a voice that was intended to be casual but which conveyed a note of desperation. “Nobody on Chavez had any reason to kill him.”

  Judith thought it best not to dispute the point. “Let’s hope Lulu McLean knows how to do her job. I understand she’s never led a homicide investigation before.”

  “She’ll do just fine,” Doc said. “Say, I don’t suppose you want any dog food?”<
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  Renie leaned across the threshold. “Is it cheaper than your hot dogs?”

  Doc smiled at Renie. “Not much. But it is Meaty Beef.”

  “I’ll try it tomorrow,” Renie said with a little wave.

  Judith hoped her cousin was kidding. But maybe not.

  “Rats!” Judith exclaimed as they headed back up the road to the Barber house. “I tell you, I’m slipping! Did you notice how Doc led us down the garden path about the cemetery?”

  “I thought it was interesting,” Renie replied. “A veritable Danfield saga.”

  “A veritable diversion, you mean.” Judith sounded cross. “Doc never did tell us who Francesca is—was. Every time I try to pin one of these islanders down, they go off on some tangent and I don’t get any answers. It’s aggravating! And what gripes me most is that I get so engrossed that I forget to pursue my original query.”

  “They’re elusive, all right,” Renie admitted. “But I’m not sure Doc deliberately misled you. He seemed quite caught up in the Danfield story. It sounds as if he’s got some questions of his own. About them, at any rate.”

  “It’s like a conspiracy,” Judith grumbled as they trudged along the uneven dirt road. “Evasion, ambiguity, half-truths, maybe untruths—and just plain silence. We’re missing something, something big. But what is it?”

  Renie was gazing up through the network of vine maples which grew over the road. Some of the leaves had already turned a bright red-orange. “What about that weapon? Circular or oval, about two inches wide. What does that bring to mind?” Renie wondered out loud.

  “It’s too big to be a hammer,” Judith replied. “I was thinking about those tools that Cilla misplaced. Did she mention a crowbar?”

  “I don’t think so,” Renie said. “A hammer, a wrench, a…I forget. Was there anything else?”

  Judith frowned. “I’m not sure. She’s such a whirlwind that it’s hard to follow her.”

  They had come out into the clearing by the house. Rob and Stacie Estacada were sitting on the back steps. Rob looked upset, and Stacie had been crying.

  “We want to leave,” Rob announced. “We heard that Mr. Hodge was murdered. Can we get the rest of our money back?”

  Judith had no idea what Jeanne Barber’s policy was when it came to cancellations. Hillside Manor was more than fair, Judith had always thought, allowing refunds if guests canceled before four o’clock in the afternoon. It was now five minutes to two. Given the circumstances, Judith didn’t blame the honeymooners for wanting to get as far away as possible from Chavez Island.

  “You’ve already paid through the rest of your scheduled stay?” Judith asked.

  Rob nodded. “I put the whole thing on my Visa when we made the reservation. Twelve hundred dollars, plus tax. We should get everything back but last night’s stay. That was two hundred. Plus tax,” he added after receiving a nudge from his bride.

  “I’ll run it through,” Judith said. She didn’t see how Jeanne could refuse to offer a refund. “May I see your card? I’ll take it inside and run it through for a credit.”

  Rob reached into the back pocket of his jeans and pulled out a wallet. Stacie clung to him, her head on his shoulder. “Where will we go now, lovey-buns?” she asked in a small voice.

  “Canada, maybe.” Rob kissed the top of her head. “We’ll call from Laurel Harbor.” He kept rummaging through the wallet. “Darn—I don’t see my Visa card. Or my MasterCard or my ATM card.” He pulled away just enough to look into Stacie’s face. “Did you take them, honey-lips?”

  “No,” she said, somewhat indignant. “I haven’t charged a thing. I’m waiting until I get my own cards with my married name. What would I use them for here anyway?”

  “I had them on the ferry,” Rob insisted, now removing everything from the wallet, including his cash. “Damn! Where could they have gone?” He gave Stacie a helpless look.

  “They’re probably back in the cabin,” she said.

  “I never took them out of my wallet. I know I didn’t.” Rob’s forehead wrinkled with concern.

  Judith offered the pair a sympathetic smile. “Don’t fuss. I can check your credit card number on the original bill. I’ll mail you a copy of the refund.”

  “That’s not the point,” Rob protested. “Where are my cards?” Now he gave his wife an accusing look. “Stacie, you’d better not be one of those women who swipes her husband’s credit cards and buys a lot of stuff and then acts like she didn’t do anything wrong! I’ve had buddies with wives and girlfriends who pull that stunt, and it’s not cute!”

  Stacie backed away from Rob, her eyes flashing. “You creep! How dare you talk to me like that! Go ahead, go to Canada! I hope you have a great time—by yourself!” She stormed off down the trail that led to the cabins.

  “Jeez!” Rob’s anger was mingled with embarrassment as he turned to Judith and Renie. “I guess I made her mad. Do you think she’ll get over it?”

  “Probably,” Judith said, a bit distractedly. The hostile interlude had given her time to think. “Rob, were you and Stacie gone from the cabin late yesterday afternoon?”

  Still looking sheepish, Rob considered. “We went for a walk earlier. Then we played some badminton. After that, we had a swim down in the cove by the dock. I guess it was around five when we got back. I fired up the barbecue then, and we…ah…went inside for a while to wait for the coals to get hot.”

  Recalling the state of dishabille in which she and Rafe had found the Estacadas, it was obvious to Judith that more than the coals had gotten hot. “Did you see anybody—anybody at all—around the cabins in the afternoon? Besides my cousin and me, I mean.”

  Rob’s forehead furrowed again. “I don’t think so. Why?”

  Judith didn’t know whether or not she should be candid. Finally, she decided that honesty was the best policy. The Estacadas were leaving, in any event. “Something may have been taken from Mr. Hodge’s cabin yesterday. I’m wondering if it’s possible that whoever took it also went into your cabin and got hold of your ocredit cards. Did you lock up when you went swimming?”

  Rob’s face fell. “No. I mean, it seemed so safe here. So isolated—you know. And sure, I left my wallet. I wouldn’t take it to the beach.”

  “That’s what I figured,” Judith said. “If I were you, I’d report those cards as stolen right away. And then I’d apologize to Stacie and promise her a wonderful Canadian honeymoon.”

  The suggestions seemed to buoy Rob. “Good idea,” he said. “Can I use your phone?”

  Judith assured him that he could. She led the way up the stairs with Rob and Renie trailing behind her. Knowing it would take Rob a few minutes to get hold of the credit card companies, Judith and Renie retired to the living room.

  “I wonder,” Judith mused as she sat down on the sofa next to Renie, “if I should check the mail. There might be some reservation requests that I should tend to.” Slipping the rubber band off the first packet, she sorted through four catalogues, three travel brochures, and a letter from the Santa Lucia Chamber of Commerce. The second batch revealed more catalogues, the PUD bill, a real estate flyer, and another letter. It was not, however, addressed to Jeanne Barber, but to H. Burrell Hodge.

  Judith’s jaw dropped.

  TEN

  “I DON’T THINK,” Renie remarked dryly, “that Burrell will be opening that letter. Go ahead, what difference can it make?”

  “It’s from Laurel Harbor,” Judith said in a curious tone as she noted the postmark. “It was mailed yesterday, in care of Jeanne Barber. The return address is Perez Properties.”

  Renie flicked her finger at the real-estate flyer that Judith had placed on the coffee table. “That’s the same outfit who sent this. But it’s only an ad.”

  With a deep intake of breath, Judith tore the envelope open and extracted the one-page letter. “‘Dear Mr. Hodge,”’ she read aloud. “‘We look forward to your arrival in Laurel Harbor on Thursday of this week. In the meantime, we hope you enjoy your stay at Chav
ez Cove. Ella Stovall, our top agent, is anxious to show you the property in which you’ve expressed an interest. The smaller parcel is already listed with us, but we are optimistic about your expansion plans. Our office is located two blocks from the ferry terminal, next door to Ferguson’s Hardware. If you intend to stay over, we would like to take you to dinner. Also, please let us know if you would like us to find you accommodations. It wasn’t clear from your previous correspondence whether or not you already had a reservation in Laurel Harbor or the surrounding area. You may reach me at…” Two telephone numbers followed, one at work, the other at home. The letter was signed Simon Dobler.

  “Hunh!” Judith exclaimed, handing the letter to Renie. “Simon Dobler? He’s got to be related to Elrod. It can’t be a coincidence. That’s not exactly a common name.”

  “Call Simon Dobler. Or…what’s her name?” Renie scanned the single typed sheet. “Ella Stovall.”

  “I have to wait until Rob gets off the phone,” Judith said, craning her neck to see if the young man was still at the kitchen counter. “It looks like he’s on hold.”

  “So are we,” Renie said, putting her feet up on the coffee table. “What do you think? Burrell was involved in real estate?”

  Judith chewed on her forefinger. “I should try to call Adhab again. What if it is a recovery center, the same one Herself is considering? Directory Assistance listed several of them, and now that I think about it, they were all in remote areas—the mountains, the peninsula, I forget where else. Maybe Burrell or his bosses were planning to expand. Maybe,” Judith went on, her voice climbing with excitement, “that’s why he wanted to see Bates Danfield.”

  Renie made a clucking noise with her tongue. “Then Bates lied. He said Burrell was one of his advisors. At least that’s what he implied.”

  “Right,” Judith agreed. “But I understand why Bates would do that. If he owns most of the island, would he want anybody to know he was thinking of selling off property to a rehab center?” Suddenly, her eyes grew wide. “Ah! Now I know what Abu was talking about! Sort of. He said something about a hospital. It was so garbled that I thought he meant he would have had a smaller story if Burrell had been hurt and had had to go to the hospital, but now it was a much bigger article because he’d been killed. But that’s not it, I’ll bet. I’m guessing he meant there were two stories—one about building a recovery center—which he might call a hospital because of his limited English—and the other, the murder itself. I should have listened more closely.”