September Mourn

by Mary Daheim

  Abu had gotten off the phone and picked up a camera. He turned, bowing to the cousins. “Abu go. Cars crash, Jack Rabbit Road, no hurts, some dents, picture to take. And so forth.” He bowed again before scurrying out the door.

  Amused, Judith and Renie looked at each other. “Serena Jones, Judith Flynn, Heraldsgate Hill,” Judith said, unable to resist mimicking Abu, “temporarily put in charge of local newspaper. And so forth. What do we look for next?”

  Renie perched on the edge of the desk Abu had just vacated. “What do you want to know?”

  Judith thought. “A history of the island might come in handy. The paper’s been around since 1910.” She scanned the shelves, but discovered that the bound volumes only went back to 1960. “They must store the rest of them someplace else. Let’s see…” In a flutter of dust, she removed the volume from twenty-five years ago. “Doc’s debacle—we’ll see if the story’s here. Esther said it happened on the first day of fall, so it should be in the last or next to last issue of September.”

  But there was nothing about a woman dying in childbirth or a baby surviving. “The editor might have considered it an invasion of privacy,” Renie noted. “Smaller communities often invoke their own forms of censorship. Did you check the births?”

  “There weren’t any in these editions,” Judith said, pointing to the issues dated September twenty-third and September thirtieth. “I don’t imagine they had a big population explosion around here in those days.”

  On a whim, Renie flipped to the first issue in October. Under a line drawing of a stork was a headline that read “Welcome Baby Islanders.” “There are two births,” Renie said. “‘Mr. and Mrs. Edmund Bolger, Deer Creek Road, Sanchez Island, a girl, Cathleen Lynn, six pounds, ten ounces, September twenty-ninth.’ Little Miss Bolger must have just missed the deadline. Hey!” Renie suddenly grew animated. “Listen to this! ‘Mr. and Mrs. Bates Danfield, Stoneyhenge, Chavez Island, a boy, Elliott Arnold, seven pounds, nine ounces, October second.’” She wiggled her eyebrows at Judith. “Well?”

  Judith rubbed her chin. “Well what? Are you giving me a quiz this afternoon?”

  Renie’s enthusiasm dwindled. “I had an off-the-wall idea. But thinking it through makes it sound stupid. You know—there aren’t all that many babies born around here, at least not back in the sixties. Doc delivers one to an ill-fated mother, and about ten days later, Esther has a boy. It seems strange, that’s all.”

  Except for the hum of the computers, the newspaper office grew silent. Judith was sorting through Renie’s somewhat garbled idea. “Coz,” Judith finally said, “did you look at Marcia Barber Andersen’s wedding picture? How old do you think she is?”

  Renie considered. “Early, mid-twenties. But when was it taken?”

  “I don’t know,” Judith replied slowly. “As I recall, Jeanne mentioned something about her daughter getting married fairly recently, say within the past year. Marcia’s adopted.” Judith gazed expectantly at Renie.

  “So? You think she’s the kid whose mother died?”

  “It’s possible. Except that the Barbers didn’t live here twenty-five years ago.”

  “Then it’s not likely. Would you move to a place because the doctor who delivered your adopted baby happened to run a general store there?”

  Judith sighed. “You’re right. It’s lame. And it’s too much to be a coincidence. I imagine they moved here because Duane’s sister, Flora, was a resident.” Her eyes wandered to the rest of the bound Merchants. “I wish I knew what we were looking for.”

  A man about the same age as the cousins came through the door. He was of medium height with thinning gray hair and a long, melancholy face. “Are you waiting for me?” he asked in a mournful voice.

  “Maybe,” Judith answered brightly. “Are you Mr. Grainger?”

  “I am,” the man responded with something that sounded like regret. “Ned Grainger, editor, publisher, and bearer of burdens. What can I do for you? Not much, probably.”

  “That depends on how long you’ve been in Laurel Harbor,” Judith said, smiling encouragement.

  “Too long,” Grainger replied, sitting down at the other vacant desk. “Newspapering isn’t what it used to be.” He waved a weary hand at the computer screen that was staring back at him. “Who reads? Except off of one of these damned things. It’s depressing.”

  “You’ve been in the business…ah…how long?” Judith prodded.

  “I cut my teeth on a weekly in Utah,” Grainger lamented. “I went on to Idaho, Wyoming, finally here. Everywhere I got work, circulation dropped off. Display ads started to shrink. Even the classifieds dried up. There were cow-pies in Wyoming bigger than our annual advertising income. It was pathetic.”

  “I don’t suppose you were here in the mid-sixties,” Judith said wistfully.

  “There were a few bright moments back in July and August,” Grainger continued, not looking at either of the cousins. “Somebody said we were getting a new coffee-house, maybe one of those discount chains, too. But it never happened. Betsy’s Bridal Boutique and Cold Storage closed down. So did Herbie’s In-And-Out-In-An-Hour-Or-Else Auto Upholstery. It’s just one damned thing after…”

  Judith and Renie tiptoed out of the Merchant. “I don’t even want to ask him about Abu,” Judith said as they reached the sidewalk. “How were his stories, by the way?”

  “Amazingly coherent,” Renie replied. “Skillful editing, I’d guess. What now?”

  “Another quiz question?” Judith grinned at Renie. “How about the county offices? Believe it or not, I’d say they’re located in that dark red building that looks like a big barn up the street. There’s a flag on top.”

  The big red barn was indeed the seat of Santa Lucia County. Despite the style and age of the exterior, the interior was remarkably up-to-date. A tall, thin woman with masses of white hair piled on top of her head led the cousins to the record section, which was on a brand-new computer system. No one was at either of the two terminals, so Judith and Renie commandeered them both.

  “I’ll do deaths,” Judith said. “You take births.”

  Renie wrinkled her pug nose at Judith. “You always get the stiffs. What do I do with the births?”

  “Key in Danfields, Doblers, et al. See what happens.”

  What happened to Judith wasn’t very enlightening. She came up with the death dates for Bates Danfield’s grandfather and parents. She also found Elrod Dobler’s parents and his wife, Flora Barber Dobler. Then she pulled up Duane Barber. Again, there was nothing startling except the mildly interesting information that Duane and his sister, Flora, had been born over on the mainland not far from the gateway to the Santa Lucias.

  “Zip,” she murmured, turning to see how Renie was doing. “Anything hot?”

  “I found the two Danfield kids, Elliott, and the girl, Eugenia, who was born a little over two years after her brother. I also pulled up Simon and Esther Dobler. Esther’s your age, coz.”

  “She looks younger,” Judith grumbled.

  “She does not. And she acts about eighty, especially when she’s drinking gin out of a pudding dish.” Renie typed in another name. “Oh, my God!”

  Judith swiveled in her chair. “What is it?” she demanded, trying to keep her voice down.

  Renie was staring transfixed at the computer. “It’s a birth. For Francesca Emily Wicker, born September 21, 1960…” Grabbing Judith’s arm, Renie shoved her cousin in front of the screen. “Daughter of Francesca Ernestine and Richard Emery Wicker. Coz, Doc delivered his own daughter! And then his wife died! Check the deaths, quick!”

  Judith did. Francesca Ernestine Wicker had died the same day that her daughter was born.

  THIRTEEN

  EMERALD GREEN GRASS covered the sloping knoll that led down from the county courthouse to the street. A sprinkler system was making lazy loops between the driveway that led to the parking lot and a not-quite-life-size statue of an early Spanish explorer. Judith and Renie sat down on a wooden bench that was just out o
f range of the sprinkler. They were both still shaken by their discoveries in the records office.

  “No wonder,” Judith said in a faint voice, “Doc doesn’t want to talk about why he gave up practicing medicine. Imagine! His own wife died while he was delivering their child!”

  Renie was shaking her head and trying to ignore a fox terrier that was sniffing at her latest pair of designer sandals. “I suppose they had an ob-gyn where they lived, but that Doc and his wife—like so many young people—figured they knew it all. So off they went on their camping trip. I’ve heard other stories like that, where women have gone into premature labor on top of a mountain or down in a canyon or stranded on a desert island. Luckily, they usually don’t die.”

  “But Francesca did, and is buried in the private cemetery. I wonder why,” Judith said in a thoughtful voice. “I mean, why not in a cemetery where they lived? Doc didn’t come here—as far as I can piece together—until two or three years after the tragedy.”

  “Sentiment, maybe,” Renie suggested, as the fox terrier attempted an experimental nibble on a bare toe. “Beat it, you little creep! I hate dogs!”

  “The baby was named Francesca, too,” Judith mused. “Now why would Doc give her up?”

  Renie pulled her feet away and tucked them under the bench. “Who said he did?” Panting, the dog crawled under the bench, too. “Go away! Take your stupid fleas with you!”

  “You’re right,” Judith responded in a thoughtful voice. “The girl would be mid-twenties—as we already calculated—and could be on her own by now. But no one has mentioned her. If Doc raised her, surely someone would have alluded to the fact.”

  The dog had gotten hold of the sandal’s left T-strap. Renie pulled on the animal’s ear; the fox terrier tugged at the strap. Renie pulled harder; the strap snapped. Renie swore, swooped down on the dog, and started booting it away from her. The dog began to bark. The left sandal fell off. Renie swore again, louder and more colorfully. An elderly couple who had had just gotten out of an aging sedan, a shirtless young man on rollerblades, and a mother pulling two children in a wagon all stopped to stare. The dog reared back, baring its teeth. Renie, with one sandal on and one sandal off, bared hers. Alarmed, Judith stood up and wondered what she could do to break the stalemate.

  It was June Hennessy who stepped in. Just as Renie got down on all fours and looked as if she were about to bite the dog, Miss Hennessy put two fingers in her mouth and emitted a shrill whistle. “Edelweiss!” she shouted. The dog took one last look at Renie and ran joyfully to Miss Hennessy.

  “My word!” Miss Hennessy exclaimed, looking startled. “It’s you! Both of you! From Chavez Cove! Of course!” Her voice finally lowered a jot. “You mentioned coming to Laurel Harbor. Whatever did you do to aggravate Edelweiss?”

  Having retrieved her sandal and gotten to her feet, Renie had a full head of irate steam. Judith gritted her teeth and stepped between her cousin and Miss Hennessy. “Edelweiss got a little frisky with Mrs. Jones’s footgear. It’s okay—neither of them bit the other one.”

  “‘Okay’?” roared Renie. “What’s ‘okay’ about having another pair of hundred-dollar sandals ruined?” She turned an infuriated countenance on Miss Hennessy. “If it’s so ‘okay,’ how about ponying up the money to replace the damage done by your ugly mutt?”

  Having picked up Edelweiss in her arms, Miss Hennessy grew almost as outraged as Renie. “People who pay extravagant sums for apparel deserve to have their possessions destroyed! It’s decadent! That money could be used to help educate a disadvantaged child! When was the last time you expended some of your obvious surplus to provide schooling for the needy?”

  “Last week,” Renie retorted, “when I wrote three tuition checks for my idiot children! Don’t talk to me about education! My husband’s a teacher, too!”

  The original gawkers had now been joined by another half dozen people, who had begun to murmur among themselves. To Judith’s horror, Abu pulled up in a very old, very battered compact car. It was painted red, white, and blue, with a scattering of stars and large hand-drawn letters that read “Lanrel Harbor Merchaut.” The car kept back-firing even after Abu turned off the ignition.

  “Chavez ladies!” Abu beamed. “Is this fights? Are dangers nigh? And so forth?” He brandished his camera, then began clicking away.

  The arrival of Abu somehow served to calm Renie. Or perhaps it was the telephoto lens pointed in her direction. In any event, Renie gave one last swing of the broken sandal and began to wander off toward the courthouse parking lot. Judith was left to face June Hennessy and Abu’s clicking camera.

  “My cousin isn’t a dog lover,” Judith said with an apologetic smile. “I am, though. My first husband and our son and I always had a dog.” It was true: Judith had only given up keeping dogs when she moved back to the family home on Heraldsgate Hill and Sweetums had tried to turn Mike’s little mutt into Hirsute Helper.

  Miss Hennessy had begun to simmer down. “Edelweiss sometimes gets excited around strangers,” she admitted, stroking the animal’s neck. “He never likes it when I leave him. He’s still very agitated since I returned yesterday. But of course Jeanne Barber doesn’t allow pets at Chavez Cove.”

  “I can understand that,” Judith murmured, keeping one eye on Renie, who was now on the other side of the street reading what looked like an historical marker. Abu, meanwhile, had finished clicking off his roll of film and had taken out a notebook.

  “As long as you’re on Perez,” Miss Hennessy was saying, “you ought to visit Laurel Glen Academy. It’s only two miles out of Laurel Harbor.”

  It took a moment for Judith to remember that Laurel Glen was the name of Miss Hennessy’s private boarding school. “I’d like to,” she fibbed, “but we don’t have much time. I should get back to see if there are any guests coming in tonight or tomorrow. Jeanne wants me to try to fill the unexpected vacancies.”

  An expression of chagrin crept over Miss Hennessy’s face. “Yes, that young couple and I left you in the lurch. As did Mr. Hodge, though I suppose he can’t be blamed.”

  “No,” Judith agreed with a grimace, “he can’t.”

  The onlookers had started drifting away, but Abu was now at Judith’s side. “Here is Miss June Hennessy, Laurel Glen Academy headmistress, and Mrs. Flynn—first name no given, Chavez Cove”—Abu checked his watch which looked to Judith as if it were very expensive—“3:06 P.M., Wednesday, September fourteenth, why is anger? Is political upheaval? Social unrest? Economic chaos? And so forth?”

  “Abu,” Judith said patiently, “this is not news. News is when Man Bites Dog. In this case, woman did not bite dog, though she tried. Therefore, nothing needs to be reported. But thank you, Abu, for asking.” With a purposeful stride, Judith began walking away. It was immaterial to her whether or not June Hennessy followed.

  Miss Hennessy did, however, with Edelweiss trotting at her side. “I understand,” she said in a low voice, “that Deputy McLean hasn’t yet found the killer. I stopped in at the sheriff’s office just now to speak with her.” Miss Hennessy nodded at the barnlike building behind her. “I presume you were also calling upon Miss McLean.”

  “Ah…not exactly,” Judith replied, dismayed by the realization that she hadn’t thought of seeing the deputy while they were in the county offices. “But you say there are no new developments?”

  With her mouth set in a grim line, Miss Hennessy shook her head. “At least none that Miss McLean would reveal to me. Now I feel very foolish indeed for having attempted to help her. She’s far too aggressive and overbearing. Isn’t she aware that it’s as important to be a lady as well as a woman?”

  Judith and Miss Hennessy had reached the street, which had no curb but began where the grass ended. Across the way, Renie wandered about in a large circle, gazing at the sky. “You tried to help Deputy McLean?” Judith asked, seizing upon the one fragment of Miss Hennessy’s discourse which seemed pertinent to the murder investigation. “How?”

  “Perhaps �
�help’ is too strong a word,” Miss Hennessy cautioned. “I merely pointed out that while I was taking a brisk walk Monday evening around six-thirty, I saw someone on the road that goes by what’s now the Carr house. It was growing quite dark, so all I could make out was a form up ahead of me. By the time I reached Stoneyhenge—such a lovely home!—whoever it was had disappeared. Perhaps they turned in at the gate. But I realized later that the person might have been in the vicinity of Chavez Cove about the time of…the unfortunate incident with Mr. Hodge.”

  “You’re certain you couldn’t tell if it was a man or a woman on the road?” Judith asked.

  Miss Hennessy made a rueful face. “Unfortunately, I’m nearsighted. And as I mentioned, it was almost dark. Indeed, on that part of the road with all the trees growing so close together, it’s even darker. Miss McLean asked the same question.”

  For a moment, Judith was silent. “You didn’t happen to go by the Barber house while you were on your walk, did you?”

  “No. I’m sufficiently familiar with the island to know where to cut through from the cabins to the main road,” Miss Hennessy explained. “There’s a footpath—a deer run, really—that goes off through the woods. It was still light enough when I started out to see clearly.”

  Again, Judith lapsed into thought. Three people had now claimed to have seen someone walking on the road, possibly within the time frame of Burrell’s death. Elrod Dobler wasn’t certain about the time, and Rowena Carr wasn’t certain about much of anything. Still, their accounts, along with that of Miss Hennessy’s, indicated that someone had been out on the road, perhaps shortly after the murder.

  “Did you hear a shot while you were walking?” Judith inquired, trying not to become distracted by Edelweiss, who was now running in circles around Miss Hennessy and barking in an imperious manner.

  Miss Hennessy looked startled. “A shot? My, no! Was that odious little man at Stoneyhenge firing his loathsome gun?”

  Judith nodded. “He says he did, but he’s not sure when.” Noting that Renie had walked back toward the central business district, Judith politely took her leave.