Clam Wake

by Mary Daheim

  “Ben’s Buns?” Judith said in surprise. “Oh, yes, of course.”

  Brose nodded sagely. “You betcha. Kept the operation small, only marketed on the West Coast. I sold out to some big wheels from California, but they keep up the quality. I hope,” he added in a less certain tone, before polishing off his drink in two big gulps. He poked his wife again. “Come on, sweat pea, we better get ourselves in gear. It’s gonna be serious drink time in a few. Better hoist one for ol’ Ern.”

  Fou-fou had already drained her glass. “Why? I didn’t think you liked him,” she said, letting her husband haul her up from the sofa.

  “Awww . . . Ern was a good guy. I just liked kiddin’ around with him.” He turned to the cousins, who had gotten up. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the hit. Nice way to start the evenin’.”

  After the door was closed behind them, Judith and Renie stared at each other. “That doofus ran a business?” Renie gasped in disbelief. “Thank goodness I never buy Ben’s Buns.”

  “I do,” Judith said. “They’re . . . good. I mean, a bun is a bun. But I wonder if Brose is putting on an act.”

  “It’s a good one. Who else but a dumb cluck would marry Fou-fou?”

  Judith collected the empty glasses. “She is a bit strange. I’m wondering about these Obsession Shores people. Do the retirees just sit around during the winter and wait for the cocktail hour?”

  Renie grimaced. “There isn’t much else to do in January. I’d hate to be stuck here. If you like sports and culture, it’s a round trip via ferry and a long drive into town.”

  “That costs—” Another knock interrupted Judith. “Now what?” she muttered, opening the door to a stocky six-footer in a sheriff’s uniform.

  “Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Mrs. Flynn or Mrs. Jones?”

  “Flynn,” Judith replied. “She’s Jones. Come in. What’s going on?”

  The officer entered, removing his hat and introducing himself as Lieutenant Erik Jacobson. “I believe you two found the body of Ernest Glover earlier this afternoon. Is that correct?”

  Judith nodded. “Do we need to fill out a form?”

  “I have some questions for you.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Glover didn’t die of natural causes. He was stabbed to death. I’m afraid we’re talking about a homicide.”

  Chapter 5

  Renie staggered, grabbing Judith’s arm. “Oh, no! I feel faint!”

  Judith managed not to glare at her cousin. “Maybe you should sit down, dear,” she said, trying to free her arm without wrenching it from Renie’s grasp.

  Renie let go, leaning against the counter. “I’ll be all right,” she said in a feeble imitation of her usual voice. “It’s just such a shock.”

  “Maybe,” Judith suggested to Jacobson, “we should all sit down.”

  The lieutenant nodded, following Judith and an unusually docile Renie into the living room area. The cousins sat on the sofa; Jacobson lowered himself into the recliner before taking out a notebook from the inside of his jacket and clicking a ballpoint pen. Apparently the island’s law enforcement agency relied on old-fashioned handwriting and real paper. After jotting down their names, addresses, phone numbers, and relationship to the Webers, he asked why they had gone to the beach that afternoon.

  Judith responded. “We’re natives. Rain doesn’t bother us. We wanted to walk a bit before it got too stormy.”

  Jacobson nodded. “Several people had done that in the early afternoon, including the victim. The locals know when a storm is brewing.” He paused. “Mr. Glover hadn’t been dead for more than half an hour.”

  “You mean,” Judith said, “there were footprints around the scene?”

  He nodded again. “The high tide usually comes close to where you found Mr. Glover’s body. There’d been a break in the weather before noon, so some prints were still faintly visible.”

  Judith leaned forward slightly. “I don’t understand. The rain didn’t wash them away? Or do you mean the prints were away from the body? Could you take casts of them?”

  If the questions surprised Jacobson, he didn’t show it. His ruddy face with its sharp green eyes remained impassive. Judith guessed him to be in his early forties. There was no gray in the auburn buzz cut, though the lines around his wide mouth and broad forehead indicated he laughed and worried in equal measure.

  “At least four other people saw Mr. Glover on the beach,” he said, ignoring her second question. “What time did you go down there?”

  “A little after two,” Judith replied. “We found the body only a few minutes after getting to the beach.”

  “Two-oh-nine,” Renie said sitting up straight and no longer sounding feeble. “I called 911 at two ten. They showed up ten minutes later. But you know that already.” She folded her arms and leaned back on the sofa. “I think I’ve recovered from the shock.”

  “So it seems,” Jacobson murmured. “Yes, I’ve noted the time that you called. You were described by the 911 responder as ‘calm.’”

  “I suffer from delayed reaction,” Renie said with a straight face.

  Judith wondered if it wasn’t better if Renie didn’t talk. “My cousin performs well in a crisis,” she asserted.

  Jacobson didn’t comment. Instead he asked if they’d seen anyone else on the beach. They hadn’t, Judith said. “But,” she continued, “we saw no blood. Where was he stabbed?”

  “In the chest,” Jacobson replied. “Three times. He bled out into the sand. You wouldn’t have seen it. The EMTs didn’t notice until they were pulling him out onto the gurney.”

  Judith grimaced. “Did you find the weapon?”

  He remained impassive. “Not yet.”

  “I wonder,” Judith said, “if he died right away. He must’ve, if we saw no signs of a struggle, right?”

  The officer frowned slightly. “You’re unusually observant, Mrs. Flynn. I take it you didn’t know Mr. Glover?”

  Judith shook her head. “I’d actually seen him on the noon ferry. He looked vaguely familiar and I recalled he might’ve been pointed out to me on a previous visit. I never met him, though.”

  “And you, Mrs. Jones?” he asked.

  “No. Same thing—a passing remark by our aunt and uncle.”

  Jacobson studied his notes, frowning slightly before speaking again. “Did you see anyone or anything unusual after you left here?”

  “We didn’t leave from here,” Judith replied. “We’d been at Dick and Jane Sedgewicks’ house. They’re close friends of the Webers. We’ve known them fairly well over the years, too.”

  He gave another nod. “I’ll talk to them as well. We’re questioning everyone in the development.”

  “How many deputies are here?” Judith asked.

  “I have two working with me today.” He made as if to close the notebook, but stopped, glancing first at Judith and then at Renie. “Did you touch the body?”

  “No,” Judith said. “I thought we should take his pulse, but Renie pointed out that being facedown, Mr. Glover couldn’t breathe and therefore he must be dead.”

  Jacobson seemed puzzled. “An odd reaction, don’t you think?”

  “Why?” Renie demanded sharply.

  The officer fixed her with a hard stare. “Most people don’t assume someone lying on the ground is dead,” he stated with a hint of incredulity. “They react by thinking the person is unconscious.”

  Renie lifted her short chin. “Try logic. It’s my cousin’s strong suit, by the way. I have some, too. It runs in the family. If someone is obviously unable to breathe unless he’s got a tube in the ground that goes all the way to Beijing, then he’s probably a goner.”

  Jacobson and Renie stared—or glared—at each other for what seemed to Judith like a long time. Finally, he closed the notebook and stood up. “Thanks for your cooperation. We’ll be in touch.” He started for the door. “You’re not going anywhere, are you? That is, outside of Obsession Shores.”

  Judith struggled a bit getting up to her feet. “W
e might go to the grocery store up at the junction or into Langton.”

  “Don’t. We’ll let you know when you can leave Obsession Shores.”

  Jacobson opened the door and strode off.

  At least he didn’t slam the damned thing behind him,” Judith said, closing the door. “Are we actual suspects?”

  “Sounds like it,” Renie said, putting her feet up on the sofa. “It wouldn’t be the first time.”

  “Coz!” Judith cried. “It’s one thing to find another corpse, but now I have to prove we’re innocent. That means—”

  “You have to start sleuthing,” Renie finished for her. “Go ahead. You’d do it anyway. I wonder if Auntie Vance has enough Pepsi? If she doesn’t, that could be a problem.”

  “For you,” Judith snapped, pacing the living area. “I can drink water. I usually do. It’s better for me than pop.”

  Renie ignored the comment and propped herself up with a couple of throw pillows. “How many real suspects are there? I’d guess well under a hundred, if you don’t count kids. Probably not too many visitors this time of year. You can do it.”

  Judith sank back into the recliner. “I do not intend to interrogate a hundred people. I couldn’t. Besides, some of them might not have known Ernie very well. This is like any other neighborhood. People bond through common interests, not addresses.”

  “See? You’ve already eliminated half of the suspects. Keep going. Don’t forget, some of these houses are vacant because their owners went south for the winter.”

  Judith turned stony-faced. “Okay. I’ll start with you. What did you notice on the way to and along the beach before we found Ernie?”

  Renie gazed up at the open beamed ceiling. “Not much. I tend to keep my eyes on the ground, especially when I’m on unfamiliar turf. In case you’ve never noticed, I’m kind of a klutz.”

  “That’s because when you get in gear, you rush around too much,” Judith said, still annoyed. “Are you sure you didn’t notice anything?”

  “Yes.” Renie turned to look at her cousin. “And you?”

  Judith made a face. “I didn’t either. The locals probably stayed inside because they know when a storm’s coming. Heck, we should’ve known better than to go out.” She paused, her anger dissipated. “Why didn’t I roll down the window and say hello to Ernie when I saw him on the ferry? I’m usually outgoing and friendly.”

  Renie had gotten up to rummage in the cupboards, apparently seeking snacks. “Because you didn’t know he’d be your next victim?”

  “So he is,” Judith muttered. “I wish I could remember if I’ve met Mrs. Glover. Edna, that is.”

  Renie had found some saltwater taffy. She popped a piece into her mouth. “Widonyaser?”

  “I won’t ask her if we’ve met,” Judith shot back. “The poor woman’s husband just died. I’d feel cheeky barging in on her.” She paused again while Renie sat back down. “But we should offer condolences on behalf of Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince.”

  Renie had swallowed the taffy. “Now?”

  Judith shook her head. “Tomorrow. Even I’m not that pushy.”

  Her cousin merely shrugged. Judith started going over the notes she’d made at the Sedgewicks’. The names were no longer those of mere neighbors. Now they were the names of suspects.

  The storm had passed over shortly after Jacobson left. Judith and Renie sat down to dinner at exactly six, lapping up Auntie Vance’s legendary beef noodle bake. As usual, there was enough left to last for two or even three meals. The boysenberry pie was predictably delicious. They finished cleaning up from dinner by six thirty, with ample time to get to the seven o’clock meeting. Jane had called shortly after five to assure Judith and Renie there was no cancellation. She also gave directions to the clubhouse in case they’d forgotten where it was located. Which, in fact, they had. Neither cousin had ever been inside the gray frame building that stood at the south end of the development.

  “Nondescript,” Renie murmured when they pulled in next to a big black SUV. “Don’t they have an architect living around here?”

  “The clubhouse was the original sales office. They enlarged it later.”

  “They sure didn’t improve it,” Renie said, before exiting the car.

  Judith waited to respond until after they were both on the paved path that led to the entrance. But before she could say anything, she saw Mel and Sarah Friedman coming their way.

  “Hi,” Judith called out. “How was the doctor’s appointment?”

  Both Friedmans laughed as they joined the cousins. “Are there no secrets at Obsession Shores?” Sarah asked, after the quartet exchanged hugs. “It was fine, the surgery’s set for early February. I asked Dr. Miles to prescribe tranquilizers for me because Mel will be a terrible patient.”

  “Enough with the griping,” Mel remarked in his deep, dry voice. “We heard you two found poor Ernie Glover on the beach this afternoon.”

  Judith blinked against the bright lights in the small clubhouse lobby. One wall featured a collection of glass balls nestled in beach netting. The rest of the decor consisted of homely watercolors that Judith figured had been done by local amateurs. It appeared that there was one large meeting room with a tiny kitchen and a restroom.

  Judith was discreet. “It’s so sad. Have you talked to his wife?”

  “Yes,” Sarah replied, lowering her voice as they entered the main room, which was beginning to fill up. “We stopped by before we came here. A terrible shock. Poor Edna.”

  Judith noticed the Sedgewicks coming in behind Quentin Quimby’s son and daughter-in-law, who were pushing the old man in his wheelchair. Jane waved to the cousins and the Friedmans.

  Sarah waved back, indicating the next-to-last row of chairs. “At least we’ve got Jane and Dick on our side,” Mel said under his breath.

  “Who’s at the end of the row?” Renie asked as they kept moving.

  “Kent and Suzie Logan,” Sarah said softly. She led the way, exchanging greetings with the Logans. Mel sat beside his wife, while the cousins followed. Several sets of eyes stared at the newcomers. Renie had just sat down when an elderly couple finished filling up the row.

  “Johnsons,” Mel whispered to Judith and Renie. “Both deaf.”

  “So why are you whispering?” Renie said in her normal voice. A half-dozen heads swiveled to look at her. She gave them a toothy, if phony, smile. “Hi,” she all but shouted. “Isn’t this democracy thing fun?” They all turned around again. “Guess not,” she declared loudly.

  “Coz . . .” Judith said in a low, warning voice.

  “Fine.” Renie crossed her arms and scowled. The Johnsons didn’t seem to notice.

  Judith gave a start as a tall, sixtyish, fair-haired man banged a gavel at a rostrum up front. “I’m calling this meeting to order,” he barked. “You got one minute to plant your butts in the seats before we have a moment of silence for the dearly departed etcetera.”

  “Hank Hilderschmidt,” Mel said out of the side of his mouth. “Honorary jerk. His wife is Hilda.”

  “Okay,” Hank said, scratching at one of his long sideburns. “Let’s do it. Heads down. Ernest Glover, rest in peace.” He raised his left arm, eyes on his watch.

  “Jeez,” Renie murmured, but bowed her head.

  A shrill voice shattered the sudden silence. “What the hell is going on now? Is this some damned church? Where are we? What’s Hank doing up there? Where’s Hilda?”

  Judith’s eyes slid to her right, where she could see part of Quentin Quimby and his wheelchair at the end of the row near the wall. Frantic whispering ensued, probably from his son, who apparently was seated in the last row. At least a couple of stifled laughs could be heard, one of them from the silver-haired man in front of her.

  “Time’s up,” Hank announced, banging his gavel again. “Meeting’s called to order. All those in favor of skipping a big blah-blah discussion raise their hands.”

  A dozen or more hands went up from Judith’s estimate of at least forty p
eople. Renie was among them. Hank banged his gavel. “Motion carried. Let’s vote. The little woman will pass out—”

  “She’d better,” yelled a male voice up front. “Stick it, Hank. The damned motion failed. Shut the hell up and let some of us talk.”

  “Frank Leonetti,” Mel whispered to Judith. “Pro on the issue.”

  Judith nodded. Renie was staring straight ahead, a sure sign that her brain was somewhere other than in the clubhouse.

  “Hey,” Hank responded, “we’ve talked this sucker to death. Let’s get it over with. Yea or nay. It’s not real hard to choose.”

  Kent Logan stood up. “Hold on, Mr. Chairman,” he said in a resonating voice that Judith figured had served him well as a courtroom lawyer. “I suggest we not vote for the measure this evening.” Several people started speaking at once, but Hank banged his gavel—and Kent kept talking. “The so-called study for the sewer system wasn’t specific in details. Putting together a couple of estimates from out-of-area contractors isn’t an efficient way to determine cost or effectiveness.”

  Kent sat down. A few people clapped. Hank frowned. Frank Leonetti spoke up again: “Yeah, especially when one of the estimates was from somebody’s brother-in-law in the big city.”

  Hank glowered. “Hey, leave Tank out of this. He does great work.”

  Judith barely heard the last few words. A hubbub had begun and was growing more hostile by the second. Quentin Quimby stood up, yelling obscenities. A female voice wailed, “I feel faint!” Hank started banging his gavel in a futile effort to restore order. He finally tossed it aside, grabbed his parka, and stalked out through the rear door.

  “I guess,” Dick practically shouted after tapping Judith on the shoulder, “the meeting’s over. Let’s go.”

  A dozen people had made the same decision, rushing to the main door. The last Judith saw of Quimby, his son and daughter-in-law were propping him up against the wall. He was still cussing, apparently at his overturned wheelchair. The cousins, along with the Sedgewicks and Friedmans, escaped the clubhouse without getting trampled.