Clam Wake

by Mary Daheim

  “Gee,” Renie said as fog settled in over the island, “that was so much fun I think I’ll go back to the house and shave my head with a cheese grater. I’d hate to see the evening end on a low note.”

  Judith was edging her way to the car, trying not to bump into any of the other fleeing residents. “Are the meetings always so heated?” she asked of nobody in particular.

  “Not quite,” Dick replied. “Hey, how about a lift back up to our place? I could use a drink. Mel? Sarah?”

  “Thanks, but we’ll walk,” Sarah called back, a vague figure as the Friedmans kept going into the foggy night. “We need to collapse.”

  The Sedgewicks got into the backseat. “So,” Jane asked after Judith started the car, “how do you like the way we live on The Rock?”

  “It’s . . . rocky,” Judith replied. “I’m afraid to reverse. I can’t see very much behind me.”

  “Wait,” Dick advised. “The building must be almost empty by now. Some of the others may’ve gone out the rear exit.”

  “The problem is,” Jane said, “so many of the people at the meeting are retired or semiretired. They don’t have anything to do except quarrel with each other. And drink,” she added more softly.

  Renie turned to look at the Sedgewicks. “I’m never going to retire. I like what I do and I’ll keep working even if I end up using chalk to make patterns on the sidewalk in front of our house.” She glanced at Judith. “And don’t add that’s what Aunt Gert says I’m already doing.”

  Judith smiled, but kept quiet, slowly easing the car onto the road.

  “You’re lucky,” Dick said. “I didn’t hate my job, but I got sick of listening to bitching, especially from our subcontractors. Tank Hilderschmidt was one of them. A real pain in the butt.”

  “How,” Renie asked, still looking at the Sedgewicks, “did Hank get to chair the meeting? He really is a jerk.”

  “He volunteered,” Jane replied. “Nobody else would do it. He’s not stupid, just rough around the edges. He and his twin, Tank, came up the hard way. Hank worked for the ferry system. He started buying up old mom-and-pop grocery stores. As city real estate prices soared, so did his bank account—and his ego. We couldn’t see if his wife was up front, but she may not have been there. She’s kind of a loner.”

  “I’d be a loner if I was married to Hank,” Renie said, turning around. “Careful, coz. You’re close to the road’s edge on my side.”

  “Got it.” Judith turned the wheel to her left. “I’m curious. When Obsession Shores started almost forty years ago, it wasn’t very expensive to buy in. Have prices risen up here like they have in town?”

  “Not as much,” Dick replied. “We bought before Vance and Vince did, back in ’71. Cost us fifteen grand, including the money to build the house. Now we could get half a mil without much trouble.”

  Judith nodded. “That sounds right. Heraldsgate Hill has some of the most city’s most expensive real estate. It’s all about location.”

  “South slope,” Renie said. “Coz lives on the hill’s rich side. Bill and I live on the north side above the ship canal, otherwise known as the Poor People’s Place. We don’t care—we call it our own little slum.”

  “Nobody up here is megarich,” Jane said. “It’s more blue than white collar among our age group. Then there’s Quentin Quimby. Nobody knows how much money that old coot has.”

  Judith stopped at the Sedgewick house. “How did he earn it?”

  Dick guffawed. “You don’t know?” Seeing the cousins shake their heads, he continued. “Over a hundred years ago, what’s now Obsession Shores was the Quimby family’s small farm. In the late sixties, after the senior Quimby died, Quentin’s wife, Blanche, got fed up with trying to eke out a living from a few cows and chickens. She insisted they start selling off the property. But not in the usual way. It was more like the English do it. In effect, you buy in for a stated amount of years. Face it—now that his wife’s dead, old Quimby owns Obsession Shores.”

  Chapter 6

  The cousins declined the Sedgewicks’ invitation for drinks. Even though it wasn’t yet eight o’clock, Judith was tired. She was also anxious to put the car in the garage for the night. The drive back to the house was short, but the fog had settled in, preventing visibility of anything much beyond the Subaru’s hood.

  “What a waste of time!” she exclaimed after they entered the house. “I realize I’m old enough to retire, but like you, I don’t want to sit around all day staring at Joe. We’re lucky our mates work part-time.”

  “You bet,” Renie responded, flopping on the sofa after grabbing a Pepsi from the fridge. “Otherwise, we might kill each other.”

  “Don’t say that,” Judith said grimly. “For all we know, Edna whacked Ernie.”

  “Good plan,” Renie murmured. “Get him out of the house—which maybe he didn’t do very often this time of year. No mess to clean up afterward. Maybe you’ve already solved this one.”

  “That would be too easy,” Judith said, forgoing the too-low-to-the-floor recliner for an overstuffed chair on the other side of a small table.

  “Bill loves coming up here,” Renie said. “At home, he takes long walks around the hill, but what he likes best is a beach. One time when we were up here, he was gone for over two hours. It was bliss. Too much of a good thing, as my dad always said, is ungood. Unless it’s honeycomb covered in dark chocolate. Don’t they have a candy store in Langton?”

  “I think so, but we’re not supposed to go anywhere until the sheriff’s department says so.”

  “That’s too dumb. Who’d know?”

  “Coz . . .” Judith gave Renie a hard stare.

  Renie ignored the look. “We can go tomorrow. Hey, maybe for once the real detectives will find the killer. There’s no dark chocolate in this house. I looked. That’s how I found the taffy. Auntie Vance watches her weight, but she still tastes everything she cooks as she goes along.”

  Judith sighed. “Now I’m hungry for more of that pie,” she said, getting up and going to the kitchen. “You want some?”

  “Not yet,” Renie replied. “I’ll get a megasnack later.”

  “Which often turns into another meal,” Judith pointed out, reaching for a plate above the counter. Her hand fell away. “Coz! Did you write something on Auntie Vance’s magnet notepad on the cupboard?”

  “No. Why would I?”

  “Come look. I don’t want to touch it.”

  “What the . . . ?” Renie got up and hurried to join Judith.

  The hand-printed note in black ink said BUTT OUT OR ELSE!!!

  “Damn!” Renie said under her breath. “So much for leaving the door unlocked. That’s creepy.”

  Judith rubbed at her strong chin. “Yes, it is. We’re locking up tonight. We’ve got to show this to Jacobson. I wonder if we should notify the sheriff’s office now?”

  “Why not?” Renie was already at the door, making sure it was now locked. “It might help eliminate us as suspects. If we really are, I mean.”

  “You’re right. Hand me the phone book from the shelf by the door. I don’t want to make a 911 call. That’s overkill. So to speak.”

  There were several listings for the county sheriff’s department. The headquarters was located in the largest town on the island, some thirty miles to the north. There were two other stations, the nearest being in Langton. Judith dialed the number, but a recording informed her the office was closed and to call the main number or try again between 8 A.M. and 5:30 P.M.

  “I forget what life is like away from the big city,” she grumbled, dialing the headquarters listing. “People in small towns and rural areas do live at a slower . . . Yes,” she said, changing gears as a reedy-voiced woman answered. “Is Lieutenant Jacobson available?” He wasn’t. Judith asked if he could be reached. She was informed he was off duty. Could someone else help? Judith started to say yes—and thought better of it. “No. I’ll get in touch with him tomorrow.” She rang off and began perusing the island directory
for Jacobsons.

  Renie looked puzzled. “He should’ve left his card. Isn’t that what Joe used to do when he was on the force?”

  “I’m not sure they did that back then,” Judith said. “There are four Jacobsons, two with the initial E. Same family, maybe. Erik, right?”

  “Yes,” Renie agreed as the phone rang.

  Judith grabbed the receiver. “Hello?” she all but shouted.

  “Jacobson here,” he responded in his now-familiar calm, authoritative tone. “You called?”

  “I did, Lieutenant,” she said to alert Renie. “How did you find out?”

  “I’m off duty, but still on the case. Whoever answered the phone noticed it came from Obsession Shores. What were you calling about?”

  Suddenly feeling foolish, Judith took a deep breath. “I don’t mean to be an alarmist, but after we returned from a meeting at the clubhouse, we found a rather menacing note that someone left here.”

  Jacobson asked what the note said. Judith read it to him, adding that it was printed. “Where was this note found?” the officer inquired.

  “On a kitchen cupboard door,” she replied.

  “Did you leave the door unlocked?”

  “Yes.” Judith winced. “My aunt didn’t leave us a key.”

  A brief silence seemed to echo over the line. “Our longtime residents have some bad habits,” Jacobson finally said. “They’re living in a time warp. The island has changed with the population growth. I’ll stop by in about ten minutes.” He rang off.

  Judith looked at Renie. “Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince apparently think we’re still in the twentieth century. According to Jacobson, The Rock really isn’t paradise.”

  Renie shrugged. “I never thought it was. Most people who move to retirement communities insist it’s heaven on earth. They don’t want their judgment questioned. Remember when Bill took that seminar before he retired? The first thing is don’t move, not even out of your house, let alone out of the area. Second is don’t move anywhere that doesn’t have nearby medical facilities. Third is—”

  “I know, I know,” Judith interrupted with a wave of her hand. “Do not buy an RV if you’re half blind or scared to get your driver’s license renewed. What we have to do now is figure out how to secure the house. No access to the main floor from the basement, but that still leaves the front door and the back door in the laundry room.”

  Renie was unwrapping more taffy. “It’s a good thing Bill never wanted to buy an RV. They don’t have room service and honor bars.”

  “You’re spoiled,” Judith declared. “Hillside Manor doesn’t have those amenities either.”

  “That’s why I’ve never stayed at your B&B,” Renie said before popping a piece of taffy into her mouth.

  “You’ve stayed overnight with me there.”

  “Ewahfwee.”

  “Yes, I know it was free.” Judith scowled at the door. “Maybe we can put the overstuffed chair in front of the door for added security.”

  Renie swallowed the taffy. “Hey, if they really want to get in, they can break a window.” She paused, suddenly looking alert. “I think I hear a car. It’s sure quiet around here at night.”

  “It’s quiet during the day. Except for finding corpses and going to meetings,” Judith added, dropping her voice.

  “You think the walls have ears?” Renie asked. “What does that mean? Really. Think about it.”

  “No, I won’t,” Judith retorted, moving to the door. “I should have left it unlocked. Then Jacobson could just walk in.”

  “Darn,” Renie said. “He might give us police protection.”

  “You want to spend the night with a sheriff’s deputy?”

  Renie shrugged. “Why not? You’ve been sleeping with a cop for years. Jacobson’s not that bad-looking.”

  After the first rap sounded, Judith opened the door. “Come in,” she said, stepping aside. “You must think we’re foolish.”

  “No,” Jacobson replied, nodding at Renie, who had shoved some more taffy in her mouth. “Your relatives are, though. We’ve had three break-ins this past month on the other side of the bay at Scratchit Head. Where’s the note?”

  Judith pointed to the cupboard. “I didn’t touch it,” she assured him. “We haven’t spent much time in the kitchen area since we got back from the clubhouse. You might want to check the counters for—”

  Jacobson paused in the act of putting on a pair of latex gloves and glared at Judith. “You think I don’t know my job, Mrs. Flynn?”

  Embarrassed, Judith leaned against the counter. “Sorry. I guess I . . . watch . . . too . . . much TV.” The last words were mumbled. She grabbed Renie by the arm. “Let’s sit down.”

  Assuming their previous places, both cousins tried to keep from watching Jacobson. That was not a problem for Renie, who was eating more taffy, but Judith had to force herself to keep her eyes from darting into the kitchen area. A glance at her watch showed it was 8:25. Somehow it seemed as if it should be much later.

  “Okay,” Jacobson said as he put the note in his evidence kit. “I’d better take your prints now. I assume neither of you is on file anywhere?”

  Renie almost choked on her taffy. Judith gaped at the deputy. “Well . . . actually, we may be,” she finally replied. “You see, we were once involved in a homicide case. Well, more than once, but somewhere along the way we had to have our prints taken.”

  Jacobson had come out from behind the counter. “Which jurisdiction was that, Mrs. Flynn?”

  “Offhand, I’m . . . not sure.” She winced. “Do you remember, coz?”

  Renie swallowed the taffy. “The family event at the B&B?”

  “Which one?” Judith asked.

  “The . . . first one, with Otto Brodie and his ghastly gang?”

  Judith thought for a moment. “Maybe. Or was it the one up at church with the Easter Bunny?”

  Renie shook her head. “I think it was more recent. Maybe when Herself found the dead guy under the tree in her yard.”

  “I don’t think so. It had to be before that. What about the body at the apartment house down at the bottom of the hill?”

  “The corpse behind the wall or the one on the bed?”

  “Hold it,” Jacobson ordered in less than his normal calm tone. Apparently, he felt the need to sit down in the recliner. “Maybe it’d be easier for me to check you through the system.”

  “Really, we don’t mind,” Judith insisted. She gave a start. “Wait,” she said, looking at Renie. “Your fingerprints don’t take, right?”

  Her cousin nodded. “I lack grooves.” She wiggled her thumbs as if to prove the point. Or, Judith thought, the lack of . . . But she decided it was best not to think about how really weird Renie could often be.

  “Forget it,” Jacobson said, with a hint of exasperation. “I ran you two through the system. You’re married to a retired homicide detective, Mrs. Flynn. I assume that’s how you became acquainted with murder cases. We law enforcement types try not to take our work home with us, but it happens. Sometimes we need to vent in a safe place.”

  “Yes, of course,” Judith agreed. “I understand.”

  “As for you, Mrs. Jones,” he continued, “your husband is a psychologist. While he probably wouldn’t breach patient confidentiality, he might occasionally share certain symptoms he’s treating.”

  “True,” Renie conceded. “He never names names. Bill’s very professional. It’s always Mr. Goofball or Mrs. Nut Job or Ms. I-Can’t-Believe-She’s-Allowed-in-a-Public-Venue.”

  “Ah . . . right.” Jacobson opened his notebook and turned back to Judith. “What time did you leave here?”

  “About ten to seven,” Judith said, though she hadn’t really noticed. “It’s a short drive to the clubhouse, as you know.”

  Jacobson nodded absently. “What time did you get back?”

  The cousins exchanged glances. “Seven-thirtyish?” Judith replied.

  The deputy made a note. “Did you leave the lights on?”


  “Yes,” Judith said. “The porch light and the ones that are on now.”

  “That,” Jacobson said, “was a short meeting. Did you leave early?”

  “No,” Judith replied. “The meeting ended abruptly because it got . . . sort of out of control.”

  He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Can you explain why?”

  Judith took a deep breath. “It was supposed to be a vote on whether a sewer system should replace the current septic tanks. Before they could do that, there were some people who felt they didn’t have enough information to cast an intelligent vote.”

  “Or,” Renie put in, “they didn’t have enough intelligence, period. All hell broke loose.”

  Jacobson sat up straight again. “In what way?”

  “Arguing and shouting,” Judith replied. “I think one woman may’ve fainted. Then the chairperson—Hank Hilderschmidt—adjourned the meeting. Sort of, that is. He tossed his gavel and walked out. Everybody headed for the exits.”

  “I see.” The deputy frowned. “Then it had nothing to do with Ernest Glover’s death. I thought they might have canceled the meeting, given the circumstances.”

  Judith realized that Jacobson found the Obsession Shores residents’ behavior odd. “Hank did ask for a moment of silence in Mr. Glover’s memory.”

  “In a half-assed way,” Renie said. “I’m using our aunt’s terminology here. A less obscene version thereof, by the way.”

  Jacobson evinced mild interest in the comment. “Are you insinuating that Mr. Hilderschmidt didn’t like Mr. Glover—or that the deceased wasn’t well liked in general?”

  Renie glanced at Judith. “You answer that one, coz,” she said. “You’re a better people person than I am.”

  Judith frowned. “It’s hard to say. We were near the back. Renie and I don’t know these people, except for the Sedgewicks and the Friedmans. A few others have been pointed out to us over the years, including Mr. Glover. But that’s it.”

  The deputy again nodded before looking at the few notes he’d jotted down. “Can you be more precise about when you returned here?”

  Judith turned to Renie. “Maybe a little before seven thirty? We were sort of in the middle of the pack going out the main door. Some of the others went out the rear exit where Hank Hilderschmidt had gone. Oh! I see what you mean. It’s unlikely that anyone attending the meeting could also have come here to leave the note.”