Clam Wake

by Mary Daheim

  Judith joined him in the toast. “Did you work today? Being a weekend, I mean.”

  Hank shook his head. “Nope. Not so busy this time of year. Probably won’t do much now until the weather gets better. Easter comes along in April. Might be nice by then.”

  Judith noticed that Hank had downed almost half of his drink in the first gulp. “Why did you get to chair the meeting?”

  “Hard to get everybody to agree on much of anything around here,” Hank replied. “Too damned many fractions.”

  Judith assumed he meant factions. “Is that because some younger people have moved here in recent years?”

  Hank dug a finger into his left ear. “Well . . . in a way. Those folks got what you call more liberal ideas. That makes ’em kind of fractious.”

  Judith figured Hank was right the first time. “Such as?” she asked.

  Hank almost polished off the Scotch in another big gulp. “You know, who can buy in. Not that there’s a rule about color or stuff like that, but we’ve kept to our own kind. If you know what I mean.” He winked.

  “That’s it!” Renie yipped, vaulting off the sofa and hurtling toward the kitchen table. “Say it, Hilderschmidt. What is your own kind other than stupid?”

  “Hey!” Hank’s long face darkened. “What’s with you? We got lots of different people. Jews, Catholics, even a damned atheist.”

  “They’re all white,” Renie snapped. “Has anybody sued you dolts?”

  Hank finished his drink and stood up. “How would I know? Ask that old goat Quimby. He’s the one who really runs the show. I just live here.” He stumbled a bit over his own feet before heading out the door.

  Renie hurried to set the lock. “Why have we never gotten a whiff of what really goes on up here?” she demanded.

  “Vance and Vince may ignore it. Or else they’re embarrassed.”

  “I vote for Door Number Two,” Renie said, having secured the house for the night. “Face it—they’re like most people. They don’t want to let on that this place isn’t ideal.”

  Judith had gotten to her feet. “I’ve never asked what goes on here, besides clam digging and putting out crab pots and deer eating rosebushes. That’s the trouble—we all take things for granted.”

  “True,” Renie muttered, heading for the sofa and grabbing the remote. “Let’s watch something mindless and forget about all this mess. I’m beat.” Click, click, click. . .

  The cousins settled in to watch Mississippi Burning. Somehow it diverted Judith from thinking about Ernie Glover’s murder. The movie was set in the past. A killer lurked in the present.

  Chapter 8

  To Judith’s surprise, she slept like a brick that night. Renie had spared her the gum chewing by going to bed in the spare room. It was almost nine by the time Judith had showered, dressed, and gone into the kitchen. Glancing outside, she noted overcast gray skies but no rain. Assuming Renie would sleep until at least ten, she made a breakfast of bacon, toast, and coffee. Renie could fend for herself.

  Shortly after ten thirty, Jane Sedgewick called. “You survived the night,” she said, sounding faintly relieved.

  “Yes,” Judith replied. She didn’t want to mention the second visit from Jacobson—or the threatening note—but acknowledged Hank’s visit.

  “What,” Jane inquired archly, “did that jackass want?”

  “A drink,” Judith said. “He thought the Webers were home.”

  “His wife probably drank all their booze. She wasn’t at the meeting last night. Vance thinks Hilda’s pass-out time is early evening, then she gets up at five in the morning to go on the prowl. Your aunt takes more of an interest in people than I do. It’s her nature. I spent my career as an executive secretary dealing with personnel issues. I vowed not to get mixed up in other people’s problems when I retired.”

  “Do you know what’s the point of Hilda’s prowling?” Judith asked.

  Jane sighed. “No. She walks the beach for hours even if the weather’s on the crummy side. When she goes home, she probably starts drinking. Their son used to visit every few months, but I haven’t seen him in ages. Hilda’s weird, very unfriendly. Maybe she collects shells or bottle caps. I keep my distance.”

  Judith refrained from further comment and changed the subject. “I intend to call on Mrs. Glover today. Do you think that’d be okay? Her daughter stopped in last night to borrow a heating pad.”

  “Why not go see her?” Jane said without hesitation. “Vance and Vince would do that, so they’d appreciate you filling in for them.” She laughed, a throaty sound. “In fact, Vance is going to be madder than a wet cat when she finds out she’s missed the biggest excitement around here in ages.”

  “Uh . . . I suppose she’d want a piece of the action,” Judith admitted. “Auntie Vance has never been one to avoid risks.”

  “Curiosity seems to run in your family. Say, would you and Renie like to come for dinner tonight? I’ve got some T-bones in the freezer.”

  “That’s kind of you to offer, but Auntie Vance left—”

  “Vance left, period,” Jane interrupted. “Sure, you’ve got enough beef noodle bake to feed half of Obsession Shores, but Dick and I are bored. Come around five thirty and have cocktails first. No arguments.”

  To make her point, Jane hung up.

  “Who,” a tousled Renie demanded from the hallway, “was that calling in the middle of the night?”

  “Jane,” Judith replied. “And did you have to wear those scary tiger stripes? It’s a wonder you don’t have nightmares about getting stalked in the jungle.”

  “This is my travel set,” Renie snarled, plucking at the marabou-trimmed sleeves of her peignoir. “I dreamed I was on safari. The one we never went on because I got married instead. What was I thinking?” She shook her head and went into the bathroom.

  Judith decided to unlock the door and step outside. The gloomy skies weren’t as threatening as her cousin in the morning, especially in those orange and black tiger stripes.

  The air smelled damp, but not particularly cold. Judith checked the thermometer next to the big front window. It registered forty-nine. No chance of snow, which was a relief. Maybe they could drive into Langton and browse the shops.

  “Hey!” a booming voice called out from somewhere below.

  Judith scanned the road just below the house. A very tall, very broad man was striding in her direction. “Where’s Vance?” he shouted, his butterscotch-colored hair ruffled by the morning breeze.

  “Nebraska,” Judith called back. “Who are you?”

  “Zach Bendarek,” he replied, taking the stairs two at a time. “You the cleaning woman?”

  Judith managed to stifle a sharp retort, awed if not intimidated by Zach, who was at least half a foot taller than her five-foot-nine. “I’m Judith Flynn, Mrs. Weber’s niece. My cousin and I are house-sitting.”

  “I’ll be damned.” He held out a hand. “Sorry ’bout that. Been out of town for a few days. I scout.”

  Judith winced as he crushed her fingers in his huge paw. “Scout?”

  “Right. High school athletes, even some junior high kids. Played the game twenty-odd years ago. Kind of an odd time for me, now that I think about it. Got the coffeepot on?”

  “Yes, come in.”

  He went first, which was a relief to Judith. She was afraid he might mow her down if she led the way. But Zach stopped in his tracks just inside the door. Judith almost ran into him.

  “What the hell is that?” he asked as Renie whipped out of the bathroom and back down the hall in a flurry of tiger stripes.

  “The other niece,” Judith murmured, trying not to rub her sore hand. “She’s a late riser.”

  “She’s a . . . sight. I played for the Bengals. Not often and not long, but what the hell.” He pulled out a chair and flopped himself into it with a big sigh that almost masked the sound of creaking wood. “You like football?” He held up one of his paws. “Never mind. I didn’t come to talk about that. I hear Ernie Glover got wh
acked. Helluva thing. You know anything about what happened? Just asking.”

  Judith was pouring coffee. “My cousin and I found his body.”

  “Wow! That must’ve fried your fritters. I heard he was shot six times by a jealous husband. Doesn’t sound like Ernie, but you never know about people. Damned unpredictable. I take it black.”

  “What? Oh—the coffee. Sure.” Judith set the mug on the table. “He was stabbed,” she continued, carrying her own coffee refill and sitting down. “You must have quite a rumor mill up here.”

  Zach nodded absently. “Right. Kind of a hobby, along with drinking. Stabbed, huh?” He didn’t wait for confirmation. “Glad he wasn’t shot. Too much gun violence these days. Oh, it’s fine on the football field, but otherwise . . . not so good. Not that anybody uses a gun when they play football.” He scowled. “Can’t think of a penalty for doing that, though. Illegal carrying, maybe? But you know what I mean.”

  Judith wasn’t sure she did. Zach was probably midforties, making him one of the younger Obsession Shores residents. Thinking back to the aborted meeting, she’d calculated that the average age of the attendees was around sixty, maybe more, not counting children.

  “Do you live here full-time?” she asked.

  “Yeah, but I’m on the road quite a bit. I scout both football and basketball. Flew in from L.A. on the red-eye this morning. Becca’d locked me out.” He guffawed. “Thought the killer might be after her. I had to break down the damned door.”

  Judith’s expression was questioning. “Becca is . . . ?”

  “My better half,” Zach replied. “She got really mad. It’s tough to get workmen here on the weekend. I’m kind of afraid to go back home. That’s why I thought I’d walk over to see what was up with the murder. Vance always knows what’s going on.”

  “Did you know Ernie very well?”

  “Yeah, fairly well. That’s why his playing around surprised me. You say it’s not true? How do you know? You make a pass at him and got turned down? That’s too bad. You’re a nice-looking lady.”

  “I never met Ernie,” Judith said rather stiltedly.

  “You saw him yesterday. Oh, sure, he was dead and harmless, but still . . .” Zach shrugged his broad shoulders.

  Renie appeared dressed and looking almost like a human being. “Hi, Moose,” she said, brushing past him and going to the coffeemaker.

  Zach looked stunned. “She knows me? That was my nickname as a player. Is that why she looked like a mess of Bengal stripes?”

  “I’m not deaf,” Renie shouted from the kitchen. “I saw you play in college and then—briefly—with the Bengals, Rams, and Redskins.”

  “Wow. I’m flattered.” Zach looked almost as if he were blushing.

  “That’s my cousin Renie,” Judith said. “She and her husband follow sports more closely than I do.”

  “I guess,” Zach said, still looking faintly flabbergasted. “Thanks, Weenie. You made my day.” He stood up. “Guess I’d better go home and see if I can do anything about that damned door. Thanks for the java.”

  Judith got to her feet to show Zach out. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard anybody say why they think someone would kill Ernie? I mean, other than wild rumors.”

  Zach grimaced. “You mean about Ernie playing around? I don’t know if they are that crazy. I’ve heard some stuff about him and . . .” He stopped and shook his head. “Hell, I’m not talking trash about a dead man. You know how it is in football—a guy goes down and the other players all back off. Afraid an injury is catching. See you around.” Shaking his head, he stalked out of the house.

  Judith closed the door and leaned against it. “I don’t know what to make of him. Is he one of those concussion victims?”

  “Probably,” Renie said, sitting down at the table with a mug of coffee. “He was a defensive lineman. They get cracked now and then. Where’s the newspaper?”

  “Oh—I forgot to look. I didn’t check for it on the porch.”

  Renie gave her cousin a disdainful stare. “This isn’t the city. They put it in the paper box by the mailboxes. I’ll get it later.” She glanced out the window. “No fog, just clouds. I see some people on the beach.”

  “Uncle Vince has binoculars somewhere around here,” Judith said absently. “Zach seems to have an alibi,” she continued after a pause. “He was on an airplane coming from L.A.”

  Renie had moved away from the window. “Do you believe him?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure I believe he’s Zach Bendarek. Or Moose, for that matter.”

  “That was his nickname at the University,” Renie said. “I don’t think reserve linemen get nicknames in the pros.”

  “He scouts.”

  “So I overheard. If he covers two sports for colleges and universities, I assume he gets paid fairly well, though not like a pro scout would. In fact, I wonder if it’s under the table via the sports-loving alums. I’ve never asked Bill about it. Or Uncle Al, for that matter.”

  “Are you going to eat? We have to go see Edna Glover.”

  Renie shrugged. “You can’t go without me?”

  “I’d just as soon have backup.”

  “Okay, I’ll get some cereal. I’m not in the mood to have a big breakfast. I got up too early.”

  Twenty minutes later, the cousins were trudging down the hill and turning left. The Glovers’ stained cedar-shake house was where they’d seen the ambulance parked the previous day. As Judith climbed the five wooden steps, she noticed a wreath on the front door.

  “Is that a mourning wreath?” she asked in a quiet voice.

  “I don’t usually do mornings,” Renie responded. “I don’t think you do either. It’s a St. Valentine’s wreath. I see red hearts, white cupids, and a small mailbox, presumably for love notes. Cute, in a pedestrian sort of way. Probably handmade. I’d have used a different approach if I’d designed this thing.”

  “Maybe now it’s for condolence notes,” Judith said somberly. She rang the bell, which chimed what sounded like the first few notes of the old song “Ebb Tide.”

  Katie, encumbered by a small boy hanging on to her left leg, opened the door. “Oh! Mrs. . . . I forget!”

  Judith gently reminded her of her and Renie’s first names. “If you’ve met our aunt and uncle,” she said as they entered the house, “you know we don’t come from a very formal family.”

  Katie disengaged the toddler. “I met your aunt once,” she said, leading them into an overly furnished living room. The older boy was playing with a brightly colored contraption that had several flashing lights and emitted peculiar whooping noises. “That’s Josh, the younger one’s Brad,” Katie shouted, indicating the cousins should sit on the sofa.

  Judith and Renie both hesitated, noting the cushions were almost completely covered with throw pillows, many of which seemed to have been decorated by hand.

  “Mom’s getting dressed,” Katie went on while the cousins tried to arrange themselves into somewhat precarious positions. “Even with the pills, she had trouble sleeping. But she finally settled down around three o’clock and she slept in until almost nine thirty. My parents have always been early risers. Dad usually took a beach walk every morning and afternoon.” Her face crumpled slightly. “Coffee?”

  “No, thanks,” Judith said, still trying to get reasonably comfortable. “We’ve had plenty of coffee at home,” she added, noting that Brad was trying to commandeer some part of the multifaceted toy from his brother. Josh pushed him away. Brad started to cry and rushed to his mother, who had sat down in a rocking chair.

  “Boys,” Katie said in a plaintive voice. “Please share. And take your Wobble-Dobblemobile into the bedroom.”

  “No!” Josh shouted.

  “No!” Brad squealed.

  “Hey,” Renie said, getting off the sofa and dislodging a couple of pillows that tumbled to the floor. “That’s good. You guys can agree on something. Let’s haul this thing somewhere so I can see how it works. Where should we go? I’m lost.�
��

  To Judith’s surprise—and Katie’s obvious relief—Josh hefted the toy and led the way out of the room and into the kitchen.

  “My cousin raised two boys—and a girl,” Judith explained. “I only have one son.”

  “Dad bought them the Wobble-Dobble,” Katie said. “They love it. Oh—here’s Mom.”

  Edna Glover didn’t fit the preconceived matronly image of Ernie’s wife that Judith had in mind. She was a slim, fairly tall woman with fine features and a graying dark pageboy haircut. Her widow’s weeds consisted of blue jeans, a white cable-knit sweater worn over what looked like a tailored shirt, and black suede boots with a dash of fringe. The fine facial lines indicated she could be sixty or so, but except for a slight limp, she could have passed for ten years younger.

  “Hello,” she said, putting out her hand. “I overheard some of what you two were saying. You’re the Webers’ niece?”

  “Yes.” Judith noticed that the joints in Edna’s hands were slightly swollen, no doubt from arthritis. “We—my cousin Renie is with your grandsons—wanted to convey our sympathy in your loss. I know Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince will be very upset about Mr. Glover’s death.”

  Edna sat down in a straight-backed chair by the small fireplace. “It’s a horrible shock. There’s nothing I can say that conveys my reaction. I’m utterly stupefied. It’s as if there’s no rational explanation.”

  “It’s all this violence, Mom,” Katie said. “We live in a dangerous world. And too many people have untreated mental disorders. You know this has to be a random act.”

  Edna’s dark eyes sparked at her daughter. “Is that supposed to make me feel better? You can’t dismiss death.”

  “I know, but . . .” Katie looked away.

  “There are tragedies that seem inexplicable,” Edna went on, “but that hardly lessens their impact.” Her gaze shifted to Judith. “You’re in my peer group. Do you agree?”

  “Of course,” Judith replied. “But are you implying a crazed stranger killed your husband?”

  “Does it matter?” Edna rubbed her hands, massaging her knuckles. “I forgot. You and the other niece found Ernie. What was your first thought?”