by Mary Daheim
“Sounds like par for the course on The Rock. Boredom and booze can make anybody goofy.”
“You’re exaggerating,” Judith retorted. “We’re here during the quiet season. You know from visiting the island in good weather that these folks have plenty to do. It’s as if they hibernate in winter.”
“If you saw a bear on the beach, I’m leaving. Especially if he was wearing a bathing suit.”
“Get serious. What happens to us when it snows on the hill and we’re marooned?”
“Okay, okay,” Renie said, looking resigned. “We’re stuck unless we want to ski or sled. Which I do not. The one time I went skiing a little kid skied between my legs. That did it. Where did Weird Woman go?”
“For all I know, she went home. I did find out the Johnsons live in that green house on the corner. They were on the beach with Mel Friedman looking for rare coins. Brose Bennett thinks he started a fad.”
“Ah.” Renie grinned. “I assume you interrogated him?”
“We chatted,” Judith said. “Brose insists the vote on the sewer line is meaningless because Quentin Quimby will do whatever suits him. He also felt it was a shame that Quimby wasn’t the victim instead of Ernie.”
“I doubt Quimby would agree,” Renie murmured. “So the old coot really runs this show. How did the Johnsons feel about that? They’re kind of old, too.”
“I didn’t go to the beach,” Judith replied. “Mel left the Johnsons to their treasure hunting. He told me that he and Sarah, along with Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince, have seen a boat that goes . . . Oh—here’s the postal van. I might as well get the mail now.” She got up, opened the door, and shouted down to whoever was parking by the mailbox. A short, spare man in crimson all-weather gear hopped out of the vehicle and looked up at her.
“Excuse me,” she called out. “I’m coming down to get the mail.”
“Don’t bother,” he said, staring up the stairs. “It’s all junk. My hernia’s killing me.” He met her halfway and handed over a dozen pieces—of junk. Judith thanked him and went back inside.
“Do you want to go into Langton now?” she asked Renie.
“Yes. I’m hungry.”
“Of course. I am, too. Let’s do it.”
The cousins made sure everything that needed turning off was actually off and headed out to the Subaru. As soon as they were on the county road, Judith remembered to finish telling her cousin about the mysterious boat that had been spotted going out after midnight.
“A phantom ship?” Renie said after her cousin concluded the recital. “That sounds intriguing. No theories?”
“Mel indicated they had no idea,” Judith replied, taking the turn to the highway that would lead them into Langton. “Auntie Vance has a good imagination, so if she could think of any explanation she’d have said as much. If she hadn’t been in such a hurry to get ready to leave, she might have told us about it.”
“She was probably worrying about Aunt Ellen,” Renie said. “I wonder if Uncle Vince and Uncle Win will get a chance to complete a sentence with our aunts around.”
“Uncle Vince won’t stay awake that long and Uncle Win may’ve forgotten how to talk.” Judith slowed down as she saw a big truck ahead of them. “Will you stay up to see if that boat appears after midnight?”
Renie laughed. “We both will. You don’t have to get up at six.”
“You’re right,” Judith agreed. “This is almost like a vacation.”
“Complete with corpse,” Renie said. “Gosh, when have we had a real vacation without one of those?”
“When we went to Europe back in 1964,” Judith replied, finally seeing sufficient straightaway to pass the plodding truck. “I wonder if we should tell Jacobson about that boat. He may know something about it.”
“You think somebody has reported it?”
“One of the locals might’ve mentioned it when they were being questioned about Ernie’s murder.”
“Maybe,” Renie allowed. “Where shall we eat?”
“How about the café above the the Sun Store?” Judith suggested. “We can browse the shop on the main floor afterward.”
“Sounds good to me.”
Five minutes later they were on Langton’s main street. The town was perched high above the water, facing east to the mainland. The summer flowers were gone from the sidewalk planters and the trees were bare of leaves. No tourists strolled from shop to shop, ogling the local wares. Foot traffic was sparse. Judith thought the little town looked a bit bleak without the summer bustle in the three blocks that made up its commercial area.
But the upside was that there were plenty of parking places. Judith pulled into a spot only two doors down from the café.
The second-floor dining section was fairly busy. The cousins were shown to a table for two overlooking a pocket park off the street. The only thing in bloom was a cluster of winter crocus, pale as a cloud, but thriving among the moss that covered boulders claimed from the beach.
“Smoked salmon!” Renie exclaimed, practically licking the menu.
“Sounds good to me,” Judith agreed. “A small salad to go with it?”
“Of course.” Renie was beaming.
Judith wasn’t. She was facing the entrance and saw Quentin Quimby being wheeled into the restaurant by his son and daughter-in-law. “His Majesty has arrived,” she murmured. “Don’t stare.”
Renie did just that, though she kept her voice down. “They’re being seated right in back of you.”
Judith brightened. “Maybe we can overhear them.”
“The window!” Quimby shouted. “Move me closer, dammit!”
Renie grimaced. “You really want to hear that?” she asked under her breath.
“Why not? I can’t see them.” Judith stopped speaking, intrigued by the old man’s barked orders to his mumbling—and apparently bumbling—caregivers.
“He’s a caution,” Renie muttered. “Maybe they’ll push him out the window. Then you could chalk up another corpse.”
A ponytailed young man approached the cousins with one eye on the Quimbys, who had subsided into merciful silence. Renie put her menu aside. “Is it illegal to yell ‘obnoxious’ in a semicrowded café?” she asked the server, assuming her best aging-ingénue expression.
“Not a chance,” the server replied softly. “The old guy owns part of the island. I’m Jonathan and I’ll be running your interference with Mr. Q.” He leaned even closer. “Sometimes he asks the other patrons to move. It’s nothing personal.”
“It is if it’s me,” Renie said. “I’ll have the lox with all the trimmings and a small Caesar salad with a pound of shrimp.”
Jonathan seemed unfazed as he turned to Judith, who ordered the same thing, but added, “My cousin’s exaggerating. She’s kind of a pig. A small pig, I mean. The usual amount will do.”
Jonathan grinned, revealing dazzling white teeth. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do for you and Piglet.” He headed back to the service counter.
Renie wrinkled her nose at Judith. “Does that mean you’re Pooh?”
“I feel like Eeyore,” Judith said. “Who keeps bumping my chair?”
“The King of The Rock,” Renie replied. “He’s still twitching. Do you remember the names of his son and daughter-in-law?”
“I don’t think I ever heard them.” Judith winced as the sound of banging startled her from behind. “What now?”
“I think,” Renie said, leaning sideways to get a better look, “Mr. Q. wants to be served. Or else he’s rearranging his utensils piece by piece.”
“I’d like to rearrange him,” Judith said. “Maybe we’re the ones who should ask to be moved.”
“But then you couldn’t overhear him,” Renie pointed out.
“They aren’t actually talking,” Judith responded. “Maybe his family members aren’t allowed to speak in public. Ah! Here comes a young woman to take their orders. A very pretty young woman, I might add.”
“She’s a dish, all right,” Renie murmured as th
e smiling strawberry blonde passed by. “Why do I think she’s not just another server?”
“Maybe,” Judith whispered, “she serves something other than food. What’s she doing?”
“She’s not taking off her clothes yet,” Renie murmured just as Judith heard a hearty, if raspy, guffaw erupt behind her. “Q.’s mood is improving. Do you remember Auntie Vance talking about him? I don’t.”
Judith shook her head. “Not really. She occasionally mentioned—and I quote—an ‘ornery old codger’ and a ‘horse’s ass,’ but I don’t recall her giving him an actual name. Our aunt prefers not discussing people she doesn’t like. She just ignores them and does as she pleases. With her big, bad, and often bawdy mouth, maybe even Q. wouldn’t confront her.”
“He’s acting coy at the moment. Oh, ick—Pretty Woman’s tickling his chin. And tugging his earlobe. Double gack.”
“Spare me,” Judith said. “Here comes lunch.”
Jonathan set down their orders, glancing briefly at the other table. “Poor Ginger,” he said in hushed tones. “She and her husband, Jens, lease the café. Mr. Quimby owns the building. Does everything look all right?” he asked in his normal voice.
“Just fine,” Judith said with a smile. “Thanks.”
“Talk about lord of the manor,” Renie murmured. “Do you suppose Ginger and Jens live at Obsession Shores?”
Judith made a shushing gesture. Renie shrugged and ate a big forkful of salad. Several other patrons had finished their meals and were leaving. Judith could catch some of the conversation behind her.
“. . . even murder wouldn’t scare you, dear Mr. Quimby,” Ginger was saying. “You’re such a brave man.”
Unfortunately, Judith couldn’t hear his reply, but Ginger giggled. “I have seen your war medals, Major Quimby. You were very brave to run that social hall so the troops could be entertained. Fighting men can get out of control, especially if they drink.”
Once again, Q.’s mumbled rambling was impossible to decipher. Ginger, however, had become serious. “Oh, Mr. Quimby,” she said, “you mustn’t try catching the killer by yourself. Let the sheriff’s staff do that. Of course you may be right about who killed Mr. Glover, but you mustn’t endanger yourself. You know how much we all love and respect and admire you.”
“She’s gone a couple of verbs too far,” Judith whispered.
Renie shoved some lox and trimmings into her mouth. “Ahdintherdat.”
Judith scowled. “Skip it. You probably couldn’t hear over your chewing.” Taking a bite of romaine lettuce, she caught most of Ginger’s farewell to the Quimbys.
“. . . to be very careful, you darling man,” she was saying, though there was a strain in her voice. “I doubt a killer would go after anyone as revered as you are. Now I have to help out downstairs. Kisses!”
Judith saw Ginger practically run through the café. “Did she really kiss the old twit?” she asked Renie.
“Air kisses,” Renie said between mouthfuls. “Even Ginger wouldn’t stoop that low. Unless she was revealing her décolletage. Luckily for her, she’s wearing a turtleneck jersey.”
“Not so lucky for Quimby,” Judith murmured. “I wonder if he really does have a suspect in mind.”
“Do you want to play with his earlobes? Please!”
Judith shuddered. “No, but I wouldn’t mind talking to his son or the daughter-in-law. I wonder if Quimby takes naps.”
Renie again leaned to her right. “He may be taking one now. He’s facedown in his place setting.”
Judith was wide-eyed. “Are you kidding?”
“No,” Renie replied. “His caregivers don’t seem concerned. They’re just staring out the window. Maybe he often does that. Good Lord, I hope he didn’t order soup. He’ll drown.”
Judith kept quiet, trying to concentrate on her food. But it wasn’t easy. There had to be some way to speak to Quimby’s relatives without taking on the overbearing old man in the process.
“We could have car trouble,” Judith said softly.
Renie shrugged. “I suppose. Your Subaru is kind of old—like our Camry. Did you notice it making strange noises on the way here?”
Judith glared at Renie. “I mean as a ruse.”
Renie held her head. “Sheesh. Why not just go ask the geezer who he thinks killed Ernie? He’s sitting up now. Sort of.”
“Maybe I will,” Judith retorted. “As soon as we finish our lunch.”
“Count me out,” Renie said.
“Fine.” Judith ate a little faster.
A couple of minutes later, Jonathan and a young Asian man rolled a cart up to the Quimbys’ table. Judith and Renie both stared at the covered dishes on the cart.
“Gee,” Renie said, “maybe we should’ve ordered what they did. I think it’s all of the menu items.”
Quimby let out a sharp cry. “I don’t want no Chinaman serving me! Beat it, Fu Manchu!”
“But, sir,” Jonathan said in a polite voice, “Jake’s an American. His grandparents are Vietnamese.”
“That’s worse,” Quimby shot back. “We’re still fighting those damned people. That so-called war’s never going to end. He’s probably a spy. Tell him to go back where he came from.”
“But Jake was born and raised on Whoopee Island,” Jonathan said, still sounding polite. “His parents are from San Diego.”
Jake nudged his fellow server. “He’s all yours. I’m going on break.” But before he moved away, he leaned down to speak to Quimby. “The Cong have surrounded the building. Good luck with that.” Jake briskly moved away. Jonathan began to remove the covers from the plates of food. Quimby paid no attention, muttering so quietly to himself that Judith couldn’t hear a coherent word.
“That’s it,” Renie declared, tossing her debit card at Judith. “I’m done. See you in the shop.”
Judith sighed and resumed eating, though her appetite had faltered. When the Quimbys finished making their choices, she asked Jonathan for the bill. Accosting the cantankerous old goat seemed like a bad idea. The last she saw of Quimby, he was pontificating about Calvin Coolidge and why he was almost as good a president as Rutherford B. Hayes. Judith wondered if the old man was so ancient that he’d actually voted for both men. After paying for the meal, she headed downstairs.
She found Renie browsing through sweatshirts and chatting with Ginger. “Hey, coz, meet my new best friend, Ginger Kopf. With a K. This is Judith, the other niece. Ginger knows Auntie Vance.”
Ginger laughed as she shook Judith’s hand. “Everybody knows Vance,” she declared. “She’s amazing.”
“As amazing as Quentin Quimby?” Judith asked.
“Oh God!” Ginger cried, looking disgusted. “You must’ve heard or seen some of what I have to go through with that old turkey. I’d feel sorry for Quincy and Nan, but if they offend him even unintentionally, he’ll cut them out of his will. He’s already done it four times, but they always fall all over themselves with apologies—and constant attention. Frankly, it wouldn’t be worth it to me.”
“But,” Judith pointed out, “you have to make a fuss over him.”
“Jens and I have to eat,” Ginger said. “We’ve got two kids still in grade school. When we moved up here five years ago, we had no idea what we were getting into.”
Judith sympathized. “I get it. Do you live at Obsession Shores?”
“No, thank goodness,” Ginger responded. “We live here in town, just three blocks off the main street. Luckily, Quimby doesn’t come here too often. I can imagine how hard it must be to cart him up the stairs in that wheelchair. I’ve heard he can walk, at least a short distance, but I don’t see why he doesn’t have an elevator put in the building. It’d make sense and be convenient for lots of the retirees who live in the area.”
“Perverse,” Renie declared. “He’d rather make everybody suffer. And he’s a racist.”
Ginger nodded. “He’s everything awful. We never knew his wife, Blanche, but she must have been a saint.”
“Maybe
,” Judith suggested, “he was nicer while she was still alive.”
Ginger shrugged. “That’s possible, I suppose. It’s too bad he couldn’t meet an old lady who’s as nasty as he is.”
Renie elbowed Judith. “Hey—how about your mother, coz?”
“Even she isn’t that horrid and you know it,” Judith said with a touch of indignation. “Mother’s just set in her ways.” She turned back to Ginger. “Did Quimby tell you he knew who killed Mr. Glover?”
Ginger sighed. “Yes. It’s too stupid. In fact, I won’t repeat it. Rumors fly around this part of the island like seagulls. I’m amazed someone hasn’t tried to murder Quimby. Excuse me—I see a customer who looks as if she wants to buy something. Got to feed the family.” She hustled off toward the housewares section.
“Gosh,” Renie murmured, “you flunked an interrogation session.”
“That’s okay,” Judith replied. “Quimby may think we killed Ernie.”
Renie sneered. “Maybe somebody will kill him.”
Judith didn’t comment, but it wasn’t her cousin’s worst idea. In fact, she wondered why no one had ever tried to do in Quentin Quimby. Instead, Ernie Glover, a man who seemingly didn’t have any enemies, had been the murder victim.
That gave her more than lunch to digest.
Chapter 10
The sun was out when the cousins returned to the main street. They passed a hobby shop, a cobbler’s, and a drugstore before pausing at chipped gold letters spelling out EXONUMIA on a murky window.
“I wonder,” Judith mused, “what that means?”
“It sounds like a disease,” Renie replied, tugging at Judith’s arm. “It may be contagious. Let’s move on.”
But Judith shook off her cousin’s hand. “Look—the other window says ‘Numismatics.’ It must be the collectors’ shop Brose Bennett mentioned to me when I went for my walk. I wonder if there’ve been any other rare coins found on the beaches around here. Let’s ask.”
Renie looked puzzled. “Why? Do you think Ernie found one that was worth a lot of money and that’s the motive for murder?”
“No,” Judith replied, opening the door, “but I’m curious, okay?”