Clam Wake

by Mary Daheim

  Renie didn’t argue. An elderly bald man was behind the counter, studying something through a high-tech magnifier. He looked up to offer a faint smile. “Yes?” he said, rubbing his hands together.

  The shop was small and faintly musty. The rough wooden walls were decorated with license plates from what looked like every state in the union. The rear wall displayed most of the Canadian provinces, various vanity plates, and some oddly shaped foreign hardware that Judith didn’t recognize. A small engraved sign on the counter by the ancient cash register read L. D. MOFFITT, PROPRIETOR.

  “Hello, Mr. Moffitt,” Judith said. “You are Mr. Moffitt?”

  The proprietor nodded once. “However,” he continued in a surprisingly deep voice for his small stature, “L.D. was my father. I’m D.L. Papa started this business here in Langton after he came home from the Great War. Hardly anyone lived here back then.”

  “That was”—Judith paused—“very brave of him. I must admit my ignorance. What exactly is exonumia? I understand the numia part being about coins, but not the exo at the beginning.”

  “Ah,” Mr. Moffitt said, his dark eyes lighting up, “basically it means ‘other than.’ As in coins that have no monetary value. Like these on the bottom shelf.” He tapped the front of the counter. “Those are—if you will—tokens that could be exchanged for goods in company-owned communities. Logging, fishing, mining towns, and such where regular currency wasn’t used. Very convenient.”

  “Interesting,” Judith remarked. “But you also have quite a few rare coins from all over the world. I was wondering if many older coins are found on the island.”

  Sadly, Mr. Moffitt shook his bald head. “Not in recent years,” he said. “I don’t think anyone has brought in a coin older than the 1950s in the past decade. Any rare coins I’ve acquired have come from collectors or their estates.”

  Apparently, Renie was tired of being quiet. “What about the man from Obsession Shores who found the 1798 British coin recently? We read about it in the local newspaper.”

  Mr. Moffitt chuckled. “Silly man. There were no English ships in these waters that late in the eighteenth century. He’s been duped. I wish he’d stop by to show me the coin. I’d tell him it’s worthless, but why spoil his fun, eh?”

  “You’re right,” Renie said. “I should’ve known that. Captain Vancouver was the last Englishman to come through the local waters.”

  “Not precisely,” Mr. Moffitt said gently. “Vancouver never sailed this far south, but sent some of his lieutenants to explore the area. That gentleman with the bogus coin doesn’t know his history. I suspect someone is pulling a shenanigan. There is, I fear, money to be made by counterfeiting old coins. Very vexing. I’ve heard of people who have bought up expensive property just because they think there’s buried treasure in the ground. Nonsense, of course.”

  “Has that happened on the island?” Judith asked.

  “Not that I’ve ever heard of,” he said. “I was born and raised here. I still live in the family farmhouse a half mile from here. It’s not a farm anymore.” The expression on his thin face grew poignant. “We were forced to sell off most of the acreage during the Great Depression when I was still a lad.”

  “At least you kept the house,” Judith pointed out.

  Mr. Moffitt lowered his eyes. “Yes, yes. We did that. Indeed.”

  Judith decided to move on to a more cheerful topic. “What’s the rarest coin you’ve ever seen?”

  The old man’s face lit up. “One of our own—a 1907 Saint-Gaudens double eagle. Gold, and beautifully designed. It was a joy to behold.”

  “Did you sell it?” Renie asked.

  Mr. Moffitt blushed. “I did. Fifteen years ago, for a pretty price. It was part of a collection that had never been properly appraised. People are often foolish about what they save, even collectors. They acquire such things for the sheer joy of the acquisition itself. I don’t blame them, really. I understand.”

  “Did you sell it to someone around here?” Judith inquired.

  “Now, now,” he said, shaking a finger, “I can’t disclose that kind of information. One has to be discreet about buyers and sellers. For their and my protection, you see.”

  Judith smiled. “Of course. Thank you for enlightening us. We appreciate your time and your dedication.”

  “My pleasure,” he said with a little bow. “Enjoy yourselves and come again. A visit from comely ladies always delights me.”

  “‘Comely’?” Renie gasped after they exited the shop. “I’ve been called a lot of things, but that’s a first for me. I wonder what it’d take to get Bill to call me comely? It sure beats homely. Too bad they don’t rhyme. I could make up a little poem for Mr. Moffitt.”

  Judith laughed. “He’s really an old dear. He obviously loves his work.” She turned serious. “Who lives around here that would buy such an expensive coin?”

  “The buyer might not be local,” Renie said as they reached the corner. “I’ll bet he does some Internet business. I could see what looked like a computer monitor in the little office at the back.”

  “You’re probably right. I wonder if he has any family. He doesn’t wear a wedding ring, but some men—especially older ones—don’t.”

  “Bill doesn’t. He wears the ruby ring that belonged to his father. Where are we going? You know I’m not that fond of walking. I’m not that keen on wearing shoes either.”

  “There’s a women’s apparel shop across the street,” Judith replied. “Would that pique your interest?”

  “It might,” Renie said. “As long as they have more than sweatshirts that read ‘I Made Whoopee on Whoopee Island’ or ‘The Rock Rocks!’ They’re a little short on imagination up here.”

  “Let’s find out.” They crossed the street after waiting for two cars to pass by. The shop’s name was Adele’s. Renie looked put off by the window display that featured uninspired winter separates on what looked like real sand. Judith hesitated before they reached the entrance. “I sense this isn’t your sort of thing,” she said.

  “It’s not,” Renie declared, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “The candy store’s two doors down. Let’s go.”

  Judith refused to be tempted. “I’ll wait outside.”

  Renie was already several paces ahead. “Fine. I’ll be quick.”

  Taking her time, Judith strolled past a secondhand store and a jewelry shop. She reached the Sweet Suite, but refrained from looking in the display window. Instead, she kept her dark eyes riveted on the bank across the street. A familiar figure wearing a raincoat came out and got into a dark blue midsize sedan.

  I know that guy, she thought to herself. I must have seen him at Obsession Shores. But as Renie exited the candy shop carrying a large white paper bag, Judith realized she was wrong. “Guess what?” she said to her cousin. “I just saw Jack Larrabee.”

  Renie looked puzzled. “Who?”

  “Oh!” Judith clapped a hand to her head. “He was a B&B guest this past week. Jack’s a journalist who’s doing a series on this part of the world. He told me he was heading north.”

  “I guess he did,” Renie said, reaching into the big bag and taking out a dark-chocolate-covered cluster of raisins. “Want one?”

  “No thanks,” Judith replied. “Let’s move on to the Mermaid. I see the sign on the corner. It may be an apparel store.”

  “That might be more upscale,” Renie agreed after devouring the cluster.

  But the Mermaid was a bar, not an apparel store. “How about the gift shop we just passed?” Judith asked.

  “Seen one gift shop, seen ’em all,” Renie said. “Hey, if you want to chat up the locals, why not have a drink at the Mermaid? Loose tongues and all that.”

  Judith grimaced. “If we’re having cocktails at the Friedmans’ and then at the Sedgewicks’, we shouldn’t get an early start here.”

  “We can order a beer or a glass of wine,” Renie said. “We didn’t have a drink at lunch.”

  “You don’t like beer. You a
ren’t that fond of wine either.”

  “So I’ll bitch a lot. So what? You’re used to it.”

  “How do we know anybody of interest is in the bar?”

  “As in ‘persons of interest’?” Renie smirked. “You’ll find somebody. You collect that sort of person. Remember what your old bat of a former mother-in-law used to say—you never met a stranger.”

  Judith sighed. “I wish Dan’s mother had said it nicely.”

  The cousins entered the Mermaid, which was so dark that they paused until their eyes adjusted. Judith finally zeroed in on an amber lampshade by the bar. “I think I see a table. Or a vase.”

  Renie took a few steps. “It’s a hat rack. But there’s a table beyond it. I think.”

  The table turned out to be occupied by a man. Judith tried not to stare as she recognized Kent Logan. The other chair was unoccupied, but two glasses sat on the table.

  “Hi,” he said. “Aren’t you related to the Webers? I saw you last night at the meeting.”

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “I’m Judith and this is Renie. We’re the nieces who are house-sitting for Vance and Vince.”

  “Oh, that’s right,” he said, his eyes darting off to his left. “There are some empty booths just past the statue of the mermaid by the bar. It’s a bit dark in here, isn’t it?”

  “Yes, it is,” Judith agreed. “Nice to see you again.” She all but pushed Renie off in the direction Kent had indicated.

  “Why,” Renie said as they became accustomed to the gloom and found a booth on the other side of the wooden statue, “do I think he wanted us to go away?”

  Judith didn’t answer immediately. She was facing the rear of the establishment and saw a familiar figure coming in their direction. “Maybe that’s why,” she finally said as Fou-fou walked briskly past the cousins.

  “The plot thickens,” Renie noted. “Yes, she’s heading for Kent’s cozy table for two. Wouldn’t it be more discreet for them to be seated away from the front?”

  “Maybe they couldn’t see that far,” Judith said. “We couldn’t.”

  A portly middle-aged man with a soiled white towel tied around his midsection clumped up to their booth. “What’ll it be, ladies?” he asked in a wheezy voice.

  “Your best sweet berry wine,” Renie said. “No year of choice, but preferably from this century.”

  “Got it. And you?” he inquired of Judith.

  She told him she’d have the same.

  He chuckled. “You’re going to share a glass? You want straws?”

  “No,” Judith replied with as much dignity as she could muster. “I’d like my own glass. My cousin is a messy drinker.”

  The man chuckled again and wended his way to the gloomy bar.

  “I wish I’d ordered malmsey,” Renie muttered. “I’d like to hear what snappy comeback he’d have had for that.”

  “I’d like to be able see more of the customers,” Judith said, leaning sideways as far as she could without falling on the floor. “There are only a couple of men on the bar stools and I don’t recognize either of them. I’m beginning to think this wasn’t a good idea.”

  “You already saw Kent Logan and Fou-fou Bennett having what I assume is some kind of tryst,” Renie said. “Now let’s figure out how that could be a motive for murdering Ernie.”

  “Affairs can always be a motive,” Judith responded, “but then blackmail might be involved. We don’t really know Ernie, but somehow I doubt he was the type for that sort of thing. For all we know, Mr. Logan and Mrs. Bennett may merely have run into each other. They are neighbors. I suppose it’d be a good excuse for starting the cocktail hour in the early afternoon.”

  “Good Lord,” Renie said with an incredulous expression, “you can sound like such a dip sometimes. You know your brain is working at two hundred miles an hour figuring out what those two see in each other and how long the affair has been going on.”

  “They are in public,” Judith replied primly.

  Their wine arrived. “Want some snacks?” the portly man asked.

  “What are they?” Renie inquired.

  “Crackerjack, right out of the box,” he said. “You might get a prize. Somebody got a little plastic pickle last night.”

  Renie wrinkled her nose. “We’ll pass.”

  “Suit yourself,” he said wearily, and ambled away.

  “Why,” Renie murmured, “do I like it better when you find a body in the city, where we can hang out in classier bars and upscale bistros?”

  “Why,” Judith whispered back, “do I see Brose Bennett coming this way from the rear of the bar?”

  “How can you tell where the rear is?” Renie responded.

  Judith shook her head and greeted Brose as he approached the booth. “Are you having . . .”

  Brose kept going. “What’s with him?” she asked Renie. “He looks angry. Can you see where he’s headed?”

  “Are you kidding?” Renie shot back. “I’m lucky I can see at all in here. This wine tastes like melted jelly.”

  Judith sampled her portion. “You’re right. It’s kind of icky. I’m not sure I want to . . .” She stopped, hearing men’s raised voices. “What’s going on up front?”

  “I’ll go look. Stay put.” Renie scooted out of the booth.

  She was barely out of sight when Judith heard more shouting, a woman’s screech, breaking glass, and a crashing noise that made her jump. Despite the warning, she hurried out of the booth. Renie was plastered against the wall in an attempt to keep clear of the mayhem. Brose and Kent had faced off in front of a screaming Fou-fou.

  Before Judith could speak, Brose swung part of a broken chair at Kent, knocking the other man against the hat rack, which toppled to the floor. As the portly man chugged out from behind the bar, Brose grabbed his hysterical wife, kicked the hat rack aside, and exited the premises. A half-dozen customers were now clustered at the near end of the bar, but kept their distance from what was left of the combat zone.

  Judith couldn’t help herself. She moved to where Kent Logan was slumped against an undamaged chair. He shook himself, rubbed at his jaw, and looked up with a dazed expression. “Is Brose gone?” he asked.

  “Yes,” Judith replied. “He took Fou-fou with him.”

  Kent struggled to his feet. “Good riddance. They’re both head cases.” He picked up his Gore-Tex jacket and reached for his wallet. “Here, Dundee,” he said to the portly man. “Take my credit card to cover the bill. Then total up the damage and I’ll pay for my share later.”

  Dundee looked uncertain. “You didn’t start that. I saw it.”

  Kent ran a hand through his disheveled hair. “At least let me pay for the drinks.”

  Dundee shook his head. “I’ll put those on Mrs. Bennett’s tab.”

  Kent shrugged as Dundee handed the credit card back to him. “That’s the last time I offer free legal advice about a divorce,” he said, and slammed out of the Mermaid.

  Judith and Renie, along with the other patrons, headed back to their respective places. Dundee was last seen fetching a broom from behind the bar.

  “So,” Renie said, after they were reseated, “the Bennetts are pfft?”

  “I guess,” Judith replied. “We misread the tête-à-tête. Maybe we should pay for our so-called drinks and get out of here before the roof falls in. I didn’t recognize any of the onlookers.”

  “Good idea,” Renie agreed, tossing a ten-dollar bill on the table. “Let’s go. I’ll throw up if I have to drink any more of this slop.”

  “Brose must’ve come in via the back. Why not leave that way?”

  The rear exit was plainly marked—once they got close enough to see the sign. “Ah—I can breathe again,” Renie said, sniffing at the salt-tinged air. “This is quite a view.”

  The cousins were standing on a small expanse of grass, high above the beach. “I can see the mountains over on the mainland,” Judith said. “There’s Mount Woodchuck by the family cabins. We ought to go up there this spring. Wouldn�
�t that be fun? My grandsons would love it.”

  “It’s been a while,” Renie noted. “If I had grandchildren, they’d probably like it, too. How come you aren’t speculating about Fou-fou running off with Ernie? Didn’t Zach Bendarek say Ernie played around? Somebody else hinted at that, too.”

  “Brose, maybe,” Judith said, and stared at Renie. “I suppose it could happen. Boredom and booze can lead to a lot of bad things.”

  “I can believe anything on this island. I can even believe you talked us into going to the Mermaid.”

  “It was your idea,” Judith declared.

  “It was?” Renie grimaced. “Well, not all my ideas are good ones. What’s next on your agenda?”

  Judith checked her watch. “It’s almost three. We should head back to Obsession Shores if we’re going to have drinks with the Friedmans before we have drinks with the Sedgewicks before we have dinner.”

  Renie looked askance. “That’s too many befores. Frankly, I’m looking forward to an after, as in when we can collapse by ourselves.”

  The cousins trudged around the building to reach the main drag. The Subaru was parked almost directly across the street.

  “I wonder,” Judith said after they got in the car, “if Jacobson’s making any progress with the investigation.”

  “Why would he be? We’re not.”

  “Unfortunately, that’s true,” Judith conceded as she waited for a battered pickup to go by before pulling out from the curb. “The truth is, there are so many possible suspects we haven’t met.”

  “You could call your own meeting at the clubhouse and take turns interrogating them.”

  “That’s Jacobson’s job,” Judith said. “I kind of wish he’d touch base with us, but I don’t know why he would.”

  Renie laughed. “He doesn’t know you’re FATSO.”

  Judith glared at Renie as they paused at the arterial. “Don’t use that garbled nickname! You know it’s FASTO and I hate it either way.”

  “Hey—so you’ve got a fan club out there in cyberspace. I think it’s kind of nice they came up with the code name for Female Amateur Sleuth Tracking Offenders. Do you ever look at the site?”

  “No! It’s too embarrassing.”