by Mary Daheim
Not wanting to alarm their hosts, Judith didn’t mention the threatening note, and shrugged. “I suppose the sheriff’s deputies will continue their investigation,” she said, accepting a glass of wine from Mel.
He sat down next to Sarah. “We’ve only talked to a deputy once late yesterday afternoon. There wasn’t much we could tell him since we weren’t around when Ernie was killed.” He glanced at his wife. “Carson was the deputy’s name, right?”
Sarah nodded and held up her glass. “L’chaim,” she said. “A toast to life.” They all raised their glasses. “That seems apt,” she went on, “given that we’ve lost one of our own.”
Judith took a sip of wine before speaking. “Were you able to tell Carson anything helpful?”
Mel grimaced. “Not really. All we could offer was that Ernie seemed like a good guy. Oh, he had the occasional minor disagreement with somebody, but he was an affable sort.”
“It’s strange,” Sarah said. “Nobody seems to know anything about what happened. Wouldn’t you think there’d be some witnesses around here? Yes, the weather wasn’t great, but people are always looking out at the water or down onto the beach. It doesn’t make sense that not one person seems to have come forward.”
Mel nodded. “The only locals I know of with cast-iron alibis are us and the Crowleys. They picked their kids up early from school and headed out of town for the weekend to a family birthday party in Oregon. They live next door and I waved them off before noon. I was just heading to get the car. We were probably on the same ferry, though I never saw them. Sarah and I stayed down below.”
Judith frowned. “The Crowleys left town before last night’s meeting? I thought they were very much pro-sewer.”
Sarah nodded. “They probably arranged for proxy votes, just like Vance and Vince did with you.”
Renie leaned forward in her chair. “Who would the Crowleys pick?”
“No idea,” Mel said. “Maybe the Hilderschmidts.”
A pounding on the front door startled the foursome. Mel glanced out the mullioned window and winced. “It’s Betsy. Again. What now?” He got up and wearily walked to the foyer.
“Who’s Betsy?” Judith asked.
“Quimby’s daughter,” Sarah whispered. “She’s a head case, but who wouldn’t be, living with that old jerk? Hi, Betsy,” she said, standing up. “Have you met the Webers’ nieces?”
Judith tried to conceal her surprise. Betsy was the strange woman she’d met earlier on the road to the beach.
Betsy’s eyes flickered in Judith’s direction. “No. What’s wrong with the Webers?”
“Nothing,” Mel replied. “They’re visiting relatives in Nebraska.”
The fair-haired woman put a fist to her thin lips. “No! That’s not good. I’m going now.” She turned around and left.
Mel shrugged. “Don’t mind her. She’s not quite all there.”
Renie scowled at Judith. “Did we know there was a daughter?”
“No,” Judith replied. “Hey—it’s not my fault.”
Sarah laughed. “I suppose she’s one of Obsession Shores’ dark little secrets. There are quite a few of them around here despite the propensity for gossip. Betsy doesn’t socialize much. But for some reason, she comes here once in a while. Vance has talked about her showing up quite often at their place. Don’t be surprised if she calls on you. She won’t remember the Webers are gone.”
“I saw her this morning,” Judith said. “I asked how she was and she wanted to know who I was. Then she ran off.”
Mel nodded. “That sounds like Betsy. She’s harmless.”
“She never stays long,” Sarah said. “She can’t, being unable to focus. Extreme ADD, among other problems.”
“How old is she?” Renie asked. “Her face is curiously unlined.”
Mel looked up at the beamed ceiling. “Oh . . . Betsy’s got to be at least sixty. Our theory is that she’s never spent a lot of time outside, so she’s avoided the sun and whatever else causes wrinkles. We’ve also wondered if she’s been institutionalized along the way.”
“When,” Judith inquired, “did her mother die?”
The Friedmans exchanged looks. Sarah spoke first. “It was a few years before we moved here permanently. We never really knew her. I doubt I spoke to Blanche more than a dozen times. She didn’t go out much. Bad knees, someone told me.”
“I wonder,” Judith said, “why she didn’t get her knees replaced. The Quimbys must have plenty of money. I wasn’t keen on getting a new hip, but I realized I had to do it to remain mobile.”
“Maybe her general health wasn’t all that good,” Sarah suggested. “She was older then than we are now.”
Renie raised her hand. “Guess what? I can talk. I had my shoulder virtually replaced. Sometimes it squeaks. I think the surgeon used tin.”
“Ignore her,” Judith said. “She got full mobility back. I’m not so lucky. But I’m not complaining,” she added hastily.
“Yes, you are,” Renie asserted. “You like the attention.”
Judith was indignant. “I do not!”
“You do so,” Renie snapped.
The Friedmans laughed. “You’re just like sisters,” Sarah said. “I wonder if Vance and Ellen have killed each other yet. Every time Ellen and Win come up here to visit, Vance insists her kid sister tries to reorganize their lives. It makes her so mad.”
“Aunt Ellen does that with everybody,” Judith said. “The family loves to see them coming, but I think they’re relieved to see them going. Aunt Ellen really is an amazing woman. She accomplishes more in a single day than most people do in a week.”
“Sibling rivalry,” Mel mused. “I’ve got two sisters, and they still live back east. But I’ve seen those rivalries in other siblings, even up here.”
Judith’s expression was curious. “I didn’t know any brothers or sisters lived at Obsession Shores.”
“They don’t, except for Quincy and Betsy Quimby,” Mel replied. “It was Hank and Tank Hilderschmidt. Tank’s company worked on some projects here the summer before last, including a renovation of the boathouse. Much of the original wood had rotted out. The brothers got into it and a fistfight ensued. Frank Leonetti and Zach Bendarek had to pull them apart before they killed each other.”
“Gosh,” Renie said, “Hank was standing up for Tank at the meeting. They must’ve made up after that.”
Mel shrugged. “I’ve heard it’s more like an armed truce. Hank bought small properties and cut deals with Tank to help develop them with his subcontracting business. I gather they’ve always greased each other’s palms.”
“Say,” Judith said, “who else has seen that mystery boat?”
“Kent Logan,” Sarah replied. “He’s seen it twice, but the Logans usually go to bed earlier than we do.” She looked at her husband. “You mentioned at least two other people who told you they’d spotted it.”
“Right.” Mel paused for a moment. “Quimby’s son, Quincy. He said it reminded him of the rumrunners his father used to talk about coming from Canada during Prohibition. Ernie Glover mentioned seeing the boat a couple of weeks ago, not long after New Year’s.” He shook his head. “Poor Ernie. I wish they’d find his killer. All these feeble old folks in the development must be frightened out of their wits.”
“The Johnsons didn’t act scared this afternoon,” Renie said. “Coz shouted to them on the beach just before we came up here.”
Sarah smiled. “Charles was a high school principal and May taught at a different high school. Nothing scares them after forty-five years with teenagers.”
“How about a refill?” Mel asked, standing up.
“No, thanks,” Judith replied. “We’re having dinner with the Sedgewicks. We want to be mostly sober when we arrive. But this wine is very good. It has sort of a sweet taste.”
Mel nodded. “Sarah and I don’t do much of the hard stuff. It gets to be a habit with people who have time on their hands. That’s why I moonlight doing dental work for the
retirees. I only charge a small fee or an occasional bottle of this stuff.” He tapped his empty glass.
“Last Thanksgiving,” Sarah said, “the Crowleys gave us a turkey. One of their kids chipped a front tooth falling down the stairs to the beach. We happened to be there at the time, so Mel volunteered.”
The cousins had also stood up. “That’s good,” Judith said. “It’s nice to know there really is a sense of community here.”
“Sometimes,” Sarah murmured as she also got to her feet.
“It’s not all bad,” Mel conceded—and winced. “At least until some poor guy like Ernie Glover gets killed.”
Judith didn’t much like that exit line, but she’d heard ones like it before. She didn’t pause to tote up the dead people she’d encountered in the past sixteen years. There was nothing sweet about that number. Murder left a sour taste in her mouth. The only cure for that, she realized, was to find the killer.
Chapter 12
The north wind had died down, but it brought heavy rain from Canada. Judith and Renie pulled up their hoods as they walked to the Weber house. The clothes they had worn to the beach were headed for the laundry room. Dinner at Obsession Shores might be informal, but the cousins didn’t want to show up looking like beach bums.
“It’s a good thing neither of us sat on that white divan,” Renie said as she came out of the spare bedroom after changing into brown slacks and an orange mock-turtleneck sweater. “How do they keep all that white furniture clean?”
“The Friedmans,” Judith replied, shifting her torso around in her roomy red-and-navy floral wool tunic, “may be tidier than some of us.”
“I don’t know what you mean,” Renie said, strolling out of the hall. “I’ll check the Sunday Mass times. St. Walburga’s, right?”
“Yes.” Judith joined Renie at the kitchen counter. “Find it?”
Renie nodded. “Ten o’clock. They have one at seven tonight, but we’ll be too hammered to make it.”
“We may not have eaten by then,” Judith said, sitting at the kitchen table. “I wish I’d asked Jacobson about that boat. There’s something strange about it. But it’s after four, so he must be off duty.”
“So,” Renie began, leaning on the back of a kitchen chair, “you seek a motive for murder involving the boat?”
Judith looked up at her cousin. “It’s an unusual occurrence. Why would anyone take a boat out so late at night this time of year?”
“Insomnia. Fleeing a nagging spouse. Seeking peace and quiet on the water. People do unusual things for not so unusual reasons.” She shrugged. “That’s the best I can come up with.”
“Maybe somebody’s running drugs out of here,” Judith said. “That’s the only contraband idea I have.”
“When do they come back? They can’t have a fleet of boats in the boathouse.”
“While it’s still dark. The sun doesn’t come up until around seven thirty in January.”
Renie looked skeptical. “I’ll bet a lot of these people go to bed early and get up early. They’d see the boat returning in the dark before dawn.”
“Then it must be a very short run. Let’s check the boathouse tomorrow. I don’t know why Uncle Vince never kept his boat in there. I don’t see any other boats on the beach.”
“He kept it on the beach,” Renie said, finally sitting down, “because it wasn’t much of a boat. I remember when I was up here years ago, Auntie Vance was giving him hell for not putting it inside. I can still hear him: ‘But, Little Girl, getting it up the ramp bothers my bad back. You didn’t spend over forty years carrying a dozen gallons of milk in each hand.’ Auntie Vance just snorted and told him he should have been a cow.”
Judith smiled. “That sounds like our aunt. She probably also called him a few of her favorite unprintable names.”
“Oh, sure.” Renie sighed. “What do you expect to find in the boathouse? Another body?”
“No!” Judith cried. “I assume we’d find boats. And maybe the names of people who keep them there. The building isn’t all that big, so there can’t be that many. If anyone has a cruiser or a bigger craft, they probably dock it at the Scratchit Head marina.”
“So we’ll be watching tonight to make sure the boat comes out from here and not over there?”
“Well . . . I guess we will. One of us, anyway.”
“I can’t see it from the spare room. I’ll have to stay up.”
“You can watch for it with me from the master bedroom or we can sit in the living room. In fact, we probably should go out on the deck. Or even down the road for a close-up view.”
Renie made a face. “And have the phantom ship’s captain kidnap us and turn us into galley slaves? No thanks.”
“We’re not talking pirates,” Judith declared.
“Hey—if your suspicions are right, whoever is using that boat is up to something. I vote for staying safe. Just for once, okay? Besides, it might be raining hard later tonight.”
Judith decided Renie was right. “But we’d better get a good look. The boat could be coming from the marina. You can’t see it from here.”
“Oh, swell.” Renie groaned, a hand to her head. “So if we can’t tell where it’s coming from tonight, we’ll have to do a stakeout tomorrow on the other side of the boathouse?”
“That’s not a bad idea,” Judith said. “Depending on the weather, of course. We could ask—” A rap on the door interrupted her. “Now what?”
Renie got up. “If it’s Betsy Nutsy, I’ll keep going to the Sedgewicks’. You can fend for yourself.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “Are you armed and dangerous?” she shouted.
“Fraklenutty,” the male voice called back. Or at least that’s what it sounded like to Judith, who remained at the table.
Renie opened the door. “Frank?” she said, letting in a short man with curly silver hair. “As in Leonetti?”
“Right.” He came inside, shaking water off his yellow slicker. “Are you the nieces? I got some flyers.”
“You got birds?” Renie asked, trying to avoid the excess rain Frank was shedding. “What are you, a magician? Let’s see you pull a ptarmigan out of your sleeve.”
Frank apparently thought the remark was hilarious. He laughed so much that he had to stagger over to the table and sit down. “That’s a good one,” he gasped, wiping at his eyes. “Everybody else is so damned grim around here.”
“Yeah,” Renie muttered, “we’re the entertainment committee. And no, we aren’t offering you a drink. Food and beverages aren’t included.”
Frank laughed some more. “I . . . can see . . . you’re . . . related . . . to Vance,” he finally managed to say. “You’re a kick, just like her.”
Judith decided to become the voice of reason. “Did you mention flyers? Is there another meeting coming up?”
“No,” he replied, growing serious and reaching into his slicker. “I made up some flyers to help find Ernie Glover’s killer. Here, have a look.” He handed over a sheet of white paper with red lettering on it.
“Calligraphy,” Renie remarked, sitting down. “Did you do this?”
“You bet I did,” Frank replied. “I learned how to do that for my papa. He owned his own business.”
“It’s beautiful,” Judith asserted before reading aloud.
Attention Obsession Shores Residents: Anyone with information regarding the murder of our good friend and neighbor Ernest Glover should come forward and inform the sheriff. Anything you saw or heard the day of the murder could help find the killer.
“Well?” Frank said. “What do you think?”
Judith set the flyer aside. “It’s a good idea. Do you sense people are holding back? We heard everyone has been questioned by the deputies.”
Frank leaned back in the chair. “People don’t always know what’s important and what isn’t. Then there’s some folks who don’t want to get involved. You know how that goes.”
“True,” Judith conceded, “but why us? We’re strangers.”
Frank shook his head. “If Vance was around, I’d have asked her. She’s sharp, and I don’t just mean that tongue of hers. She’s blistered me a few times, but I respect her. Being her nieces, I figured you might have some of your own ideas.”
Judith held out her hands in a helpless gesture. “The problem is that we don’t really know most of the people who live here. Oh, we’ve met a few since arriving yesterday, but that doesn’t give us the kind of insider’s knowledge our aunt would have.”
“That’s okay,” Frank said. “Just keep at it. I’ve only distributed half of these so far. A couple of the locals I talked to acted like I was crazy.”
Judith nodded. “That’s natural. Did they act afraid?”
“Some of them did,” Frank replied. “I can’t blame them, really. Face it, there are a lot of lunatics on the loose these days. My papa had what you’d now call an urban farm. He sold his vegetables and seasonal foods at a stall in the public market downtown. I helped him out there for years. You ever shop at the market?”
The cousins exchanged discomfited looks. “I hate to say it,” Judith confessed, “but I can’t remember the last time I went to the public market. I own a B&B and I tell my guests to include it on their sightseeing trips because it’s so interesting.”
Renie uttered a short laugh. “I think I’ve only stopped in twice in my life. My husband likes to go there, though. He’s originally from Wisconsin. I always think of the market as a tourist attraction, not a shopping place.”
Frank grinned at her. “You don’t want to see the salmon vendors throw the fish back and forth at each other?”
“I do not,” Renie replied with a mock-serious expression. “I find that abusive to the fish.”
“You’re true natives,” Frank declared, standing up. “I’ve got a couple dozen more flyers to deliver and I don’t want to be late to supper. Gina’s making her special dish tonight—veal Parmigiano-Reggiano.”
Judith rose to show Frank out. “I think you’re doing something worthwhile with the flyers. If even one person comes up with something that’s important to the homicide investigation, it’ll be worth the time and trouble. Does the sheriff’s office know you’re doing this?”