by Mary Daheim
Renie put a slice of bread in the toaster. “Go ahead. It’s Sunday, a day of rest. I thought you wanted to explore the boathouse.”
“I do, but if you’d bother looking through the window, you’d see a half-dozen boats out there already. I’d rather check the boathouse when it isn’t in use. Do you want a fried egg?”
“I’ll do it myself,” Renie said, opening the refrigerator. “I have my own method. I use only butter for frying and I like to arrange my egg in a visually pleasing manner.”
Judith ignored the comment. She finished preparing her own breakfast and sat down at the table. Renie joined her a few minutes later after doing whatever it was she did at a stove that seemed to require some serious cussing. Neither cousin spoke until Judith finished eating and Renie devoured several mouthfuls of food.
“Did you catch Betsy-and-the-knife bit?” Judith asked.
Renie shook her head and kept chewing toast while Judith explained how Betsy apparently had found a knife in Vince’s old boat. “Judging from the time frame,” Judith continued, “Betsy must’ve come to the beach while we were being taken back here by the firefighters. You recall that neither of us gave Uncle Vince’s boat a cursory look.”
“‘Nothing to see here, nothing to see here,” Renie murmured. “Except there was, and we missed it.”
“A huge mistake on our part,” Judith declared. “Of course we thought Ernie died of natural causes.”
Renie’s smile was ironic. “With your history, we should’ve known better. Still, if that knife is the weapon, wasn’t it stupid for the killer to leave it so close to the scene of the crime?”
“That’s what bothers me,” Judith said. “Did the killer panic? Was someone else nearby? But no witnesses have come forward nor has anybody admitted being on the beach. Betsy had to move quickly before the other emergency personnel showed up. She does skitter around very fast, especially for someone her age.”
“Her whole persona is childlike,” Renie pointed out. “It’s as if she’s still three years old. A safe age for hiding.”
“Good point,” Judith noted. “I’m not sure I blame her.”
It was going on eleven by the time the cousins headed up the hill to the Quimby house. Judith remarked it could use a new paint job. “Even gray fades,” she said as they approached a peeling white picket fence. “The roof could use some work, too.”
“You’re right,” Renie agreed, opening the gate, which creaked on rusty hinges. “If this place was an older architectural style, it could stand in for the house in Psycho.”
“Well,” Judith murmured, “Betsy does live here.”
The grass was overlong around the slate stepping-stones that led to the small porch. “Quimby must be too stingy to pay for upkeep,” Renie asserted. “Check the broken windows on the second floor and what seems to be a third floor or big attic.”
Judith grimaced. “I didn’t notice how shabby all this looks from down below. It’s a nice house, but it sure hasn’t been maintained.”
“No wonder Betsy wanders around outside,” Renie said, after ringing the doorbell. “It’s depressing.”
The cousins waited. And waited. Renie punched the bell again. “I can’t hear the damned thing ring. Maybe they can’t either.”
“They heard Jacobson earlier this morning,” Judith noted. “He could hear barking dogs inside before anyone showed up.”
“Let’s hope nobody has released those hounds outside,” Renie said, looking as if she was ready to kick in the door. Before she could do any damage, the knob turned in her hand.
“Yes?” the woman reputedly called Nan said warily. “Are you lost? Or . . .” Her voice trailed away as if it had run off down the darkened corridor behind her.
“We’re the Webers’ nieces,” Judith said quickly, before Renie could say something less polite. “We were the ones who . . . hosted Betsy last night. How is she?”
Nan shrugged. “Betsy’s fine. She always is. My sister-in-law tends to wander. Thanks for asking.” The door began to close.
Judith stopped it with her foot. “We wanted to thank her for returning the knife,” she said.
Nan looked shaken. “The . . . knife? What knife?”
“The one that belonged to our aunt and uncle,” Judith replied. “It was kind of Betsy to bring it to us. We wondered what had happened to it. I hate staying at somebody’s house and mislaying their belongings.” She took advantage of Nan’s still-startled expression to step just inside the door. “Could I speak to her for a moment?”
“Ah . . .” Nan turned to look behind her as a sound came out of the darkness. “Later, maybe,” she mumbled, trying in vain to close the door. “I must—”
“What’s going on?” a rasping voice shouted. Quentin Quimby rolled into view. “Who dares show up at my house?”
“Mr. Quimby!” Judith cried excitedly. “What a thrill! You’re quite famous around here. Could I get your autograph?”
The old man’s wrinkled face scowled up at Judith. “What the hell do you mean by that?”
“Ginger at the Sun Store told us so much about you,” Judith gushed. “Of course, Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince never stop singing your praises.”
Quimby pounded a gnarled fist on the wheelchair’s arm. “Bah! That Vance woman’s got a big yap and her old man’s always unconscious. Get out of here before I . . .” He stopped and glared at Nan. “Throw them out, girl. They’re trouble. Now.”
The “girl” appeared to be at least sixty. Having only glimpsed Nan amid the clubhouse hubbub, Judith noticed that Quimby’s daughter-in-law looked almost as thin as Betsy and far more wrinkled. Nan’s watery blue eyes were pleading. “Please go,” she said to the cousins in a tremulous voice.
Renie shrugged. “Sure. We could always get a ladder and crawl in through a broken window. See ya.” She stomped off the porch.
Judith didn’t have much choice but to follow her. “That was a bust,” she muttered after the door had been firmly shut behind them. “Still . . .” She stopped talking and turned around to stare back at the grim, gray house. “This isn’t a home, it’s a prison. The only one free to come and go seems to be Betsy. I wonder . . .”
“What?” Renie asked when her cousin didn’t continue.
Judith shook her head. “Never mind. Let me brood awhile.”
Renie knew better than to prod. Before reaching the gate, they heard dogs barking. A moment later, Quincy Quimby came into view, leading two Rottweilers on leashes.
“Hi,” Judith called out to the spare, slightly stooped man. “You have a couple of handsome pooches.”
He paused at the gate, the dogs reduced to snarling. “Hansel and Gretel,” he said, straining to open the gate and keep the dogs under control. “Are you from the county? If so, you’ll have to talk to my father.”
“We already did,” Judith replied. She and Renie stepped aside to let Quincy and the Rottweilers go by. “We’re house-sitting for the Webers.”
Judith thought a relieved expression passed over Quincy’s deeply lined face. “Oh.” He frowned. “The Webers are gone?”
“Just for a few days,” Judith said. “I’m sorry to say that your father apparently doesn’t like visitors.”
“No.” Quincy kept moving. “He’s elderly. My father finds it difficult to entertain.” He paused by the porch. “Say, didn’t I see you somewhere before? Maybe at the clubhouse?”
“Yes,” Judith responded. “We had the Webers’ proxy vote.”
Renie spoke up. “We also were sitting by you at the café in the Sun Store. Your old man’s a real pain in the butt, frankly. I came very close to dumping his lunch over his head.”
Quincy looked shocked. “That’s a very unkind thing to say. I told you—he’s elderly. Please go away. You probably hurt his feelings.” He yanked on the leashes with one hand while unlocking the door with the other. Before either Judith or Renie could respond, Quincy and the dogs disappeared inside.
“You really didn’t have to s
ay all that,” Judith chided as they exited through the gate.
“Yes, I did,” Renie countered. “I don’t care what the Quimbys think because I don’t have to. Somebody needs to tell them they’re a bunch of weirdos. Maybe I’m lacking in Christian charity because I missed Mass this morning, but truth is also a virtue. Bullying is wrong. I tried to tell you that when you were married to Dan, but you ignored me. If he hadn’t eaten and drunk himself to death, you’d still be stuck out in the Thurlow District and we wouldn’t have had all these homicide adventures during the last sixteen years.”
Judith rolled her eyes. “You think I like finding dead people?”
“You seemed to like living with a man who was intent on killing himself.” Renie laughed. “Just think how many unsolved murder cases there’d be if Dan hadn’t died at forty-nine.”
“You’re terrible,” Judith murmured, though she couldn’t help smiling. Renie sometimes had a way of putting things in perspective.
By the time they reached the beach steps, a woman in a mauve hooded coat was coming up the stairs carrying a plastic grocery bag.
“Hi,” Judith said in greeting. “Lovely change in weather today.”
The newcomer wore an inquiring expression on her plain face. “I ignore the weather,” she remarked. “You can’t change it. Have we met?”
Judith repeated the Weber connection. “And you’re . . . ?”
“Hilda Hilderschmidt,” she replied. “Are you going to the beach?”
“Yes,” Judith said, judging Hank’s wife to be barely fifty. “It looks as if several people are there already. We might dig clams later on.”
Hilda wrinkled her nose. “I don’t like clams. They’re icky. I’m from South Dakota. I moved out here with my parents when I was fifteen. I never saw a clam when I was growing up.”
“Really?” Renie said in feigned surprise. “I thought those Black Hills were full of them.”
“Hardly,” Hilda responded. “You should get out more often.” Her emerald eyes veered away from the cousins. “Oh, damn! Here comes Tank. What’s he up to now? Excuse me.” She hurried off up the hill.
Judith spotted a dark green van turning onto the road halfway down from the Weber house. “Maybe Tank’s here to get the skinny on the sewer vote—or lack thereof. Eventually, they’ll have to resolve the issue.”
“After all this nightmare, the sewer proponents may give up,” Renie said as they headed down the steps. “Did we ever figure out where the Hilderschmidts live?”
“I don’t think so,” Judith said. “Hilda must have been very young when she married Hank if they had a son old enough to be a cop.” Looking out to the bay, she noticed that most of the half-dozen boats were heading into shore. “I’ll bet if those are fishermen, the orcas showed up. That means they ate all the fish.”
Renie nodded. “I remember that happened last year on the Christmas cruise when I went with you and Kristin and your grandsons. The ship went off course so we could watch the orcas play.”
Judith laughed. “We adults were more agog than the boys were.” She lowered her voice. “I see people we haven’t met. Let’s get acquainted.”
Renie groaned, but trudged along beside Judith in the direction away from the boathouse. “Two men and a woman,” she murmured. “Another triangle?”
“Digging clams together?” Judith responded. “That’s fairly tame.”
The plump, pretty dark-haired woman and the two middle-aged men looked up when the cousins approached. The shorter of the two men doffed his snap-brimmed cap. “Hi there,” he said. “Don’t mind me or my brother. We belong to Gina. She’ll vouch for us. We’re visiting her and Frank for the day. Sis won’t let us stay very long because one time my bro ate three pizzas including the boxes they came in.”
Gina’s brown eyes were wary, but she offered her hand to Judith. “I’m Frank Leonetti’s wife. And you are . . . ?”
Judith kept her smile in place as she shook Gina’s hand. “We’re related to Vance and Vince Weber. They’re out of town for a few days, so we’re staying at their place.”
Gina nodded. “Frank did mention they had house-sitters. These two are my brothers, Pauly and Pete.”
“We’re freeloading,” the taller man said, his long face beaming. “I’m Pete, so you can probably figure out this other rascal is Pauly.”
Gina shot Pete a disparaging glance. “Cut the clowning. We’re not far from where Ernie Glover was murdered. I’m in no mood for jokes.”
“Hey, sis,” Pauly said in a deep voice that belied his short if bulky stature, “lighten up. I thought you didn’t like that Glover guy.”
Gina’s olive skin turned pale. “That’s not true. It’s his bitchy wife I can’t stand.” She tossed aside the shovel she’d been holding and hurried toward the steps.
The brothers exchanged puzzled glances. “What’s up with Gina now?” Pete muttered.
“Hell, bro,” Pauly said, “you know Gina’s touchy. Let sis go. She’s Frank’s problem, not ours. He’s had enough lousy stuff happen to him the last year or so. Cut both of them some slack.”
“Yeah, right, fine,” Pete muttered. “Seems like a lot of people up here are carrying heavy loads.” He gave Judith and Renie a sheepish look. “Ignore us, even when we talk smack about our sister. Gina’s a fine woman, but she feels marooned up here on what they call The Rock.”
“I gather you all grew up in the city,” Judith said.
Pete nodded. “Seven of us. Gina’s the only one who moved away. Pauly and I keep the family business going. You ever buy Melba’s Toast?”
Renie blinked a couple of times. “You mean the baked goods line? Yes, I do. So does my husband.”
“Good for you,” Pauly said in his deep voice. “We’ve never sold out our operation to a big faceless company like some people have.” His dark eyes moved up to the houses on the hill. “Greedy, and that’s that.”
Judith forced herself to look innocent. “Surely you don’t mean anyone around here?”
Pauly started to speak, but Pete put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s not cause trouble. There’s enough of that here already. We’d better finish filling these buckets so we have something to take home to Mama.”
“Right,” Pauly said, doffing his cap again. “Pleased to meet you.”
The cousins wandered down closer to the water. Renie spoke first when they were out of earshot. “Competition from Ben’s Buns, huh?”
“I guess so,” Judith agreed. “But then the victim should be Brose Bennett or a member of Gina Leonetti’s family. Does anybody get murdered over baked goods?”
Renie made a face. “That depends how long I have to wait for my number to be called at Donner & Blitzen’s bakery department downtown. Some of those old bats take forever to make up their minds. Five minutes to choose between raised or cake doughnuts? Really?”
“Ah . . . right,” Judith murmured. “Maybe we can cross off Gina’s brothers as suspects. They can probably prove they weren’t here Friday. As for any rumors about Gina’s alleged amorous adventures, she is good-looking.”
“Suitable for being Ernie’s paramour? It crossed my mind,” Renie said, kicking at an empty clamshell. “If he had one.”
Judith shrugged. “Too much gossip. It’s Gina’s reaction to the mention of Ernie’s death that caught my attention.”
Renie looked bemused. “You’re thinking it isn’t that she dislikes Edna as much as she liked Ernie?”
“Exactly.” Judith stopped a few feet away from the outgoing tide. “I’m wondering about a lot of things. I was so tired last night while I was dealing with Betsy and Jacobson that I almost forgot about the treasure comment. Did you catch that?”
Renie grimaced. “No. That went right by me. Who said it?”
“Betsy. She was talking about her father’s treasure and mentioned that it was safely buried. Where? I wonder.”
“Why does Betsy say most of what she babbles about?”
“Is it babbling?” Jud
ith gave a shake of her head. “I’m trying to figure out if there’s a method to Betsy’s madness, but I can’t.”
“If you can’t, I sure can’t,” Renie said. “You’re better at reading people than I am. I assume you’re not implying Betsy isn’t really nuts.”
“I’m not. It’s more like how nuts she is,” Judith replied. “It’s possible that some of her eccentric behavior is a shield against reality.”
Renie shuddered. “That house and old Quimby are enough to make me a bit peculiar. Both Quincy and Nan look like wrecks. Ginger’s right—no amount of money is worth putting up with a virtual dictator.”
Judith’s expression grew wistful. “It can happen. It’s what you’re used to. ‘Normal’ to one person isn’t ‘normal’ to somebody else.” She turned away from Renie to look out over the bay, but her dark eyes didn’t see the sparkling Sound or the Peninsula’s mountains. Instead, she saw herself working two jobs to make ends meet and coming home to a lazy, drunken, verbally abusive husband. It wasn’t money that had kept her a prisoner for nineteen years. It was fear.
“Why,” she said out loud, “didn’t somebody kill him?”
“I guess,” Renie said, “everybody figures he’s eventually bound to die of old age.”
Judith turned sharply to stare at Renie. “I didn’t mean Quimby,” she blurted. And understood how a so-called normal person could be tempted to snuff out someone else’s life.
Chapter 16
Judith silently blessed Renie for her innate understanding. Her cousin had merely shrugged—and kicked at another empty clamshell. They continued walking away from the steps. Some of the clam diggers had moved farther out as the tide continued to expose more wet beach. A couple with two young children had just given up for the day and were coming toward the cousins. Judith recognized Katie Glover Blomquist and the two boys, but wondered if the man was her brother or her husband. Brad suddenly stopped in his tracks and started to cry.
“Mine!” he screamed. “Mine money! Josh took it!”
“Please don’t be so loud,” Katie admonished. “He’ll give it back when we get to Grandmom’s house. You have to learn to share. Josh already promised to give you some of the shells he found.” She suddenly focused on Judith and Renie, who were some ten feet away. “Oh! Hi, Mrs. Flynn . . . and Mrs. Jones,” she added warily.