by Mary Daheim
Suzie nodded. “I’d been practicing on the piano. I didn’t know the firefighters had come and gone. In fact, I had no idea anything had happened until I saw the ambulance. We only found out Ernie had been killed when a deputy showed up to ask if we’d seen or heard anything.”
Kent nodded once. “We hadn’t, of course. That’s the problem with staying focused on what you’re doing. You block out everything else.”
“I understand,” Judith said, hoping she didn’t sound glib. “Witnesses seem scarce.” She glanced at the pile of driftwood, noting that the teenagers were gone. “Luckily, some of the younger folks were paying attention that afternoon.”
Kent looked startled; Suzie turned pale. “Who?” she asked, her hazel eyes wide. “What did they see?”
Judith laughed. “We don’t live here. Renie and I refuse to get involved in local gossip.”
“Right,” Renie agreed. “We’re those big-city types who never get involved. God help us to get mixed up in anything as sordid as murder.” To Judith’s surprise, her cousin sounded almost sincere.
“But,” Kent protested, “surely if someone told you . . . something helpful to the investigation, you’d share it with the police. Or inform the rest of us for our own protection. There’s a killer on the loose.”
“From what little we’ve heard,” Judith said, “most people think it was random. A head case, probably.”
Suzie moved even closer to Kent. “What if they’re wrong? The sheriff’s deputies haven’t told us anything. At least we’d like to know if they have some leads.”
Judith shrugged. “Early days, as they say in law enforcement. The sheriff’s personnel have to be very cautious.”
Kent frowned. “I forgot. Your husband’s a retired policeman, right? Have you discussed the case with him?”
Judith shook her head. “He’s fishing in New Zealand.”
Kent looked at Suzie. “Maybe we should call a meeting. I mean, a real meeting to figure out how we can learn about progress with the investigation. Frank Leonetti handing out flyers doesn’t seem to be doing much to find the killer. We need some answers.”
“Good thinking,” Renie asserted. “You should chair the meeting, Kent. Hank Hilderschmidt doesn’t know a motion from a potion.”
“She’s right,” Suzie said, smiling at her husband. “You’re a pro.”
Kent hugged Suzie. “Okay, let’s get organized. Maybe we can set it for tonight.” He looked at the cousins. “Would you two come?”
“Dubious,” Renie replied. “We’re outsiders. People get murdered all the time in the city. The meeting might bore us. Don’t you folks have a neighborhood watch?”
Suzie seemed to take umbrage. “We haven’t needed one. Until now,” she added, lowering her gaze.
Kent had kept his arm around his wife. “Let’s go, Suze. We’ve got work to do.”
After the Logans hurried off, Judith gave her cousin a dirty look. “You went too far on that one. I thought you liked Kent.”
“I do,” Renie said, “but did they have to try out their alibis on us?”
“Yes,” Judith responded. “Practice makes perfect. The question is why do I think they need alibis in the first place?”
Chapter 17
Judith leaned on her shovel. “People give themselves away by overdoing their lies,” she said. “When I’m forced to tell a fib, I keep it simple. Kent and Suzie Logan not only told us too much, but they know too much to be telling the truth about their lack of awareness.”
Renie laughed. “I’ve known you to stitch some fancy embroidery of your own. But you’re right. For one thing, how did they know we hadn’t been here very long before we found Ernie’s corpse?”
“Exactly.” The wind had risen off the bay and Judith paused to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear. “The Logans have a reason for not wanting anyone to know what they were doing at the time of the murder. Kent’s alibi isn’t worthy of him because it could easily be broken. The call itself could be checked or the person at the other end would have to lie for him.”
“But why make up such a bunch of twaddle?” Renie asked.
Judith raised an eyebrow. “Because they were on the beach?”
Renie made a face. “Kent wouldn’t resort to violence. He’d take an enemy to court. And I can’t see Suzie stabbing anyone. It’s messy. She’s a very tidy person, not a hair out of place despite the wind. A knife means blood. Wouldn’t the killer have got some on him or her?”
“Good question.” Judith stared out across the bay to the snow-covered mountains on the Peninsula. “I wonder if Jacobson has found out anything about the knife Betsy found. I wish he was on duty today. I hate to bother him on a Sunday.”
“He is the lead detective on this case, isn’t he?”
“He’s the lead at the scene,” Judith replied. “Someone at the county seat in Cooptown is probably in charge, maybe the sheriff. With fifty thousand people living on the island, they must have a fairly large police force because most of the towns aren’t incorporated.”
Renie’s expression was quizzical. “How do you know that?”
Judith grinned. “I read it in the island phone directory while I was trying to get hold of Jacobson. Frankly, I was surprised by the number of people who live up here now. I’ll bet it’s doubled since Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince bought their lot.”
“Too much growth everywhere in this part of the country,” Renie said glumly. “We should charge visitors just for coming here.”
“That’s mean,” Judith chided. “I’d go out of business.”
“Oh. I forgot about that.” Renie grabbed her shovel and moved farther down the beach.
The wind picked up after another fifteen minutes had passed. Judith found at least another three dozen clams, but her back began to ache. She checked her watch, which told her it was a quarter to two, and called out to her cousin, who was some thirty yards away.
“Let’s quit,” she shouted.
Renie looked up from her digging and yelled something Judith couldn’t make out. Apparently her cousin had found more clams. Leaving the bucket where it sat, she walked toward the staircase. She was halfway there when she saw Brose Bennett coming down to the beach.
“A niece,” he called out, coming to meet her. “You seen Fou-fou?”
“No,” Judith replied as he joined her a few yards from the steps. “Was she coming to the beach?”
Brose’s long face grew even longer. “No. I can’t find her anyplace. I guess she’s gone.”
“Gone . . . where?” Judith inquired.
“Left,” he replied, tugging at his left earlobe. “Left me, that is. Oh, hell, it’s no surprise. She’s threatened to do it for years. Fou-fou better not try to get her gloms on my money. I earned it with my buns.”
“Ah . . . yes,” Judith said. “I’m sure you did. I gather your wife didn’t take part in running your baking business.”
“Hell no.” Brose pulled up the hood on his rain jacket. “She likes to spend what I made, though.” He looked beyond Judith. “Here comes the other niece with a bucket. Looks like you’ve both been digging clams. Find anything else interesting?”
Judith turned enough to see her cousin trudging across the sand. “As a matter of fact, we did.” She waited for Renie to join them. “Hey, coz, show Brose what you found.”
Renie’s eyes grew wide. “You mean the astonishing discovery of the Elizabethan coin? Hang on while I disencumber myself.”
Brose frowned at Judith. “What’s she mean by that? It sounds like I should look the other way.”
Judith didn’t bother enlightening him, since it took Renie only a couple of seconds to set down the bucket and the shovel. She removed the coin from her pocket and held it out in her palm.
“What do you make of that, bun boy?” she asked, making a clicking noise with her tongue.
“Wow!” Brose exclaimed. “That’s incredible! Where’d you find it?”
Renie turned around, scanning t
he beach. “I don’t remember. It’s hard to tell now that the tide’s almost out.”
“Well . . .” Brose stroked his long chin. “That’s a funny thing. I found an old coin on the beach a couple of weeks ago. It made the local paper.”
“Slow news day, huh?” Renie murmured.
“Right, right,” Brose agreed. “I got to admit, I created quite a stir.” He glanced at Judith before speaking again to Renie. “Your cousin knows all about it. I’m surprised she didn’t spread the word. Now other folks are hunting for more rare pieces. Got to be money in it somewhere. I mean, besides that they’re coins.”
Judith decided to speak up before Renie got them in any deeper than she already had. “We noticed a rare coin shop in Langton yesterday. Have you had the one you found appraised?”
“No,” Brose replied. “It’s not about the value, it’s about the thrill. Of finding stuff like that, I mean. If other people want to cash in, that’s fine with me. Besides, old Moffitt is gaga.” He glanced at the boathouse. “I wonder if Fou-fou’s in there. Maybe I should have a look-see. Let me know if you find any more treasure.” He ambled off along the beach, his rain jacket flapping in the wind.
“How,” Renie asked, “is Brose working this scam? Or is he really stupid enough to believe what he’s saying?”
Judith crossed her arms, feeling a bit chilly. “I’m not sure. He ran a successful business, so he isn’t a complete dope. Betsy talked about her father and hidden treasure. Maybe there are some legends around here, but I never heard the Webers mention them. I suspect you’re right. Brose has himself a little sideline. Middleman, maybe for brokering deals if somebody actually comes up with a valuable item. He strikes me as the type who’d enjoy a good con.”
Renie turned to look out at the bay. “Over the years some ships with valuable cargoes have sunk in the Sound, but none were this far south. Of course that doesn’t mean it’s impossible. It could be rumrunners from Canada during Prohibition, though if they came by sea, they usually crossed to the mainland north of Whoopee Island or over on the Peninsula. Just enough real history to make Brose’s claims credible.”
Judith grew thoughtful, trying to conjure up full-masted sailing ships with gun portals on each side, and three times smaller than the ferry the cousins had taken to Whoopee Island. “Your dad taught me everything I know about ships,” she said. “Which, frankly, isn’t a lot.”
Renie smiled. “As a seagoing man, he knew his stuff. You didn’t have to learn how to identify every type of vessel from every different era. I actually liked doing that.”
“Speaking of boats,” Judith said, “I want another look at Uncle Vince’s. Do you mind carrying the clams? I’m wearing down a bit.”
Renie scowled. “I’m smaller and I have to do the heavy lifting?” But she didn’t hesitate, picking up the almost full bucket and walking with Judith over to their uncle’s derelict little craft.
“The crime-scene tape is almost gone,” Judith noted. “A stranger probably wouldn’t realize someone had been murdered on this beach.” She looked back at the spot where they’d found Ernie. “Why here?”
“What do you mean?” Renie asked.
“Daylight, out in the open, where anybody could see. It makes no sense.” Judith looked up at the overhanging bank above the big log and their uncle’s small boat. “Let’s try an experiment. It’s about the same time of day that Ernie was killed. You go up to the first row of houses and I’ll stand where the deed was done.”
“Okay,” Renie said. “I’ll take the clams and the shovels. I don’t want to have to call 911 because you dislocated your spare part.”
Judith smiled wanly. “Thanks, coz.” She waved her cousin off.
As soon as Renie started up the staircase, Judith studied Uncle Vince’s beat-up boat. One of the two seats was broken. There was a cushion under the other plank. She pulled it out, noticing that it was an embroidered pillow, soiled and tattered. There were rust-colored blotches on the faded satin cover. In one corner, she could make out Edna Glover’s signature. She was still turning the pillow in her hands when Renie yelled at her.
“Hold on!” Judith called back, moving to where Ernie’s corpse had been found. She couldn’t see her cousin. Thus Renie probably couldn’t see her. They met at the top of the stairs. “That,” Judith stated, “helps explain why nobody above the beach saw the murder.” She thrust the pillow at her cousin. “Tell me what this is all about.”
Renie’s examination was thorough. “Did you see it Friday?” she asked, handing the pillow back to Judith.
“Of course not. I didn’t look inside the boat.”
“Neither did I. You might be tampering with evidence. Could that brown stuff be dried blood?”
“Maybe.” The cousins started up the hill. “The pillow must not have been there Friday,” Judith finally said. “Jacobson would’ve bagged and tagged it. I’m wondering if Betsy put it in the boat. The blood may have been on the knife. Maybe she swipes more than meds from the locals. I’m guessing she swiped the pillow from the Glover house.”
“You figure Betsy often takes a nap in Uncle Vince’s old boat?”
Judith sighed. “Who knows what Betsy does? It’s hard enough to understand allegedly normal people, but this time we’ve got a ringer. Dick mentioned her sleeping in the boat. I suspect Betsy is on some kind of pills. Maybe they make her sleepy.” She paused halfway up the hill and turned around. “Darn. I was thinking that from this angle you could see more of the upper beach because we’re higher on the hill. But we can’t.”
Renie was looking off to the road on her right. “Why is Hank Hilderschmidt hugging Edna Glover?”
Judith remained fixated on the beach. “At some point, Ernie—and his killer—had to be seen by somebody other than the sick teenage . . .” She stopped to stare at Renie. “What did you say about hugging?”
“Hank hugged Edna,” Renie said, adjusting her parka’s hood. “She’s getting into that pale green car. I guess they’re going for a spin.”
Judith saw Hank open the door on the driver’s side. “Keep walking,” she said to Renie. “We don’t want them to think we’re spying.”
“Why not?” Renie retorted, though she kept moving. “They’re not doing anything illegal. Hank will probably honk when they go by.”
But the green car passed them without so much as a nod. “Edna didn’t even look at us,” Judith said. “Is that a Cadillac?”
“I think so,” Renie responded. “Cars all look alike these days.”
Judith made a face, but kept walking. “Edna doesn’t entertain, but rides around with Hank? Was Zach right about Edna having a lover?”
“Eeeew,” Renie said, wincing. “Hank is not an attractive man.”
“To you,” Judith said. “Maybe he is to Edna. That could explain the argument that the ailing Em watched from her window.”
“You’re suggesting a motive for murder?” Renie asked.
“It’s always a good one,” Judith replied, “but I’m not jumping to conclusions.” She grew silent as they turned off to the Weber house. “Let’s hose down the clams and leave them outside. We need to do research.”
Renie set the bucket by the garden hose faucet just off the steps. “On what? I know how to take care of clams.”
“We haven’t done the basics to find the killer,” Judith replied. “Yes, we’ve met several people since we arrived, but what do we really know about them? Just random bits and pieces. All we have are rumors. We need facts. Deep background, as they say.”
“Good thing I brought my laptop,” Renie murmured, covering the clams in water. “Ooof! This thing’s heavy. I should’ve waited to fill the bucket after I got it up the steps.” She used her free hand to steady herself on the rail. “If you fall down, you’re out of luck.”
Five minutes later, they were both on the sofa with a box of Ritz Crackers and a jar of soft cheddar. Judith had a glass of ice water and Renie had her usual Pepsi.
“Let’s s
tart with a known quantity,” Judith suggested, spreading cheese on a cracker. “Brose Bennett; real first name, Ambrose. Put his name in the Times search engine.”
Renie kicked off her shoes. “Why didn’t our aunt and uncle put a fireplace in here? That would be really cozy.”
“It probably would’ve cost too much,” Judith said. “Find anything?”
“Quite a bit,” Renie said, eyes on the screen. “All old news and mostly about the sale of the company. See for yourself. I need chocolate.” She got up to fetch her white bag from the fridge.
Judith was disappointed. “You’re right. Nothing recent. I might as well stay with the Bs and put in Zach Bendarek. Careful, you’ll get chocolate all over the keyboard.”
“Idwoodabeedafurztym,” Renie said with her mouth full.
“I can see that from whatever residue you’ve left on previous occasions,” Judith declared. “It’s a wonder the keys don’t stick.”
“Sometimes they do,” Renie said, after swallowing.
“Shoot,” Judith murmured after sipping her ice water. “One hit, two years ago, about a California high school recruit Zach found for the University football team. Here’s another one, but it’s the same as from the previous year, except there’s a quote. ‘The kid’s got legs. He can run.’ That sounds like Zach.”
“Master of the obvious,” Renie remarked.
“Maybe this was a dumb idea,” Judith said. “I’ll try Hilderschmidt. Here’s a Helmut Hilderschmidt. Could that be Hank’s real name? No—this is about H&H Construction. It must be Tank.”
“Is it of interest?”
Judith shook her head. “It’s in the business wrap-up about a new building in South Lake Onion. I guess Tank keeps busy. Ah! Here’s Henry, three years ago this month. He’s a junior. Oh, no!” She put a hand to her breast. “It’s the son, a firefighter.” She read the story aloud: “‘Three people were killed and two were injured when the roof of a burning house caved in early Tuesday morning . . .’” She stopped, scanning until she found young Henry’s name. “‘A three-year veteran of the city’s fire department, Hilderschmidt was killed when a beam fell on him while he was trying to rescue an elderly couple trapped on the second floor.’” She paused. “The rest is speculation about what caused the fire. He wasn’t a cop, as Kent assumed, but he was killed in the line of duty.”