by Mary Daheim
“They haven’t reacted,” Renie asserted. “They’re in Nebraska.”
The hint of a smile touched Jack’s wide mouth. “I think they have phones in Cornhusker country.”
As if on cue, a phone rang. Judith started to get up, but stopped when she saw Jack reach into his shirt pocket and take out his cell. “Larrabee,” he said, and listened to whoever was at the other end. “Okay, so what time will you be back?”
Renie was still in the kitchen. “Damn. This coffee cake’s stale. I’ll make popcorn. Those portions at Cabaret weren’t very big, not even two of them put together.”
Judith sighed, but turned her attention to Jack, who was looking resigned as he listened to the caller. “Then I’ll have to walk back to Scratchit Head,” he said into the cell. “My hosts are out for the evening. Tell the auto repair shop to call me tomorrow at this number when they get finished.” He paused. “How backed up can they be in a little town? . . . Right, I know it’s a big island. Is there a car rental nearby?” Another pause. “How I am supposed to get way up to Hoak Arbor? . . . Screw it.” He clicked off the cell. “Damned isolated small towns. Only one mechanic at this end of the island and he’s busy. Why didn’t I stay on the mainland?”
“Quit bitching,” Renie called from the stove, where she was heating oil in a kettle. “You think you’ve got a problem? The Webers don’t have any microwave popcorn. I have to do this the old-fashioned way.”
Jack shot her a dirty look, but when he spoke it was to Judith. “You’re stuck with me because Jerry and Evelyn are out for the evening. They won’t get back until after midnight. I should call them now to see if they can pick me up on their way home from Libertyville.” He reached again for the cell.
“Wait,” Judith said. “We can drive you over to your friends’ house, around eleven. Do you have a key?”
“I know where they keep the spare,” he replied, “but why wait?”
Judith raised her voice to be heard over the sound of popcorn popping. “Well . . . I’m kind of tired. It’s been a long day. We dug clams earlier. And,” she went on, kicking herself for admitting it even if the excuse was exaggerated, “I have an artificial hip. I have to rest it.”
“Oh. Of course.” Jack seemed satisfied with the explanation.
“Hey,” Renie called out as she removed the kettle from the stove, “we can play three-handed pinochle. How about it, Larrabee?”
“I’m game,” he said.
“Then we’re on,” Renie declared.
For the next two hours, Judith put murder out of her mind. Instead, she made a killing of her own, collecting a dollar and fifty cents’ worth of the quarters they had put into the pot for each game. At ten after eleven, they left the house, driving out into the moonless night. The clouds still hung low, but no rain had fallen. Nor were there many cars on the road. Shortly after eleven thirty they let Jack off at the well-tended rambler owned by Jerry and Evelyn. The cousins waited to make sure he found the key and got inside before they drove away.
But they didn’t go far. Judith parked at the end of the Scratchit Head road that stopped where the narrow inlet cut into the island. They could see out not only to the bay, but also to the small, narrow settlement below Obsession Shores and the marina belonging to the spit’s homeowners.
Renie peered at her watch. “We’ve got fifteen minutes to wait for the phantom ship,” she informed Judith. “I can’t believe we didn’t have any visitors while we were playing cards.”
“I can’t either,” Judith admitted. “In fact, it’s kind of creepy.”
Renie stared at her cousin. “What do you mean?”
Judith shook herself. “I don’t know. It’s as if . . . it’s like the lull before the storm. That’s the only way I can describe the feeling.”
Renie gazed out through the windshield. “Storms aren’t uncommon up here this time of year. But I assume that’s not what you mean.”
“That’s right. I don’t.”
“Hey,” Renie said, straining for a better look at Scratchit Head’s main road, “I see a car. That must be Jack’s friends.”
“Probably,” Judith murmured, but kept her eyes fixed on the marina. “Fifty boats, but only thirty-six houses. Interesting.”
“It is?” Renie sounded skeptical. “Why?”
“It could mean that people who don’t live along the spit can rent marina space to outsiders.”
“Or,” Renie said drolly, “some of the residents have more than one boat. Are you suggesting that the phantom ship comes from there?”
“That’s my best guess,” Judith responded. “I keep waiting for somebody to come down to the marina. It’d take some time to start the boat and head out toward the bay.”
“Most of the houses are dark,” Renie noted. “I wonder if they’re permanent residents or summer retreats. I don’t recall Auntie Vance ever talking about the people at the spit.”
“They’re very isolated. Not much of a view, except at the west end by the bay. The bluffs on both sides cut them off. There’s not a lot of room for gardens. Maybe the people who live there are privacy fiends. From what little I can see, the houses are rather handsome. It could be a gated community. You certainly can’t see anything from the road.”
Renie checked her watch again. “It’s seven to midnight. Maybe the mystery boat’s skipper doesn’t go out on Sundays.”
“Just our luck if he doesn’t.” Judith shifted uncomfortably in the driver’s seat. “Damn. I’ve been sitting too long. I’ve got to get up and stretch. Don’t take your eyes off the marina.”
“I can’t,” Renie muttered. “I’m starting to feel as if I’m hypnotized.”
“Stay that way,” Judith said, opening the door. “I’ll walk around the car a couple of times.”
“Go for it.” Renie kept staring.
The damp air invigorated Judith as she carefully walked around the Subaru once before pausing to look over to Obsession Shores. There was nothing she could see. The bluff by the spit blotted out everything except the forest between the development and the road. Shrugging, she started to take a second turn, but suddenly stopped as something to her left caught her eye. Judith stood transfixed, watching the single running light move from what must have been the boathouse at Obsession Shores. She hurried back to the driver’s side of the Subaru, leaning in to alert Renie.
“Mystery ship just came out of the boathouse. Quick, take a look.”
Scrambling out of the car, Renie glanced again at her watch. “I’ll be damned,” she breathed. “It’s midnight!”
“Who is it?” Judith muttered, as much to herself as to her cousin. “I was certain the boat must’ve come from here or even Scratchit Head.”
“At least you’ve narrowed the suspects,” Renie remarked. “Too bad we don’t know all of the boat owners.”
“Whoever it is appears to be turning north and out of sight,” Judith said. “Let’s go back to Obsession Shores. We can’t find out anything from standing here.”
The cousins drove back in virtual silence, both lost in thought. And conjecture. But five minutes later, when they reached the Weber house, Judith turned off the headlights, but kept going.
“Oh, no!” Renie cried. “We’re not staying up all night waiting for the boat to come back, are we?”
“Cut me some slack,” Judith pleaded, driving slowly down the road to the beach steps. “Twenty minutes, that’s all. I can’t think what any of those rather small boats would be doing every night, especially during the winter. Aren’t you curious?”
Renie shot Judith a disparaging glance. “Only about whether or not you’ve lost your mind.”
Judith braked, then put the car into reverse as she backed away from the staircase while keeping the boathouse within view. “Go ahead, time me.”
“I’ll give you until twelve thirty,” Renie replied.
“Fine.” Judith sat back and folded her arms.
“I see a ship,” Renie announced after a few minutes had
passed. “It’s a freighter. Do you care?”
“Not unless it rammed the little boat.”
“It’s a pretty sight, though. I wonder where it came from,” Renie mused. “Malaysia, maybe. Or Costa Rica or Madagascar. Cargo might be bananas or coconuts or petroleum. It could bring vast wealth to our hometown. Tuna fish, maybe, or tires. It might even be a slave ship from a country that has its name changed so often that I—”
Judith glared at Renie. “Would you please stop jabbering? You’re getting on my nerves.”
Renie uttered an exaggerated sigh. “I’m bored.” She peered at her watch. “It’s twelve eighteen.”
“So?” Judith kept her eyes fixed on the area by Scratchit Head. “A rendezvous at sea? No, that’s unlikely. Collecting something from a person on shore? Keeping watch on—”
“Stop!” Renie shouted. “Now you’re driving me nuts.”
“Okay, okay,” Judith said, “but keep your voice down. You’ll wake up whoever lives around here.”
Renie, who felt no compulsion to keep watching, tried to look up the hill. “Everybody seems to have gone to bed. The closest lights I can see from here are the ones we left on.”
“I suspect most people are early to bed, early to rise,” Judith said, wishing her own eyes weren’t becoming tired. “No wonder whoever takes out that boat doesn’t worry about being seen this time of night.”
“Check that.” Renie rolled down the window. “I see a small light bobbing around about halfway up the hill. Wait—I see another one further up by the Sedgewicks’.”
Judith was tempted to take a look, but she suddenly spotted a light coming from around Scratchit Head. “There! That must be the mystery boat. Do you suppose whoever is walking around here is coming to meet it?”
“No,” Renie replied. “The lights are moving up the hill. I see a third one now.”
“Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath. “Why is so much happening all at once? And this late at night? I don’t suppose you’d like to walk up the hill to—”
“Stick it,” Renie interrupted. “For all we know, it’s the Ku Klux Klan and they’re going to lynch somebody.”
“Hardly that,” Judith murmured. “Maybe a child ran away. Or an elderly person got lost.”
“Something’s up,” Renie said. “I see a fourth light and it looks as if it’s coming from the Bendarek house. Or across the street from them.”
“The phantom ship’s almost up to the boathouse.” Judith paused. “Now it’s disappeared, so it went inside.”
“No kidding. Isn’t that where it came from?”
“I wanted to be sure,” Judith replied, realizing she sounded defensive. “Now all we have to do is wait to see who was in the boat.”
Renie held her head. “If it isn’t George Clooney, I don’t care. At this point, I’m not sure I’d care if it was Bill.”
Judith ignored the comments. “It shouldn’t take long for the boat owner to put it back. Then we can check out the people with flashlights.”
“Gosh,” Renie wailed, “whatever happened to sleeping at night?”
“You’re the one who stays up late working. You should be alert and feeling . . . Here he comes. Or she. I can’t tell. Whoever it is, isn’t using a flashlight.”
“They probably ran out of them with so many people wandering around Obsession Shores with flashlights.”
“I think it’s a man,” Judith said. “He’s carrying something in each hand. Some kind of contraband, maybe? He’s almost to the stairs.”
“Want me to get out and yell ‘boo’?” Renie asked.
“Just be quiet. We don’t want him to notice us.” Judith sucked in her breath. A few moments later, a man wearing a baseball cap appeared at the top of the stairs. “Frank Leonetti,” she whispered excitedly. “What on earth is he carrying?”
Renie leaned forward. “Crab pots. Gee, that’s really thrilling.”
Judith scowled, but kept quiet as Frank trudged by the Subaru without so much as a glance. After he’d gone up the hill some twenty yards, Judith turned to Renie. “It may not be thrilling, but this time of year it’s illegal. No wonder he goes out so late. But why would he keep doing it? Even you couldn’t eat that many crabs.”
“Because he’s selling them?” Renie responded. “He does own a wholesale grocery business. You were right about contraband.”
Judith gnawed on her index finger. “I wonder if Ernie knew what Frank was up to.” She stared at her cousin. “That could be the motive.”
Renie made a face. “Isn’t that a bit much? Even if Frank got caught poaching, he’d get off with a big fine, but no jail time.”
After making sure Frank was out of sight, Judith started the car, but still didn’t turn on the headlights. “I’ll bet Frank’s the ghost Betsy saw when she stayed out later at night. Do you know where the flashlights ended up?”
“The leaders headed past Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince’s house,” Renie replied. “That indicates they weren’t going to break in and kill us.”
Judith frowned. “How many?”
“I couldn’t tell. It’s so dark, and the flashlights—or maybe they’re lanterns—were pointed in front of whoever was carrying them. Are you sure it’s a good idea to track them down?”
“Someone talked about holding a meeting tonight,” Judith said. “The Logans, remember? They wanted to get everybody together to pressure the sheriff about the murder investigation.”
“Oh.” Renie sounded indifferent. “That’s a useless effort.”
“They don’t know that.” Judith slowed down as they passed their aunt and uncle’s house. “Are you sure the people you saw were going up farther than this?”
“I’m not even sure they were people,” Renie replied. “They could be poltergeists who can’t see so well in the dark. But whatever or whoever, they went past the Sedgewicks’. I couldn’t see anything beyond that.”
Judith almost came to a stop by the octagonal-shaped home above the Weber property. “Who lives there?”
“Summer people,” Renie said. “I forget their name. There’s only one other house behind the Webers’ on this side of the road. It’s a vacation retreat, too. I suppose that’s why Auntie Vance never talks much about either of the owners. They don’t stick around long enough to annoy her.”
Judith turned the Subaru to the left, creeping along past the darkened Quimby residence. “That place looks better in the dark,” she murmured. “Do you see a sign of anybody around there?”
“No.” Renie frowned. “Where could they go? There’s nothing else up this far except that vacant lot—and the remains of the late Mrs. Quimby.”
“Did you have to say that?” Judith asked. “I told you, I don’t like that piece of turf.”
“That’s stupid,” Renie declared. “Your father liked it well enough to want to buy it. Where’s your usual rock-solid logic?”
“Okay, so for once I let my imagination get the better of me,” Judith shot back. “Your flashlight friends must’ve gone into somebody else’s house. I’m turning around.”
“Good,” Renie said, leaning back in the passenger seat. “I’m beat.”
Judith couldn’t find a place to turn the car around. She decided to go to the road’s end and hope for more maneuvering room. But as she reached the vacant lot, she saw several bobbing lights—and people. “What on earth . . . ?” She hit the brake.
Renie sat up. “They’re not poltergeists! I’ll be darned.”
Apparently, no one in the small gathering had heard the car’s approach. “They’re digging,” Judith whispered. “Why?”
Her cousin didn’t answer right away. “I don’t mean to creep you out,” she finally whispered back, “but it looks as if they’re disinterring Mrs. Quimby. Here comes the casket.”
Chapter 21
Gruesome!” Judith said under her breath, leaning to look out through the passenger window. “Why?”
“How do I know?” Renie muttered. “I’m rolling d
own the window to see if we can hear anything.”
Before she could get the window more than halfway down, a voice called out to her. “Hey—who’s there?”
The cousins exchanged quick looks. “Hank Hilderschmidt?” Judith whispered.
Renie nodded. Hank and Hilda were hurrying toward the Subaru. Judith and Renie froze in place.
Hank leaned down to look into the car. “The nieces? What are you doing up here?”
“That’s our question,” Renie shot back. “You go first.”
Hank looked conflicted. Hilda sighed heavily. “We’re righting a wrong, that’s what. If you want to call the cops, go ahead.”
Judith found her voice. “We won’t do that. It’s none of our business. But we sure are curious. Is it okay if we get out of the car?”
Renie was aghast. “Coz, are you nuts? Aren’t you going too far to look at a dead body?”
Judith shook her head. “Check out what they dug up. It’s a casket all right, but not big enough for Blanche Quimby.” She leaned to her left to look at Hank. “Am I right about that?”
Hank chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, but forget you ever saw it. We’re done here. How about a ride for me and Hilda, at least as far as the Weber place? My back’s killing me.”
“Get in,” Judith said. “I can drive you home, but I don’t know where you live.”
Hilda didn’t answer until she was settled in the backseat. “Two houses this side of the clubhouse on the street below your aunt and uncle’s place. Come on, Hank, untangle those long legs of yours.”
“Right, sure . . . ahhh!” Hank finally arranged himself. “That was something.”
Judith struggled trying to turn the car around without running into the other people who were coming away from the vacant lot. She recognized the Bendareks, the Logans, the Bennetts, and Edna Glover, who was carrying the little casket that up closer looked like a big jewelry box.
“What was that?” Renie inquired, taking up the slack for Judith.
“Hey,” Hank said, sounding weary, “it’s a long story. We’re worn out. We had to wait to do all this until we were sure the Quimbys—especially cuckoo Betsy—weren’t outside.”