Clam Wake

by Mary Daheim

  Judith finally switched on the headlights and got the Subaru turned around, but still had to be careful not to run over the more than two dozen people who were walking along the road. “Is Blanche Quimby really buried in that vacant lot?”

  “Blanche!” Hilda exclaimed. “What a greedy woman. I think she drove Quentin insane. It was her idea to sell off all this property. She ruled that family with an iron fist.”

  Hank snorted. “A golden fist is more like it,” he grumbled. “That’s what she was all about—money. Meanest woman I ever met.”

  Turning onto the main road, Judith couldn’t stifle her natural empathy. “Having a daughter with mental problems may have affected her adversely. A tragedy like that can change a person’s outlook on life.”

  “Dubious,” Hilda murmured. “The son, Quincy, let it slip some time ago that he thought his mother had coerced his father into marrying her after the war and bringing her to this country. Once the Germans were out of France, the authorities might’ve been on her trail.”

  “Why?” Judith asked. “Had Blanche collaborated with the Nazis?”

  “Hell no,” Hank asserted. “She was still real young, but she’d worked at one of those big Paris museums. Blanche made off with a bunch of rare coins. Something to do with Napoleon.”

  Renie turned to look at the Hilderschmidts. “Is that what was buried in the case you guys dug up?”

  “No,” Hank said. “It’s . . .” He paused. “Should I shut up, Hilda?”

  “Yes,” his wife replied. “Wait until Kent Logan and Edna open the case. Kent’s a lawyer, so he can advise us on what to do. We won’t know what’s in that box until they see it.”

  Judith took a left onto the Hilderschmidts’ street. “Would I be right in guessing that you think those Napoleon coins are inside?”

  “That was our idea,” Hilda responded. “It doesn’t rattle like it’s coins, though. But what else would the Quimbys bury in it? It sure isn’t Blanche’s ashes. She wasn’t cremated. I wouldn’t be surprised if they dumped her body out in the bay.”

  “Is that legal?” Renie asked.

  “Burial at sea?” Hank chuckled. “Only if you don’t get caught. Or if you get permission. Hell, I remember a couple of ferryboat skippers who were asked to do it over the years. Hey, we’re on the right-hand side of the road just up ahead. See the big stone chimney? That’s us.”

  Judith could barely make it out, but slowed down. “Good luck,” she said, pulling up by the cement walk.

  Hilda waited for Hank to extricate his gangling frame from the car. When he finally got out, she looked Judith in the eye. “We don’t care about luck. We want justice. Thanks for the ride.”

  “Could I be more confused?” Renie said while Judith reversed the car. “What’s the point of digging up a bunch of coins that belong to a dead woman? She may’ve stolen them from a French museum, but it’s too late to bring her to justice if she’s at the bottom of the bay.”

  “It sounds more like a grudge,” Judith said, slowing to a stop before they reached the main road. “Now we wait.”

  “For what?” Renie yipped. “Are you insane?”

  Judith gestured to her left. “See that green house? It’s where the Logans live. They ought to be arriving any minute.”

  Renie slumped in her seat. “Damn, why didn’t I stay at the Webers’?”

  “Go ahead, take off,” Judith said. “I can do this alone.”

  “You know I won’t leave you,” Renie retorted, sitting up again. “For all I know, Kent and Suzie are a couple of crazed killers.”

  “I’m not sure about that,” Judith murmured. “What’s taking them so long? Unless . . .” She paused. “Of course. They walked Edna home. They wouldn’t let her go by herself.”

  “Because she’s a crazed killer?”

  “Coz,” Judith said earnestly, “I don’t know who the crazed killer is. That’s what really bugs me. I still can’t figure out the motive for Ernie’s murder. Maybe I am losing my knack.”

  “So we sit here while you hunt for your self-esteem,” Renie muttered. “Fine. Why not let Jacobson solve this? He might get promoted. All you’ll get is an urge to find another corpse.”

  Judith started to defend herself, but decided not to argue. Five minutes passed in silence except for the first few drops of rain sprinkling the windshield. In between the Logans’ contemporary home and a shake-covered cottage, she saw a large ship gliding north to open water. As she was about to check her watch, Kent and Suzie came around the corner. He was carrying the mysterious rectangular case.

  Judith got out of the car. “Hi,” she called in her friendliest fashion. “You can’t blame me for wondering what’s in that thing. Do you mind if I come in?”

  The Logans exchanged puzzled glances. “It’s rather late,” Kent finally said. “Why are you so interested?”

  Judith shrugged. “You know Auntie Vance. If we don’t give her a full report of what’s happened while she and Uncle Vince have been away, she’ll kill us. Excuse the expression, of course.”

  Suzie poked her husband’s arm. “Why not? It turns out to be much ado about nothing. Edna’s so disgusted.”

  “You’re right, Suze,” Kent agreed. “When everybody finds out about the contents, it’ll be a big letdown.”

  Judith started to follow the Logans into the house, but paused as Renie called to her. “Wait. I’m not sitting out here in the dark. You want me to get bumped off?”

  Suzie flipped on the hall light. “Come into the kitchen,” she said. “I wouldn’t mind a nightcap. How about you two?”

  “I never wear them,” Renie replied. “They ruin my coiffure.” For emphasis, she ran a hand through her unruly chestnut hair.

  “Ignore her,” Judith said with a stern glance at her cousin. “Thank you for the offer, but no. It’s a bit late for us.”

  Kent pulled out a chair for Judith. “Have a seat. This whole endeavor has been disappointing. But we couldn’t refuse Edna’s request. She was certain that whatever was buried in the vacant lot was connected to Ernie’s murder. As you’ll see, that’s very unlikely.”

  The cousins and Kent sat down. Suzie busied herself with getting out snifters and a bottle of brandy. Judith realized that the buried item actually was a jewelry box. The lock had been pried open, probably by Kent, since the faint scratches looked recent. The leather case, however, was mottled, moldy, and rotting around the edges.

  “There,” Kent said, flipping open the lid. “Polaroid photos and unopened letters returned to Blanche Quimby. Probably a case of unrequited love. Sad, but neither interesting nor valuable.”

  Judith picked up one of the Polaroids, gasped, and turned pale. With trembling fingers, she handed the picture to Renie.

  “What the . . . ?” Renie gaped at her cousin. She reached in the case to remove more photos. “Good Lord! These are all of your father!”

  Instead of saying anything to Renie, Judith turned to Kent. “Maybe,” she said in a trembling voice, “I should have some of that brandy after all.”

  All four of them seemed to be talking at once. Kent shut up and raised his hands to silence the women. “What about your father?” he inquired. “Is he this Donald Grover that the letters are addressed to?”

  Judith nodded, but didn’t speak until Suzie handed her a snifter of brandy. “Yes. That’s my mother’s handwriting on the envelopes. She and my father considered buying property up here when the Webers did. But he died suddenly of a heart attack. I noticed that all these photos were taken from a distance. At first, I wasn’t sure it was him, but I recognized his duffel coat. My mother had given it to him the previous Christmas.”

  Renie smiled. “I remember the duffel coat, too. He’s wearing that snazzy tweed cap Uncle Al gave him to go with the coat. Your father always dressed so conservatively. The rest of the family wondered if he was having a midlife crisis. Or Aunt Gert was.”

  Judith nodded vaguely, still trying to marshal her thoughts. “Does this mean B
lanche was infatuated with my father? Or . . .” She picked up one of the half-dozen letters sent to Hillside Manor’s address long before it became a B&B. “This one was mailed after my father passed away.”

  “Maybe they all were,” Kent said, handing the other letters to Judith. “How soon did he die after they considered buying in here?”

  Judith frowned, trying to remember. “Not very long.”

  Kent smiled faintly. “Blanche must’ve fallen for him at first sight. Maybe she’d never been in love before. He must’ve been a charmer.”

  Judith laughed. “Dad was a schoolteacher, quite prim and proper. But he had a wonderful sense of humor and he was very smart. Mother certainly fell for him and she’s a bit of a hardcase.”

  “Speaking of a case,” Suzie said, “maybe you should have that one. Or at least the contents. It doesn’t mean much to the rest of us.”

  Judith hesitated. “Well . . . I am curious as to what Blanche wrote. I wouldn’t mind keeping the Polaroids, though. But the case belongs to the Quimbys. Renie and I should go. It’s very late.”

  Suzie found a big manila envelope for the letters and photos before seeing the cousins to the door. Once they were in the car, Renie couldn’t help but needle Judith. “Wait until I tell Auntie Vance that her brother was a real heartthrob. Are you going to reveal all this to Aunt Gert?”

  Judith grimaced. “I don’t know. She might have a stroke.”

  “No, she won’t,” Renie asserted. “She may’ve guessed Blanche was infatuated with your father. Women are often more perceptive than men. It’d also explain why she didn’t want to buy the property.”

  “True,” Judith allowed, turning into the Webers’ garage. “Weird.”

  “Why?” Renie asked before opening the passenger door. “Uncle Donald wasn’t exactly homely.”

  “I don’t mean that,” Judith said. “In fact, I’m not referring to Blanche’s alleged infatuation. But I know who killed Ernie Glover.”

  She bit her lip, got out of the Subaru, and headed for the house.

  You,” Renie shrieked, practically on Judith’s heels as they went inside, “aren’t getting away with your I-can’t-tell-you-until-I’m-one-hundred-percent-sure stunt this time. Unload or I pitch a five-star fit.”

  Shoulders slumping, Judith looked at her cousin with a wan expression. “What if I told you I think I must be nuts?”

  Renie simmered down. “Well . . . I suppose if you said you think Blanche is the killer, I’d agree.”

  “Okay,” Judith said, looking chagrined, “that’s what I think.”

  “Oh, no.” Renie staggered over to the sofa and collapsed. “I’m not sure I want to ask any more questions.”

  Judith rested a hand on the sofa arm. “Don’t take off your jacket. We’ve got to get inside the Quimbys’ house. Now, before everybody finds out Blanche isn’t buried in the vacant lot.”

  “Not a chance.” Renie shook her head so hard that she made herself wince. “The only way I go into that place is with police protection. I want weaponry nearby.”

  “You mean a gun?”

  “I don’t mean a slingshot and a handful of rocks.”

  Judith knew from Renie’s mulish expression that drastic action was required. “Give me five minutes,” she said, starting for the hall.

  “If you intend to call the cops,” Renie shouted, “you’re going the wrong way.”

  Judith paid no attention. She had to focus on thinking back to what Auntie Vance had once said to Uncle Vince when two deer had invaded her precious rosebushes in back of the house. “Wake up, Weber!” she remembered her aunt yelling. “I’ve had it with these damned deer. Get your damned gun out of the damned . . .” Judith stopped in the middle of the bedroom. What had Auntie Vance gone on to say after she got through cussing? Close your eyes, she ordered herself, reach down, and bring back those words. . .

  The Lost Sock Box in the closet. Auntie Vance kept every unpaired sock she’d ever found from the dryer in a shoe box along with the .38 revolver Uncle Vince had brought back from World War II. Judith hurried to the closet, scouring the shelves above the clothes rack for a shoe box. She didn’t see it. Using her left foot to move aside several pairs of the Webers’ footgear, she spotted the box in a corner.

  “Coz!” she yelled. “Help me out here.”

  Renie wearily trudged into the bedroom. “Now what?” she asked.

  “Can you pick up that shoe box? I don’t dare bend over.”

  “Why,” Renie inquired in a beleaguered tone, “do I feel I should refuse? Oh, I give up. You’ve got some crazy idea and you won’t let it go.” She retrieved the box and handed it over to Judith. “What do you think is in here? Blanche’s remains?”

  “Hardly,” Judith replied, setting the box on the dresser.

  “Socks?” Renie remarked after Judith lifted the lid. “You are nuts.”

  “You may be right.” Judith removed the gun, making sure to keep it pointed out of harm’s way. “I wonder if it’s loaded. It’s like one of Joe’s guns. Maybe I can figure out how to—”

  “No!” Renie was backing away. “You can’t be serious.”

  “But I am.” Judith noticed that Renie had taken off her jacket. “I’ll see you later. I’m going up to the Quimby house.”

  Renie looked dumbfounded. “Good grief,” she finally said, following Judith out of the bedroom and into the hall. “I’m calling the sheriff. I don’t care who I have to wake up.”

  Judith opened her mouth to argue, but realized Renie was right. Somebody must be on patrol at the south end of the island. “Okay, but tell whoever it is to meet me at the Quimbys’ house.”

  “Meet us,” Renie muttered, dialing the emergency number with one hand while grabbing her jacket with the other.

  Judith had gone down the steps by the time Renie emerged onto the deck, still trying to get her arms into the right sleeves. “Why should I bother locking up? We’re going to face a killer. What could be worse?”

  “Lock the lock anyway,” Judith hissed. “We don’t want someone stealing Auntie Vance’s precious unmatched socks she’s been saving since 1982. And keep your voice down. People are sleeping.”

  Renie joined Judith. “You’re right. I can hardly see any lights around here. Oh, it’s raining. Good thing we’ve both got hoods. Hey, why don’t we drive up there?”

  “Because cars make noise,” Judith whispered. “It’s less than thirty yards to the Quimby place. Think of it as well within field-goal range.”

  “About now I wish we had Zach Bendarek with us,” Renie murmured. “He may be dumb, but he sure is . . . dumb.”

  “I wonder. In fact, I wonder if anything up here is as it seems. Tonight at the vacant lot, I felt as if we were watching a play.”

  Renie thought for a moment. “To what point?”

  “Distraction,” Judith replied, passing the Sedgewick house. “To throw the Quimbys off guard. Act One was the goofy clubhouse meeting.”

  “What’s the point? The old guy’s ornery, the son’s a pathetic stooge, the daughter-in-law’s a mess, and Betsy’s mental.”

  “But they still have all the power,” Judith asserted, adjusting her hood. “That’s what matters at the fiefdom called Obsession Shores. The peasants are revolting.”

  “Well . . . some of them are annoying, but . . .”

  “You know what I mean,” Judith said as they walked off the road and paused to gaze through the drizzle at the shabby old house. “What did you hear about a sheriff’s deputy being close by?”

  “You know how that goes,” Renie said. “‘We’ll inform a patrol officer who will assist you as soon as possible.’ At least that’s what they say when you’re out here in the wilds.”

  Judith opened the gate. “I almost expected it to be locked at night,” she whispered. “It has a lock, but part of it is broken.”

  “How do we get in?” Renie asked. “I assume that’s your intention.”

  “The basement, maybe. Let’s see if we c
an find a window. There isn’t one in the front.” They walked to the side of the house facing the road. “We can see the deputy arriving from here,” Judith said softly.

  “We can’t see much else,” Renie noted. “They’ve let everything grow up so that the foundation or basement or whatever is covered in shrubs and bushes. I can only glimpse what might be concrete.” She jumped as a nearby noise startled her. “What was that?”

  “A chipmunk? A squirrel?” Judith gazed at her surroundings. “It’s a rat. He’s burrowing under the shrubs. Maybe he’s trying to get into the basement.”

  Renie grabbed her cousin’s arm. “Shoot him! I hate rats!”

  “I don’t even know if the gun’s loaded,” Judith admitted. “I was afraid to check. It might’ve gone off. The rat isn’t bothering you.”

  “I loathe them. You lived with a pack of rats in those dumps you and Dan rented. The rest of the family figured they were your pets. You couldn’t afford a dog.”

  “Never mind,” Judith said with a touch of indignation. “That was then, this is now. Let’s check out the back of the house.”

  “I can hardly see anything,” Renie griped. “Why didn’t we bring Uncle Vince’s big flashlight?”

  Judith grimaced. “Because we were too stupid to think about it. Wait—look beyond that old trellis that’s leaning against the bushes that are leaning against the house.”

  “I can’t see all that leaning stuff,” Renie retorted. “What is it?”

  “A door, like to a root cellar,” Judith replied, grabbing Renie’s sleeve. “Come on, have a look.”

  Reluctantly, Renie joined her cousin. “That’s what it is, all right. If you think I’m going in there, think again. The rats are rooting around inside. They’re the only creatures who stir around here this late.”

  “The door looks kind of flimsy,” Judith remarked. “I’ll bet we could pry it open. Did you say you had your nail scissors?”

  “Yes. No. I lost them.”

  “All I want to do is see where this goes,” Judith asserted. “Okay?”

  Renie sighed as she dug in her purse. “Why don’t you have your own nail scissors? Is that because you really do still bite your nails?”