Clam Wake (11 page)

Renie's expression was droll. “House-to-house canvassing tomorrow?”

“Of course not. But this is Friday. I'll bet a lot of people grocery-shop and run errands before the weekend. For one thing, they can get the specials, which I imagine most of the older folks watch for. Have you seen their weekly newspaper anywhere?”

“Oh, jeez,” Renie groaned, “how do ads for pork chops and pickled pig's feet help figure out who murdered Ernie?”

“They don't,” Judith asserted. “But the local paper would list a calendar of events. I'm trying to get a feel for this place.”

“You're not writing a novel, you need to work on not getting us killed. Give it a rest until tomorrow.” She made one of her usual futile efforts to snap her fingers. “I know! Let's watch TV!”

“Fine.” Judith reached into the magazine rack next to the chair. “I'll see what's on. Oh—here's the
Whoopee Weekly Word
.”

“Great,” Renie remarked in a bored voice. “Read me the funnies.”

“They don't have funnies,” Judith said, scanning the front page. “Lots of planning news on other parts of the island. Storm-watch report . . . argument over beach rights . . . obit for ninety-six-year-old Ignatz—”

“Stop!” Renie yelled. “Just get to the calendar, for heaven's sake!”

Judith flipped through the pages. “Here it is. Nothing for Obsession Shores.” She checked the publication date. “The paper comes out Wednesdays. The locals may not have had time to get the special meeting in before the deadline. It's not stop-the-presses kind of news.”

Renie yawned. “It sure isn't. Can we watch TV now?”

“Go ahead, turn . . . wait. Here's an article about Brose Bennett finding what he claims is an English gold coin dated 1798. It was washed up on the beach earlier this month.”

“Could be. Captain Vancouver plied these waters at the end of the eighteenth century. The coin wouldn't be hard to authenticate, though I doubt it's worth much.”

Judith summed up the six-inch article. “He found it after a high tide last weekend. It's a guinea with George the Third on it. Here,” she said, tossing the newspaper to Renie. “There's a picture of the coin and one of Brose.”

Renie skimmed the article. “Brose looks full of himself. Did you spot him and Fou-fou at the meeting?”

“I couldn't see who was up front,” Judith said, finding a copy of
TV
Guide
in the magazine rack. “Drat. Not much on tonight.
Bloopers, Trading Spouses, Killer Instinct
—”

“Stop!” Renie cried. “No college basketball on Friday nights either. This is when Bill and I get out a DVD to watch
Brideshead Revisited
for the umpteenth time.”

“Oh?” Judith barely heard what her cousin had said. “I wonder if other rare coins have been found around here.”

Renie sighed. “You're going all numismatic on me? Forget it. Not in January weather.”

“No,” Judith responded with a glare. “I'm talking about motive.”

Renie shook her head. “We'd have heard about that hobby. Serious treasure seekers use a metal detector. I gather that's not mentioned in the article. In fact, Uncle Vince might stay awake for more than fifteen minutes at a time because he's interested in history. You know how he tells stories about being in the army during World War Two.”

Judith smiled. “I always liked the one where the ship he was on for the D-Day invasion got lost in the fog. They ended up landing back in England and scaring the wits out of an entire English village.”

“I always wondered if he was navigating,” Renie said, laughing. “He might've dozed off.”

“That was before he became a milkman,” Judith remarked. “Turn on the TV. Maybe you can find an old movie we haven't seen lately.”

Renie picked up the remote and stared at it. “How do you use these things? I don't think they've got cable up here. Don't they all have a dish? Or maybe one great big one?”

Before Judith could answer, yet another knock sounded outside. “Now what?” she murmured. “I thought retired people went to bed early.”

“I'll get it,” Renie said, tossing the remote in Judith's lap. She leaned against the door and called out, “Password, please!”

“Hell, Vance,” a male voice shouted, “stop clowning around! It's cold out here.”

“That's not it,” Renie yelled back.

Judith stood up, reaching around the chair to peek through the blinds that covered the window. “I can't see who it is from here.”

“Fine,” Renie said, heading back to the sofa.

Whoever it was didn't give up easily. Their visitor pounded even harder on the door, now shouting both Vance and Vince's names. “This isn't funny! There's a killer out here!”

Judith turned to stare at Renie. “Do you think he means literally?”

Renie shed her shoes and put her feet up on the sofa. “If a killer's out there, he's not in here. Ignore the knock.”

“Oh, for . . .” Judith started for the door. “It sounds like Hank Hilderschmidt. If he acts menacing, hit him with the remote. Hold on!” A muffled grumble responded. She finally got the door open. “Hi. The Webers are out of town. I'm Judith, their niece. Come in, Hank.”

Hank gave a start. “You know me?”

“My cousin,” she said, nodding at the sofa, “and I were at the meeting tonight. You probably didn't see us. We were at the back.”

“Oh.” Hank stamped his feet on the floor. “That's one thick fog out there. Third night in a row.” He looked at Renie, who hadn't budged and was staring straight ahead. “Is she okay?”

“Uh . . . yes, she's fine. Did you want something? I mean, can I help you? I don't think we've met.”

“Awww . . .” Hank paused, scratching at one of his long sideburns. “No, I guess not. I just wanted to talk to Vance and Vince about the cops coming around to question all of us after Ernie . . . you know. Bought the big one.”

“Have a seat,” Judith said, indicating a kitchen chair. She didn't dare suggest the living area. Renie seemed to be in one of her socially zoned-out moods. “You're good friends of the Webers?” she asked, sitting down at the end of the table.

“Good enough to ask if they have a drink,” Hank said. “My wife didn't make it to the liquor store today.”

“Oh. That's too bad.” Judith was about to let the comment pass, but caught the pitiful look in Hank's dark eyes. “Would you like a short shot of Scotch?”

“Yeah, that'd hit the spot. Nasty night out there.”

Judith got up to fetch the liquor. She decided she might as well join Hank. “I didn't realize the police had interrogated everyone.”

“Oh, they sure did. You'd think I'd done in poor ol' Ernie. Hell, nobody around here would do a thing like that. Must've been a nut case walking the beach. It happens.”

“What happens?” Judith asked, putting ice into the glasses with their inch of liquor.

“Nuts. Not so much this time of year, but in the summer. Yeah, right, it's a public beach, but still . . . they make trouble and leave a mess. That's not right. Wish we had a retired cop living here. He'd know how to handle 'em.”

“Were you and Ernie good friends?” Judith inquired after she'd set down the drinks and resumed her place at the table.

“Oh—we got along fine, but Ern was still settling in after he retired. I keep working. Took my pension with the state ferry folks two years ago, after thirty years in the boiler room, but I do part-time stuff helping out at the dock on weekends and holidays. Just did a turn for the Martin Luther King three-day deal. Here's to ol' Ern.” He lifted his glass.

Judith joined him in the toast. “Did you work today? Being a weekend, I mean.”

Hank shook his head. “Nope. Not so busy this time of year. Probably won't do much now until the weather gets better. Easter comes along in April. Might be nice by then.”

Judith noticed that Hank had downed almost half of his drink in the first gulp. “Why did you get to chair the meeting?”

“Hard to get everybody to agree on much of anything around here,” Hank replied. “Too damned many fractions.”

Judith assumed he meant
factions
. “Is that because some younger people have moved here in recent years?”

Hank dug a finger into his left ear. “Well . . . in a way. Those folks got what you call more liberal ideas. That makes 'em kind of fractious.”

Judith figured Hank was right the first time. “Such as?” she asked.

Hank almost polished off the Scotch in another big gulp. “You know, who can buy in. Not that there's a rule about color or stuff like that, but we've kept to our own kind. If you know what I mean.” He winked.

“That's it!” Renie yipped, vaulting off the sofa and hurtling toward the kitchen table. “Say it, Hilderschmidt. What
is
your own kind other than stupid?”

“Hey!” Hank's long face darkened. “What's with you? We got lots of different people. Jews, Catholics, even a damned atheist.”

“They're all white,” Renie snapped. “Has anybody sued you dolts?”

Hank finished his drink and stood up. “How would I know? Ask that old goat Quimby. He's the one who really runs the show. I just live here.” He stumbled a bit over his own feet before heading out the door.

Renie hurried to set the lock. “Why have we never gotten a whiff of what really goes on up here?” she demanded.

“Vance and Vince may ignore it. Or else they're embarrassed.”

“I vote for Door Number Two,” Renie said, having secured the house for the night. “Face it—they're like most people. They don't want to let on that this place isn't ideal.”

Judith had gotten to her feet. “I've never asked what goes on here, besides clam digging and putting out crab pots and deer eating rosebushes. That's the trouble—we all take things for granted.”

“True,” Renie muttered, heading for the sofa and grabbing the remote. “Let's watch something mindless and forget about all this mess. I'm beat.”
Click, click, click. . 
.

The cousins settled in to watch
Mississippi Burning
. Somehow it diverted Judith from thinking about Ernie Glover's murder. The movie was set in the past. A killer lurked in the present.

T
o Judith's surprise, she slept like a brick that night. Renie had spared her the gum chewing by going to bed in the spare room. It was almost nine by the time Judith had showered, dressed, and gone into the kitchen. Glancing outside, she noted overcast gray skies but no rain. Assuming Renie would sleep until at least ten, she made a breakfast of bacon, toast, and coffee. Renie could fend for herself.

Shortly after ten thirty, Jane Sedgewick called. “You survived the night,” she said, sounding faintly relieved.

“Yes,” Judith replied. She didn't want to mention the second visit from Jacobson—or the threatening note—but acknowledged Hank's visit.

“What,” Jane inquired archly, “did that jackass want?”

“A drink,” Judith said. “He thought the Webers were home.”

“His wife probably drank all their booze. She wasn't at the meeting last night. Vance thinks Hilda's pass-out time is early evening, then she gets up at five in the morning to go on the prowl. Your aunt takes more of an interest in people than I do. It's her nature. I spent my career as an executive secretary dealing with personnel issues. I vowed not to get mixed up in other people's problems when I retired.”

“Do you know what's the point of Hilda's prowling?” Judith asked.

Jane sighed. “No. She walks the beach for hours even if the weather's on the crummy side. When she goes home, she probably starts drinking. Their son used to visit every few months, but I haven't seen him in ages. Hilda's weird, very unfriendly. Maybe she collects shells or bottle caps. I keep my distance.”

Judith refrained from further comment and changed the subject. “I intend to call on Mrs. Glover today. Do you think that'd be okay? Her daughter stopped in last night to borrow a heating pad.”

“Why not go see her?” Jane said without hesitation. “Vance and Vince would do that, so they'd appreciate you filling in for them.” She laughed, a throaty sound. “In fact, Vance is going to be madder than a wet cat when she finds out she's missed the biggest excitement around here in ages.”

“Uh . . . I suppose she'd want a piece of the action,” Judith admitted. “Auntie Vance has never been one to avoid risks.”

“Curiosity seems to run in your family. Say, would you and Renie like to come for dinner tonight? I've got some T-bones in the freezer.”

“That's kind of you to offer, but Auntie Vance left—”

“Vance left, period,” Jane interrupted. “Sure, you've got enough beef noodle bake to feed half of Obsession Shores, but Dick and I are bored. Come around five thirty and have cocktails first. No arguments.”

To make her point, Jane hung up.

“Who,” a tousled Renie demanded from the hallway, “was that calling in the middle of the night?”

“Jane,” Judith replied. “And did you have to wear those scary tiger stripes? It's a wonder you don't have nightmares about getting stalked in the jungle.”

“This is my travel set,” Renie snarled, plucking at the marabou-trimmed sleeves of her peignoir. “I dreamed I was on safari. The one we never went on because I got married instead. What was I thinking?” She shook her head and went into the bathroom.

Judith decided to unlock the door and step outside. The gloomy skies weren't as threatening as her cousin in the morning, especially in those orange and black tiger stripes.

The air smelled damp, but not particularly cold. Judith checked the thermometer next to the big front window. It registered forty-nine. No chance of snow, which was a relief. Maybe they could drive into Langton and browse the shops.