Clam Wake (10 page)

Her cousin nodded. “I lack grooves.” She wiggled her thumbs as if to prove the point.
Or
, Judith thought,
the lack of . . 
. But she decided it was best not to think about how really weird Renie could often be.

“Forget it,” Jacobson said, with a hint of exasperation. “I ran you two through the system. You're married to a retired homicide detective, Mrs. Flynn. I assume that's how you became acquainted with murder cases. We law enforcement types try not to take our work home with us, but it happens. Sometimes we need to vent in a safe place.”

“Yes, of course,” Judith agreed. “I understand.”

“As for you, Mrs. Jones,” he continued, “your husband is a psychologist. While he probably wouldn't breach patient confidentiality, he might occasionally share certain symptoms he's treating.”

“True,” Renie conceded. “He never names names. Bill's very professional. It's always Mr. Goofball or Mrs. Nut Job or Ms. I-Can't-Believe-She's-Allowed-in-a-Public-Venue.”

“Ah . . . right.” Jacobson opened his notebook and turned back to Judith. “What time did you leave here?”

“About ten to seven,” Judith said, though she hadn't really noticed. “It's a short drive to the clubhouse, as you know.”

Jacobson nodded absently. “What time did you get back?”

The cousins exchanged glances. “Seven-thirtyish?” Judith replied.

The deputy made a note. “Did you leave the lights on?”

“Yes,” Judith said. “The porch light and the ones that are on now.”

“That,” Jacobson said, “was a short meeting. Did you leave early?”

“No,” Judith replied. “The meeting ended abruptly because it got . . . sort of out of control.”

He leaned forward, hands on his knees. “Can you explain why?”

Judith took a deep breath. “It was supposed to be a vote on whether a sewer system should replace the current septic tanks. Before they could do that, there were some people who felt they didn't have enough information to cast an intelligent vote.”

“Or,” Renie put in, “they didn't have enough intelligence, period. All hell broke loose.”

Jacobson sat up straight again. “In what way?”

“Arguing and shouting,” Judith replied. “I think one woman may've fainted. Then the chairperson—Hank Hilderschmidt—adjourned the meeting. Sort of, that is. He tossed his gavel and walked out. Everybody headed for the exits.”

“I see.” The deputy frowned. “Then it had nothing to do with Ernest Glover's death. I thought they might have canceled the meeting, given the circumstances.”

Judith realized that Jacobson found the Obsession Shores residents' behavior odd. “Hank did ask for a moment of silence in Mr. Glover's memory.”

“In a half-assed way,” Renie said. “I'm using our aunt's terminology here. A less obscene version thereof, by the way.”

Jacobson evinced mild interest in the comment. “Are you insinuating that Mr. Hilderschmidt didn't like Mr. Glover—or that the deceased wasn't well liked in general?”

Renie glanced at Judith. “You answer that one, coz,” she said. “You're a better people person than I am.”

Judith frowned. “It's hard to say. We were near the back. Renie and I don't know these people, except for the Sedgewicks and the Friedmans. A few others have been pointed out to us over the years, including Mr. Glover. But that's it.”

The deputy again nodded before looking at the few notes he'd jotted down. “Can you be more precise about when you returned here?”

Judith turned to Renie. “Maybe a little before seven thirty? We were sort of in the middle of the pack going out the main door. Some of the others went out the rear exit where Hank Hilderschmidt had gone. Oh! I see what you mean. It's unlikely that anyone attending the meeting could also have come here to leave the note.”

“No,” Jacobson said. “It's quite possible. There was enough time for someone who was at the meeting to have gotten here before you did. In fact, whoever left that note might still have been inside the house when you arrived and went out the other door at the end of the house.”

On that chilling note, Judith changed the subject. “Did you ever find the weapon?”

He shook his head. “It may have been thrown into the water or buried in the sand some distance away.”

Judith decided to press her luck. “Have you been able to figure out what kind of weapon was used? That is, from the entry of the stab wounds.”

“Something sharp,” Jacobson replied, looking grim. “Pointed and tapering to a width of at least five inches.”

Before Judith could say anything else, he stood up and announced he was taking his leave. But first he produced two padlocks with keys. “It's not safe for you to be unable to secure the house. Given our preliminary investigation, you're free to leave Obsession Shores tomorrow. I don't need to remind you there's a murderer on the loose. Of course,” he went on, moving to the door, “I have the impression you're both aware of the danger this sort of situation can present.”

Judith and Renie nodded. There really was nothing more to say. When it came to murder, “been there and done that” was too glib. The cousins realized they'd been very lucky over the years. But luck had a way of running in streaks. Eventually it always ran out.

W
ell,” Renie said after Jacobson was gone, “when do you start grilling suspects? It's too foggy to go door-to-door.”

“I told you, I won't do anything until tomorrow.” Judith started for the hall, suitcase in hand. “The first person I want to call on is the grief-stricken widow. I refuse to do that tonight. Her family is probably with her.” She looked up and down the short hall. “Do you want to sleep in the master bedroom or the spare room?”

“Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince have a king-size bed,” Renie said. “Why bother making two beds?”

“Because you chew gum in bed,” Judith replied. “You almost drove me nuts when we had to share a room in Little Bavaria last October.”

“So why didn't you bring earplugs?”

“Damn,” Judith said under her breath. “I should've thought of that. Did you bring gum?”

“Of course. I can't get to sleep without it.”

“Then you take the spare room.”

Renie shrugged. “Hey, do the Sedgewicks play bridge or pinochle?”

“I don't know. I think the Webers play poker with them and the Friedmans. You want to call to see if they're bored?”

“Oh, they're bored,” Renie responded. “Murder notwithstanding, I'm kind of bored, too. Really—what do people do up here in the evenings, especially this time of year?”

“They watch TV, like normal people. Even Joe and I do that. You watch TV with Bill.”

“I watch what Bill watches,” Renie said. “If I don't like it, I read or do a crossword or jigsaw puzzle. Besides, it's hard to focus on any TV program with Mom calling me three times every night. I also missed the part in the wedding vows about a man promising to have and to hold not only his wife, but the TV remote.”

Judith smiled, but a knocking sound startled both cousins.

“I'll get it,” Renie muttered before going to the door. “Are you armed and homicidal?” she shouted.

A muffled female voice seemed to say no. Renie cautiously opened the door as Judith came across the room to join her. The young woman with red curls peeking out from under her brown hood looked upset.

“Where's Vance?” she asked in an uncertain voice.

“Out of town,” Renie replied. “You are . . . ?”

“Katie Blomquist, Ernie and Edna Glover's daughter.”

Renie opened the door all the way. “Come in. Sorry about the query, but you must know we're all a bit on edge.”

Judith offered her hand as Katie came inside. “We're the Webers' nieces. I'm Judith and this is Renie. We're house-sitting. I'm very sorry about your father. Do sit down.”

“I can't stay,” Katie said, red-rimmed green eyes darting this way and that. “I wanted to borrow a heating pad. Mom told us Vance and Vince had an extra one. Hers broke and she needs it for her arthritis. It's . . . well, it's going to be hard for her to sleep tonight as it is.” Katie sniffed once as if to underscore the comment.

“I'll look for it,” Renie volunteered, heading for the master bedroom.

“Do sit,” Judith urged, pulling out a kitchen chair. “We didn't really know your dad. But what happened to him was a terrible thing.”

Hesitating, Katie sat. “I can't take it in. Who would do such a thing?” She shook her head, causing the hood to slip down to her shoulder-length curls. “We heard two strange women . . .” She stopped. “Was it you and your sister?”

“We're cousins,” Judith said with a kindly smile. “Our dads were Vance's older brothers.”

“Oh.” Katie sniffed again. “I didn't mean
you
seemed strange. I meant . . .” She fumbled in her pocket and pulled out a Kleenex to blow her nose. “You know what I mean. That must've been awful for you. It makes me shudder just to think about it.”

“Do you live nearby?” Judith inquired. No comment about finding the corpse was necessary. In fact, it felt redundant.

Katie shook her head. “No, we live just north of the city. My husband, Greg, teaches at the local high school. That's where I met him. I mean, I taught there, too. Now that we have kids, I do some tutoring.” Her freckled hands clenched into fists. “Why? Why would anyone stab Dad? He was the nicest man in the world. It must be some crazy person. Maybe an escapee from an institution or someone on drugs.”

“That's possible,” Judith allowed as Renie finally came into the room with the heating pad. “How is your mother holding up?”

Katie sighed. “She's a fairly strong person. If it had been a heart attack or something like that, it'd be bad enough. But murder?” She shook her head and couldn't seem to go on.

“Do you have siblings?” Judith asked to change the subject.

“Yes, a brother. Dave lives in Denver. He's flying in tomorrow.” Katie rubbed at her forehead. “I'm sorry, I've been trying to be brave for Mom. Greg's a big help. He actually likes his in-laws. His own parents died young, before we met.”

Renie had sat down next to Judith. “Are your kids here?”

“Yes. The boys are four and two, but they loved Grandpa. Greg and I figured they'd be a comfort to Mom. I don't think they understand what's happened.”

“Probably not,” Judith agreed. “Having young children around helps. It demonstrates the cycle of life. And death,” she added more quietly. “Your father must've had a lot of friends in this community.”

“He did,” Katie declared. “Dad got to know so many people here, especially after he retired. We're not sure if we should have the funeral on the island or in the city. He had lots of friends there on the Bluff.”

Judith knew the neighborhood well, since it was adjacent to Heraldsgate Hill. “That's a nice area,” she remarked.

Katie nodded in a distracted manner. “They had a nice house there—nothing fancy like some of the mansions.”

“Yes,” Judith said, not daring to look at Renie. Several years had passed since the cousins had helped host a party at one of those mansions. A relative by marriage spoiled the festivities by getting shot to death. “That neighborhood really grew after World War Two,” she continued. “Wonderful views of the Sound.”

Katie struggled to get to her feet. “I must go. Thanks for the heating pad. I hope the pills the doctor prescribed will help Mom sleep.”

“Who
is
the doctor around here?” Judith asked as she and Renie walked their visitor to the door. “Our aunt and uncle have remained patients of their longtime GP in the city.”

“His name is Dr. Payne,” Katie said, wincing. “With a
y
. He's retired, too. Thanks for the heating pad. Good night.”

Renie sighed. “Let's lock up. I'm not in the mood for more company. Our guests tend to be on the grim side.”

Judith retrieved her suitcase in the hall. “I'll make sure the back door's locked. If I'm not back in sixty seconds, call the sheriff.”

Flipping the switch to turn on a couple of lights on the pine-paneled walls, Judith gazed around the spacious bedroom with its adjacent half bath. In all the years they'd visited the Webers, she'd never spent the night. As a kid, Mike, as well as the three Jones offspring, had stayed with Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince for a few days every summer. None of them had minded their great-aunt's rough tongue, even when she disciplined them. They instinctively knew how much she loved entertaining children. Vince was a sport, too, at least when he managed to stay awake.

To Judith's relief, she saw no sign of an intruder in the bedroom. That was a comfort. Until she realized that there had been nothing to suggest an intruder in the kitchen—except for the warning note.

“Coz,” she said, coming out of the hall via the door that led into the living area, “did you see any footprints in the kitchen when we got back from the meeting?”

Renie, who had moved to the sofa, set aside the
Sunset
magazine she'd been reading. “No,” she replied, staring at the wall-to-wall carpeting. “This is all that indoor-outdoor stuff. Auntie Vance got it because everybody spends so much time on the beach. It's designed to not show scuffs or prints.”

Judith sat down in the overstuffed chair. “You're right. The whole house is covered in it. Auntie Vance got a deal through somebody Uncle Al knew. You know about Uncle Al and all his deals.”

“A master of the art,” Renie murmured, referring to their well-connected sportsman uncle. “Did you really expect Jacobson to check for hair and fibers?”

“No,” Judith admitted. “I'm so used to people coming in the back door at home who track stuff into the back hall and kitchen. At least the carpet in the entry hall covers most of the floor for the guests.” She grew silent for a moment. “I wonder how many people have an airtight alibi for the time of the murder.”