Clam Wake (19 page)

“We're not talking pirates,” Judith declared.

“Hey—if your suspicions are right, whoever is using that boat is up to something. I vote for staying safe. Just for once, okay? Besides, it might be raining hard later tonight.”

Judith decided Renie was right. “But we'd better get a good look. The boat could be coming from the marina. You can't see it from here.”

“Oh, swell.” Renie groaned, a hand to her head. “So if we can't tell where it's coming from tonight, we'll have to do a stakeout tomorrow on the other side of the boathouse?”

“That's not a bad idea,” Judith said. “Depending on the weather, of course. We could ask—” A rap on the door interrupted her. “Now what?”

Renie got up. “If it's Betsy Nutsy, I'll keep going to the Sedgewicks'. You can fend for yourself.” She put her hand on the doorknob. “Are you armed and dangerous?” she shouted.

“Fraklenutty,” the male voice called back. Or at least that's what it sounded like to Judith, who remained at the table.

Renie opened the door. “Frank?” she said, letting in a short man with curly silver hair. “As in Leonetti?”

“Right.” He came inside, shaking water off his yellow slicker. “Are you the nieces? I got some flyers.”

“You got birds?” Renie asked, trying to avoid the excess rain Frank was shedding. “What are you, a magician? Let's see you pull a ptarmigan out of your sleeve.”

Frank apparently thought the remark was hilarious. He laughed so much that he had to stagger over to the table and sit down. “That's a good one,” he gasped, wiping at his eyes. “Everybody else is so damned grim around here.”

“Yeah,” Renie muttered, “we're the entertainment committee. And no, we aren't offering you a drink. Food and beverages aren't included.”

Frank laughed some more. “I . . . can see . . . you're . . . related . . . to Vance,” he finally managed to say. “You're a kick, just like her.”

Judith decided to become the voice of reason. “Did you mention flyers? Is there another meeting coming up?”

“No,” he replied, growing serious and reaching into his slicker. “I made up some flyers to help find Ernie Glover's killer. Here, have a look.” He handed over a sheet of white paper with red lettering on it.

“Calligraphy,” Renie remarked, sitting down. “Did you do this?”

“You bet I did,” Frank replied. “I learned how to do that for my papa. He owned his own business.”

“It's beautiful,” Judith asserted before reading aloud.

Attention Obsession Shores Residents: Anyone with information regarding the murder of our good friend and neighbor Ernest Glover should come forward and inform the sheriff. Anything you saw or heard the day of the murder could help find the killer
.

“Well?” Frank said. “What do you think?”

Judith set the flyer aside. “It's a good idea. Do you sense people are holding back? We heard everyone has been questioned by the deputies.”

Frank leaned back in the chair. “People don't always know what's important and what isn't. Then there's some folks who don't want to get involved. You know how that goes.”

“True,” Judith conceded, “but why us? We're strangers.”

Frank shook his head. “If Vance was around, I'd have asked her. She's sharp, and I don't just mean that tongue of hers. She's blistered me a few times, but I respect her. Being her nieces, I figured you might have some of your own ideas.”

Judith held out her hands in a helpless gesture. “The problem is that we don't really know most of the people who live here. Oh, we've met a few since arriving yesterday, but that doesn't give us the kind of insider's knowledge our aunt would have.”

“That's okay,” Frank said. “Just keep at it. I've only distributed half of these so far. A couple of the locals I talked to acted like I was crazy.”

Judith nodded. “That's natural. Did they act afraid?”

“Some of them did,” Frank replied. “I can't blame them, really. Face it, there are a lot of lunatics on the loose these days. My papa had what you'd now call an urban farm. He sold his vegetables and seasonal foods at a stall in the public market downtown. I helped him out there for years. You ever shop at the market?”

The cousins exchanged discomfited looks. “I hate to say it,” Judith confessed, “but I can't remember the last time I went to the public market. I own a B&B and I tell my guests to include it on their sightseeing trips because it's so interesting.”

Renie uttered a short laugh. “I think I've only stopped in twice in my life. My husband likes to go there, though. He's originally from Wisconsin. I always think of the market as a tourist attraction, not a shopping place.”

Frank grinned at her. “You don't want to see the salmon vendors throw the fish back and forth at each other?”

“I do not,” Renie replied with a mock-serious expression. “I find that abusive to the fish.”

“You're true natives,” Frank declared, standing up. “I've got a couple dozen more flyers to deliver and I don't want to be late to supper. Gina's making her special dish tonight—veal Parmigiano-Reggiano.”

Judith rose to show Frank out. “I think you're doing something worthwhile with the flyers. If even one person comes up with something that's important to the homicide investigation, it'll be worth the time and trouble. Does the sheriff's office know you're doing this?”

Frank shook his head. “I don't want them to think I'm meddling. Cops don't like amateurs.”

“Ah . . . right,” Judith agreed. “I'm sure they know what they're doing. Thanks for stopping by.”

“Why,” Renie asked, “don't we just sit and wait for everybody to come to us? It'd save on our general wear and tear, not to mention walking a lot.”

Judith remained by the door. “I think Auntie Vance keeps busy with all these people dropping in on her. She must be the source of common sense as well as a sounding board for Obsession Shores.”

Renie looked ingenuous. “So why not just stay put?”

“For one thing, we have to leave for dinner,” Judith said, shrugging into her car coat. “It's going on five. Cocktails await us.”

“Of course,” Renie said wearily. “Let's hurry so we can get liquored up. I'm starting to go through Pepsi caffeine withdrawal. I may get all calm and you won't recognize me.”

“Like that'll ever happen,” Judith murmured.

The rain was coming down so hard on their faces that they had to squint to see where they were going. “Tell me when we start having fun,” Renie muttered, her boots squelching in the muddy road.

Judith didn't answer, saving her breath to climb the stairs to the Sedgewick house. Dick apparently had seen them coming. He opened the door before Judith could sound the brass knocker.

“Come in, come in,” he urged them. “Kind of nasty outside, eh?”

“It's wet,” Judith agreed.

“I'll bet you two would like a drink,” Dick said, leading the way. “Come on into the living room. Jane's making the hot toddy mix in a vat.”

The furnishings were an eclectic mix of old and new: some probably brought from their former home in the city; a few pieces of well-worn antiques perhaps found at a garage sale; a mundane brown tweed sofa purchased from a January clearance. But, Judith discovered, it felt very comfortable when she sat down on it.

“We saw you out and about today,” Dick said, settling into a big green-and-beige-striped recliner with so many controls that it looked as if it could launch him into outer space. “In fact, Jane saw you leaving the Friedmans' a while ago. Maybe we should've asked them to dinner, too.”

Jane entered the room. “I'm glad you didn't. The pot roast shrank.” She placed a tray with four steaming mugs on the coffee table in front of the sofa. “Go for it, girls,” she said to Judith and Renie, waiting for them to pick up the mugs before handing one to Dick. She sat in an armchair that matched the sofa. Jane hoisted her mug. “Cheers. Got any good gossip? That's our other hobby.”

Judith hesitated about mentioning the scene at the tavern. “Well . . . we've met some of the other—”

“Hold it,” Renie broke in. “Tell them about the brawl at the bar and the Bennetts' divorce news.”

“You,” Judith declared, glaring at her cousin, “are so damned lippy. I might've gotten to that in a more tactful way.”

“Tactful?” Jane echoed. “Vance left tact in her baby crib. What's wrong with you? You're her niece. Where did the blunt gene go?”

After heaving a big sigh, Judith unloaded. When she'd finished the account of what had gone on between Brose, Fou-fou, and Kent Logan, Dick and Jane looked at each other.

“Didn't I tell you they were in trouble?” Jane asked her husband. “Suzie Logan already hinted as much. I figured Fou-fou would try to finagle some free legal advice out of Kent. Their split-up is all about money, which Fou-fou thinks Brose should share.”

“Right,” Dick murmured. “The poor wife's always the victim.”

“Did I say,” Jane shot back, “that I was on Fou-fou's side? She's an idiot. If she wasn't she'd have never married Brose in the first place.”

Dick shrugged. “No argument there. They're both idiots. Except when it comes to making money; Brose had a knack for that. He sold his bun company at the right time before the economy started to go south.”

“That was luck,” Jane declared. She turned back to Judith and Renie. “Now I suppose Brose has got a scam going with finding priceless coins along the beach. It's always something with him.”

Before anyone else could speak, they heard the knocker bang on the door. “I'll get it,” Dick said, heaving himself out of the chair.

“What else is new?” Jane asked.

“We met Betsy,” Judith replied. “She stopped at the Friedmans'. I'd already seen her earlier, but I don't recall Auntie Vance mentioning her.”

“Ohhh . . .” Jane shook her head. “Vance has such a soft heart along with that mouth. I suspect she didn't like thinking about the poor creature. Not that Betsy would care or know. I guess she's always been like that. Very sad.” Jane looked up as Dick came back into the living room. “What was that all about?” she asked.

“Frank Leonetti,” Dick replied, sitting down again. “He's put together some flyers asking people to come forward with any information about Ernie's murder. Not the worst idea I've ever heard.”

“He stopped earlier to give us the flyers,” Judith said. “I gather he feels that some people are holding back. Do you think that's true?”

“Probably,” Jane replied. “They don't want to get involved with anything that's as sordid as murder. It makes Obsession Shores look bad. Most of the people who live here don't like that. They prefer their Eden to remain without sin.”

Judith decided to change the subject. “Has Mel or Sarah mentioned the boat they've seen go out from here after midnight?”

Dick nodded. “Mel did say something a week or so ago. We've never seen it. We're usually asleep by then.”

“What,” Renie asked, “do you think it could be? It's a bit odd.”

He shrugged. “Some night owl testing his boat, maybe over at Scratchit Head. Or making sure the running lights work.” He chuckled. “You think it's the killer and he was planning his escape route?”

Judith was mildly surprised. “I never thought of that.”

“Just kidding,” Dick said, before standing up. “How about a warm-up on the drinks?”

Neither Judith nor Renie had finished more than half of their hot toddies. “Well . . .” Judith began. “Okay.”

Dick went off to the kitchen.

“The pot roast should be done in about fifteen minutes,” Jane said. “I've got carrots with it along with the potatoes. Oh—I made some biscuits, too.” She leaned forward, calling out to Dick. “Hey, lover boy, put those biscuits in the oven. I already turned it on.”

“I'm the bad-weather cook,” Jane informed the cousins after Dick made a brief, muffled response. “During the good weather, he barbecues a lot. So do about half the people up here. The whole place reeks of barbecue when the sun's out. Some people even barbecue in the rain.”

The conversation drifted onto other topics. After eating chocolate sundaes for dessert and sipping small snifters of Galliano, the cousins took their leave around seven thirty. It was still raining, though not as hard as earlier. The lights of Scratchit Head glowed below the big bluff. There was little wind and the only sound besides the patter of rain was an unseen owl hooting in the nearby forest.

“Who'll drop in next?” Renie asked when they got inside the house.

Judith stood by the window, watching the lights of a large ship hove into view. “I wonder if this would be a good time to visit the Quimbys. Maybe Mr. Q. goes to bed early.”

“Maybe you're insane,” Renie declared. “That's one of your worst ideas yet. They probably wouldn't let us in.”

“We can't just sit here. Do you really think more people are going to call on us?”

She'd barely gotten the words out when someone knocked.

“Yes, I do,” Renie said, going to the door. For once, she opened it without asking their caller's identity. “Hi, come in, sit down, let me fix you a drink.” She turned to Judith. “How's that for being neighborly?”

Katie Glover Blomquist's green eyes looked startled. “I don't want to be a bother, really. I wanted to let you—that is, the Webers—know when and where my father's funeral will be.”

Judith decided to intervene to keep Renie from making any more mouthy comments. “Sit,” she said, pulling out a kitchen chair. “The Webers probably will still be out of town for the next few days.”

Katie waited to respond until she and Judith were both seated. Renie was by the sink, devouring chocolate-coated honeycomb chunks.