Clam Wake (29 page)

“You're probably right, but that doesn't explain why he'd want to talk to Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince.” Judith wiped her hands off on a towel. “Now I wish you'd let him come in. There's something odd about his coming here. I have his cell number, but it's at home. I wonder if Arlene and Carl are at the B&B. They could look it up for me.”

“Oh, coz!” Renie exclaimed. “Don't tell me you've got the hots for this guy. He's really kind of average-looking.”

Judith gave Renie a disgusted look. “I'm only curious. It's my nature. The only reason I can think of is that Auntie Vance seems to be the go-to person for reliable information around here.”

Renie looked miffed. “She sure kept a lot of that information to herself when it comes to what really goes on at Obsession Shores. I'll admit she didn't know there'd be a murder, but still . . .” Her voice trailed off as the cousins heard a pounding noise from somewhere outside.

“The back door?” Judith said.

“I'll go see,” Renie offered, heading for the hall. “Betsy, maybe.”

Judith turned down the water under the boiling kettle. A glance out to the deck showed a few raindrops splattering the picture window. She gave a start as she heard Renie talking to someone. A moment later, her cousin came out of the hall with a teary-eyed Nan Quimby.

“Mrs. Quimby is seeking sanctuary,” Renie announced in a bemused voice. “She's afraid of being killed. Do we have enough steamed clams for three?”

A
tremulous Nan Quimby followed Renie into the kitchen area. Her thin hands clutched at the drawstrings of her brown cloak. “I'm sorry to intrude,” she said, dark eyes zigzagging every which way as if she expected an unseen attacker. “The only person I trust is your aunt.”

“She
is
trustworthy,” Judith declared. “What's wrong?”

Nan grimaced, the hood slipping off her graying brown hair. “I only found out she was gone when that nice man brought Betsy home. I couldn't say anything to you when you came to the house. I'm sorry.” She grabbed the back of a kitchen chair before sitting down. “You won't make me leave, will you?”

“Of course not,” Judith said quickly, though she caught Renie giving her a warning look. “Would you like something to drink?”

Nan shook her head. “No, thank you.” She rubbed her hands together. “Something strange is happening. I wish I knew what it was.”

Judith sat down at the table. “Is it about Betsy?”

“No. She's always been as she is now. I don't blame her. She can escape into her own little world. I can't.”

Renie, who had retrieved her candy bag, remained standing. “Can't your husband help you?”

Nan rubbed at her left eye. “He doesn't want
Père
to disinherit him,” Nan replied.

“Père?”
Judith echoed.

Nan nodded. “Quincy's mother—Blanche—was French. His parents were always called
Maman
and
Père
.”

“Does your father-in-law speak French?” Judith asked.

“Not really,” Nan replied. “Blanche spoke excellent English. She'd gone to school in England before the war. Her parents were what she called
la crème de la crème
. She and her family fled to England before the Germans invaded. They were all killed in the Blitz—except Blanche.”

“That's so sad,” Judith said. “How old was she?”

Nan had to think for a moment. “Twenty, twenty-one, I think. She joined the Red Cross. That's how she met
Père
.”

Renie, who had eaten all of her chocolate, tossed the empty bag into the garbage and sat down. “How,” she asked, “did you meet Quincy?”

“We went to high school together here on the island,” Nan replied, her eyes in shadow. “We didn't date until later. After a year he proposed. I hadn't yet met his parents.” She looked down at her hands, which were in her lap. “
Père
was opposed to the match, but Blanche overrode him. We had a simple ceremony at the county courthouse in Cooptown. Blanche, you see, was Catholic.
Père
isn't. He and Blanche were married in a London registry office. She'd hoped to have the marriage blessed by the Church eventually, but that was the one war she couldn't win. It made her very bitter.” Nan finally looked at the cousins. “In the thirty-odd years I've lived in that house, it's never been a happy place.”

“But you stayed,” Judith said, trying to keep the incredulity out of her voice. “That's remarkable.”

“You must think I'm insane to have done that,” Nan said.

“Of course not,” Judith assured her.

“Nothing else would explain it,” Renie declared.

“Coz!” Judith glared at Renie. “That's unkind.” She turned her gaze back to Nan. “My cousin doesn't always think before she speaks. What she means is . . . unf!” She winced as Renie kicked her under the table. “Leg cramp. Sorry. But I assume you had your reasons for remaining with your father-in-law. Do you and Quincy have children?”

Nan grimaced. “We wanted to, but I had several miscarriages. I felt I was cursed. Then I realized it wasn't me—it was the house.”

“Was the house new when you moved in?” Judith asked.

“No,” Nan replied, “but it was the only house here back then. The original family home was razed by
Père
's father after the war to build on the same site. His family had homesteaded here over a century ago. They had a small farm and raised cows, chickens, and goats.”

Renie finally sat down. “Were things any better when Blanche was alive?”

Nan sighed. “No. It was just a different kind of unhappiness. After she died, we wondered if
Père
could live long without her. He's had several serious illnesses over the years, but he always rallies. Quincy talked of moving away, but
Père
would threaten to leave all his wealth to the county to build a memorial to him and Blanche. I hate saying it, but Quincy has never really worked except to handle this swath of land. It's as if he's chained to Obsession Shores—and his father.”

“But,” Judith pointed out, “you're finally rebelling. Why now?”

“Because of the murder,” Nan said without hesitation. “A decent man like Ernie Glover is killed. That shows how evil this place really is. I don't care who killed him—I mean, I
care
, but it's like a symptom of the disease that comes out of the very ground. I hate this place. I hate
Père
and sometimes I almost hate Quincy, who refuses to understand why I loathe living here. All he can think of is his stupid inheritance. Why can't he think about
me
?” Nan burst into tears.

Judith paused before speaking. “Quincy is at the mercy of his father, who is obviously a control freak. Your husband can't fight that this late in life. How old is . . .
Père
?”

“Ninety-six, come February twenty-ninth.” Nan grimaced. “He only has a birthday every four years, so
Père
insists he's only twenty-four.”

Renie's face expressed irritation. “Your complaints are justified and all that, but I don't see how we or Auntie Vance or anyone else can help. Face it, you're stuck. So why the sudden urge to unload?”

Nan's dark eyes revealed a spark of defiance. “Because I feel threatened. So does Quincy, if he'd admit it. Even
Père
is a bit put off by what's been happening around here lately.”

“You mean,” Judith said kindly, “Ernie's murder?”

Nan shook her head. “Not just that. I can't explain it. People are behaving oddly. It's like . . . you know that sudden eerie calm before an earthquake?” She saw the cousins nod. “That's how it feels.”

“It's hard for us to understand,” Judith admitted. “Renie and I have never stayed here for more than a day at a time until now. But I admit there's something strange about the atmosphere. Could it have a connection to the rumors about buried treasure?”

Nan looked alarmed. “You've heard about that?”

“Yes,” Judith replied. “Of course Brose Bennett found some old coins, but we understand their authenticity is questionable.”

Nan frowned. “Why?”

“By chance,” Judith responded, “we stopped in at Mr. Moffitt's coin shop yesterday.”

Nan sniffed. “He would say that since he's never forgiven
Père
for buying up their property when the Moffitts defaulted during the Depression. It was sold off long ago after the end of World War Two. I'll say this much for
Père
—he's very canny about money, as was his father before him.”

“Since when,” Renie inquired, “is parsimony a virtue?”

“It's called thrift,” Nan declared—and lowered her head. “At least that's what
Père
calls it.” She suddenly scrambled out of the chair. “I must go. Quincy will wonder where I am. I never stay more than twenty minutes when I visit Vanessa.
Père
considers your aunt a troublemaker.” A sly smile touched her thin lips. “I think he's secretly afraid of her. She does tend to speak her mind.”

Not waiting to be shown out, Nan rushed to the door and left.

Judith had stood up, but Renie remained seated at the table, resting her chin on her hand. “Nan's not as crazy as Betsy, but she's not exactly all there either.”

“She's a victim,” Judith said.

“Victims often have no one to blame but themselves,” Renie declared. “Nan must have had her eyes shut tight when she married Quincy. Or else she figured she'd end up rich.”

Judith resumed her place at the table. “I don't see it quite that way. Nan and Quincy were married over thirty years ago when old Quimby was in his sixties. The house probably seemed like a logical stopping place until he died from one of his medical problems. Nan couldn't know the ornery codger had an iron constitution. I'll bet she has no idea of how these properties were handled. Quimby didn't start selling the lots until around the time his son got married.”

Renie looked thoughtful. “Dick Sedgewick told us the idea was Blanche's. Obviously, Quimby went along with it.”

Judith's dark eyes danced. “Blanche has been a shadowy figure so far. I think we need to do more digging, and I'm not talking about clams.”

F
ive minutes later, Renie was eating clams out of the shell. “These aren't enough for dinner,” she announced. “One bucket of clams does not a dinner make. Let's go to that French restaurant in Langton.”

“Cabaret?” Judith said. “We should get a reservation.”

“They don't take reservations. They don't have a menu either. You love a mystery. Why not try it?”

“Oh . . . sure. But it's only a little after four. And what do we do about the clams?”

“Eat them. Then we won't have to order appetizers.” Renie tossed two clams into her mouth at once.

“Well, we didn't have lunch. Bring the bucket over to the sofa so we can get back to our research.” Judith stood up.

“We need some melted butter,” Renie declared. “I'll do that while you take the bucket.”

Judith complied, pausing to check the weather. “It's starting to rain,” she said before sitting back down on the sofa.

“So? That's not news.”

“If it gets socked in, it'll hamper our watch tonight for the mystery boat. Maybe we should scout a location while it's still daylight.”

Renie almost dropped the microwave dish holding the butter. “You're serious about doing that over by Scratchit Head?”

“Of course I am,” Judith replied, making herself comfortable. “Bring the Obsession Shores map along with the bucket. I want to see if there's any way we can avoid driving around to Scratchit Head and still see where the phantom ship comes from.”

“Jeez!” Renie shut up as the microwave timer went off. She gathered up everything and joined her cousin. “I'm older, you know.”

Judith looked sheepish. “Sorry, coz. All that digging got to me.”

Renie grinned. “I know. It's fine. Have some butter. What or who are you going to check into now?”

“I forget where we left off,” Judith said, studying the development map. “This is odd. There
is
one parcel of land that's vacant. Take a look. It's next to the Quimby house on the edge of the forest.”

“Hunh,” Renie said. “How come we didn't notice that when we called on the Quimbys? Did we figure it was part of their garden?”

Judith tried to remember what the area north of the Quimby house looked like. “There wasn't much of a garden,” she finally said. “In fact, the only things that were growing besides some kind of straggly grass were native plants. The house took up most of the lot. That's odd. If I remember correctly the vacant spot was covered with more wild stuff, as if it had been cleared for sale, but left untended.”

“That sounds right,” Renie murmured. “That's weird.”

Judith set the map aside and stood up. “Let's take another look while it's still light outside.”

Renie frowned. “You sure you want to walk up there?”

“It's not very far,” Judith asserted. “I've been sitting around for a couple of hours.”

“Your call,” Renie said, eating the last clam as she got to her feet. “At least it's not pouring. I'll dump the shells with the rest of the garbage on the way out.”

The rain had actually dwindled, blowing southward. They could see over to the Peninsula, though the mountains were obscured by clouds. Judith noticed that a few lights had been turned on in some of the surrounding houses. But not at the Quimby residence, a fact she mentioned to Renie.

“They're in the dark in more ways than one,” her cousin remarked.

“I'm afraid they live in a very dark world,” Judith said ruefully as they turned past the Sedgewick house. “I wonder if Betsy stays inside when it rains.”