Clam Wake (7 page)

“I sit corrected,” Renie said. “If the dead guy is an Obsession Shores resident, I wonder if they'll call off the meeting tonight.” She glanced at the phone on the kitchen counter. “I don't think Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince have an answering machine. They live the simple life up here on The Rock, as the locals refer to the island.”

“You're right,” Judith agreed. “Not long ago, Auntie Vance was bitching about people who have phone add-ons. I told her I had to do that because I was running a business. She told me to go stick my head in the soup pot. She also told me where I could put my computer.”

“I've heard that from her, too,” Renie remarked, then tensed before getting up to look out the window. “Speaking of hearing things, did somebody just let out a yell?”

“Maybe it was another seagull,” Judith said.

“I don't think so.” Renie went outside to the deck, but returned after only a few seconds. “The medic van is parked in front of the second house in from the road below us. I wonder if that's where the dead man lived.” She grimaced as she brushed some raindrops off of her face. “What's their opening line? ‘Are you the Widow Whoozits?'”

“Oh, dear.” Judith stood up to join Renie by the window. “They're probably informing his wife what happened. I wonder how long he'd been gone before he collapsed.”

“Not too long,” Renie said. “He didn't look wet or rumpled. It was as if he'd just fallen down. Maybe he was still warm.”

“Now who's being a ghoul?” Judith inquired with a smirk.

The phone rang before Renie could respond. Judith went to the counter and grabbed the receiver.

“What's going on by the Glovers' place?” Jane Sedgewick asked. “We heard sirens a while ago and now there's an aid car parked by the house. Have you seen any excitement around here?”

“That's Ernie Glover's house?” Judith said in surprise.

“Yes. I wonder if something's happened to Edna or Ernie.”

Judith swallowed hard. “Ernie's dead. Renie and I found him on the beach. Apparent heart attack, we were told. Renie called 911. We just got back from there a few minutes ago.”

“Oh, no!” Jane exclaimed. “Poor Ernie! Poor Edna! Maybe Dick and I should go over there. Talk to you later.” She hung up.

“Ernie?” Renie said. “The guy you saw on the ferry?”

“Right.” A helpless feeling overcame Judith. “Jane and Dick are going to offer Edna help. Maybe we should . . . No, we're strangers. We'd be intruding. The neighbors can provide aid and comfort.”

Renie's brown eyes danced. “But none of them will ask the right questions because they don't have your rampant and often grisly curiosity.”

“I'm not that curious about a guy having a heart attack,” Judith declared. “It isn't as if he was riddled with bullet holes or had a knife sticking out of his back.”

“Hey,” Renie responded, holding up her hands, “I can't help it if you're disappointed because somebody died of natural causes.”

“Don't say that,” Judith snapped. “I quit sleuthing.”

Renie glanced outside, where the wind drove the rain against the big window. “So what do we do for fun? I'm not playing cribbage. I've done my duty with Aunt Gert and gotten my rear kicked in the process.”

Judith regarded her cousin with a wry expression. “I thought you had work to do.”

“You're right. Thanks for the reminder.” Renie grabbed her laptop from the counter and settled in at the dining room table.

Judith's watch informed her it was just after three. If she were home, guests would arrive in two hours. She'd be scurrying around, making sure their rooms were ready, overseeing Phyliss's housecleaning progress, studying hors d'oeuvres recipes, figuring out the dinner menu, looking in on Gertrude, taking new reservations . . .

She flopped back down on the sofa. Maybe she'd take a nap. Judith rarely had time to relax. But a much-needed nap was necessary in November after she and Renie had confronted a killer. Almost getting killed tended to tire her out. Nor was she as young as she used to be. While still sitting up, Judith was drifting off into sleep when someone pounded on the door.

“Dammit!” Renie cried, jumping off the chair. “Just when I was about to be brilliant . . .” She yanked open the door. “Hi. Who are you?”

Judith struggled to her feet, hearing a male voice identify himself as Brose Bennett. By the time she joined Renie, he was introducing his wife, Fou-fou, and asking where the Webers might be.

“Halfway to Beatrice,” Renie replied. “If you want them, call Aunt Ellen. Wait—don't call her. She may be in the hospital. Or not. I forget.”

“Bee Atris?” the small, blond Fou-fou squeaked. “Who's that?”

“It's not a who, it's—” Renie began as Judith offered her hand.

“Hi,” she said. “I'm Judith Flynn and this is Serena Jones. We're the Webers' nieces. We're house-sitting while they visit our aunt Ellen and uncle Win in
Beatrice
,
Nebraska
. Do you want to come in?”

Since the wind was practically blowing the couple through the door, they didn't have much choice. The cousins stepped aside. Judith suggested they sit on the sofa and offered them something to drink.

The Bennetts sat down. “Didn't mean to barge in,” Brose apologized. “If Vance and Vince told us they were taking off, we forgot.” He looked at Fou-fou for confirmation. She shrugged, her bright blue eyes darting around the room.

“We didn't know they were going until a couple of days ago,” Judith explained, sinking into a recliner that felt like a bottomless pit. “Aunt Ellen is having shoulder surgery. Maybe you met her the last time they visited from Beatrice.”

“They have a lot of company,” Fou-fou said in her tiny voice. “Ambrose and I can't keep track. You must come from a big family.”

“We sure do,” Renie asserted, dragging a kitchen chair over to sit next to Judith. “Dozens of us, all over the place. Do you want something to drink or what?”

“Oh . . .” Brose stared up at the ceiling. “Guess we wouldn't mind an inch or two of Scotch.” He poked Fou-fou in the arm. “You'd be surprised at my little gal. She can hold her liquor.”

Renie got up to head for the kitchen area. “I hope so. I'd hate to have to hold it for her.”

“Hey!” Brose said, laughing lustily. “That's a good one.”

Fou-fou wrinkled her button nose. “I don't think it's funny.”

Her husband turned serious, his long face beaglelike. In fact, Judith realized, he had unusually long ears as well. “The wife here isn't much for jokes,” he said in a somber tone. “We stopped by to see if the meeting tonight was canceled. I guess poor ol' Ernie Glover bought the farm this afternoon. Helluva thing.”

“We haven't heard anything about the meeting,” Judith said. “We're here because the Webers gave us their proxy votes.”

“You don't say,” Brose murmured.

Fou-fou glared at her husband. “She did, too, say it. I heard her.”

“Right, right,” Brose said under his breath. His jowls sagged, making him look even more houndlike. “I wonder how Ern would've voted.”

Judith shrugged, reluctant to lead into any reference to the cousins' discovery of his body. “We never met him.”

Renie carried a tray with four glasses to the Bennetts. “The drinks are all Scotch except mine. Take your pick.”

Fou-fou craned her neck to look up at Renie. “I like Scotch with fruit juice. It keeps away wrinkles.”

“No kidding,” Renie said, turning her head this way and that. “How far away? If they're outside, they probably blew south by now.”

Fou-fou looked mystified; Brose frowned.

Judith forced a laugh. “My cousin's teasing. She's a real joker.”

“Then she should tell us a joke,” Fou-fou piped in a cross tone.

Brose patted his wife's arm. “Just take the damned drink, sweetie pie. These ladies are real nice.”

Fou-fou rolled her eyes, but picked up the glass nearest to her small hand. “Fine,” she grumbled, settling back into the sofa cushions.

“I don't suppose,” Brose said, after taking a sip of Scotch and smacking his lips, “you'd tell us how the Webers are voting.”

“That's right,” Renie retorted, after handing Judith her glass and sitting down. “For all we know, the meeting's off.”

Brose slowly shook his head with its fringe of graying brown hair. “Don't think Ern'd want us to do that. He was the kind of guy who thought the show must go up.” He made a face. “Or is it
on
? The curtain goes up, but the show . . . Never mind.” He paused again, shaking his head. “Poor ol' Ern. He retired about the same time I did, two, three years ago.”

Judith reached back into her memory, trying to recall any information about Ambrose Bennett. “You were in manufacturing, right?”

Brose nodded, his long chin almost touching his narrow chest. “You bet. I manufactured the best danged weenie and burger buns in the West. Bet you've scarfed 'em down over the years.”

“Ben's Buns?” Judith said in surprise. “Oh, yes, of course.”

Brose nodded sagely. “You betcha. Kept the operation small, only marketed on the West Coast. I sold out to some big wheels from California, but they keep up the quality. I hope,” he added in a less certain tone, before polishing off his drink in two big gulps. He poked his wife again. “Come on, sweat pea, we better get ourselves in gear. It's gonna be serious drink time in a few. Better hoist one for ol' Ern.”

Fou-fou had already drained her glass. “Why? I didn't think you liked him,” she said, letting her husband haul her up from the sofa.

“Awww . . . Ern was a good guy. I just liked kiddin' around with him.” He turned to the cousins, who had gotten up. “Nice to meet you. Thanks for the hit. Nice way to start the evenin'.”

After the door was closed behind them, Judith and Renie stared at each other. “That doofus ran a business?” Renie gasped in disbelief. “Thank goodness I never buy Ben's Buns.”

“I do,” Judith said. “They're . . . good. I mean, a bun is a bun. But I wonder if Brose is putting on an act.”

“It's a good one. Who else but a dumb cluck would marry Fou-fou?”

Judith collected the empty glasses. “She
is
a bit strange. I'm wondering about these Obsession Shores people. Do the retirees just sit around during the winter and wait for the cocktail hour?”

Renie grimaced. “There isn't much else to do in January. I'd hate to be stuck here. If you like sports and culture, it's a round trip via ferry and a long drive into town.”

“That costs—” Another knock interrupted Judith. “Now what?” she muttered, opening the door to a stocky six-footer in a sheriff's uniform.

“Excuse me,” he said. “Are you Mrs. Flynn or Mrs. Jones?”

“Flynn,” Judith replied. “She's Jones. Come in. What's going on?”

The officer entered, removing his hat and introducing himself as Lieutenant Erik Jacobson. “I believe you two found the body of Ernest Glover earlier this afternoon. Is that correct?”

Judith nodded. “Do we need to fill out a form?”

“I have some questions for you.” He cleared his throat. “Mr. Glover didn't die of natural causes. He was stabbed to death. I'm afraid we're talking about a homicide.”

R
enie staggered, grabbing Judith's arm. “Oh, no! I feel faint!”

Judith managed not to glare at her cousin. “Maybe you should sit down,
dear,
” she said, trying to free her arm without wrenching it from Renie's grasp.

Renie let go, leaning against the counter. “I'll be all right,” she said in a feeble imitation of her usual voice. “It's just such a shock.”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested to Jacobson, “we should all sit down.”

The lieutenant nodded, following Judith and an unusually docile Renie into the living room area. The cousins sat on the sofa; Jacobson lowered himself into the recliner before taking out a notebook from the inside of his jacket and clicking a ballpoint pen. Apparently the island's law enforcement agency relied on old-fashioned handwriting and real paper. After jotting down their names, addresses, phone numbers, and relationship to the Webers, he asked why they had gone to the beach that afternoon.

Judith responded. “We're natives. Rain doesn't bother us. We wanted to walk a bit before it got too stormy.”

Jacobson nodded. “Several people had done that in the early afternoon, including the victim. The locals know when a storm is brewing.” He paused. “Mr. Glover hadn't been dead for more than half an hour.”

“You mean,” Judith said, “there were footprints around the scene?”

He nodded again. “The high tide usually comes close to where you found Mr. Glover's body. There'd been a break in the weather before noon, so some prints were still faintly visible.”

Judith leaned forward slightly. “I don't understand. The rain didn't wash them away? Or do you mean the prints were away from the body? Could you take casts of them?”

If the questions surprised Jacobson, he didn't show it. His ruddy face with its sharp green eyes remained impassive. Judith guessed him to be in his early forties. There was no gray in the auburn buzz cut, though the lines around his wide mouth and broad forehead indicated he laughed and worried in equal measure.

“At least four other people saw Mr. Glover on the beach,” he said, ignoring her second question. “What time did you go down there?”

“A little after two,” Judith replied. “We found the body only a few minutes after getting to the beach.”

“Two-oh-nine,” Renie said sitting up straight and no longer sounding feeble. “I called 911 at two ten. They showed up ten minutes later. But you know that already.” She folded her arms and leaned back on the sofa. “I think I've recovered from the shock.”