Dune to Death (10 page)

“She'd probably prefer we didn't go to the funeral, either.” Renie, who was sitting cross-legged on the ground, picked up a handful of sand and let it trickle through her fingers.

“Right,” agreed Judith.

“Drat,” said Renie.

For a few moments, the only sound was of the incoming tide. Overhead, a half-moon dappled the water with silver beams. Judith and Renie looked up at the same time. They both grinned.

“What time is the funeral Friday?” asked Judith.

“I don't know, but there was an obituary in that special edition of the
Bugler
.” Renie chewed on her lower lip. “Dare we?”

Judith felt her conscience rise up only to be dashed by
her curiosity. “Everybody will be at the funeral. It could be our only chance.”

Renie hugged her knees. “They should add ‘Breaking and Entering' to the local tourist attractions.”

Judith chuckled. “The main thing is not to get caught.”

“We can always say we're looking for the receipt.”

“True.” Judith slid down behind the log and signaled for Renie to be silent. A few yards away, they could just make out two people coming from the opposite direction. Even though darkness was settling in, Judith recognized Alice Hoke. But the man who was limping at her side was not Chief Clooney.

It was Titus Teacher.

They went into the boathouse.

A
S EXPECTED
, R
ENIE'S
mother answered the phone. She expressed dismay at having missed her daughter's earlier calls. “I talked to Mrs. Parker up the street for only a minute. And to Auntie Vance to thank her for the lovely chicken and noodles. Oh, and Ellen, in Nebraska. They got home safely this afternoon.”

Renie was accustomed to her mother's marathon bouts on the telephone. Deborah Grover loved the phone as much as Gertrude Grover despised it. Now, with the sisters-in-law under the same roof, Renie wondered if her mother didn't use the instrument not only as a source of pleasure but as a shield to ward off Gertrude.

Patiently, Renie listened to her mother's account of Aunt Ellen and Uncle Win's airline adventures, Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince's problems with the ferry schedule, and Mrs. Parker's dilemma with her miniature poodle, Ignatz, which had suddenly become un–house-trained.

“People certainly have their troubles,” commiserated Renie, with a glance at Judith who was checking the
newspaper for the funeral times. The cousins had agreed not to worry their mothers by mentioning the murder. “Are you and Aunt Gertrude getting along okay?”

The slightest hesitation caused Renie to frown. “Well—yes. All things considered.”

Renie could imagine what all those things actually were, which mainly meant Gertrude being Difficult. “Do you think Aunt Gertrude is…adjusting?”

Deb's voice tightened. “She's adjusting the thermostat right now. I honestly don't think we need to have it up to seventy-five when it's
almost eighty outdoors
.” Her voice rose as she spoke, presumably for Gertrude's benefit. “She adjusted the refrigerator, too. Our milk froze. Then she adjusted the bathroom scale. I've lost ten pounds. Now she's adjusting the floor lamp. Gertrude, do you mind, dear? I'd really like to keep the bulbs in their sockets.”

Renie blanched. “Mom—call somebody and get up a card game for tomorrow. You know how much Aunt Gertrude loves to play cards. It's too bad your church group doesn't meet for bridge during the summer.”

Deborah Grover sighed, a martyr's last breath before the fatal blow delivered in the name of heresy. “If I do, you know who will have to fix the snack. Even in my wheelchair,
some
people expect to get waited on.”

“Yes, well…”

“But don't worry about
me
,” Deb went on. “It's not too much trouble. It's just that my hands get so sore from pushing the wheelchair. It bothers my back, too. And my bad hip.”

“Maybe one of the other players could pick up…”

“I thought about calling Dr. Clapp and making an appointment for next week, but I don't know when you'll be home. Besides, I so hate to bother you. You're always so busy with your little drawings.”

As ever, Deborah Grover's cavalier dismissal of her daughter's graphic design career rankled, but Renie was used to it. Despite the fact that Renie usually stopped by her mother's apartment once a day and called at least twice, Deborah still resented the fact that her daughter felt
compelled to
work
. Or at least do something with her time that didn't involve her mother.

Renie kept a tight rein on her patience. “Go ahead, call the doctor. I'm sure I'll be back by next Wednesday.”

“Wednesday!” wailed Deb. “That's a week from today! You'll miss the Fourth of July! Why do you have to be gone so
long
?”

“Because of Joe,” Renie replied in reasonable tones. “It all depends on when the doctors will release him.”

Aunt Deb expelled another sigh, beyond martyrdom. “I don't see why you have to stay there for over a week, Serena.” She was beginning to sound a bit cross. “Judith is a grown woman, she can be on her own for a few days. It would do her good. At least,” she added darkly, “she doesn't have to put up with her mother any more.”

“Yes and no,” said Renie faintly. “Speaking of Judith, I'll put her on so she can say hi to Aunt Gertrude, okay?”

Thus began the long winding down of the conversation between Renie and Aunt Deb, involving many reassurances of mutual love, promises of keeping safe, and fulsome wishes for a happy reunion. Out of breath and almost out of patience, Renie gratefully handed the phone to Judith.

“Well, you horse's behind, what do you want?” rasped Gertrude. “I don't have time to gab my head off on this stupid telephone. I've got to go fix the temperature on the hot water tank.”

“Just checking in, Mother. Are you okay?” Judith winced.

“Okay? What does ‘okay' mean? I'm a crippled old woman shipped out of my house like some foreign leftover in World War II. DPs, they called them. I figure it stood for Dopey People, because they couldn't find their way home.
I
know where my home is. But I guess I'm not welcome there any more. A fine thing; I might as well be living over a heating grate outside the public market.” Gertrude snorted loudly.

“Mother,” Judith began on a familiar weary note, “it was you who insisted you couldn't live with Joe. We even
offered to get one of those new condos a block down on Plum Street and run the B&B by remote control.” It had, in fact, been a fleeting idea, but the impracticality of living away from Hillside Manor had dashed the plan. So had the three-quarters of a million dollar price tag on the luxurious new residences.

“Bull,” replied Gertrude. “When are you getting home? My glasses need adjusting.”

“Why don't you try adjusting?” Judith snapped, and was immediately repentant. “Sorry, Mother, I'm kind of beat.” Briefly, Judith considered telling Gertrude about the toolshed. And Sweetums. Maybe her mother already knew. If she didn't, it might be better to save the news until Judith could deliver it in person.

“Beat?” growled Gertrude. “From what? Lying half-naked in the sun and getting sand up your nose? Or do you have to keep running over to the hospital to hold that shanty Irishman's hand?”

“Mother…”

“Forget it, kiddo. You've made your bed, now you lie in it. Of course,” she continued at her primmest, “that's all you ever really wanted to do in the first place with that wild Irish rogue.”

“Mother…”

“Got to go. Deb's whining about sitting in the dark. Lord, how that woman can go on! I'm putting my ears in storage for the summer. G'bye.” Gertrude slammed the phone down so hard that Judith jumped.

Renie was standing by the picture window, watching the moonlight dance on the ocean. “We could take assumed names and stay here forever,” she mused, slowly turning to face Judith.

Judith was shaking her head. “They're a pair, coz.” She stood up and stretched. Her back was definitely better, but still given to occasional twinges. “What did you just say?”

Renie looked blank. “Huh? Oh—about hiding from our mothers. A joke, right?” Renie didn't sound too sure.

“Right.” Judith's tone was also uncertain, but it had nothing to do with Gertrude and Aunt Deb. Dismissing the
elusive thought, she pointed to the copy of the
Bugler
lying on the coffee table. “The funeral is at ten o'clock, Friday, Buccaneer Beach All Souls Are Us First Covenant Church, Tenth Street and Ocean Drive.”

Renie made a face. “I kind of hate to miss it. What do you bet the Wailers show up?”

“The what?”

“The Wailers.” Renie perched on the rocking chair. “When Bill and I lived in Port Diablo, there was a bunch of women who came to every funeral whether they knew the deceased or not. They sat together in the back row and wailed. It was God-awful. Maybe they do that in other small towns, too.”

“Jeez.” Judith rolled her eyes. “Let's not get sidetracked. Why do you suppose Alice Hoke went to the boathouse with Titus Teacher?”

Renie yawned. “Is this a riddle? If not, then my guess is that she: a) owns the boathouse so why shouldn't she go there with or without Titus Teacher; or b) wanted to collect whatever Leona had left there.” Renie gave a little shrug.

“What about c?” asked Judith.

“There is no c. It's too late for c. I'm heading for bed.”

Renie was as good as her word. Judith noted that it was almost eleven and decided to follow suit. Lingering at the window for one last view of the ocean, she tried to plan their activities for the next day. Thursday. Perhaps Joe was right—they should tackle the police chief and the sheriff.

Yet Judith felt discouraged. True, a mere twenty-four hours had passed since Renie had stumbled across Leona Ogilvie's body. Joe had said that if a murderer weren't caught in forty-eight hours, the case often remained unsolved. Judith felt the pressure of that statement. But she and Renie couldn't search Alice Hoke's house until Friday. And even when they did, Judith wasn't sure what they expected to find.

Suddenly aware that she, too, was very tired, Judith staggered off to bed. The window was open and the sound of the waves lulled her to sleep. She dreamed not of mur
der most foul, but of her mother, adjusting the ocean so that it ran down the drain and left nothing but an empty beach littered with bifocals.

 

Renie had found lamb kidneys in the local grocery store. She was elated, since Falstaff's Market on Heraldsgate Hill rarely had them on hand. “These yokels probably don't appreciate a good grilled kidney for breakfast,” said Renie happily over coffee.

“Gack,” said Judith, “I can't think why not. How about frying up some goat gizzards?”

“Goats don't have gizzards,” said Renie with an air of dignity. “I never understood why Grandpa Grover didn't teach you how to appreciate good English cooking.”

“Because it doesn't exist,” retorted Judith, going through the phone book to find the address of the sheriff's office. She already knew where the police department was located, having passed it several times on Highway 101.

An hour later, after a brief visit with Joe in the hospital, the cousins were asking to see Josh Eldritch. His headquarters was situated in a no-nonsense one-story building at the south end of Buccaneer Beach on a side street near the high school and next to a shingle mill. The aroma of sawdust and smoke was pleasing to a pair of native Pacific Northwesterners.

Eldritch didn't keep the cousins waiting long. He had them ushered into his crowded office after about a five-minute delay, and warily eyed them both.

“You know something we don't?” he asked abruptly after they'd sat down on the other side of his desk.

“Probably not,” answered Judith. “That's why we're here. To see if we've picked up any information that might be helpful to you.” She gave the sheriff her most beguiling smile.

The sunken blue eyes turned quizzical. “What kind of information?”

Judith grew diffident, and not without reason. In truth, she and Renie had gone over their small store of facts at
breakfast and realized they had learned very little. But Josh Eldritch didn't need to know that. Yet.

“Leona Ogilvie's stay in Vaduz, for one thing,” said Judith, hoping that her guess was correct. “Did she intend to settle here or go somewhere else?”

Eldritch's lantern jaw dropped a jot. “What? Where's Vaduz? California?”

“It's the capital of Liechtenstein,” Judith said at her most self-deprecating. “You know—that little country wedged in between Switzerland and Austria. A lot of people go there for tax reasons—and other peculiar purposes.”

It appeared to be news to Josh Eldritch. “Europe, huh?” He rubbed at his long chin. “I thought she was in Brazil.” Catching himself, he waved a sinewy hand. “I mean, I didn't know she'd been traveling in other countries.”

“Her passport must say so,” Judith remarked, still diffident.

“Her passport.” Eldritch cleared his throat and looked down at the cluttered surface of his metal desk. “Yeah, sure it would. Alice Hoke probably knows where it is.”

“It wasn't with her other ID?” Judith asked innocently.

Eldritch looked up. “Uh…No. We didn't need to check ID. Clooney was pretty sure it was Leona, once the old goof gave it a thought. The Ogilvie sisters look a lot alike.”

“That's true,” said Renie suddenly. “Leona had no purse. At least I didn't see it the night of the murder.”

Judith gave her cousin a sharp look. “You're right. But she did carry one, an eelskin bag. I wonder if she left it in the car.” She turned back to the sheriff. “By the way, where was her car? I know she drove a Buick, but there was no sign of it Tuesday night.”

“Clooney's men found it parked up above the cul-de-sac, on 101,” Eldritch said grudgingly. “She must have left it there and walked down. It was only about a block away.”

“And her purse?” Judith asked encouragingly.

Eldritch waved his hand again, this time in impatience. “Don't ask me, I wasn't there. If you think Neil Clooney
is going to share any information with us, you're dead wrong. What's her purse got to do with it anyway?”

“The passport. It might have been in there.” Judith kept her tone amiable.

Eldritch pushed back from his desk, stretching out his long legs. “So what? She could have come from Timbuktu for all I care. What's that got to do with her getting killed?”

Judith had to admit she didn't know. “It just seems odd, since she let on she was in Brazil for twenty-odd years. It's even more odd that she also let on to me that she was her sister.” Keeping her gaze fixed on Eldritch's long face, she let the words sink in.

“The woman was daffy,” declared Eldritch. “Alice didn't think Leona was fit to let loose. It's a wonder Leona didn't think she was the Queen of Sheba or some damned thing.” He pulled the chair back toward the desk and rested his arms on a stack of paperwork. “Look, this is probably just your typical screwball killing, some guy on drugs who wandered in from the highway looking for money and Leona Ogilvie happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. I don't go for Clooney's dumb-assed theory about buried treasure.”