Dune to Death (16 page)

“What was the talk?” Judith noted that Mrs. Wampole didn't seem the least bit surprised at her probing questions. No doubt the old lady was only too pleased to have an audience. In a similar situation, Gertrude would have told her interrogator to take a hike.

Mrs. Wampole cocked her head to one side. “Oh—let me see…It was back in 1960, the year Mr. Kennedy was elected. I remember, because Angus Ogilvie made such a fuss about a Catholic getting into the White House.” She gave Judith her enchanting smile. “I'm Jewish, you know, but I certainly didn't think there was anything wrong in electing a Catholic. Did you?”

“No, not at all,” answered Judith, automatically fingering the Miraculous Medal she wore under her green cotton top.

“Really, people get so upset about the Pope! You'd think he was some sort of spiritual molester!” Sadly, she shook her head. “But I mustn't lose track of what I was saying. What
was
I saying?” Briefly, she looked muddled, then snapped her fingers. “Oh, yes, about Angus and Mr. Kennedy. The Ogilvies had a party on New Year's Eve to announce Alice's engagement to Bernard Hoke. Race Doyle showed up drunk.” She clucked her tongue once more. “He made a scene, and Leona tried to calm him. Finally, she got him out of the house, but she didn't show up again until Bernard brought her home the next morning. Everybody in town said he'd found her with Race Doyle, but that was just gossip, I'm sure. It all died down a few weeks later when Alice and Bernard were married on Valentine's Day, and Leona went off to learn how to be a missionary. Angus Ogilvie wasn't at all happy about it, but he couldn't stop her, could he?”

Judith conceded that he probably couldn't. Her brain was working swiftly, calculating dates and other possibilities. Would Race Doyle have taken his revenge on Alice by seducing her sister? Perhaps. Could he be Darren Fleetwood's father? Maybe. Had Leona Ogilvie left town because she was pregnant? It was a plausible theory.

It took Judith a few moments to tune back into Mrs. Wampole's ongoing saga. “…with a background like that,” Mrs. Wampole was saying. Judith focused on the old lady, who was happily chasing boiled peas around her plate. “You just knew he'd end up in jail. He would have, too, if he'd been caught.”

Judith realized Mrs. Wampole had been talking about Race Doyle. “You blame his parents?” It was a guess, but a logical one.

“Well, yes, isn't that what I just said?” She gave Judith a faint look of reproof. “Really, Mrs. Doyle had no morals whatsoever. Loose, that's what she was. And Mr. Doyle, running that speakeasy…Oh, it had supposedly become respectable by the time Race was born, since Prohibition was over. But it was still frequented by a very question
able element. I never wish bad luck on anyone, but I was just as well-pleased when it went out of business.”

Judith drew her chair a little closer to the bed. “Where was this…tavern?” she asked.

“Tavern, yes, that's what they called it, but a lot more than drinking beer and wine went on there, if you ask me.” She plucked at the satin ties of her bed jacket. “It was right out on the bluff, overlooking the ocean. Bernie Hoke tore it down and built a beach cottage. They kept the name—Pirate's Lair, it was called. Nasty place. I hear it's where poor Leona got murdered. I guess some things never change.” Mrs. Wampole shuddered.

So did Judith.

 

In deference to Judith's stomach problems of the previous night, the cousins decided to dine in. Or at least cook their own food, but eat down on the beach. After arriving amid the horde of tourists, they began to have second thoughts. Between the pounding of the surf, the shouts of the vacationers, and the premature explosion of fireworks, they could hardly hear themselves speak. Making short shrift of their cracked Dungeness crab, cucumber salad, and French bread, they were grateful to head for the relative calm of Pirate's Lair.

“I don't know what to pray for,” Judith said, catching her breath as they got to the top of the long staircase. “In a way, I hope Joe gets out of the hospital tomorrow so we can go home before all of Buccaneer Beach succumbs to Freebooters' madness. But I hate like hell to leave a killer on the loose.”

“You aren't giving Clooney and Eldritch much credit,” said Renie.

“As Joe says, if a murderer isn't caught within forty-eight hours, he—or she—often goes free.” She gave Renie a bleak look. “We're well past that deadline now, coz.”

“True,” agreed Renie, looking faintly crestfallen.

Judith opened the front door, allowing Renie to carry in the picnic hamper. Both women stopped and stared. Alice
Hoke was sitting on the sofa, reading a magazine. She looked up almost idly, her thin mouth unfriendly.

“Are you leaving tomorrow?” she asked peremptorily.

“I don't know,” replied Judith, still startled. “We were just discussing that.”

Alice stood up. She was still wearing the unadorned coffee-colored dress she'd had on at the funeral. “I brought your receipt. Brent Doyle insisted you have one. However, I'd like to have you go. This house no longer belongs to the family. I don't think we need any insurance risks.”

Judith left the door ajar to air out the house, but didn't move any nearer to Alice. Renie, however, had trooped out into the kitchen with the hamper. “I told you, the doctors haven't made a decision,” said Judith. “If my husband has to stay in the hospital for another day or two, I can't leave. I'll certainly never find a room in Buccaneer Beach with all this goofy Freebooter stuff going on.”

“That's not my problem.” Alice slipped the magazine into the maple rack beside the sofa. “You signed the rental agreement for seven days. They're up tomorrow.”

“Just a minute,” argued Judith. “That was seven
nights
as well. They won't be up until Sunday.”

Only a flicker of Alice's cold gray eyes indicated that Judith's words had disconcerted her in any way. She seemed to be weighing the legal ramifications. “Very well,” she said tersely. “But you must leave by 8:00
A.M.
Sunday. That's absolutely final.”

Renie returned from the kitchen. “It's none of my business, Mrs. Hoke, but that guy from the boathouse or wherever he lives is out in the carport stealing your stuff. Do you care?” The question was put in such a way that Renie sounded as if she figured Alice didn't care about much—except herself.

“Mr. Teacher is doing some hauling for me. I want to get this entire house cleaned out in the next few days. As I said, it no longer is owned by anyone in our family.” Her homely face revealed no emotion.

The sound of a vehicle starting up caught Judith's ear.
She was sure it was the black van. “If you want everything out of here, how come Titus Teacher—or somebody—brought two of the cartons back last night?”

For a fleeting moment, Judith could have sworn that Alice Hoke looked startled. “He did? I think that's unlikely. Of course the man isn't right in his head. He may have become confused. Let me check.” She started for the kitchen, then paused in the doorway. “By the way, my late sister left some personal effects here that she wanted my daughter and daughter-in-law to have. Or so they say. Some jewelry, I believe. Please see if you can find a small case in the front bedroom closet. Thank you.” She went out into the carport with the air of an empress giving a command to her lowly, slightly stupid, subjects.

Judith sighed. “A jewel case? Let's go see, coz. Anything to get rid of the old bat.”

The closet contained Judith and Joe's luggage, along with a few items that belonged to the house. A carpet sweeper, extra blankets, a hatbox, insect repellent, and a carton of Christmas decorations were the sum of Judith and Renie's perusal. Judith checked out the hatbox, while Renie dug into the holiday decor. Outside, the sun had started to go down. More firecrackers resounded, while raucous laughter drifted up from the beach.

“Just hats,” said Judith. “Ugly ones at that.”

“Bubble lights,” said Renie in disgust. “Ornaments made out of cornhusks. They look like something Aunt Ellen would send from Nebraska. Here's a myrtlewood crèche. That's kind of cute.”

Briefly, the cousins admired the carved Nativity figures, then began putting everything neatly back into place. “Maybe she meant the back closet,” said Judith. “We can but try.”

They were halfway down the hall when Alice Hoke reappeared in the kitchen, faintly out of breath. “You're quite right,” she said, as if granting a favor. “Mr. Teacher wasn't supposed to bring those boxes back here. I'm afraid he's not reliable.” Her thin face wore a vexed expression.
“He also drove off without me. I must use your phone and see if Larissa or Augie can pick me up.”

“Go ahead,” said Judith, finding an annoyed Alice somewhat easier to handle than her usual unyielding personality. “By the way, we didn't find that jewel case. Shall we check the back closet?”

Alice lifted her thin shoulders. “If you like. Frankly, I doubt that it's here. I only have Larissa's word for it.” Her attitude seemed to indicate that Larissa's word wasn't worth a damn.

Renie volunteered to make the search, but once again came up empty-handed. Alice, having spoken to her son, said he'd be along shortly. “They're still all up at the house. They felt it necessary to hold some sort of wake. Now they're cleaning up. I trust they'll leave soon.” Her face grew wistful.

Judith had the same feeling about Alice Hoke. Still, she felt she should take the opportunity to make a few inquiries. “It seems Darren Fleetwood has already left,” she remarked, trying to sound casual. “We spoke with him this afternoon.”

The gray eyes snapped. “You did? Whatever for?”

Judith shrugged. “We happened to run into him when he came out of Brent Doyle's office. Frankly, I didn't gather he intended to do anything about this place very soon. He seemed quite anxious to get back to Malibu.”

Alice's thin lips pursed in disapproval. “I'm sure he is. No doubt he'll simply put the cottage on the real estate market and collect his money.”

Renie had sat down on the arm of the sofa. “You don't think he deserves it?”

“I don't know anything about my sister's affairs.” Alice lifted her sharp chin in disdain.

“I take it,” said Judith quietly, “you and your nephew aren't close?”

Alice's long, thin body quaked. Her face turned as gray as her eyes. She had to grasp the mantelpiece to steady herself. “What are you talking about?” The words were low and strangled.

Somewhat unsettled by Alice's reaction, Judith cast about for a rejoinder that wouldn't give the other woman apoplexy. “I understood that Darren was Leona's son.”

“Nonsense!” Alice arm shot out like a semaphore. “You city people know nothing about small towns and gossip! What a wild rumor!” She pointed a long finger at both cousins. “Don't you dare repeat a thing like that! It's vile!”

Before Judith or Renie could respond, the sound of a horn blared in the cul-de-sac. Alice shook her finger twice, then all but flew out of the room and out of the house. The cousins followed her. In the twilight, they saw Augie Hoke behind the wheel of his beater. Alice swept inside and slammed the car door. Judith and Renie were not sorry to see her go.

J
UDITH AND
R
ENIE
immediately set about making iced tea, though neither of them liked it much. But it was a summer ritual, and they felt obliged to drink it anyway. The receipt that Alice had left on the end table had been made out on a printed form and looked quite professional, unlike the small piece of yellow paper Leona Ogilvie had haphazardly handed over. Judith tucked the receipt inside the zippered pocket of her purse.,

“Do you really think Alice doesn't know—or believe—that Darren Fleetwood is Leona's son?” Renie asked as she poured the tea out of a big jug they'd kept in a jar outside to catch the sun's rays.

“I honestly don't know,” Judith replied. Her ears caught the sound of sirens. “Oh, Lord, I hope we're not going to have all-night partying and arrests and other commotions. This Freebooter thing is a real pain.”

Renie was getting out the ice cubes. “I suppose Leona gave Darren up. Fleetwood must be his adoptive name. Is there any way we can check that out?”

“The easiest way would be to ask Darren Fleetwood,” said Judith, putting a teaspoon of sugar into
each tall glass. “When he gets back to Malibu, I mean. He certainly made no secret of the fact that Leona was his mother.”

“True,” agreed Renie. “Damn—you know, we never got to ask Darren if he had an alibi for Tuesday night.”

Judith was carrying their glasses into the living room. They'd left the lights turned off to watch the random display of fireworks on the beach and the scatter of stars above the ocean. “Maybe that's one thing Sheriff Eldritch or Chief Clooney already did. If they realized that Darren was related to Leona. I tell you, coz, it's one thing to sit here in the dark, but it's something else to be working in the dark. At home, we've always had Joe to fill us in. Even up in Port Royal last fall, that nice Canadian detective was really a lot of help. These two are a washout.”

“Maybe we haven't given them a fair shake,” Renie remarked.

Judith looked dubious, then turned in the armchair to stare out the window. The sirens were quite close and she could see flashing red lights somewhere outside the house. “Those aren't fireworks,” she asserted, getting up and going to the window. “I can't see them from here, but those emergency vehicles are down on the beach.”

“No wonder. A keg party must have gotten out of hand.”

For a few moments, Judith didn't reply. Then she gave a shrug and sat down again. “You're probably right. Let's hope everybody down there decides it's time to leave.”

The cousins resumed their discussion, trying to ignore the ruckus outdoors. The sirens stopped, but the lights kept flashing. Midway through trying to figure out how they could get Titus Teacher to admit whether or not he had an alibi for the time of the murder, Renie remembered that they were supposed to call their mothers.

As ever, the conversation with Aunt Deb rambled on. Mrs. Parker's poodle not only was still being naughty, but off his feed as well. Uncle Al had won the trifecta at the race track. Cousin Marty had gotten a ticket for driving his motorcycle into the lobby of his bank. He claimed that
there used to be a drive-up window there, but the bank's personnel claimed he was mistaken. And under arrest.

Gertrude, of course, was more concise. “Why are you calling if you don't know when you're coming home? Now you'll have to spend more money to phone again. Judith Anne, don't you have any
sense
?”

Judith was about to offer to call collect the next time when somebody knocked at the back door. Renie went to answer it, while Judith craned her neck to see who it was.

“An electric fan?” Judith was saying into the phone. “I probably forgot to put it in with your other things. Maybe Arlene could drop it off tomorrow.”

“Why bother?” snapped Gertrude. “I can always sit here and let Deb's lips flap and get cooled off that way. I don't know why my sister-in-law keeps it so blasted hot in here during the summer. Her circulation must stink.”

“But Mother,” protested Judith, “I thought you were the one who…” She paused, her brow furrowed at the sight of Renie, leading a highly excited Terrence O'Toole into the living room. Renie looked a little agitated, too. She motioned with her hands for Judith to get off the phone. “Mother, I'm sorry, we've got unexpected company. I've got to go.”

“Well.” Gertrude sounded crestfallen. “That's fine, you do that. I'll wait until another time to tell you about my brain tumor.” The phone slammed in Judith's ear.

Renie and Terrence both started talking at once. Renie was the first to stop, deferring to the young reporter. “Wowee! What a week!” he exclaimed, slumping onto the sofa. “Another dead body!”

Judith froze. “Who?”

Renie, who apparently wanted to spare Judith any long-winded, garbled explanation from Terrence, provided the answer. “Titus Teacher. He was shot down at the boathouse about half an hour ago.”

Judith was aghast. “But…We just saw him up here, out in the carport.” She felt the color drain from her face.

“It must have happened right after that,” Renie said, collapsing next to Terrence.

“Impossible,” murmured Judith, then gave herself a sharp shake. The word had tumbled out by reflex, yet hearing it aloud jolted her brain.
Impossible
was right. Yet all things
were
possible. If only you could figure out how…

“I'd just eaten dinner,” Terrence explained, using his freckled hands freely. “I saw the ambulance and the other cars heading down 101, so I followed them. They turned off by that big modern place and drove down the beach to that old boathouse.” Titus Teacher's body, according to Terrence, had been discovered by some teenagers who had been digging around the boathouse in search of the hidden treasure. At first, they had thought it was just another round of fireworks, but then they realized it had come from inside the little dwelling. Deciding that was odd, they looked through the window. Titus's body was lying over the back of the couch. The teenagers broke in, and discovered that the victim was still quite warm, but very dead. He'd been shot through the chest. “They went for help,” Terrence continued, still looking shaken. “Everybody on the beach came charging over to the boathouse. Chief Clooney and Sheriff Eldritch had a terrible time trying to keep them out of the way. It was a real muddle. Clooney ended up throwing out some of Eldritch's men by mistake.”

“That was no mistake,” murmured Judith, imagining the frenzied scene. “What's going on down there now?”

Terrence raised his hands in a helpless gesture. “I don't know. After I got the facts I needed, the police asked me to leave. I came up here because I thought you'd want to know what was happening.”

“We do, Terrence,” said Renie, getting up to fetch him a glass of iced tea. “Thanks. We thought it was a bust of a beer bust.”

Judith was still trying to organize her fragmented brain. She switched on a lamp and looked at her watch. “It's not quite nine. We got back from the beach about eight. Alice Hoke was waiting for us, Titus Teacher pulled up and dropped off those boxes, we heard him leave about five minutes later, then in another ten or so, Alice got picked
up by Augie.” She tapped the arm of her chair with her fingernails. “Did anyone notice where that black van was parked?”

Terrence knew nothing about a black van. Renie brought him his drink. Judith asked if anyone had seen Titus Teacher go into the boathouse.

“Yes,” answered Terrence, “I talked to somebody who'd seen him go in a few minutes before the teenagers heard the gunshot.”

“Did anyone else go into the boathouse?” queried Judith.

Terrence shook his head. “Not that I know of. And I did ask, because I thought it was important.” His youthful face looked very earnest, red eyebrows a-jiggle.

“You're right, Terrence, asking that question is important.” Judith glanced through the picture window where the lights continued to flash. She had a sudden, urgent desire to go down to the beach.

Under the influence of Renie's ministrations and Judith's praise, Terrence was beginning to calm down. He settled further into the sofa, stretched out his legs, and put his hands behind his head. “Wowee, I picked the right job! I knew being a journalist would be one thrill after another!”

Having known a few journalists whose biggest thrill was trying to decipher city zoning codes and sort through fraudulent welfare forms, Judith looked askance. But she could hardly argue with a novice reporter who had come across two murder victims in his first month of employment.

She could, however, gently nudge him on his way. “Gee,” Judith exclaimed with an admiring expression, “your editor will be awfully pleased with your on-the-spot coverage. I'll bet you can't wait to turn your story in.”

Though obviously pleased by Judith's words, Terrence shrugged. “The next deadline isn't until Monday. We'll have our weekly story conference first thing in the morning. My editor doesn't like his people to bother him on the
weekends. He's really tied up right now with the Freebooters' Festival. What did you think of the map?”

“Oh, interesting. Very interesting,” replied Judith. “Wasn't it, coz? Say,” she said, with sudden anxiety in her voice, “you look peaked. Isn't it time for your
treatment
?”

Renie's face grew puzzled. “My treatment? For what?” She caught Judith's warning gesture and clutched her chest. “You're right—it's time. For the treatment of the disease that affects my breathing. And my memory.” Renie gasped several times.

Judith stood up and hurried over to Renie. “Poor thing,” she murmured, patting Renie's shoulder. “I'll take her in the bedroom and start the procedure. Don't worry, Terrence, I'll be back in an hour or so.”

Alarmed at Renie's labored breathing, Terrence had scooted to the far end of the sofa. “Wowee, that was sudden! Can I help?”

“No, no,” Judith asserted, hoisting a now limp Renie to her feet. “I'm used to it. Just make yourself comfortable. As I said, I'll probably finish up before bedtime.”

Terrence finally took his cue. “I hate to abandon you two,” he called to the cousins as they disappeared into the hall, “but maybe I ought to run along.”

“Not on our account,” Judith shouted back. “Feel free to browse through those missionary magazines in the rack there.”

But Terrence decided it was time to go home. Bidding the cousins farewell and good luck, he left. Judith dropped Renie on the bed in the guest room. Renie opened one eye and squinted up at her cousin.

“Has he got to his scooter yet?”

Judith was trying to look out the window. “Not yet. Give him a minute.” They waited in silence. At last, Judith saw the single headlight go on and heard the sound of the motor. “Okay, let's hit the beach, coz. I feel like Uncle Corky at Anzio.”

Two of the emergency vehicles were still parked on the sand facing each other, one the property of the sheriff, the other belonging to the police chief. Both still had their
lights flashing, as if in competition. There was no sign of an ambulance, so apparently the body had been taken away. Despite the law enforcement personnel's efforts to clear the area, small clusters of people lingered nearby.
At least
, Judith thought as she and Renie approached the boathouse,
nobody was shooting off fireworks
. Indeed, except for a crackling voice on a two-way radio, a sinister calm had settled over the beach.

Josh Eldritch's lanky form was easy to spot next to the woodpile outside the boathouse, conferring with one of his deputies. Judith assumed a deferential air and waited for a lull in the conversation.

“Is it true?” she asked, crossing the last ten feet of sand to Eldritch. “We were just told that Titus Teacher has been murdered.”

Eldritch gave the cousins a sour look. “News travels too fast in this damned town. Yeah, it's true. Now be good to yourselves and head on back up the bluff.”

Judith assumed an affronted expression. “Oh. I thought you'd want to know about us seeing Titus a few minutes before he was shot.” She started to turn, tugging at Renie's arm to follow her lead. “Never mind, we'll go talk to Neil Clooney.”

“Hold it!” shouted the sheriff. “You saw Teacher tonight?”

Judith and Renie dutifully backtracked. “He was putting some things in the carport. Or taking them away. Did you find his black van?”

Eldritch looked blank. “What van?”

At that moment, Neil Clooney strutted out from the boathouse. He saw the cousins talking to Eldritch. “Hey—we're trying to keep people out of this area, you moron! How come you're inviting the neighborhood in? Don't you know how to conduct a homicide investigation?”

“Better than you do, Clooney,” growled the sheriff. “These two have some vital information which they're sharing with
me
. What were you doing in that boathouse, looking for your girlfriend's buns?”

Clooney rounded on Eldritch. “Keep Alice out of this,
you baboon!” He had gotten quite red in the face and held his clenched fists at his sides. “I was making a thorough search, that's what I was doing,” he went on in a slightly less heated tone. “All those numskulls who came charging in there after those kids found the body made quite a mess. If there were any clues, we'll be lucky to find them.”

“If there were any clues,
you'd
never find them,” retorted Eldritch. “You're so out of date, you were probably looking for lipstick-smudged cigarette butts.”

“The only butt around here is you, Eldritch,” the police chief snarled. Abruptly, he turned to the cousins, who had been watching the exchange with a mixture of impatience and fascination. “Okay, what have you got to tell us? Remember, we're a team.”