Dune to Death (19 page)

Judith and Renie went down the six steps that led to the flower-lined pathway. “She lied about the phone,” said Renie. “It wasn't ringing.”

“So what?” retorted Judith. “We don't have a Cousin Oswald.”

A
FTER IT APPEARED
that their trek to Pacific Heights had been a failure, the cousins agreed that Brent Doyle might not have been much help anyway. It was now noon, so they stopped at the festival take-out stand with the shortest line and bought two orders of salmon and chips, with a side of macaroni salad. Since the streets were jammed with tourists and treasure seekers, they took their lunch back to Pirate's Lair.

“I feel stupid,” Judith lamented. “We've made a lot of progress, but we still aren't close to solving this case. What's
wrong
?”

Renie was gazing out the picture window at the front lawn. “Our staircase. Even now, it brings us Larissa and Donn Bobb Lima.”

Renie was right. First their heads, then the rest of the Limas appeared as they reached the top of the stairs. Weakly, Judith waved. Larissa, towing Donn Bobb, made straight for the front door. She was looking decidedly miffed.

“Now don't get me wrong,” she said by way of greeting, “but this whole treasure thing is just plain un
fair.” She waved a somewhat wrinkled version of the place mat map at the cousins. “We aren't the sort to go lookin' for free stuff and all that like Augie and Amy, mind you. Still, this is more like a game, so we thought we'd tackle it just for kicks, to pass the time before Donn Bobb's performance in the rodeo at the high school field tonight. So we got it all figured out, but we can't get at the prize.”

“Why not?” asked Judith, indicating, somewhat reluctantly, that the Limas should sit.

Plopping down on the cloth-covered strongbox, Larissa scrutinized the map. “Okay—it says it's not A or C, so that leaves B, right?” She looked up at Judith for confirmation; Judith tried not to gape. “So that's gotta be Bee Creek. You know, ‘B' as in ‘ABC,' only this is spelled out, B-e-e. Then you can take a bike or go on a hike due west, which is toward the ocean.” She stopped long enough for Renie to pour her and Donn Bobb an iced tea. “Then there's this part about the sign that used to be wine, and of course that's a cinch—when I was little, my daddy brought me with him while he was building this here beach cottage. He had to tear down an old tavern to put up the house. The last thing he took out was an old sign that said ‘beer and wine.'” She looked up again, a matter-of-fact expression on her heavily made-up face.

“That's very good,” said Judith, taken aback.

“Astounding,” murmured Renie.

“It's dumb,” said Donn Bobb, with a yawn. “Too easy.”

“Anyway,” Larissa went on, “I put it all together, and the prize has to be below this place on the beach. That means the boathouse. But you can't go in because that poor Mr. Teacher got killed there last night. Honestly, I wish people would stop getting murdered around here. It just spoils everything.” Larissa turned petulant.

Still dazed by Larissa's unexpected mental prowess, Judith gave herself a little shake. “I didn't think the sponsors of the treasure hunt could hide the prize inside a building.”

Larissa gave an impatient shrug, causing the strap of her halter top to slip over one bare shoulder. “Inside, outside—whatever. It's
at
the boathouse, that's for sure.
And there it is, under guard by a couple of dopey policemen.” She snorted with disgust and yanked at her halter strap.

Judith made some soothing noises, then tried to steer Larissa onto a different track. “You're right, it's a shame about Mr. Teacher. Your brother told us this morning that you recognized him. I guess he must be an old friend of the family's.”

Larissa's eyes widened. “Huh? No, I don't think so.” She glanced at Donn Bobb, who seemed to be sliding down the couch next to Renie. “I did think he looked like somebody I knew when I saw him at the funeral. In fact, it kind of spooked me at the time. But you know how funerals are—you get all kinds of weird feelings. Besides, I was crying a lot and couldn't see so good. Momma says I have too much imagination.”

Judith gave Larissa a small smile. “You certainly have an uncanny ability to figure out those treasure clues.”

Larissa seemed unaffected by the praise. “Oh—yeah, I guess I got that kind of mind. In the rodeo off-season, I work with computers.”

“Oh,” said Judith. “That's nice. Where?” She almost hated to ask.

Larissa gave another shrug, but this time kept her hand on her halter. “Different places. I sort of—what do you call it?—free lance. The pay's best at Cape Kennedy, though. And I really like doing stuff with the space program.

Judith and Renie both gaped.

 

“She could be right about the treasure,” Judith said after Larissa had awakened Donn Bobb and the two of them had gone off to complain to somebody official about the treasure hunt's lack of fairness.

“It makes sense,” Renie agreed. “I guess I hadn't really paid any attention to the new map.”

Neither had Judith. A sense of futility overcame her; maybe Joe was right. She ought to forget the murders and make plans to go home.

“Oh!” she exclaimed. “I forgot to call Arlene and let her know she'll have to keep running the B&B for at least another night.” Judith dialed Hillside Manor. Carl Rankers answered the phone.

“My dear wife's got me cleaning out the debris from the toolshed. I just came in to get a beer,” said Carl in his pleasant, friendly manner. “I may not get a lot done. There's a storm coming in later today.”

“Don't worry about it,” Judith reassured him. “I'll sort it out when I get home. Any news of Sweetums?” There was a faint catch in her voice.

“Afraid not,” replied Carl. “Arlene may be right for the first time in thirty years. The firecrackers must have sent him into hiding.”

Visions of what young boys with firecrackers could do to cats exploded before Judith's eyes. Despite her threats to do the same—and worse—to Sweetums over the years, Judith was definitely unsettled by the idea of serious harm coming to her perverse pet.

Signing off with Carl, Judith called the ranger station in Montana. Michael McMonigle wasn't there. He'd checked in Thursday, but had left. No, answered the rugged masculine voice, McMonigle wasn't expected back. He might have been assigned to a fire lookout in Flathead National Forest or one of the campgrounds by Hungry Horse Dam.

“Now I've misplaced my kid
and
my cat,” sighed Judith. “I'm a real disaster.”

“Cheer up,” said Renie. “At least we got rid of the iced tea.”

Before Judith could respond, a great cheer went up from the vicinity of the beach. The cousins exchanged startled looks.

“What now?” asked Judith, heading out the front door.

Renie followed, as the sound of applause drifted up from the sands. The afternoon had turned humid as well as hot. The heavy air seemed to weigh Judith down. Out on the horizon, dark clouds were moving towards shore. Perhaps the predicted storm that Carl Rankers had mentioned
was going to hit Buccaneer Beach as well as Heraldsgate Hill.

Stopping at the head of the stairs, the cousins surveyed the scene below. A huge crowd had gathered, with its focal point somewhere between the bottom of the staircase and the boathouse. More people were streaming from every direction. Judith and Renie quickly made their descent. At the edge of the crowd, they spotted Terrence O'Toole, camera in hand.

“What's going on?” shouted Judith over the din.

Terrence beamed at the cousins. “A retired couple from Medford found the treasure. Isn't that wild?”

“Oh!” Judith let out a sigh of relief. Despite the buoyant nature of the gathering, she'd feared the worst. “Where was it?”

Terrence was stepping back to take a wide-angle shot. “In a hollowed-out log,” he replied.

When the crowd began to melt away, Judith and Renie discovered that the Freebooters' Festival treasure chest had been tucked away inside the very same log they'd used for their picnics. The cousins exchanged bemused, and faintly shamefaced, glances.

 

The departure of the treasure seekers also signaled the exit of the law enforcement men who had been keeping watch at the boathouse. Apparently the sheriff and the police chief had finished their work there. Judith and Renie trudged back to the beach cottage.

“Just think,” laughed Renie when they were inside the house again, “we were sitting on the treasure all the time.”

“Speaking of sitting on loot,” said Judith, eyeing the cloth-covered strongbox, “maybe we should move that into one of the bedrooms.” She whisked off the linen square and examined the lock. “Better yet, we should open this thing. It's making me nervous. What if it's actual cash? Let's not wait until tonight. I'll go get the tools of my trade.”

But Renie stopped her. “I don't know—this is really complicated. It takes a key
and
a combination.”

Judith's skills were put to the test. After twenty minutes, she had vanquished the lock itself, but the combination eluded her. The cousins resorted to a chisel, but their only reward was a matching set of skinned knuckles.

“We'll have to blow the thing,” said Judith at last.

“Huh?” Renie shoved her damp chestnut curls off her forehead.

“Blast the lock with dynamite or something,” said Judith, who was also melting in the oppressive heat. “I wonder where we can buy explosives around here.”

Renie was about to ridicule the idea of finding such a purveyor open on a weekend in Buccaneer Beach, when she jumped to her feet. “I know! Let's go!”

Puzzled, but game, Judith followed Renie down to the beach. The crowd had now dispersed, leaving only the usual kiteflyers, walkers, driftwoodgatherers, and dogs. Searching among the vacationers on the beach below the We See Sea Resort, Renie found her prey. The ten-year-old kite expert they'd seen earlier in the week with the giant butterfly had now turned his talents to fireworks, especially the kind that were illegal except on Indian reservations. Five minutes and twenty dollars later, the cousins had in their possession something that looked as if it could demolish the capital of a Third World nation.

“We can't do this indoors,” said Renie. “We need solid ground. Let's take the strongbox out to the carport.”

To make room, Renie shifted some of the cartons while Judith backed the MG out into the cul-de-sac. Attaching the MK24 Victory Arsenal & Whistling Stars to the box with a string, Renie lit the footlong fuse. She then raced back to join Judith on the grass between the house and the carport.

The explosion shook the cousins, though it was the piercing screech of the Whistling Stars that particularly unhinged them. Covering their ears and gritting their teeth, they waited a full minute before approaching the strongbox.

The metal was scorched, but to Judith and Renie's dismay, the combination lock still held. Upon closer examination, they noticed that the giant firecracker had loosened
the lid. Judith resumed her work with the chisel. Moments later, they had opened the box from the rear. The cousins stared at the contents.

There was no money. No stocks, no bonds. Nothing of apparent value. Judith hauled out a pair of sheepskin car seat covers. They were soiled, not just with the usual accumulation of dirt, but with large rust-colored smears.

“What the…?” She gazed perplexedly at Renie, then looked back down in the box and noticed a blank envelope taped to the bottom. Judith prised it loose, opened it, and shook out a key. “A safety-deposit box?” She handed the key over to Renie.

“Could be,” said Renie. “It's got a number on it.”

“That would explain where the money is,” said Judith, turning her attention back to the stained sheepskin covers. “What do you think about these?”

Renie made a face. “The only thing I'm sure of is that they didn't belong to seventeenth century pirates.”

“Right,” agreed Judith, wrinkling her nose. The dampness which had permeated the sheepskin gave off an unpleasant odor. “But they might have belonged to twentieth century pirates. Look, coz,” she said, pointing to the rust-colored smears, “doesn't that look a lot like dried blood?”

 

Fair was fair. Having two items in their possession, the cousins decided to divvy them up between Josh Eldritch and Neil Clooney. The battered strongbox had been stored in the guest bedroom before Judith and Renie took off in the MG. They stopped first at police headquarters, handing over the sheepskin car seat covers to the police chief, who, amazingly, was in his office.

“A policeman's job is never done,” he said sententiously. “Besides, I left a dozen doughnuts here from Holesome's Sugar Shop.”

Clooney seemed mildly interested in the cousins' discovery. However, he could see no tie-in between a buried strongbox and the recent murders. Somewhat reluctantly, Judith showed him the scrap of treasure map.

“Don't you see,” she tried to explain, wondering why Clooney's office wasn't air-conditioned at city expense, “it wasn't an accident that the map was put under the carpet at Pirate's Lair. It was left there so that someone would be able to come along later and dig up the strongbox.”

“So?” Clooney's small eyes were skeptical. “Why would anyone want to ditch a couple of seat covers in the first place?” Clooney eyed the smelly sheepskin with distaste. “I suppose they were kind of nice looking when they were new.”

Judith felt as if she were ramming her head into a brick wall. Or at least Clooney's formidable stomach. “Please—the least you could do is have your lab find out if that's blood on the seat covers.”

Clooney started to frown at Judith, then burst into laughter. “Sure! Why not? It was probably from the sheep!”

“Never mind,” said Judith, reaching for the covers, “we'll take them over to the sheriff. He'll know what to do.”

The threat worked. Clooney pounced on the sheepskin and promised to put the lab to work. Come Monday. Naturally, they were off for the weekend. Renie emitted a little snort.