Dune to Death (3 page)

But at least she and Joe finally belonged to each other. Judith smiled at the thought and started up the beach toward the wooden staircase. The stiffness she had noticed earlier had worsened, bringing on a headache. Her bucket seemed heavier with every step and she noticed that she'd skinned her fingers in several places when she'd abandoned the shovel for chasing after her elusive prey with her bare hands. She should have worn gloves.

Halfway up, she paused to catch her breath. Even living in a four-story house hadn't prepared her for quite this much exertion. But the view was spectacular. The ocean
seemed so vast, so endless, so dominant. A lonely trawler bobbed out on the horizon. How far away, Judith mused? The sun was no longer directly over head, and was now sitting on top of a row of fluffy white clouds. Down on the beach, the vacationers ebbed and flowed like the tide itself. Judith switched the bucket and shovel from one hand to the other, then resumed her ascent. She had reached the next landing when a movement almost directly below caught her eye. It was a bearded man in what appeared to be a baggy sweater and rumpled pants, staring up at her. She could just make out his uneven footprints in the sand. They led from the boathouse.

“Big deal,” she muttered to herself. “At least he's not carrying out a TV and a VCR.” Judith continued up the steps.

Back in the garage, she went to put the bucket and shovel where she had picked them up and hoped the garden hose would reach that far so she could wash down the clams. But something wasn't quite right. Judith paused, frowning. The carton marked “Fragile” was gone. Mrs. Hoke must have taken it with her, Judith told herself. And why not? It was her house.

Inside, she looked for a box of cornmeal to shake into the clam bucket to help get rid of the sand. Sure enough, the wax paper, Drano, and a huge pink kite sat on the butcher-block kitchen table. Judith smiled. Maybe she'd try her hand at flying the kite later. Everybody else in Buccaneer Beach seemed to think it was a wonderful pastime. But for now, she was off to visit Joe.

The drive to the hospital took only five minutes. The sprawling structure apparently had started out as a clinic shortly after World War II, and, like the rest of Buccaneer Beach, had grown helter-skelter. Judith found Joe awake, but not exactly alert.

“Guess what?” she blurted, startled by the big cast, large sling, and complicated pulleys, “we've got Drano.”

“Run him on a third party ticket,” murmured Joe, making an attempt to get comfortable. Judging from his gri
mace, the effort was not a success. “Maybe he can beat Nixon.”

Judith gingerly sat in the visitor's chair which was heaped with fresh linen. “Uh…Joe, it's the nineties. We're in Buccaneer Beach.”

For an instant, the green eyes came into focus. “What for?”

Judith sighed. “Never mind. How do you feel?”

He was still squirming, though the sling hampered him severely. “Rotten. Where's my wife?”

Judith froze, staring at Joe. “
I'm
your wife, you knot-head!” she bristled. “We're
married
, Joe. We're on our
honeymoon
.” Her voice had risen, eliciting a rustling sound from behind the curtain in the room's only other bed. Flushing, Judith tried to compose herself and put a hand on Joe's upper arm. “Joe, it's me—Jude-girl.” She had never cared for the nickname he had given her so long ago, but now she clung to it, hoping to jog his memory. “You're…ah…fuddled.”

His eyes were closed and he'd stopped wiggling. For the first time, Judith noticed a bruise on his left forearm and a couple of scratches on his neck. She could hardly believe that except for the headache and stiff back, she'd escaped unscathed. Judith took in Joe's misery and felt contrite.

“You go to sleep,” she whispered, patting his shoulder. “I'll come back after dinner.”

His eyes opened. “Okay.” He managed a feeble smile. “See if you can get the nurse to come in here.”

Judith smiled back. “Sure.” She started for the door.

“And,” Joe called after her, his voice surprisingly strong, “keep away from the bottle! I'm tired of having to stick your head under the shower to sober you up!”

The sound of more rustling could be heard from the other bed. Judith fled into the corridor, almost colliding with a young doctor. Glancing at his name tag, she noted that the flaxen hair, fresh face, and hazel eyes belonged to Rolf Lundgren, MD. He didn't look a day over twenty-two; Judith guessed he was an intern.

“Excuse me,” she apologized, automatically brushing him off as if he'd been Mike, “I wasn't looking where I was going.”

Dr. Lundgren's smile was wry as he glanced into the room Judith had just vacated. “A lot of women run out of D-204. We're getting used to it since Mr. Beezle was admitted. Maybe we need a stop sign for the staff.”

“Mr. Beezle? Is he the one in the other bed? I'm Mrs. Flynn,” Judith added in explanation.

Dr. Lundgren acknowledged Judith's introduction with a casual nod. “Oh. That's quite a fracture your husband suffered. I've never seen one like it. The orthopedic surgeon, Dr. Scott, says it's a wonderful learning experience for me.”

“Maybe for my husband, too,” murmured Judith, thinking it might teach Joe not to drive so fast. At least not in a dune buggy. “You're an intern?”

“Right.” He nodded again. “I've only been here two weeks. Usually, we're assigned to larger hospitals, in bigger cities. But Buccaneer Beach is very shorthanded, especially during tourist season. I'm glad, though—it's a nice place. I feel at home.”

Judith had felt that way, too, at least until Joe had broken his leg. She exchanged a few more words with Dr. Lundgren, mostly about Joe's prognosis. The intern had already learned to be reassuring yet vague. Adopting a philosophical attitude, Judith took herself to dinner at a small diner about two blocks from the hospital. She'd save the serious eating for Renie's arrival.

 

When Judith returned to the hospital shortly before seven, Joe was sleeping like a log. She waited about ten minutes before deciding it was useless to stick around and watch him sleep. Or worse yet, have him awaken and imagine again that she was his ex-wife, Herself. She was reaching for her handbag when the curtain on the other bed was snatched away by a gnarled hand, and a cherubic face beamed at her.

“You got any with you, sweetheart?” The old man was beaming toothlessly at Judith.

“Any what?” asked Judith, trying to look dignified.

“Hooch.” His expression was ingenuous. “I could do with a drink. Haven't had one in almost a week.” He thrust the gnarled hand in Judith's direction. “Jake Beezle here. How's by you?”

Reluctantly, Judith angled her way around the end of Joe's bed and shook hands with Jake. “Judith Flynn. My husband's out of his head.”

“So am I,” replied Jake cheerfully. His hospital gown had slipped over one bony shoulder. “At least that's what everybody says.” Jake started to lift the covers. “Want to see my hip replacement?”

“Ah…no, thanks,” Judith responded hastily. “I hate blood. And stitches.” She gave Jake a sickly grin. “Nice view,” she said, searching wildly for a change of subject. “Very attractive parking lot.”

Jake glanced out the window. “Huh? Oh, yeah, sure is, especially when some of them nurses drop something and have to bend over. Heh, heh.” He gave Judith a leer which didn't quite mesh with his cherubic features. “Is it in your pocketbook?”

Nervously, Judith looked around. “Oh—my handbag? What?” Jake Beezle had her justifiably confused.

Jake turned faintly reproachful. “The hooch. I hope it's bourbon. Back in Prohibition, I used to run Canadian rye down the coast. Good stuff, but not so smooth as Kentucky mash.”

Judith started backing away. “No hooch, Mr. Beezle. My husband is having delusions. Nice meeting you. I have to meet a train.”

Jake Beezle chuckled and wheezed. “That's what they all say, sweetheart. Who's the engineer—Jack Daniels?” His laughter followed her out into the corridor. Judith was getting tired of fleeing her husband's hospital room.
Marriage wasn't supposed to be like this
, she thought with a helpless sensation.

But it was still an improvement over the first time around.

 

Renie's train was fifteen minutes late, which was just as well, since Judith hadn't taken into account the winding road that led inland from the coast. Neither had she considered the handling of the MG, which she hadn't yet driven on the open highway. Judith had trouble keeping the sports car under sixty-five, a speed Joe considered cruising.

Her cousin arrived with two suitcases and a garment bag, insisting that the late June weather was too unpredictable to know what type of clothes to pack.

“So you brought all of them?” Judith inquired, hoisting the garment bag over her shoulder and feeling her lower back give a twinge of pain.

Renie gave Judith an arch look. “Hardly. I could have brought almost everything in the big suitcase if Bill hadn't taken it with him to Champaign-Urbana.”

It was almost dark as they drove through patches of wispy fog. Renie asked after Joe; Judith inquired about their mothers.

“My mother acted as if I were going with Admiral Byrd to the South Pole on a five-year expedition,” replied Renie. “Your mother said it was too bad Joe didn't break his neck instead of his leg.”

“In other words,” Judith said dryly, “they're both fine.”

“They're themselves,” replied Renie. “My mother says yours smokes too much. Your mother gripes that mine talks too much. Before I left, they were arguing about what to have for dinner. My mother wanted to warm up some green Spam she's been saving in the fridge for about three months and yours wanted me to run down to the public market and get pickled pig's feet. Fortunately, Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince called to say they were coming down from the Island with a vat full of chicken and noodles. They're staying for dinner.”

“Good,” said Judith, braking for a curve. “Did Mike call from Montana?”

Renie gave Judith a vexed look. “Not that I know of. He didn't leave until yesterday. He's probably just getting in about now. Stop fussing.” Still eyeing Judith's strong profile, Renie's face softened. She knew her cousin was feeling guilty about a lot of things—for sending Gertrude off to live with Deb, for not paying more attention to Mike's summer plans and the upcoming fall semester at school, even for finally getting what she wanted by becoming Joe's wife. The cousins' minds were so in tune that Renie understood how Judith could feel both elated over her newly-married state and yet undeserving. There had been so many years of obstacles and discontent that Renie realized Judith felt unworthy of happiness.

“Boy, are you lucky,” said Renie brightly. She didn't wait for Judith's response, which was just as well since an ancient RV was swaying dangerously in front of them and forcing a slowdown to forty-five. “You've only been married for two days and you've already had your first bad break. Break? Get it? Ha-ha.”

Judith kept her eyes on the road. “I'm sure glad I asked you to come down. You're always so positive, you twit.”

Renie ignored Judith's remark. She knew how glad Judith was to have her. And Renie was glad to tag along. It was Judith who put their feelings into words as she finally got onto a straight piece of road and was able to pass the lurching camper.

“Strange as it seems, coz, my honeymoon wouldn't have been complete without you.”

Renie grinned. “Gee, somehow I'd hoped it would be. Then again,” she added in an unusually thoughtful voice, “maybe I didn't.”

E
VEN IN THE
dark, Renie was charmed by the cottage. They had parked in the garage, but Judith insisted on taking Renie around to the front so she could get an unobstructed moonlight view of the ocean. The cousins stood on the bluff watching the silver waves in silence. Although the kites had disappeared for the day, the beach still beckoned strollers and even a few joggers.

“Nice,” said Renie at last. “Very nice. I can see why you didn't want to waste the rental.”

They had turned back to the house. Judith started to speak, then let out a exclamation of surprise: “Hey—I didn't turn on any lights. It wasn't dark when I left and I never thought about it.”

The cousins stared at the picture window in the living room. A single floor lamp was aglow, and in the doorway to the kitchen, they could see two people standing very close together.

“What on earth…?” Judith rocked on her heels. “Are we being burgled?” she asked, lowering her voice.

“I don't think so,” answered Renie, whose distance
vision was better than her cousin's. “Look—they're, uh, hugging.”

“If I want to see anything far away, I have to get up closer,” said Judith, moving carefully but purposefully toward the cottage. Within six feet of the window, they ducked down, trying to conceal themselves behind the rhododendrons, azaleas, and Oregon grape which grew in a border against the house. “Egad,” gasped Judith, “it's our landlady!”

“Who's she landed?” Renie whispered back.

Judith peered through the shrubbery. “I don't recognize him. It's not the guy I saw at the boathouse this afternoon.”

“What guy?”

“Never mind that now.” Judith felt her short, frosted black hair get caught in the spiny Oregon grape. Mrs. Hoke and the man who held her in his arms were profile-to-profile, apparently exchanging affectionate words. “I feel like a window peeper,” Judith said under her breath.

Renie was kneeling on the ground, now damp with dew. “He looks a lot younger than she does. But I guess older women and younger men are all the rage. I knew I should have tried to seduce Dooley on his paper route.”

Judith motioned for Renie to shut up, but the couple had disappeared into the kitchen, arm in arm. “Great,” muttered Judith, still trying to extricate herself from the Oregon grape. “Now what do we do, go for a ride?”

The idea didn't strike Renie as particularly strange. “We could get root beer floats,” she suggested, making a pass at wiping off her linen slacks. “Hey, it's not eleven o'clock yet.”

“Well—maybe,” Judith said dubiously. “This isn't exactly the Big City, you know.” Walking over to unlock the MG, she saw two cars that she hadn't noticed earlier parked out at the edge of the road next to the black van. One was Mrs. Hoke's Buick; the other was some sort of four-wheel drive. Since Pirate's Lair was squeezed in between the resort and the motel, people tended to park everywhere in the cul-de-sac.

“That's nervy,” Judith complained as she backed out the driveway. “I mean, it's her house and all that, but she shouldn't be bringing her boyfriend over for the evening. I should have known there was something flaky about this place.”

Renie gave a shrug. “Thirty minutes and one root beer float apiece and they should be gone. If not,” she said composedly, “we'll roust them. Just because one-half of the honeymoon is in traction doesn't mean you don't want to use the cottage.”

“Right,” agreed Judith, driving up the short, steep hill that led to Highway 101. “Maybe Mrs. Hoke just came by to drop off some more stuff. She's already been at the house twice today.”

“Nosy, huh?” Renie gave a little sniff. “Who was the other guy you were talking about?”

Traffic was still fairly heavy on the highway, but most of the storefronts were dark. Judith drove slowly, though the car seemed to fight her every inch of the way. “It was nothing,” Judith said in dismissal. “There's an old boathouse down on the beach that belongs to Mrs. Hoke. I doubt if it's been used for years, but some man was hanging around there this afternoon. He's probably one of the locals. In any event, he looked a lot older, at least as far as I could tell.”

“Which you can't, without Dooley's telescope,” noted Renie, then bounced in her bucket seat as she spotted a neon sign that read “Del's Diner” dead ahead.

Judith pulled off the highway and into the vacant parking lot. She had her hand on the ignition key as the neon sign went blank. “Drat,” she muttered, “we'll have to go further up the road.”

They did, all the way past the city limits. Growing annoyed, Judith pulled into a darkened service station and turned around. “We'll try the other end of town,” she said, heading back into Buccaneer Beach.

The city had grown in a north-south sprawl along the ocean, with its best real estate on the west side of the highway. There was a shopping center to the north and an out
let mall to the south. In between was a six-mile stretch of other businesses which served the regular population of seven thousand and the tourists, who numbered almost as many at any given time during the summer months. Judith drove past all four of the town's stoplights. At last, on the far side of Buccaneer Bay, they came to a drive-in. Judith pulled up to a plastic Jolly Roger which made muffled noises at her.

“Ask them if they've got hard ice cream,” said Renie.

Judith did. They didn't. Renie looked as if she were pouting. “Well?” demanded Judith testily. “Do you want a float or not?”

“You know I don't like soft ice cream,” Renie replied peevishly.

The Jolly Roger was getting surly. “Then to hell with it,” said Judith, slamming the gears into reverse. She had hit seventy by the time they reached the outlet mall.

“I don't get it,” said Renie, with a whine. “This is supposed to be a town that caters to tourists. It's almost the Fourth of July. Why isn't anything open?”

“How do I know?” snapped Judith. “Do I look like the Chamber of Commerce?”

Renie fell silent, then suddenly brightened just as they reached the center of town and the turnoff to Pirate's Lair. “Why don't we go to a grocery store and get some vanilla ice cream—the hard stuff—and root beer and make our own?”

Judith was already taking a left-hand turn. “Why don't you go dig a hole in the sand and stick your head in it? The grocery stores around here close at ten.”

“Oh, good grief!” It was almost too much for Renie to bear. She slumped in the seat, her short chin disappearing behind the collar of her silk blouse.

“Cheer up, coz,” soothed Judith, taking pity on Renie. “I've got buttermilk. I could make
grössita
for breakfast.”

The thought of fluffy chunks of German pancakes did much to restore Renie's spirits. As ever, Judith marveled at her cousin's capacity for eating everything in sight without getting fat as a pig. Metabolism, Renie always said, and
Judith mournfully had to admit that her cousin was probably right.

They arrived just as Mrs. Hoke was coming out to her car. Judith's sense of self-righteousness returned. She braked at the edge of the road and rolled the window down, calling to her landlady.

Mrs. Hoke's lanky figure came toward the MG. “Mrs. Flynn! Oh! How nice to see you! I was just leaving! Oh!” She giggled, again jarring Judith and this time rattling Renie. “I had to get my dulcimer.”

Judith gritted her teeth. “You play the dulcimer? How…arcane.”

Mrs. Hoke was leaning into the car, all elbows, shoulders, and hands. “I don't play it well, but it's such a quaint old instrument. Oh!” She gazed at Renie. “Is this your cousin?”

“Right, Serena Jones, Mrs. Hoke.” The two women acknowledged each other while Judith racked her brain to come up with a tactful way of telling her landlady to keep away from Pirate's Lair. “By the way,” Judith lied, hoping as she always did that her fabrication was in a good cause, “my husband might be getting out of the hospital sooner than we thought. He'll need complete quiet when he comes back here.”

“Oh!” Mrs. Hoke looked both surprised and puzzled. “But of course! You certainly won't have me bothering you.” She laughed merrily. “I've got unexpected company.”

“How nice,” said Judith. “Family?”

Mrs. Hoke simpered and hugged her angular frame. “You might say that.” One eyelid dropped in an exaggerated wink. “Let's just say it's someone to whom I feel especially
close
.” She giggled some more.

“Good,” said Judith, putting the MG back into first gear. “I hope your guest enjoys the dulcimer. Good night.”

The cousins left Mrs. Hoke laughing her head off.

 

Joe, unfortunately, was wide-awake. He was uncomfortable, if not in pain, and extremely bored. The food was
wretched and the nurses spent all their time sitting on their fat duffs gossiping and eating saltwater taffy. His doctors knew as much about modern medicine as Hippocrates. He'd called police headquarters back home to inform them of his accident and had not received an adequate amount of sympathy.

“Woody wasn't even there,” he complained, referring to his subordinate, the taciturn but kindly Officer Price. “He was off on some damned drive-by shooting. They ought to let Vice handle that crap,” he said in an unreasonable tone. “It's all drug-related. Sometimes I think the Chief has his head up his…”

“Gee, Joe,” Judith said quietly, trying to plump up the pillows behind his head, “aren't you glad Renie came down? I am. She only complains about root beer floats.”

“Or the absence thereof,” put in Renie, trying to pull the room's second chair up to Joe's bed without waking Jake Beezle. She failed.

“Hey, sweetheart,” chirruped Jake, “you shrank! Did you bring the good stuff this time?”

“Over here, Mr. Beezle,” called Judith. “That's my cousin. She's a teetotaler.”

“Awwww…” Jake groaned as Renie scooted out of his line of vision. “Hey,” he yelled, jerking back the curtain, “you got any cards?”

“Afraid not,” said Judith, trying to keep Joe from yanking on his pulleys.

“Cards?” Joe stopped squirming.

“I've got some,” said Renie.

Aghast, Judith stared at Renie. “You do?”

“Sure.” She delved into her enormous handbag and came up with two decks of Bicycle playing cards. “You know how Bill hates for me to read in bed because it keeps him awake. I read in the bathtub and if I run out of books on a trip, I play solitaire on the bathroom floor.” She slipped the red deck out of its box. “Oh!—these are for pinochle.
That's
why I had so many red queens.”

“Pinochle!” exclaimed Jake.

“Pinochle!” cried Joe.

“Pinochle!” moaned Judith.

“Four-handed?” inquired Renie.

Judith made a face at her cousin. “At nine in the morning? Are you nuts?”

Jake had pushed the curtain aside and somehow managed to reach the edge of the bed. “You can clear off this here stand thing and one of you girls can sit behind it and the other one between the beds.” He patted his mattress and leered at both Judith and Renie. “Real close like, okay? Looks like Flynn over there and me will have to be partners, seeing as how we can't move around so good. Deal 'em.”

Renie did, wedged in between the wall and Joe's combination table and tray. Judith hauled her chair over and glared at Renie. “I can't believe we're doing this,” she said between clenched teeth. “Haven't I suffered enough from those cribbage sessions with my mother?”

“Good game, cribbage,” said Jake, who had jammed an unlighted cigar in his mouth. “If those porker nurses hadn't locked up all my money, we could play some stud.” He grinned around his stogie and jabbed Judith with an elbow. “Stud's my game, stud's my name. Get it?”

“I already got it from Renie,” muttered Judith. “Bid or bunch.”

“I'll say two hundred,” said Joe, looking considerably more cheerful. “Hey, Jake, you got another cigar?”

“I forget,” said Renie, who was never at her best before 10:00
A
.
M
. “What's a good bid for four-handed? Three-ninety, four hundred?”

“Right,” said Jake, reaching under the mattress and pulling out a battered box. “Here, Flatfoot, have a cigar. Pity we can't light 'em in this booby hatch.”

For the next two hours, the foursome played three games, two of which were won by the men. Judith, whose back was giving her fits in the low-slung visitor's chair, finally announced that she had to go fly a kite.

“Mrs. Hoke brought us one,” she said, replacing Joe's water carafe and trying not to knock over his IV stand.

Jake stopped buzzing for the nurse to bring him a bed
pan. “Hoke? Alice Hoke? Strange woman. Spooky. Haven't seen her in years.”

Judith felt like saying she wished she could be as lucky. “Mrs. Hoke
is
a bit different, but her beach house is charming. It's the giggle that gets me.”

“Giggle?” Jake made a scornful gesture with his gnarled hand. “I never knew that woman to smile, let alone giggle. She's a real sourpuss.”

“Whatever,” murmured Judith, bending down to kiss Joe good-bye. Seeing the bleak expression on his round, faintly florid, face, she was overcome with remorse. “Oh, Joe, this is such a rotten thing! In the fall, let's fly down to San Francisco and paint the town red! Remember all our old haunts? We'll stay at the Fairmont and go to the Top of the Mark and Fisherman's Wharf and the Blue Fox and out to North Beach and…”

Joe was looking pitiful. “How can I climb those hills on crutches? Just put me in a ground floor room on Mission Street and I'll watch the bums beat each other up for a pint of muscatel.”

Jake popped up from his pillows. “Muscatel? Somebody got some vino fino over there? Hey, you guys, pass it around!”