Clam Wake (14 page)

“Will do. Say,” Mel said, lowering his voice, “do you stay up late like your aunt does?”

“Fairly late,” Judith responded. “Why?”

“I don't imagine Vance or Vince mentioned it,” he said, his voice almost a whisper, “but the last couple of weeks Sarah and I've noticed a boat that goes out after midnight. That's about the time we go to bed and our bedroom looks out over the water. Vance and Vince have seen it a couple of times, too. I wondered if you noticed anything last night. We weren't sure because the fog didn't start to lift until about then.”

“We turned in before that,” Judith said. “What do you think it is?”

“We don't know. You hardly ever see a small boat from here so late during the winter. It usually disappears out of range by Scratchit Head. It must come back, but we've never stayed awake long enough to notice.”

“Maybe we'll stay up later tonight. Renie's a real night owl.”

Mel made a face. “Now I feel kind of foolish for mentioning it. Vance was curious, too.” He chuckled softly. “I guess this time of year we're pretty hard up for amusement on The Rock.”

Judith smiled. “I call it human interest. It's normal to be curious.”

She didn't add that sometimes being curious was also dangerous.

W
hen Judith returned to the house shortly before noon, Renie was on the sofa, doing the newspaper's crossword puzzle.

“What's a six-letter word for a pain-in-the-butt relative?” she asked as Judith came through the door. “Don't tell me. It's
J-U-D-I-T-H
. I'm perishing from boredom.”

“I'm not the entertainment committee,” Judith declared. “I thought you brought work with you.”

Renie sneered. “I told you I finished most of it before we left. I only have to do some tweaking.”

Judith was brushing her windblown hair. “I picked up some bits of news, including a really weird woman.”

Renie feigned shock. “You picked up a weird woman? You couldn't find a weird man?”

“No.” Judith sat down by the front window. “I saw an older woman coming up the hill. When I said hello, she asked me who I was and then shrieked before running off down the last road before the beach.”

“Sounds like par for the course on The Rock. Boredom and booze can make anybody goofy.”

“You're exaggerating,” Judith retorted. “We're here during the quiet season. You know from visiting the island in good weather that these folks have plenty to do. It's as if they hibernate in winter.”

“If you saw a bear on the beach, I'm leaving. Especially if he was wearing a bathing suit.”

“Get serious. What happens to us when it snows on the hill and we're marooned?”

“Okay, okay,” Renie said, looking resigned. “We're stuck unless we want to ski or sled. Which I do not. The one time I went skiing a little kid skied between my legs. That did it. Where did Weird Woman go?”

“For all I know, she went home. I did find out the Johnsons live in that green house on the corner. They were on the beach with Mel Friedman looking for rare coins. Brose Bennett thinks he started a fad.”

“Ah.” Renie grinned. “I assume you interrogated him?”

“We chatted,” Judith said. “Brose insists the vote on the sewer line is meaningless because Quentin Quimby will do whatever suits him. He also felt it was a shame that Quimby wasn't the victim instead of Ernie.”

“I doubt Quimby would agree,” Renie murmured. “So the old coot really runs this show. How did the Johnsons feel about that? They're kind of old, too.”

“I didn't go to the beach,” Judith replied. “Mel left the Johnsons to their treasure hunting. He told me that he and Sarah, along with Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince, have seen a boat that goes . . . Oh—here's the postal van. I might as well get the mail now.” She got up, opened the door, and shouted down to whoever was parking by the mailbox. A short, spare man in crimson all-weather gear hopped out of the vehicle and looked up at her.

“Excuse me,” she called out. “I'm coming down to get the mail.”

“Don't bother,” he said, staring up the stairs. “It's all junk. My hernia's killing me.” He met her halfway and handed over a dozen pieces—of junk. Judith thanked him and went back inside.

“Do you want to go into Langton now?” she asked Renie.

“Yes. I'm hungry.”

“Of course. I am, too. Let's do it.”

The cousins made sure everything that needed turning off was actually off and headed out to the Subaru. As soon as they were on the county road, Judith remembered to finish telling her cousin about the mysterious boat that had been spotted going out after midnight.

“A phantom ship?” Renie said after her cousin concluded the recital. “That sounds intriguing. No theories?”

“Mel indicated they had no idea,” Judith replied, taking the turn to the highway that would lead them into Langton. “Auntie Vance has a good imagination, so if she could think of any explanation she'd have said as much. If she hadn't been in such a hurry to get ready to leave, she might have told us about it.”

“She was probably worrying about Aunt Ellen,” Renie said. “I wonder if Uncle Vince and Uncle Win will get a chance to complete a sentence with our aunts around.”

“Uncle Vince won't stay awake that long and Uncle Win may've forgotten how to talk.” Judith slowed down as she saw a big truck ahead of them. “Will you stay up to see if that boat appears after midnight?”

Renie laughed. “We both will. You don't have to get up at six.”

“You're right,” Judith agreed. “This is almost like a vacation.”

“Complete with corpse,” Renie said. “Gosh, when have we had a real vacation without one of those?”

“When we went to Europe back in 1964,” Judith replied, finally seeing sufficient straightaway to pass the plodding truck. “I wonder if we should tell Jacobson about that boat. He may know something about it.”

“You think somebody has reported it?”

“One of the locals might've mentioned it when they were being questioned about Ernie's murder.”

“Maybe,” Renie allowed. “Where shall we eat?”

“How about the café above the the Sun Store?” Judith suggested. “We can browse the shop on the main floor afterward.”

“Sounds good to me.”

Five minutes later they were on Langton's main street. The town was perched high above the water, facing east to the mainland. The summer flowers were gone from the sidewalk planters and the trees were bare of leaves. No tourists strolled from shop to shop, ogling the local wares. Foot traffic was sparse. Judith thought the little town looked a bit bleak without the summer bustle in the three blocks that made up its commercial area.

But the upside was that there were plenty of parking places. Judith pulled into a spot only two doors down from the café.

The second-floor dining section was fairly busy. The cousins were shown to a table for two overlooking a pocket park off the street. The only thing in bloom was a cluster of winter crocus, pale as a cloud, but thriving among the moss that covered boulders claimed from the beach.

“Smoked salmon!” Renie exclaimed, practically licking the menu.

“Sounds good to me,” Judith agreed. “A small salad to go with it?”

“Of course.” Renie was beaming.

Judith wasn't. She was facing the entrance and saw Quentin Quimby being wheeled into the restaurant by his son and daughter-in-law. “His Majesty has arrived,” she murmured. “Don't stare.”

Renie did just that, though she kept her voice down. “They're being seated right in back of you.”

Judith brightened. “Maybe we can overhear them.”

“The window!” Quimby shouted. “Move me closer, dammit!”

Renie grimaced. “You really want to hear that?” she asked under her breath.

“Why not? I can't see them.” Judith stopped speaking, intrigued by the old man's barked orders to his mumbling—and apparently bumbling—caregivers.

“He's a caution,” Renie muttered. “Maybe they'll push him out the window. Then you could chalk up another corpse.”

A ponytailed young man approached the cousins with one eye on the Quimbys, who had subsided into merciful silence. Renie put her menu aside. “Is it illegal to yell ‘obnoxious' in a semicrowded café?” she asked the server, assuming her best aging-ingénue expression.

“Not a chance,” the server replied softly. “The old guy owns part of the island. I'm Jonathan and I'll be running your interference with Mr. Q.” He leaned even closer. “Sometimes he asks the other patrons to move. It's nothing personal.”

“It is if it's me,” Renie said. “I'll have the lox with all the trimmings and a small Caesar salad with a pound of shrimp.”

Jonathan seemed unfazed as he turned to Judith, who ordered the same thing, but added, “My cousin's exaggerating. She's kind of a pig. A small pig, I mean. The usual amount will do.”

Jonathan grinned, revealing dazzling white teeth. “Okay. I'll see what I can do for you and Piglet.” He headed back to the service counter.

Renie wrinkled her nose at Judith. “Does that mean you're Pooh?”

“I feel like Eeyore,” Judith said. “Who keeps bumping my chair?”

“The King of The Rock,” Renie replied. “He's still twitching. Do you remember the names of his son and daughter-in-law?”

“I don't think I ever heard them.” Judith winced as the sound of banging startled her from behind. “What now?”

“I think,” Renie said, leaning sideways to get a better look, “Mr. Q. wants to be served. Or else he's rearranging his utensils piece by piece.”

“I'd like to rearrange
him,
” Judith said. “Maybe we're the ones who should ask to be moved.”

“But then you couldn't overhear him,” Renie pointed out.

“They aren't actually talking,” Judith responded. “Maybe his family members aren't allowed to speak in public. Ah! Here comes a young woman to take their orders. A very pretty young woman, I might add.”

“She's a dish, all right,” Renie murmured as the smiling strawberry blonde passed by. “Why do I think she's not just another server?”

“Maybe,” Judith whispered, “she serves something other than food. What's she doing?”

“She's not taking off her clothes yet,” Renie murmured just as Judith heard a hearty, if raspy, guffaw erupt behind her. “Q.'s mood is improving. Do you remember Auntie Vance talking about him? I don't.”

Judith shook her head. “Not really. She occasionally mentioned—and I quote—an ‘ornery old codger' and a ‘horse's ass,' but I don't recall her giving him an actual name. Our aunt prefers not discussing people she doesn't like. She just ignores them and does as she pleases. With her big, bad, and often bawdy mouth, maybe even Q. wouldn't confront her.”

“He's acting coy at the moment. Oh, ick—Pretty Woman's tickling his chin. And tugging his earlobe. Double gack.”

“Spare me,” Judith said. “Here comes lunch.”

Jonathan set down their orders, glancing briefly at the other table. “Poor Ginger,” he said in hushed tones. “She and her husband, Jens, lease the café. Mr. Quimby owns the building. Does everything look all right?” he asked in his normal voice.

“Just fine,” Judith said with a smile. “Thanks.”

“Talk about lord of the manor,” Renie murmured. “Do you suppose Ginger and Jens live at Obsession Shores?”

Judith made a shushing gesture. Renie shrugged and ate a big forkful of salad. Several other patrons had finished their meals and were leaving. Judith could catch some of the conversation behind her.

“. . . even murder wouldn't scare you, dear Mr. Quimby,” Ginger was saying. “You're such a brave man.”

Unfortunately, Judith couldn't hear his reply, but Ginger giggled. “I
have
seen your war medals,
Major
Quimby. You were very brave to run that social hall so the troops could be entertained. Fighting men can get out of control, especially if they drink.”

Once again, Q.'s mumbled rambling was impossible to decipher. Ginger, however, had become serious. “Oh, Mr. Quimby,” she said, “you mustn't try catching the killer by yourself. Let the sheriff's staff do that. Of course you may be right about who killed Mr. Glover, but you mustn't endanger yourself. You know how much we all love and respect and admire you.”

“She's gone a couple of verbs too far,” Judith whispered.

Renie shoved some lox and trimmings into her mouth. “Ahdintherdat.”

Judith scowled. “Skip it. You probably couldn't hear over your chewing.” Taking a bite of romaine lettuce, she caught most of Ginger's farewell to the Quimbys.

“. . . to be very careful, you darling man,” she was saying, though there was a strain in her voice. “I doubt a killer would go after anyone as revered as you are. Now I have to help out downstairs. Kisses!”

Judith saw Ginger practically run through the café. “Did she really kiss the old twit?” she asked Renie.

“Air kisses,” Renie said between mouthfuls. “Even Ginger wouldn't stoop that low. Unless she was revealing her décolletage. Luckily for her, she's wearing a turtleneck jersey.”

“Not so lucky for Quimby,” Judith murmured. “I wonder if he really does have a suspect in mind.”

“Do
you
want to play with his earlobes? Please!”

Judith shuddered. “No, but I wouldn't mind talking to his son or the daughter-in-law. I wonder if Quimby takes naps.”

Renie again leaned to her right. “He may be taking one now. He's facedown in his place setting.”

Judith was wide-eyed. “Are you kidding?”

“No,” Renie replied. “His caregivers don't seem concerned. They're just staring out the window. Maybe he often does that. Good Lord, I hope he didn't order soup. He'll drown.”