Clam Wake (15 page)

Judith kept quiet, trying to concentrate on her food. But it wasn't easy. There had to be some way to speak to Quimby's relatives without taking on the overbearing old man in the process.

“We could have car trouble,” Judith said softly.

Renie shrugged. “I suppose. Your Subaru is kind of old—like our Camry. Did you notice it making strange noises on the way here?”

Judith glared at Renie. “I mean as a ruse.”

Renie held her head. “Sheesh. Why not just go ask the geezer who he thinks killed Ernie? He's sitting up now. Sort of.”

“Maybe I will,” Judith retorted. “As soon as we finish our lunch.”

“Count me out,” Renie said.

“Fine.” Judith ate a little faster.

A couple of minutes later, Jonathan and a young Asian man rolled a cart up to the Quimbys' table. Judith and Renie both stared at the covered dishes on the cart.

“Gee,” Renie said, “maybe we should've ordered what they did. I think it's all of the menu items.”

Quimby let out a sharp cry. “I don't want no Chinaman serving me! Beat it, Fu Manchu!”

“But, sir,” Jonathan said in a polite voice, “Jake's an American. His grandparents are Vietnamese.”

“That's worse,” Quimby shot back. “We're still fighting those damned people. That so-called war's never going to end. He's probably a spy. Tell him to go back where he came from.”

“But Jake was born and raised on Whoopee Island,” Jonathan said, still sounding polite. “His parents are from San Diego.”

Jake nudged his fellow server. “He's all yours. I'm going on break.” But before he moved away, he leaned down to speak to Quimby. “The Cong have surrounded the building. Good luck with that.” Jake briskly moved away. Jonathan began to remove the covers from the plates of food. Quimby paid no attention, muttering so quietly to himself that Judith couldn't hear a coherent word.

“That's it,” Renie declared, tossing her debit card at Judith. “I'm done. See you in the shop.”

Judith sighed and resumed eating, though her appetite had faltered. When the Quimbys finished making their choices, she asked Jonathan for the bill. Accosting the cantankerous old goat seemed like a bad idea. The last she saw of Quimby, he was pontificating about Calvin Coolidge and why he was almost as good a president as Rutherford B. Hayes. Judith wondered if the old man was so ancient that he'd actually voted for both men. After paying for the meal, she headed downstairs.

She found Renie browsing through sweatshirts and chatting with Ginger. “Hey, coz, meet my new best friend, Ginger Kopf. With a
K
. This is Judith, the other niece. Ginger knows Auntie Vance.”

Ginger laughed as she shook Judith's hand. “Everybody knows Vance,” she declared. “She's amazing.”

“As amazing as Quentin Quimby?” Judith asked.

“Oh God!” Ginger cried, looking disgusted. “You must've heard or seen some of what I have to go through with that old turkey. I'd feel sorry for Quincy and Nan, but if they offend him even unintentionally, he'll cut them out of his will. He's already done it four times, but they always fall all over themselves with apologies—and constant attention. Frankly, it wouldn't be worth it to me.”

“But,” Judith pointed out, “you have to make a fuss over him.”

“Jens and I have to eat,” Ginger said. “We've got two kids still in grade school. When we moved up here five years ago, we had no idea what we were getting into.”

Judith sympathized. “I get it. Do you live at Obsession Shores?”

“No, thank goodness,” Ginger responded. “We live here in town, just three blocks off the main street. Luckily, Quimby doesn't come here too often. I can imagine how hard it must be to cart him up the stairs in that wheelchair. I've heard he can walk, at least a short distance, but I don't see why he doesn't have an elevator put in the building. It'd make sense and be convenient for lots of the retirees who live in the area.”

“Perverse,” Renie declared. “He'd rather make everybody suffer. And he's a racist.”

Ginger nodded. “He's everything awful. We never knew his wife, Blanche, but she must have been a saint.”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested, “he was nicer while she was still alive.”

Ginger shrugged. “That's possible, I suppose. It's too bad he couldn't meet an old lady who's as nasty as he is.”

Renie elbowed Judith. “Hey—how about your mother, coz?”

“Even she isn't that horrid and you know it,” Judith said with a touch of indignation. “Mother's just set in her ways.” She turned back to Ginger. “Did Quimby tell you he knew who killed Mr. Glover?”

Ginger sighed. “Yes. It's too stupid. In fact, I won't repeat it. Rumors fly around this part of the island like seagulls. I'm amazed someone hasn't tried to murder Quimby. Excuse me—I see a customer who looks as if she wants to buy something. Got to feed the family.” She hustled off toward the housewares section.

“Gosh,” Renie murmured, “you flunked an interrogation session.”

“That's okay,” Judith replied. “Quimby may think we killed Ernie.”

Renie sneered. “Maybe somebody will kill
him
.”

Judith didn't comment, but it wasn't her cousin's worst idea. In fact, she wondered why no one had ever tried to do in Quentin Quimby. Instead, Ernie Glover, a man who seemingly didn't have any enemies, had been the murder victim.

That gave her more than lunch to digest.

T
he sun was out when the cousins returned to the main street. They passed a hobby shop, a cobbler's, and a drugstore before pausing at chipped gold letters spelling out
EXONUMIA
on a murky window.

“I wonder,” Judith mused, “what that means?”

“It sounds like a disease,” Renie replied, tugging at Judith's arm. “It may be contagious. Let's move on.”

But Judith shook off her cousin's hand. “Look—the other window says ‘Numismatics.' It must be the collectors' shop Brose Bennett mentioned to me when I went for my walk. I wonder if there've been any other rare coins found on the beaches around here. Let's ask.”

Renie looked puzzled. “Why? Do you think Ernie found one that was worth a lot of money and that's the motive for murder?”

“No,” Judith replied, opening the door, “but I'm curious, okay?”

Renie didn't argue. An elderly bald man was behind the counter, studying something through a high-tech magnifier. He looked up to offer a faint smile. “Yes?” he said, rubbing his hands together.

The shop was small and faintly musty. The rough wooden walls were decorated with license plates from what looked like every state in the union. The rear wall displayed most of the Canadian provinces, various vanity plates, and some oddly shaped foreign hardware that Judith didn't recognize. A small engraved sign on the counter by the ancient cash register read
L
.
D
.
MOFFITT
,
PROPRIETOR
.

“Hello, Mr. Moffitt,” Judith said. “You
are
Mr. Moffitt?”

The proprietor nodded once. “However,” he continued in a surprisingly deep voice for his small stature, “L.D. was my father. I'm D.L. Papa started this business here in Langton after he came home from the Great War. Hardly anyone lived here back then.”

“That was”—Judith paused—“very brave of him. I must admit my ignorance. What exactly is exonumia? I understand the
numia
part being about coins, but not the
exo
at the beginning.”

“Ah,” Mr. Moffitt said, his dark eyes lighting up, “basically it means ‘other than.' As in coins that have no monetary value. Like these on the bottom shelf.” He tapped the front of the counter. “Those are—if you will—tokens that could be exchanged for goods in company-owned communities. Logging, fishing, mining towns, and such where regular currency wasn't used. Very convenient.”

“Interesting,” Judith remarked. “But you also have quite a few rare coins from all over the world. I was wondering if many older coins are found on the island.”

Sadly, Mr. Moffitt shook his bald head. “Not in recent years,” he said. “I don't think anyone has brought in a coin older than the 1950s in the past decade. Any rare coins I've acquired have come from collectors or their estates.”

Apparently, Renie was tired of being quiet. “What about the man from Obsession Shores who found the 1798 British coin recently? We read about it in the local newspaper.”

Mr. Moffitt chuckled. “Silly man. There were no English ships in these waters that late in the eighteenth century. He's been duped. I wish he'd stop by to show me the coin. I'd tell him it's worthless, but why spoil his fun, eh?”

“You're right,” Renie said. “I should've known that. Captain Vancouver was the last Englishman to come through the local waters.”

“Not precisely,” Mr. Moffitt said gently. “Vancouver never sailed this far south, but sent some of his lieutenants to explore the area. That gentleman with the bogus coin doesn't know his history. I suspect someone is pulling a shenanigan. There is, I fear, money to be made by counterfeiting old coins. Very vexing. I've heard of people who have bought up expensive property just because they think there's buried treasure in the ground. Nonsense, of course.”

“Has that happened on the island?” Judith asked.

“Not that I've ever heard of,” he said. “I was born and raised here. I still live in the family farmhouse a half mile from here. It's not a farm anymore.” The expression on his thin face grew poignant. “We were forced to sell off most of the acreage during the Great Depression when I was still a lad.”

“At least you kept the house,” Judith pointed out.

Mr. Moffitt lowered his eyes. “Yes, yes. We did that. Indeed.”

Judith decided to move on to a more cheerful topic. “What's the rarest coin you've ever seen?”

The old man's face lit up. “One of our own—a 1907 Saint-Gaudens double eagle. Gold, and beautifully designed. It was a joy to behold.”

“Did you sell it?” Renie asked.

Mr. Moffitt blushed. “I did. Fifteen years ago, for a pretty price. It was part of a collection that had never been properly appraised. People are often foolish about what they save, even collectors. They acquire such things for the sheer joy of the acquisition itself. I don't blame them, really. I understand.”

“Did you sell it to someone around here?” Judith inquired.

“Now, now,” he said, shaking a finger, “I can't disclose that kind of information. One has to be discreet about buyers and sellers. For their and my protection, you see.”

Judith smiled. “Of course. Thank you for enlightening us. We appreciate your time and your dedication.”

“My pleasure,” he said with a little bow. “Enjoy yourselves and come again. A visit from comely ladies always delights me.”

“‘Comely'?” Renie gasped after they exited the shop. “I've been called a lot of things, but that's a first for me. I wonder what it'd take to get Bill to call me comely? It sure beats homely. Too bad they don't rhyme. I could make up a little poem for Mr. Moffitt.”

Judith laughed. “He's really an old dear. He obviously loves his work.” She turned serious. “Who lives around here that would buy such an expensive coin?”

“The buyer might not be local,” Renie said as they reached the corner. “I'll bet he does some Internet business. I could see what looked like a computer monitor in the little office at the back.”

“You're probably right. I wonder if he has any family. He doesn't wear a wedding ring, but some men—especially older ones—don't.”

“Bill doesn't. He wears the ruby ring that belonged to his father. Where are we going? You know I'm not that fond of walking. I'm not that keen on wearing shoes either.”

“There's a women's apparel shop across the street,” Judith replied. “Would that pique your interest?”

“It might,” Renie said. “As long as they have more than sweatshirts that read ‘I Made Whoopee on Whoopee Island' or ‘The Rock Rocks!' They're a little short on imagination up here.”

“Let's find out.” They crossed the street after waiting for two cars to pass by. The shop's name was Adele's. Renie looked put off by the window display that featured uninspired winter separates on what looked like real sand. Judith hesitated before they reached the entrance. “I sense this isn't your sort of thing,” she said.

“It's not,” Renie declared, her eyes suddenly sparkling. “The candy store's two doors down. Let's go.”

Judith refused to be tempted. “I'll wait outside.”

Renie was already several paces ahead. “Fine. I'll be quick.”

Taking her time, Judith strolled past a secondhand store and a jewelry shop. She reached the Sweet Suite, but refrained from looking in the display window. Instead, she kept her dark eyes riveted on the bank across the street. A familiar figure wearing a raincoat came out and got into a dark blue midsize sedan.

I know that guy,
she thought to herself.
I must have seen him at Obsession Shores.
But as Renie exited the candy shop carrying a large white paper bag, Judith realized she was wrong. “Guess what?” she said to her cousin. “I just saw Jack Larrabee.”

Renie looked puzzled. “Who?”

“Oh!” Judith clapped a hand to her head. “He was a B&B guest this past week. Jack's a journalist who's doing a series on this part of the world. He told me he was heading north.”

“I guess he did,” Renie said, reaching into the big bag and taking out a dark-chocolate-covered cluster of raisins. “Want one?”

“No thanks,” Judith replied. “Let's move on to the Mermaid. I see the sign on the corner. It may be an apparel store.”