Clam Wake (21 page)

Kent smiled. “You mean like their collections?”

“You mean of coins?” Judith asked.

“Coins, stamps, books, clocks,” Kent replied. “Their house is stuffed with various items. You'd think that at their age, they'd want to unload some of it. I suppose they figure that after they're gone, their daughter and her husband can do it.”

Judith nodded. “They probably enjoy the things they've collected. Do their children live nearby?”

Kent looked faintly puzzled. “I forgot you don't know most of these people. Their only daughter is Hilda, Hank Hilderschmidt's wife.”

Renie finally found her voice and looked at Judith. “Didn't the Sedgewicks tell us she collected stuff off the beach?”

Judith tried to remember the conversation. “Maybe—or they alluded to it when they talked about her going on long walks.”

“Genetics, maybe,” Kent remarked. “Hilda does spend a lot of time on the beach. She isn't much for socializing.”

“Neither is Edna Glover,” Renie said. “What's with the women up here? They don't like people?”

Kent made a face. “I don't want to tell tales, but this is fact. The Hilderschmidts' son was killed in the line of duty a few years ago. I understand Hilda hasn't been the same since.”

“How sad,” Judith murmured. “Was he in the service or law enforcement?”

Kent frowned, apparently trying to think. “He wasn't in the military, so I assume he was with the city's police department. I don't remember seeing his death in the news, but it might've happened when Suzie and I were abroad. We try to get away every year for at least a month. Last fall we were in China.”

“My husband's retired from the police force,” Judith said. “I wonder if he knew their son. The name doesn't ring a bell. Of course he could've been with the county sheriff's department.”

“That could be,” Kent allowed. “I don't really know.” He stood up and glanced outside. “I'd better go home. The fog's getting thicker. I don't want to end up in the woods instead of at my house.” He paused as Judith rose to walk him to the door. “You two should come to dinner if you stay on past the weekend.”

“Thanks,” Judith said, “but we'll probably head home Monday morning. We both have jobs.”

“Right,” Renie called from the sofa. “Got to get back to working those streets with all the sleazy motels. Now you know why I always take off my shoes when I sit down.”

Kent grinned. “She's as bad as Vance. Not as profane, though.”

“Give her time,” Judith muttered. “She's not as old either.”

Kent exited chuckling.

“I like him,” Renie said, after Judith sat down in the overstuffed chair. “I hope he didn't kill Ernie.”

“I hope so, too,” Judith agreed. “Unfortunately, we've met some likable killers along the way.”

“Hey—I know a good game—‘Categorize the Killers.' Let's start with Crazy as a Bedbug and work our way up to Jolly as Old Saint Nick.”

“Stop, you're kill . . . never mind. So the Johnsons are related to the Hilderschmidts. I wonder how many other Obsession Shores people are intertwined.”

“Literally?”

“No, but that's another angle. So to speak.” Judith leaned back to rest her head against the chair's cushioned back. “Motive—I can't find one that works very well. Even a love triangle involving jealousy doesn't seem to fit up here. Is that because I think older people need something more serious than infidelity in order to commit murder? If so, what could it be?”

“Anger?” Renie suggested.

Judith shook her head. “That is, not a spontaneous outburst. The murder must be premeditated if the weapon was as long as Jacobson indicated. Who'd carry a knife that big onto the beach this time of year?”

“A fisherman? I think they can go for blackmouth and chum here during the winter.”

Judith scowled. “Why didn't our husbands do that instead of going all the way to New Zealand? We could've saved a ton of money.”

“Because they didn't want to find a corpse on the beach?” Renie retorted. “Get over it. They deserve an adventure of their own. I didn't dare tell Mom where Bill was going. She'd have passed out. You never told me how Aunt Gert reacted.”

Judith groaned. “I was so mad about the whole thing that I blurted out the truth. She didn't believe me and insisted that even Needle Noggin—as she referred to Joe on that occasion—wasn't that stupid.”

Renie laughed. “So where does your mother think he is?”

“I don't know,” Judith replied. “She probably hopes he's in the hospital with terminal spots. Or in prison for impersonating a retired police detective. I've never figured out if she believed Joe was a cop in the first place. She insisted he was another unemployed bum like Dan.” Her dark eyes strayed to the phone on the kitchen counter. “I wonder if I should call Mother to see how she's getting along.”

“She always gets along with Arlene and Carl,” Renie declared. “I'm not calling Mom. In fact, I told her that Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince had their phone disconnected for the time they'd be gone.”

Judith shook her head in disapproval. “You're awful. Doesn't Aunt Deb know you have a cell phone?”

“She sure doesn't,” Renie said. “When I use it, I always tell her I'm calling from a pay phone and I can only talk for three minutes. You know how much my mother likes to yak on the phone.”

Judith nodded. “I understand. But your mother doesn't live in your backyard.”

“So? Your mother doesn't talk nonstop to you even in person.”

“Aunt Deb doesn't tell you you're an imbecile,” Judith countered.

“You know Aunt Gert doesn't mean it.”

“I still don't enjoy hearing it.”

“It's better than having my mother insist I wear an undershirt under my designer cocktail clothes during the cooler months—like June.”

Judith couldn't resist. “Have you ever tried to find a designer undershirt?”

Renie laughed. “Damn, I should. And then flaunt the price tag to make Mom pretend she's going to faint.” She suddenly tensed. “What was that noise?”

“What noise? I can't hear anything with you blabbing.”

Renie put a finger to her lips. Judith sat up in the chair. At first, she couldn't hear anything. Then, as she was about to speak, a soft, muffled, almost catlike sound could be heard somewhere outside.

“A kitten?” she said softly.

Renie shook her head.

The sound continued. Judith thought it came from near the window behind her. All she could see was fog. Getting up, she started for the door. Renie hopped off the sofa to join her. Both cousins stood in motionless silence, but couldn't hear anything except each other's anxious breathing.

“Dare we open the door?” Judith whispered.

“Let me grab a weapon and stand behind it,” Renie whispered back. She went around to the other side of the counter and got out Auntie Vance's rolling pin. “Classic female defense,” she murmured. “I feel like a cliché.”

Judith cautiously unlocked the door and opened it an inch at a time. The fog obscured her view beyond a couple of feet. Taking tentative steps toward the stairs, she could see only the first two steps—and more fog. She turned around, noticing that Renie now stood in the doorway, rolling pin at the ready. Judith kept moving slowly in the direction of the picture window. She gave a start as she heard the mewing sound nearby. Motioning to Renie and moving one step at a time, she saw what looked like a bundle of clothes on the deck just below the picture window's sill. The bundle moved slightly—and mewed again.

Judith got close enough to recognize strands of fair hair and the strap of a canvas bag. “It's Betsy Quimby!” Judith gasped. “Help me get her inside. She must be sick.”

“Take it easy,” Renie said, looking over her cousin's shoulder. “She may have broken something. I'll call Dick. Maybe he knows first aid or somebody who does.”

Judith nodded. “I'll grab a blanket to put over her. It's chilly.”

The cousins hurried back inside. Renie got out her cell while Judith went into the master bedroom to fetch an afghan that was draped over Grandpa and Grandma Grover's old rocking chair. By the time she got back to the deck, the catlike sound had changed to a whimper.

“Betsy,” Judith said gently, “are you hurt?”

The bundle moved enough so that Judith could see two wide blue eyes looking out from under a rumpled beige head scarf. The only answer was a moan. Or at least that was what it sounded like. But Betsy repeated it more loudly. “Va . . .”

“Vance?” Judith said.

Betsy gave what Judith took for a nod of assent and closed her eyes. For the first time since coming back to the deck, Judith realized Renie was at her side. “Dick's on the way. He wanted to call 911, but I told him to wait. Was that wrong of me?”

Judith grimaced. “I don't know.” She turned at the sound of footsteps. Two sets, in fact. When Dick appeared at the top of the steps, his wife was right behind him.

“Betsy!” Jane cried, rushing past her husband and hurrying to the stricken woman. “Is it one of your bad dreams?”

Betsy opened her eyes, but stared wordlessly at Jane.

“Is it a
dream
?” Jane asked again, emphasizing the last word.

Suddenly Betsy's huddled form went limp. Jane turned to the cousins. “I think she's okay. This often happens. We found her once on the beach last summer when the tide was coming in. Scary.” She moved out of the way. “Can you carry her inside, Dick? I'll grab the afghan.”

“Hell, I've carried her from the beach twice now. Remember when I found her in Vince's old boat?” Dick said. “I think she's passed out. She usually does after these spells. Better get the brandy, girls,” he added, leaning down to pick up Betsy. “Oof! Move it! And don't even think about whacking me with that rolling pin, Renie.”

The cousins and Jane plastered themselves against the deck's railing as Dick carried Betsy into the house. “He's the brawn,” his wife muttered, “but I'm the brains. Hey, lover boy,” she called after they were back inside, “how's your hernia?”

“You're damned lucky I don't have one by now,” Dick shot back while Judith arranged the afghan around Betsy, who seemed to be sleeping peacefully. “Are you forgetting I had to carry you up to our house after you trashed yourself at last year's St. Paddy's Day picnic? Hell, we aren't even Irish.”

Judith spoke up before the Sedgewicks could continue their good-natured banter. “Are you certain we shouldn't call 911? How do we know she didn't fall and do some serious damage before she went into her dreamlike state?”

Dick shrugged. “She never has before. If she'd broken something, how did she get up the stairs without yelling for help?”

“Good point,” Judith conceded. “I'm always worried if a B&B guest has some sort of accident.”

“Like getting murdered,” Renie said, twirling the rolling pin. “Hey, coz, none of your previous corpses has been done in by one of these.”

Jane and Dick exchanged puzzled glances. “What,” Jane asked, “do you mean by plural ‘corpses'? Vance has mentioned you've had some weird adventures, but I assumed she was joking—as usual.”

“She was,” Judith said sharply with a warning look at Renie. “Having married a police detective, I've heard about a lot of his cases.”

For once, Renie kept her mouth shut and returned the rolling pin to the kitchen drawer. The Sedgewicks sat down at the kitchen table. Even if Betsy didn't need a drink, they apparently did. Judith headed for the liquor cabinet.

“Just a short one,” Jane called to her. “Dick wants to see the end of the Texas-Oklahoma basketball game.”

“Hell, it's probably over by now,” Dick said, then turned to his wife. “But haven't you got one of your
Real Housewives
on tonight?”

Jane shook her head. “That's tomorrow. It's all glitz and unrealistic. Half-assed, as Vance would say. They should do one on ‘The Real Housewives of Obsession Shores.' Maybe we could figure out if one of them did in poor Ernie.”

Judith handed two medium-size snifters of brandy to her guests. “You think it was a woman?” she asked.

Jane shrugged. “Why not? This is an equal-opportunity country.”

“Damn!” Dick exclaimed. “I didn't know that. Now I don't dare turn my back on you, hot lips. You might do me in.”

Jane shot him an arch look. Judith retrieved the other two brandy snifters and sat down. Renie, however, had remained in the living room. Before anyone could speak again, she called out to the others.

“Hey, guess what's in Betsy's bag?”

“The knife?” Judith asked, trying to stifle her excitement.

“No,” Renie replied, sitting down before removing several pill bottles from the canvas bag. “Check out the labels.”

Everyone kept quiet while Judith examined each of the almost two dozen containers. “Xanax for Edna Glover? Percoset for Mel Friedman? Diphenhydramine for Suzie Logan? Methocarbamol for Gina Leonetti? Vicodin for Hilda Hilderschmidt?” She stopped reading off the prescription labels. “How did Betsy get hold of all these meds?”

Jane sighed. “I suppose she sneaked into houses and stole them. I can see through some of those bottles and they look like there are still plenty of pills inside. How recent are the dates?”

Renie had picked up a couple of the meds. “This Plavix for Fou-fou Bennett is dated January nineteenth,” she said. “The other one's from January tenth, Coumadin for Hank Hilderschmidt.”

“Here's one for Brose Bennett,” Judith noted. “Naproxen, January sixteenth. These are all recent, none going back beyond the first week of this month. Have you two missed any of your medications?”

The Sedgewicks exchanged glances. “Not lately,” Dick finally replied. “I thought I'd mislaid my ibuprofen after Christmas, but figured I'd never picked it up the last time it was reordered. I don't need it very often. My gorgeous bitter half hasn't given me a migraine lately.”