Clam Wake (22 page)

Jane sneered at her husband. “I only got crabby because I'd run out of my Premarin and wasn't sleeping well.” Her eyes widened. “No wonder my doctor's nurse was reluctant to renew it when I called. She told me I should have another month's supply, but I couldn't find the bottle. I assumed I'd tossed it.”

“Why,” Dick murmured, glancing in the direction of the sofa, “would Betsy steal meds? She's apparently not taking them. The bottles all look fairly full.”

“Maybe,” Judith suggested, “she only takes one or two when the whim strikes her. Betsy must've pinched this stuff quite recently. Do you know if she's on medication?”

“I'd guess she may be,” Jane replied. “But I've no idea what it is.”

Renie had checked out the rest of the bottles. “It seems she never took more than one prescription from each person. Are there any medical professionals living in Obsession Shores?”

“Virgil Payne,” Dick said. “He and Greta spend their winters in Mexico. The retired pharmacist Will Lindquist and his wife, Amy, are in Palm Springs and have been since just after Christmas.”

Judith had checked the names of the prescribing doctors. Only three of the bottles had been ordered by the same physician. “Is Dr. Emil Klontz on the island?”

“Yes, he's in Langton,” Jane replied. “That's who we see since we moved up here permanently. Your aunt and uncle kept their doctor . . .” She stopped, as all eyes turned to the sofa where Betsy was calling Vance's name. “Let me take care of this,” Jane murmured, getting up and going into the living room.

Dick downed the last of his brandy. “Jane and I'd better take Betsy home. If she'll let us.” He rose and joined his wife by the sofa.

“No!” Betsy cried. “I want Vance!” Jane started to explain that Vance was on a trip, but Betsy shook her fists and yelled, “No, no, no!”

The cousins got up to join the Sedgewicks. For some reason, Betsy stopped yelling. “Betsy,” Judith said calmly, “would you like to talk to Vance on the phone tomorrow?”

Betsy frowned. “Why can't I see her?”

“She and Vince are taking care of Vance's sister, Ellen, who hurt her shoulder. You know how Vance likes to take care of people, right?”

Betsy nodded. “I like Vance. I like Vince, too, but he sleeps a lot. Vance makes soup for me.” She looked around the sofa and the floor. “Where's my kit?”

“Your bag?” Jane said.

Betsy nodded. “It's gone.” Her face crumpled. “They hid it, didn't they? They hate it when I collect things.”

Renie hurried to fetch the canvas bag from the table. “Here. You left this on the deck.”

Betsy snatched the bag out of Renie's hand and looked inside. “Oh, good,” she said. “You got rid of the nasty stuff for me. Thank you.”

She struggled trying to stand up, but Dick helped her. “It's getting late,” he said. “Jane and I'll walk you home. That fog's pretty bad.”

“I like the fog,” Betsy asserted. “I can find my way.”

Jane started to speak, but Betsy shook her head. “Hush. No talking in the fog. Voices carry. So do ghosts. Don't move. Your shadows can't follow me in the fog.”

Judith felt mesmerized, but found her voice just as Betsy reached the door. “Let me help with the lock,” she said. “It's tricky.”

Betsy wagged a thin finger. “No tricks. I can walk through walls.” To prove it—or not—she took another step and bumped against the door. “Sometimes I can,” she murmured. “Tell whoever's outside to stop leaning against it or I won't be able to go home. I'm tired now, you see.”

“I'll have to open the door to do that,” Judith said. “Okay?”

Betsy nodded. As soon as the door opened less than halfway, their frail, wraithlike guest scooted outside. Jane and Dick had put on their jackets. “We'll see she gets home okay,” he said. “Thanks for the brandy.” The Sedgewicks made their exit.

“Gosh,” Renie said as Judith locked the door behind them, “we've got our choice of party pills. How about a Vicodin high?”

“I feel high already,” Judith replied, going over to the table where Renie was standing. “Or at least on another planet. I suppose we should return all this stuff to their owners tomorrow.”

“Another open season on grilling,” Renie remarked. “I'll put these pills in my tote bag. How do we explain where we found them?”

“I'll think of something,” Judith muttered. “Now I'm trying to figure out what Betsy meant when she said we got rid of the nasty stuff for
her
. Did she mean we saved her the trouble of disposing it or of returning it? Or was she implying that the prescriptions were
for
her?”

“How would I know?” Renie retrieved the tote bag she'd stored under the kitchen counter. “Betsy may not know what she means. I noticed she referred to the canvas bag as a kit—as in doctor's kit, I presume. How about those ghosts? Who does she think she sees? Her mother, maybe?”

“I've no idea. If she's taking medication, she could be seeing Elvis.” Judith paused, watching Renie stash the bottles in her tote. “I think I'll call the Sedgewicks in a few minutes to see what happened when they took Betsy home. The Quimby house isn't far from here, if I remember its location from the Obsession Shores map.” She walked over to the window. “It's still socked in out there. I assume you'll want to have breakfast in Langton after Mass tomorrow.”

“Damned straight,” Renie shot back. “If I have to get up at nine, I want a reward of buttermilk pancakes, hamburger steak and eggs, served by an aging waitress with a bad perm and rubber-soled shoes.”

“You are such a brat,” Judith said, though without malice.

“Hey,” Renie responded, folding up the afghan before she collapsed onto the sofa, “it's not my fault you have to get up early every morning to feed your paying guests. I'm usually still working while you're sound asleep. I'm more creative after it gets dark.”

Judith merely shrugged. “I'm going to call to see what happened with Jane and Dick.” She picked up the phone and dialed, already having memorized their number. Jane answered on the third ring.

“I hate to be a pest,” Judith said, “but did you have any problems taking Betsy home?”

“Are you kidding?” Jane retorted. “We never found her after we left the deck. She disappeared as if she was invisible. Or a ghost.”

R
enie was unmoved by the news of Betsy's disappearance. “Betsy can't get lost. Even if she did, she seems capable of sneaking into other people's houses to steal their meds.”

“You have a point,” Judith said, putting the brandy snifters in the dishwasher. “She's cunning. I wish Auntie Vance had told us about her. It's obvious that she bonded with Betsy.”

“Ha!” Renie shifted around on the sofa. “Now that I think it through, you know our aunt has a perverted sense of humor. I'll bet she purposely didn't tell us because she thought it'd be funny to let us find out for ourselves—and deal with it.”

Judith sat down in the overstuffed chair. “True. I've decided not to call her tomorrow.”

“Revenge for not warning us about Betsy?”

“No.” Judith made a face. “Auntie Vance is tough, but she's softhearted. She'd worry about putting us in danger. Even if I didn't tell her about Ernie getting killed, she'd sense something was up. Worse yet, she'd tell Aunt Ellen, who'd want to get involved despite being in postsurgery mode. You know what a take-charge kind of person she is.”

Renie nodded. “Even from over a thousand miles away in Beatrice. But she's sharp. You have to admit that. And she's good-hearted, too.”

Judith laughed. “That could be said about most of the women in our family.” She turned to look out the window. “The fog's still thick. I guess there's no point in watching for the mystery boat tonight.”

“Good,” Renie said. “If I'm getting up early, I'm going to bed early.”

“Now?” Judith asked.

Renie checked her watch. “No, but maybe around eleven. And no to playing cribbage. Let's watch an old movie on TV.”

Judith found the
TV Guide
in the end table by her chair. “
Saving Private Ryan
started at nine.”

“And he'll be saved without me watching—again. Bill has shown the DVD eight times. Skip World War Two movies. I'm really sick of Hitler. I've gotten so I don't even like certain parts of Asia and the South Pacific anymore. I don't want to see anybody in military uniform. Got it?”

“Guess I won't mention that
Stars and Stripes Forever
comes on at ten,” Judith murmured.

“Good. I've nothing against John Philip Sousa, but I'm not in the mood to . . .” Renie frowned. “Didn't we see that one together at the old Poseidon Theater? We had to leave before it ended because some pervert grabbed your leg.”

“Yes, but we went up to the balcony and watched the rest of it from there. I think you discouraged him by shoving your empty popcorn box down over his head.”

“Oh—right, I forgot that part.”

“You always were protective of me,” Judith said with a fond smile.

“You've always needed protecting,” Renie countered. “You're too kindhearted for your own good. Not to mention that your search for truth and justice has almost gotten us killed a few times.”

“People get killed in vehicular accidents every day,” Judith responded matter-of-factly, still scanning the TV listings. “The other movies are
Gladiator
,
The Patriot
, and
Heavy Metal
.”

“
Patriot
has uniforms, so does
Gladiator
—sort of. It certainly has weaponry, and I'm too old for heavy-metal bands.”

“It's not about music,” Judith asserted. “It's sci-fi.”

Renie buried her head in a sofa cushion. “I loathe sci-fi! I'd rather play cribbage!”

Judith sighed. “Let's see if there's anything on PBS. I didn't look at their schedule because it's often science.” She studied the listings. “How do you feel about coal?”

“Find the crib board,” Renie said, her voice muffled by the cushion.

Judith got out of the chair. “Auntie Vance keeps her playing cards and games in the china closet. Remember playing Scrabble with her and how she always beat the stuffing out of us?”

Renie sat up. “I sure do. She ruled over all those triple-letter and triple-word squares. I got so frustrated once that I almost swallowed the
Q
tile just so she couldn't get it.”

Judith had found the games in the drawer. “Here's Scrabble. Want to try it without the unfair advantage of playing against our aunt?”

“Why not?” Renie responded, sitting up. “We'll have to put it on . . .” She stopped as a knock sounded on the door. “Now what?” Getting off the sofa, she hurried to ask the identity of their latest visitor.

“Jacobson,” the deputy said. “Open up.”

Judith set the game on the end table before joining Renie. Jacobson entered, wearing civilian clothes. He shut the door, but remained standing.

“When,” he asked somberly, “did you last see Betsy Quimby?”

“Nine-ish,” Judith replied. “Why? Has something happened to her?”

“She's missing,” the officer replied in a tense voice. “It's after ten. According to her sister-in-law, she never stays out past nine, despite not owning a watch. Apparently, she's afraid a ghost will get her.”

Judith was puzzled. “How did you know she was here?” Before Jacobson could answer, she asked if he'd like to sit down.

“Well . . .” He grimaced. “Nan Quimby thought she called on your aunt and uncle quite often. A patrol officer should be showing up in a few minutes. Saturday nights are always busy for us, especially with this fog. I'm off duty, of course.”

They sat down at the kitchen table. “If,” Renie said, “you're not official, do you want a drink? We understand that's the first question anybody asks around here.”

The deputy's expression was wry. “I'd like to accept, but I won't. Thanks anyway.” He turned to Judith. “I did some checking earlier tonight. I knew there was something unusual about you. You're FASTO.”

Judith groaned and slumped in her chair. “Damn! I do not advertise that nor do I endorse the stupid website.”

“Obviously not,” Jacobson said with a slight smile. “But I wish I'd known that before. Ordinarily, so-called amateur sleuths are highly unreliable, but your résumé is impressive. It explains why you knew what kind of questions to ask about the corpse. Even a cop's wife might not do that. I noted that your last investigation was a cold case.”

“I got it wrong,” Judith declared.

“Your fans believe you were so close as to be right,” he pointed out. “I gather it was some kind of coconspiracy.”

“Skip the history,” Judith said. “Let's stick to current events.”

Jacobson seemed to relax a bit. “In the past month, Betsy has visited your aunt and uncle frequently.”

Renie was frowning. “Why so often lately? We figure Betsy's been hanging out here for some time.”

The officer shook his head. “Betsy has spent several long periods in various institutions. I was informed that she's only been back at the family home since early November. I get the impression—brief as it was—that the other Quimbys consider her an embarrassment.”

“Ha!” Renie exclaimed. “And Quentin Quimby
isn't
an embarrassment? We've seen him in public. He's gruesome.”

“And rich,” Jacobson noted drily. “The wealthy prefer ‘eccentric.' If Quimby didn't have so much clout, I wouldn't be here when I'm officially off duty.” He shrugged. “So how was Betsy when she left an hour ago?”

“She had one of her spells,” Judith replied, then explained what had happened before Betsy disappeared into the fog. “That's it. She hasn't been back, unless you saw her crawling around on the deck.”