Clam Wake (33 page)

“So?” Judith kept her eyes fixed on the area by Scratchit Head. “A rendezvous at sea? No, that's unlikely. Collecting something from a person on shore? Keeping watch on—”

“Stop!” Renie shouted. “Now
you're
driving
me
nuts.”

“Okay, okay,” Judith said, “but keep your voice down. You'll wake up whoever lives around here.”

Renie, who felt no compulsion to keep watching, tried to look up the hill. “Everybody seems to have gone to bed. The closest lights I can see from here are the ones we left on.”

“I suspect most people are early to bed, early to rise,” Judith said, wishing her own eyes weren't becoming tired. “No wonder whoever takes out that boat doesn't worry about being seen this time of night.”

“Check that.” Renie rolled down the window. “I see a small light bobbing around about halfway up the hill. Wait—I see another one further up by the Sedgewicks'.”

Judith was tempted to take a look, but she suddenly spotted a light coming from around Scratchit Head. “There! That must be the mystery boat. Do you suppose whoever is walking around here is coming to meet it?”

“No,” Renie replied. “The lights are moving up the hill. I see a third one now.”

“Damn!” Judith cursed under her breath. “Why is so much happening all at once? And this late at night? I don't suppose you'd like to walk up the hill to—”

“Stick it,” Renie interrupted. “For all we know, it's the Ku Klux Klan and they're going to lynch somebody.”

“Hardly that,” Judith murmured. “Maybe a child ran away. Or an elderly person got lost.”

“Something's up,” Renie said. “I see a fourth light and it looks as if it's coming from the Bendarek house. Or across the street from them.”

“The phantom ship's almost up to the boathouse.” Judith paused. “Now it's disappeared, so it went inside.”

“No kidding. Isn't that where it came from?”

“I wanted to be sure,” Judith replied, realizing she sounded defensive. “Now all we have to do is wait to see who was in the boat.”

Renie held her head. “If it isn't George Clooney, I don't care. At this point, I'm not sure I'd care if it was Bill.”

Judith ignored the comments. “It shouldn't take long for the boat owner to put it back. Then we can check out the people with flashlights.”

“Gosh,” Renie wailed, “whatever happened to sleeping at night?”

“You're the one who stays up late working. You should be alert and feeling . . . Here he comes. Or she. I can't tell. Whoever it is, isn't using a flashlight.”

“They probably ran out of them with so many people wandering around Obsession Shores with flashlights.”

“I think it's a man,” Judith said. “He's carrying something in each hand. Some kind of contraband, maybe? He's almost to the stairs.”

“Want me to get out and yell ‘boo'?” Renie asked.

“Just be quiet. We don't want him to notice us.” Judith sucked in her breath. A few moments later, a man wearing a baseball cap appeared at the top of the stairs. “Frank Leonetti,” she whispered excitedly. “What on earth is he carrying?”

Renie leaned forward. “Crab pots. Gee, that's really thrilling.”

Judith scowled, but kept quiet as Frank trudged by the Subaru without so much as a glance. After he'd gone up the hill some twenty yards, Judith turned to Renie. “It may not be thrilling, but this time of year it's illegal. No wonder he goes out so late. But why would he keep doing it? Even you couldn't eat that many crabs.”

“Because he's selling them?” Renie responded. “He does own a wholesale grocery business. You were right about contraband.”

Judith gnawed on her index finger. “I wonder if Ernie knew what Frank was up to.” She stared at her cousin. “That could be the motive.”

Renie made a face. “Isn't that a bit much? Even if Frank got caught poaching, he'd get off with a big fine, but no jail time.”

After making sure Frank was out of sight, Judith started the car, but still didn't turn on the headlights. “I'll bet Frank's the ghost Betsy saw when she stayed out later at night. Do you know where the flashlights ended up?”

“The leaders headed past Auntie Vance and Uncle Vince's house,” Renie replied. “That indicates they weren't going to break in and kill us.”

Judith frowned. “How many?”

“I couldn't tell. It's so dark, and the flashlights—or maybe they're lanterns—were pointed in front of whoever was carrying them. Are you sure it's a good idea to track them down?”

“Someone talked about holding a meeting tonight,” Judith said. “The Logans, remember? They wanted to get everybody together to pressure the sheriff about the murder investigation.”

“Oh.” Renie sounded indifferent. “That's a useless effort.”

“They don't know that.” Judith slowed down as they passed their aunt and uncle's house. “Are you sure the people you saw were going up farther than this?”

“I'm not even sure they were people,” Renie replied. “They could be poltergeists who can't see so well in the dark. But whatever or whoever, they went past the Sedgewicks'. I couldn't see anything beyond that.”

Judith almost came to a stop by the octagonal-shaped home above the Weber property. “Who lives there?”

“Summer people,” Renie said. “I forget their name. There's only one other house behind the Webers' on this side of the road. It's a vacation retreat, too. I suppose that's why Auntie Vance never talks much about either of the owners. They don't stick around long enough to annoy her.”

Judith turned the Subaru to the left, creeping along past the darkened Quimby residence. “That place looks better in the dark,” she murmured. “Do you see a sign of anybody around there?”

“No.” Renie frowned. “Where could they go? There's nothing else up this far except that vacant lot—and the remains of the late Mrs. Quimby.”

“Did you have to say that?” Judith asked. “I told you, I don't like that piece of turf.”

“That's stupid,” Renie declared. “Your father liked it well enough to want to buy it. Where's your usual rock-solid logic?”

“Okay, so for once I let my imagination get the better of me,” Judith shot back. “Your flashlight friends must've gone into somebody else's house. I'm turning around.”

“Good,” Renie said, leaning back in the passenger seat. “I'm beat.”

Judith couldn't find a place to turn the car around. She decided to go to the road's end and hope for more maneuvering room. But as she reached the vacant lot, she saw several bobbing lights—and people. “What on earth . . . ?” She hit the brake.

Renie sat up. “They're not poltergeists! I'll be darned.”

Apparently, no one in the small gathering had heard the car's approach. “They're digging,” Judith whispered. “Why?”

Her cousin didn't answer right away. “I don't mean to creep you out,” she finally whispered back, “but it looks as if they're disinterring Mrs. Quimby. Here comes the casket.”

G
ruesome!” Judith said under her breath, leaning to look out through the passenger window. “Why?”

“How do I know?” Renie muttered. “I'm rolling down the window to see if we can hear anything.”

Before she could get the window more than halfway down, a voice called out to her. “Hey—who's there?”

The cousins exchanged quick looks. “Hank Hilderschmidt?” Judith whispered.

Renie nodded. Hank and Hilda were hurrying toward the Subaru. Judith and Renie froze in place.

Hank leaned down to look into the car. “The nieces? What are you doing up here?”

“That's our question,” Renie shot back. “You go first.”

Hank looked conflicted. Hilda sighed heavily. “We're righting a wrong, that's what. If you want to call the cops, go ahead.”

Judith found her voice. “We won't do that. It's none of our business. But we sure are curious. Is it okay if we get out of the car?”

Renie was aghast. “Coz, are you nuts? Aren't you going too far to look at a dead body?”

Judith shook her head. “Check out what they dug up. It's a casket all right, but not big enough for Blanche Quimby.” She leaned to her left to look at Hank. “Am I right about that?”

Hank chuckled. “Yeah, yeah, but forget you ever saw it. We're done here. How about a ride for me and Hilda, at least as far as the Weber place? My back's killing me.”

“Get in,” Judith said. “I can drive you home, but I don't know where you live.”

Hilda didn't answer until she was settled in the backseat. “Two houses this side of the clubhouse on the street below your aunt and uncle's place. Come on, Hank, untangle those long legs of yours.”

“Right, sure . . . ahhh!” Hank finally arranged himself. “That was something.”

Judith struggled trying to turn the car around without running into the other people who were coming away from the vacant lot. She recognized the Bendareks, the Logans, the Bennetts, and Edna Glover, who was carrying the little casket that up closer looked like a big jewelry box.

“What was that?” Renie inquired, taking up the slack for Judith.

“Hey,” Hank said, sounding weary, “it's a long story. We're worn out. We had to wait to do all this until we were sure the Quimbys—especially cuckoo Betsy—weren't outside.”

Judith finally switched on the headlights and got the Subaru turned around, but still had to be careful not to run over the more than two dozen people who were walking along the road. “Is Blanche Quimby really buried in that vacant lot?”

“Blanche!” Hilda exclaimed. “What a greedy woman. I think she drove Quentin insane. It was her idea to sell off all this property. She ruled that family with an iron fist.”

Hank snorted. “A golden fist is more like it,” he grumbled. “That's what she was all about—money. Meanest woman I ever met.”

Turning onto the main road, Judith couldn't stifle her natural empathy. “Having a daughter with mental problems may have affected her adversely. A tragedy like that can change a person's outlook on life.”

“Dubious,” Hilda murmured. “The son, Quincy, let it slip some time ago that he thought his mother had coerced his father into marrying her after the war and bringing her to this country. Once the Germans were out of France, the authorities might've been on her trail.”

“Why?” Judith asked. “Had Blanche collaborated with the Nazis?”

“Hell no,” Hank asserted. “She was still real young, but she'd worked at one of those big Paris museums. Blanche made off with a bunch of rare coins. Something to do with Napoleon.”

Renie turned to look at the Hilderschmidts. “Is that what was buried in the case you guys dug up?”

“No,” Hank said. “It's . . .” He paused. “Should I shut up, Hilda?”

“Yes,” his wife replied. “Wait until Kent Logan and Edna open the case. Kent's a lawyer, so he can advise us on what to do. We won't know what's in that box until they see it.”

Judith took a left onto the Hilderschmidts' street. “Would I be right in guessing that you think those Napoleon coins are inside?”

“That was our idea,” Hilda responded. “It doesn't rattle like it's coins, though. But what else would the Quimbys bury in it? It sure isn't Blanche's ashes. She wasn't cremated. I wouldn't be surprised if they dumped her body out in the bay.”

“Is that legal?” Renie asked.

“Burial at sea?” Hank chuckled. “Only if you don't get caught. Or if you get permission. Hell, I remember a couple of ferryboat skippers who were asked to do it over the years. Hey, we're on the right-hand side of the road just up ahead. See the big stone chimney? That's us.”

Judith could barely make it out, but slowed down. “Good luck,” she said, pulling up by the cement walk.

Hilda waited for Hank to extricate his gangling frame from the car. When he finally got out, she looked Judith in the eye. “We don't care about luck. We want justice. Thanks for the ride.”

“Could I be more confused?” Renie said while Judith reversed the car. “What's the point of digging up a bunch of coins that belong to a dead woman? She may've stolen them from a French museum, but it's too late to bring her to justice if she's at the bottom of the bay.”

“It sounds more like a grudge,” Judith said, slowing to a stop before they reached the main road. “Now we wait.”

“For what?” Renie yipped. “Are you insane?”

Judith gestured to her left. “See that green house? It's where the Logans live. They ought to be arriving any minute.”

Renie slumped in her seat. “Damn, why didn't I stay at the Webers'?”

“Go ahead, take off,” Judith said. “I
can
do this alone.”

“You know I won't leave you,” Renie retorted, sitting up again. “For all I know, Kent and Suzie are a couple of crazed killers.”

“I'm not sure about that,” Judith murmured. “What's taking them so long? Unless . . .” She paused. “Of course. They walked Edna home. They wouldn't let her go by herself.”

“Because she's a crazed killer?”

“Coz,” Judith said earnestly, “I don't know who the crazed killer is. That's what really bugs me. I still can't figure out the motive for Ernie's murder. Maybe I
am
losing my knack.”

“So we sit here while you hunt for your self-esteem,” Renie muttered. “Fine. Why not let Jacobson solve this? He might get promoted. All you'll get is an urge to find another corpse.”

Judith started to defend herself, but decided not to argue. Five minutes passed in silence except for the first few drops of rain sprinkling the windshield. In between the Logans' contemporary home and a shake-covered cottage, she saw a large ship gliding north to open water. As she was about to check her watch, Kent and Suzie came around the corner. He was carrying the mysterious rectangular case.