Clam Wake (6 page)

Judith made another note. “Is there one person who seems to be leading the charge for the sewer line?”

Jane and Dick exchanged inquiring glances. He held up a hand, indicating his wife should answer the question.

“It's hard to tell,” Jane admitted. “The most vocal—or maybe the loudest—is Zach Bendarek. Kind of goofy, but likable.”

“Ex–football player,” Dick said. “Probably didn't remember to put on his helmet before he got off the bench and into the game. Went on from the University to play in the pros for a few years before his knees went south. Wife's a little squirt of a thing.” He glanced at Renie. “Even littler than you, but cute.”

“I'm not cute?” Renie shot back. “Watch it.”

Dick chuckled. “Hell, you always had a mouth on you, right? Not as bad as Vance, though. She's a damned hoot.”

“She certainly is,” Judith asserted, looking out the window. “As long as the Friedmans aren't home, Renie and I should get our beach walk in now. It looks like it's going to pour fairly soon.”

“It's that time of year,” Jane said. “But then it can rain up here almost any time of the year except July and August.”

The Sedgewicks saw the cousins out the door. “If you run low on food,” Jane called out as they went down the steps, “come to dinner while you're here. But knowing Vance, you're well stocked.”

“We definitely are,” Judith shouted back. “See you at the meeting.”

“Nice people,” Renie commented as they walked down the road to the beach. “They're holding up quite well.”

“They enjoy sparring with each other.” Judith glanced at Renie. “Kind of reminds me of you and Bill.”

“We don't spar, we viciously attack. Verbally, I mean.”

“No, you don't. You two just have bigger vocabularies.” Judith glanced at both sides of the road. “It's quiet around here. Everybody seems to be hunkering down. Maybe they know a big storm is coming.”

“You're used to being up here in the summer when the weather's good,” Renie said. “Careful with the steps to the beach.”

“Right. You go first so that if I fall I'll land on—”

“Yeah, yeah,” Renie shot back. “I'm the human buffer.”

Judith held on to the railing and made short work of the ten steps. “The wind's come up,” she noted. “Shall we see if we can find Uncle Vince's boat?”

“Why not? He always tied it up over there by that big log. In fact, I can see it from here. Barely. Maybe nothing's left but the prow. No loss. Watch your step. There's always a lot of junk that washes up on the beach. Or what slobs leave after they've frolicked here. Unfortunately, it's not a private beach. Anybody can access it without coming through the development if they're willing to walk a bit.”

“There's nobody out here now that I can see,” Judith said. “At least the sand isn't very wet this close to dry land. Have you noticed all the new construction on the north side of the bay by Scratchit Head?”

“Yes, growth everywhere you look.” Renie kicked at a discarded beer can. “If I hadn't been raised by My Mother the Germaphobe, I'd pick that up and take it back to the garbage. Look over there,” she said, pointing to a bundle of clothes. “Somebody must have left their laundry by that big piece of driftwood.”

Judith peered at what looked like a pile of rags. “Now, why would . . .” She paused as they got within twenty feet of the large bundle. “Oh, coz . . . I have an awful feeling.”

“About what?” Renie stared at Judith, then quickly walked closer. “Good Lord!” she exclaimed. “It's a person!”

Judith picked up her pace. “Is it a man?”

Renie nodded. “He must've passed out.” She rummaged in her purse to take out her cell.

Judith moved closer to the man, who was facedown in the wet sand. A horrible yet all-too-familiar feeling overcame her. She tried to figure out if he was breathing. “Can you take his pulse?” she asked Renie. “I shouldn't try to bend down that far.”

But Renie had moved a few feet behind her, apparently calling 911. After disconnecting, she moved to Judith's side. “I can, I guess,” she said in a tremulous voice, “but I don't think he's got a pulse. If he's facedown, he can't be breathing. Damn! Coz, I think you just found another freaking corpse!”

T
hat doesn't mean the guy's been murdered,” Judith said with fervor. “He's got a full head of gray hair. He may've had a heart attack. He's certainly not young.”

“But he certainly is dead,” Renie said, sounding more like herself. “The emergency folks will be here in under ten minutes. They come from the fire station by the second turnoff from the ferry dock.”

Judith felt the first raindrops fall on her face. She put her car coat's hood up more securely around her head and grimaced. “Remember how Uncle Vince always called us the Gruesomes when we were kids because we liked murder-mystery stories so much?”

Renie rolled her eyes. “It was prophetic. I'd forgotten all about that nickname.”

“We're stuck here. Maybe we should go sit in Uncle Vince's boat.”

“I'd rather sit on that log,” Renie said. “If it rains really hard, the overhang from the ground above might keep us from getting soaked.”

“Good idea,” Judith agreed. “The seagulls are diving and swooping all over the place. That's always the sign of a storm. I hate to walk off and leave him lying here alone.” She chewed her lower lip as she studied his inert body: navy all-weather jacket, tan pants, sturdy brown walking shoes, blue rainproof cap lying near his head. “I wonder how long he's been here?”

“That's up to the experts,” Renie said. “Keeping a vigil won't matter to him, but it matters to me if I get pneumonia from standing over a stiff. Let's go. Or, as Bill would say, boppin'!”

Yet both cousins moved with dragging feet to the big log. “We should've worn boots,” Renie muttered. “It's cold, too. We need mittens.”

“I've never seen you wear mittens,” Judith said, wiping moisture off of her face.

“That's because I don't have any.” Renie made a face. “I'm too old to wear mittens. Mom finally let me stop wearing them when I was twenty-two. Have you forgotten I had horrible sinus infections as a kid?”

“No, but you outgrew them when you were twelve. Why didn't Aunt Deb let you stop wearing mittens then?”

“Mom wanted to be sure,” Renie retorted. “Besides, I stopped growing then. That's why I'm so much shorter than you are. You know how she's always worried about me.”

“Do you think she'd worry more if she knew we were sitting twenty yards away from a corpse?”

Renie shook her head. “That kind of thing doesn't bother her. She's used to it by now. So's Aunt Gert.”

Judith didn't comment. The rain was falling harder. The overhang protected them except when the wind blew the hard, cold drops into their faces. “Do I hear a siren?” she asked, raising her head.

“No. It's a seagull.” Renie checked her watch. “I called at two ten. It's now two twenty. They should be . . .” She paused. “Now I hear sirens. We'd better make sure they can see us.”

A minute passed as the sirens—at least two of them, Judith realized—grew louder before they stopped. The cousins stood up, hurrying toward the staircase. Before they covered the last ten yards, the EMTs came racing down the steps and onto the beach. They were carrying their kits and a gurney. The cousins waved their hands.

The three medics looked very young. Judith wondered if they were volunteers. The taller of the trio asked if they could show them the victim's location. Judith indicated the driftwood and what appeared to be a pile of rags, but, alas, was not. The medics trotted off just as four firefighters came down the stairs.

“Guess they don't need our help,” Renie said, grimacing into what had become a downpour. “The overhang doesn't help with the wind blowing from the northwest. What's the point of getting soaked?”

Judith frowned as she brushed water off of her face. “We can't just walk away.”

“I can,” Renie declared. “But,” she added after a pause, “I won't, because you may need help getting back up the stairs.”

“Go without me,” Judith said. “To quote your mother, ‘Don't worry about me.'” She made clucking noises with her tongue.

“Oh, for . . .” Renie dug into the damp sand, setting her elbows on her knees and propping her chin on her hands. “Fine.”

Judith was craning her neck to look back at the steps. “Where are the cops? Don't they always come with the medics and firefighters?”

“Only when they get called to
your
house,” Renie said in a grumpy voice. “Or somewhere else in your cul-de-sac.”

One of the firefighters approached the cousins. “Are you the ones who called in?” he asked, stopping a yard or so away from the log.

“Yes,” Judith replied. “The poor man is dead, right?”

The firefighter, who looked closer to forty than thirty and had keen blue eyes, nodded. “I'm afraid so. Heart attack, maybe, though we don't like to guess. Do you know him?”

Judith shook her head, noting that his nametag read
BREWSTER
. “We don't live here. We're staying at our aunt and uncle's place.”

Brewster nodded once. “Okay. We're not needed, so if you want, you can ride with us back to your relatives' place. After we get there, I can take your names and contact numbers just in case.”

“Just in case
what
?” Renie asked.

“Well . . .” Brewster looked faintly embarrassed. “It probably sounds silly, but we have to always allow for the possibility of a person's death being . . . suspicious.”

Renie burst into laughter. “That's too funny! I never heard of such a thing!” She nudged Judith with her elbow. “How about you, coz?”

Judith barely stopped herself from kicking Renie. “You can't blame the authorities for being cautious,” she said primly. “Yes, thank you. We'll take your offer of a ride up to the Webers' house.”

Brewster signaled to his fellow firefighters. “Let's go,” he said, leading the way to the staircase.

At the top of the steps, Judith was faintly dismayed to see the type of fire engine that she remembered from her youth. “This is . . ah . . . ?”

Brewster looked grim. “We have problems passing bond issues on the island. Very fiscally conservative kind of folks. But this old baby still runs. The hoses and pumps work fine. That's what matters. It's got real seats, too. Squeeze in next to each other before I get behind the wheel.”

“I'll go first,” Renie volunteered. “Coz needs a boost, Brewster. She doesn't have all her original parts. Neither do I, but what the hey.” She awkwardly scrambled into the engine's cab.

“You,” Judith said under her breath after the firefighter had eased her into a sitting position, “don't have much trouble with your partial shoulder replacement. Why even mention it?”

“Why not?” Renie shot back. “It's like a . . . badge of survival, maybe? More perks of getting old. Sympathy's nice. I think.”

“Just try to keep your mouth shut,” Judith whispered as Brewster opened the door on the driver's side.

“Okay,” he said, after making sure his fellow firefighters were in position. “Where to?”

Judith gave him directions. “It's easy. The Weber house is off this road on the right, almost to the top of the hill.”

“Got it.” The gears seemed to grind as Brewster started the engine. “This relic was new not long after World War Two. I kind of like it.”

“Gee,” Renie said, “I was only thirty-five back then.”

Judith elbowed her cousin, but Brewster laughed obligingly. “Quality lasts,” he said. “You two seem remarkably undisturbed by finding that poor dead guy.”

“We're used”—Renie began, but switched her own gears after another, sharper jab from Judith—“. . . car dealers. This antique engine fascinates us.”

“Oh?” He glanced at the cousins. “You have your own dealership?”

“No,” Judith replied before Renie could get them any deeper into fantasyland. “She means that we have an interest in older-model vehicles. My husband has a classic red MG.”

“That's awesome,” Brewster said. “How close are we?”

“The next street,” Judith said, noting that a few homeowners had braved the heavy rain to come as far as their porches and decks. Obviously, they were curious about what had brought emergency personnel to Obsession Shores. No doubt, Judith thought, more were staring from their windows. With any luck, maybe nobody would notice their arrival via fire engine.

The old truck slowed to a stop. “Hang on,” Brewster said. “I'll help you get out.”

To Judith's relief, nobody in the immediate vicinity seemed to be witnessing their return. Thanking Brewster profusely, she moved quickly through the wind and rain to seek sanctuary inside.

“Wow,” Renie said, closing the door behind her, “you can almost run when you want to.”

Judith was taking off her car coat. “I wanted to avoid the thrill-seekers. Besides, I'm cold and wet. Aren't you?”

Renie nodded. “I'm just surprised that you didn't ask more questions, like if the emergency crews knew the deceased. You seem to have left your customary curiosity back on the mainland.”

“We'll find out soon enough,” Judith said. “We don't know most of these people. A name probably wouldn't ring any bells.”

“True,” Renie allowed, joining Judith, who had sat down on the sofa. “Unlike your usual encounters with death, it didn't happen in your home or your immediate neighborhood.”

Judith gave her cousin a reproachful look. “As you recall, the last case was sixteen years old and occurred in the Thurlow district after I moved from there. The more recent homicide investigation I got involved in happened on the other side of the mountains, a hundred and twenty miles from Hillside Manor.”