by Mary Daheim
Eldritch had turned back to the body. “Is that kite string?” He saw the pink kite next to Mrs. Hoke and straightened up to glower at Clooney. “Kite string! Now that’s real ugly!”
“So are you,” snarled the police chief. He gave a start as he bent down to examine the victim. “So who is this?” He stared hard at Judith with small hazel eyes.
“Ha!” crowed Eldritch. “You don’t even know your own citizens! Some police chief! I’ll bet you wouldn’t recognize the mayor!”
Judith was trying not to gnash her teeth. “It’s Alice Hoke and she owns this house. My husband and I rented it from her for the week.” She had wedged herself between the warring police chief and sheriff, standing with her arms folded across her breast and her chin thrust out. “My cousin and I came home shortly before ten o’clock and found her like that. Dead.”
Clooney and Eldritch both gazed down at the grotesque form of Mrs. Hoke. The time that had passed since Renie’s grisly discovery had not improved the landlady’s appearance. Judith looked away, her knees shaky and her lower back aching.
“Bull,” said Clooney, hauling a bent notebook from his back pants pocket. “Maybe you found her like this, maybe you didn’t.” He smirked at Judith. “But I’ll tell you one thing.” He smirked some more, now looking at Eldritch, then across the room at Renie who had climbed up on a stool for a better view. “Oh, yeah, sure, you came in and fell over a body all right. But it’s not Alice Hoke. It looks sort of like her, but it’s not. And I ought to know—Alice and I are going steady.”
An hour later, the cottage was cleared of everybody but Sheriff Josh Eldritch and Police Chief Neil Clooney. The scene of the crime had been photographed, measurements taken, floors vacuumed for evidence, surfaces dusted for prints, and the corpse taken away. The pink kite was removed, too.
Judith and Renie, who had been relegated to the spare bedroom at the rear of the cottage, waited for permission to emerge. Renie, who was staying in the guest room anyway, changed into her purple velour bathrobe and smeared brown cream on much of her face. Judith was tempted to tell her she didn’t look a heck of a lot better than the putative Mrs. Hoke.
During their interval of seclusion, the cousins didn’t go too far beyond expressing their amazement over Chief Clooney’s startling announcement. Renie had asked if the victim had actually claimed to be Alice Hoke. Judith had thought back to their meeting the previous morning. The woman who had shown up in the Buick hadn’t introduced herself, but she’d certainly answered to the name of Mrs. Hoke and had definitely acted as if she owned the place.
“She even told me about her family’s cheese factory,” Judith told Renie. “Ogilvie’s Cheese, remember?”
Renie cocked her head. “I think so. Big chunks of cheddar, right? They put out a Colby later but it wasn’t as good.”
Judith was sitting on the edge of the bed in her stocking feet. There was sand in the durable carpeting, sand on the flowered bedspread, sand just about everywhere, including between the cousins’ teeth. Beach living had its draw-backs, the ubiquitous sand being one of them. Now, it seemed, a corpse was another. Judith surveyed the cozy room with its bleached pine furniture and green voile curtains. Murder seemed incongruous. But then it usually did. In the brief silence, Judith could hear the roar of the ocean coming through the open windows.
“Whoever she was,” said Judith, “she had a reason for pretending she was Mrs. Hoke. I just hope she didn’t make off with my rental money.”
“I thought you sent a check,” said Renie, putting on a pair of mules.
Judith nodded. “I did. I sent it to a different address. The family farm or whatever, I suppose. This woman had a receipt for it.” She stood up, running a hand through her waves of frosted hair. “I wonder where I put it? My purse, I suppose. The address should be on it some place.”
Before Judith could speculate further, the cousins heard a rap on the door. Sheriff Eldritch asked them to come back into the living room. Judith winced at the disorder caused by the law enforcement people, but decided that any housekeeping tasks could wait until tomorrow.
Chief Clooney was sitting in the big blue rocker while Sheriff Eldritch draped his lanky frame over a high-back chair. Judith and Renie sat across from them on the sofa. The two men were still exchanging hostile glances, but at least they seemed temporarily inclined to put personal differences aside and tend to business. Both now had notebooks and pens at the ready. Judith couldn’t help but wonder if the absence of any assistants was the result of an argument, like a pair of duelists disputing the reputations of their seconds.
For openers, Eldritch deferred to Clooney. “You say you rented this place?” the police chief asked.
Judith nodded. “My husband and I did. I’m Judith Flynn, Mrs. Joseph,” she added with a note of pride, “and this is my cousin, Serena Jones.”
“Mrs. William,” put in Renie and yawned.
After noting hometown addresses and phone numbers, Clooney asked where Mr. Flynn might be. Judith didn’t see the need to explain that they were on their honeymoon. She wasn’t anxious for any more smirks from Chief Clooney.
“He wrecked our dune buggy and broke his leg,” said Judith. “He’s in the local hospital for a few days. That’s why I asked Renie—my cousin—to come down and stay with me. It seemed a shame to rent the house and then have to stay here alone.” She paused, allowing time for both men to make notes. Clooney wrote very fast; Eldritch took his time. Renie stood up and offered to make tea.
“I’d rather have coffee,” said Clooney.
“You got any seltzer?” inquired Eldritch.
“We don’t even have root beer,” said Renie in an aggrieved voice. “I’ll make tea and coffee.” She headed for the kitchen, looking like a purple grape in her big velour bathrobe.
“So,” said the sheriff, apparently taking his turn as interrogator, “how did you meet the victim?”
Judith explained how the ersatz Mrs. Hoke had shown up the previous day with household supplies and the receipt. “She was here again last night,” Judith continued. “She had a man with her.”
“Who?” interjected Clooney, edging forward in the rocker and making the springs creak.
“I don’t know.” Judith gave a little lift of her wide shoulders. “According to you people, I don’t even know Mrs. Hoke. Who was that woman?” She gestured at the outline of the body on the carpet. “Did either of you recognize her?”
Clooney’s eyebrows twitched. “We’re asking the questions here, Mrs. Flynn. Why did you think she was Alice Hoke?”
Renie had returned, carrying the rest of her orange juice. Judith told the lawmen how the woman had acted as if she was Mrs. Hoke and had even talked about the family cheese factory. “I’ve got the receipt in my purse,” she said, getting up. “I’ll show it to you.”
Her brown suede handbag was still on the kitchen table where she’d left it upon returning from dinner. Judith flipped through her belongings, but couldn’t find the yellow slip of paper. She dug into her wallet, then the zippered inner pocket. The receipt wasn’t there. Biting her lip, she tried to remember if she’d put it somewhere in the house. It wasn’t on the counter or in the drawer by the phone.
The teakettle whistled and Judith went through the motions of making tea and instant coffee, but her mind was on the receipt. She must have mislaid it. Perhaps it was in the bedroom or the living room. But the police or the sheriff’s men would have come across it. Judith made an exasperated face. She hadn’t really looked at the yellow paper; she’d just dropped it into her purse. Maybe it had fallen out. Then again, maybe it had been taken out…But by whom? And why?
She was still looking vexed when she returned to the living room. “I can’t find it,” she said, setting four mugs, a ceramic teapot, and a carafe of coffee on the table next to the couch. Renie went out to fetch cream, sugar, spoons, and napkins. “Your people didn’t pick it up, I suppose?”
Eldritch glanced inquiringly at Clooney who shrugge
d his burly shoulders. “We’ll find out. When was the last time you saw this woman alive?”
“Last night,” said Judith, handing Clooney a mug of coffee and offering tea to Eldritch who declined. “About eleven-thirty. She was just leaving. We didn’t see the man, though. He must have already left.”
Eldritch was looking longingly at Renie’s orange juice. “Let’s back up. Are you saying this woman came here with a man? They were here together? What are you talking about?”
Judith explained how she and Renie had returned from Salem and seen the so-called Mrs. Hoke and a man through the window. “I don’t want to imply that they were in a passionate embrace,” Judith emphasized, “but they were standing very close together. Let’s call the scene ‘intimate’—in the real sense of the word.”
“Intimate, huh?” said Clooney, slurping coffee and obviously conjuring up more lurid images than Judith had intended. “So you went away and let them go at it?”
Judith lifted her chin. “We went away,” she said with dignity.
“And a lot of good it did us,” put in Renie, sounding surly. “How come nobody in this stupid town stays open after ten o’clock?”
“What for?” asked Eldritch.
“What do you mean, ‘stupid’?” countered Clooney.
Renie wasn’t about to be put off by a mere sheriff and a chief of police. “I mean whatever happened to Open All Hours? This is almost the twenty-first century. Don’t you yokels have a 7-Eleven? I can get three kinds of root beer at 3:00 A.M. at the one on Heraldsgate Hill.”
“Hold it,” rumbled Clooney, looking dangerous. “This is a murder investigation, lady. Let’s not get sidetracked.”
“Sidetracked?” echoed Renie, rolling her eyes. “You’re the one who was picturing that poor woman frolicking on the carpet with some young stud. We just said we saw them. Together. For all we know, he was her dentist, making a house call. I think people in small towns must have dirty minds. If they kept longer hours, they wouldn’t have time to think bad thoughts.” Renie looked uncharacteristically prudish, a fair imitation of Gertrude at her most narrow-minded.
Judith put aside mental comparisons with her mother and intervened. “Look! All we can tell you is that I saw this woman twice—three times, if you count through the window—and that she was in excellent health when she left here last night around eleven-thirty. She may have been here again today to get more boxes or dulcimers or whatever, but we didn’t run into her.”
Eldritch sat up a little straighter. “More what?”
Judith waved a hand. “She claimed she’d come back last night for her dulcimer.” Seeing the blank expressions on the lawmen’s faces, she went on, “It’s an old-fashioned musical instrument. Like a guitar. Except she didn’t have it with her. But somebody has been taking boxes out of the garage for the last two days. They’re stacked to the rafters.” Folding her hands in her lap, Judith tried to strike a calmer note. “Really, that’s all we know, except that she drove a fairly new Buick. I dealt with Mrs. Hoke—or whoever rented this place to us—only by mail. I’m sorry we can’t be more help.”
Clooney was tapping his ballpoint pen on his notepad. “It’s Alice’s house, all right,” he said, more to himself than the others. He was silent for a moment, then turned wearily to the sheriff. “Well, what do you think, Josh?”
Eldritch looked pleased at being asked. “I hate to say it, but you’re probably right. You know the family better than I do. You’re older,” he added slyly.
Clooney snorted and stood up. The rocker creaked again. “Not by much, Big Fella. But at least I know Alice.” He looked smug.
Eldritch unwound himself from the chair and also got to his feet. He looked down at the cousins. “You’re not going anywhere for a few days, I take it?”
“No,” replied Judith, with a distasteful glance at the victim’s outline on the carpet. “How long do we have to put up with that?”
Eldritch shrugged. “A day or two. You can walk on it.”
“Gee, thanks,” said Judith faintly.
“By the way,” said Clooney, turning around in the doorway, “where’d that kite come from?”
Judith and Renie were both standing now, too. “Mrs. Hoke brought it,” said Judith, then took three long strides to confront the sheriff and police chief. “I can’t keep calling her Mrs. Hoke. I gather you two may know who she is. Why the secret?”
Clooney gave Judith a condescending look. “You’re right, we’re pretty sure who the dead woman is, but we’re waiting for positive ID. Police procedure, you know.” He gave an indulgent little laugh. “Actually, you wouldn’t know. Trust us, we yokels have our methods, even in a stupid town like Buccaneer Beach.” He bit off the last words and glared at Renie.
Judith stopped her cousin just in time by stepping on her foot. Renie jumped, her mouth half-opened, but the words she was about to utter died on her lips. Sheriff Eldritch and Chief Clooney took their leave. The cousins could hear them arguing all the way back to their respective emergency vehicles.
“You should have told them,” Renie insisted, shaking her head.
“Are you crazy? We’ve got enough problems without me admitting my husband is a big city homicide detective.” Judith headed back for the living room to clear away the coffee and tea items. “Listen, coz,” she went on as she handed the teapot and carafe to Renie, “Joe may be in the hospital, but I’m still on my honeymoon. It’s not my fault that some woman I don’t even know got herself strangled in the living room of Pirate’s Lair. It’s not my beach cottage, it’s not my town, it’s got nothing to do with me. I’m sitting this one out.” She gave Renie a long, level stare.
Renie batted her eyelashes. “Oh. Okay, you’re right. It’s midnight, let’s head for bed. Maybe we can go to the outlet mall in the morning.”
“Sounds good,” said Judith.
“’Night,” said Renie.
“’Night,” said Judith.
At one in the morning, Judith was still awake, wondering who had been murdered in the living room at Pirate’s Lair. At two, she was still puzzling over the missing rental receipt. At three, she was wishing she’d gotten a better look at the young man she had seen through the picture window. And at four, she finally drifted off to sleep, but dreamed of a furtive figure, rowing a boat and sinking slowly in dry sand at the foot of the staircase that led to the beach.
Judith knew she was sunk, too.
FIVE
JUDITH TRIED TO pretend it was an ordinary day at Buccaneer Beach. Mike called from Whitefish, Montana, shortly after eight-thirty. He’d only gotten in the night before because he’d spent Monday with his girlfriend, Kristin, and her family on their wheat farm in the rolling hills of the Palouse. It had been over ninety degrees on the other side of the mountains, and they’d sat around all day, drinking lemonade and beer under the shade of a big weeping willow. He hadn’t yet seen his supervisor in the Forest Service, so didn’t know exactly what his assignment would be. He promised to call back in a couple of days, either at the beach or when Judith got home.
“How come you didn’t tell him about Joe’s accident?” asked Renie, looking semialert over ham and waffles.
Judith didn’t meet her cousin’s bleary-eyed gaze. “Oh—I didn’t want to worry him. He’ll have a lot on his mind with a new job.”
Renie started to say something in response, but decided to drop the subject. There were few topics the cousins avoided, but the relationship between Joe and Mike struck Renie as one of them. At least for the moment.
“We ought to call our mothers tonight,” Renie said instead.
“Right,” Judith agreed without enthusiasm. “And I should check in with Arlene and make sure everything is going okay at the B&B.” She poured syrup over her waffle and gave Renie a surreptitious glance. “I think we’ll skip the pinochle session this morning.”
“Oh?” Renie’s reaction was one of innocence. “How come, coz? Did you want to spend a lot of time at the outlet mall?”
“Okay,” agreed Renie. “Then what?”
Judith considered. “I’d like to check out the boathouse. For all I know, that man I saw lives there. Maybe he’s a homeless person.”
“And?” Renie was stuffing her mouth with waffle.
“I wish I’d noticed the license number on that Buick. I know it was an Oregon plate and it had some fours in it.” She started to cut up her ham, then realized that Renie was taking the sudden plunge into detection much too complacently. “Well?” demanded Judith. “Aren’t you going to try to talk me out of getting involved?”
Renie, whose mouth was still full, shook her head. Judith was faintly exasperated; she despised being so predictable. A hammering at the back door prevented Judith from defending herself.
A young man with flaming red hair and a dusting of freckles stood on the threshold with a tape recorder and a notebook. “Terrence O’Toole, Buccaneer Beach Bugler,” he said with an eager, gap-toothed smile.
“So where’s your bugle?” asked Judith, who assumed he was identifying himself.
“No, no, sorry, no music, no magazines, no encyclopedias,” he said, looking apologetic and wiggling his unruly red eyebrows. “I mean, I’m not a salesman, I’m a reporter from the Buccaneer Beach Bugler. The local newspaper?” He eyed Judith as if he weren’t sure she’d know a newspaper if she found one in her mailbox.
“Oh. Well…” Judith glanced over her shoulder at Renie and found no help. Renie was pouring spoonfuls of batter into the waffle iron, onto the counter, and over her shoes. Judith decided that her cousin wasn’t as awake as she’d pretended.
