Dune to Death

by Mary Daheim

  “Sort of.” Judith gave the room a last look, then tried to open the door. The knob resisted her twist, then the door pushed inward, almost toppling Judith into Renie.

  “Burglars! Help, police!” A middle-aged man with a graying beard seemed to take up most of the doorway. With a deft movement, he reached down and picked up a baseball bat that was stationed just inside. “Get back, you devils! Back, I say! You’re in my power!”

  Judith obeyed, staggering slightly, but trying to smile. The bat made a wide arc, coming dangerously near her head. She stopped trying to smile and ducked. “Wait a minute! We rented this place! Seven hundred bucks says we’re not burglars, you crazy loon!”

  The bat cut through the air again, but with less force. He braced himself, seeming to favor one leg over the other. “What do you mean? I live here! Who are you?”

  Judith tried to explain, no easy task, since every sentence was punctuated by a swing of the baseball bat. Renie had retreated behind the sofa, showing minor signs of alarm. At last the man lowered the bat, his flinty blue eyes resting on each cousin in turn. “Alice Hoke’s got no business including this boathouse in the rental deal,” he huffed. “I been living here for some weeks now. The old girl’s off her rocker.”

  Judith felt like saying that Alice wasn’t alone in that regard, but took another look at the bat and decided to be tactful. “Alice didn’t handle any of the business in person. Her sister—poor thing—acted in her stead.” She spoke the words innocently, awaiting the man’s reaction.

  Except for a fleeting expression Judith couldn’t fathom, there wasn’t any. “Doesn’t matter. I want you both out. And stay out.” He banged the bat on the floor for emphasis. Under the faded hooked rug, the boards seemed to shudder.

  “No problem,” said Judith, starting once more for the door. “We were just looking for a…boat. In the boathouse.” Her smile finally made its way to her mouth. “By the way,” she said, turning and trying to talk over Renie, “who are you?”

  “Me?” The man looked as if he weren’t quite sure. “Titus Teacher, whether you like it or not. Good-bye.”

  The cousins took their cue. “I don’t like it. Whatever happened to small-town friendliness?” inquired Renie as they plodded up the sand toward the long staircase.

  Judith shook her head, hands jammed into her jacket pockets. “Damned if I know. Is everybody in this burg nuts?”

  Renie bristled. “Of course. Small towns are the bastions of lunacy. I’ve never understood why big cities have such a tarnished reputation. At least they have stores that stay open late.”

  Judith ignored Renie’s carping. “If Leona Ogilvie was living in the boathouse with Titus Teacher, why isn’t he more upset?”

  Renie, eyeing the uphill slant of the staircase with dismay, shrugged. “Maybe he is. Maybe he acts out with a baseball bat. Like José Canseco or something.”

  Judith made no further comment, saving her breath for the long flight of stairs. When the cousins reached the front yard, they saw two figures going toward the carport of Pirate’s Lair. Judith shouted but the sound of the surf swallowed her voice. The visitors, who could now be discerned as a man and a woman, disappeared, apparently to try the back door. The cousins used up their spare energy to race across the lawn and go in the front entrance. Judith hurried to the back door and greeted the young couple who looked as if they might have enough brains between them to qualify as Normal.

  “Hi,” squeaked the young woman, whose unnaturally blond hair was not quite held in place by a huge polka-dot bow. “I’m Larissa, and this is Donn Bobb. He’s a clown.”

  Leaning wearily on the doorframe, Judith nodded dutifully. “I’m sure he is,” she said. “Where’s his bozo horn? Or does he have a dulcimer?”

  Larissa’s wide-set gray eyes grew enormous. “A…? He had the measles once. Three-day. You should have seen his butt!” She laughed immoderately.

  Judith had the feeling that Donn Bobb’s butt might be next. “Excuse me,” she said, trying to be patient, “but are you here for a reason or did we just get lucky?”

  Donn Bobb, whose long, sandy hair fell about his forehead, his shoulders, and even seemed to curl under his chin, lazily swatted his companion’s bottom. “Now, Fruit Loops, don’t go aggravatin’ people. This lady’s paid to stay here and she has a right to know why we’ve come.” He made a surprisingly graceful bow, which somehow seemed in contrast with his burly body. “Larissa’s auntie got herself killed her last night and she wants to pay her respects. As it were.” He gave Judith a plaintive look, then put out a big paw. “Donn Bobb Lima, rodeo clown and all-around auto mechanic. I’m here for the pea-rade.”

  Larissa Lima laughed again, recalling the raucous sounds of her late aunt. “Donn Bobb’s from Texas, that’s why he talks funny. You ought to hear him sing! Why, one time, we were at this bar in Galveston, he got up there behind the chicken wire where they can’t hit you with the beer bottles, and some of the crowd…”

  Donn Bobb gave Larissa a semigentle shove and came into the kitchen. “The livin’ room, somebody said. You ladies found her, right?”

  “Right,” agreed Judith, leading the way. “It was my cousin, Mrs. Jones, actually…”

  They had all arrived in the living room except Renie, who had decided to forage in the refrigerator. Judith stepped aside as Larissa knelt down beside the chalk outline of Leona Ogilvie’s body. Sudden, convulsive sobs erupted from the young woman’s throat. She threw herself at her husband and grabbed him around the knees.

  “Oh! Poor Aunt Leona! Oh! She was so sweet! All those years with the pygmies, devoted to Jesus! I never knew a kinder or more fair-minded person in my whole life!” She sobbed some more while Donn Bobb absently patted her artificially-colored curls and yawned. “You gotta sing at the funeral, Donn Bobb! Her favorite was ‘The Old Ragged Cross.’”

  “‘Rugged,’” murmured Judith, but didn’t expect either of the Limas to hear her. They didn’t. Instead, Larissa climbed Donn Bobb’s frame until she had gotten to her feet, then flopped down on the sofa, a hand over her eyes. Mascara oozed onto her cheeks. Renie ambled in, munching on a piece of toast smeared with strawberry jam about a half-inch thick.

  “There’s no ham in that refrigerator,” she declared. “Did we eat it all?”

  Judith gave her cousin an arch glance. “You did. This morning.” She eased herself into the rocker. “Your aunt was a missionary, I hear. Brazil?”

  Larissa nodded. Donn Bobb sat down next to his wife, twiddling his thick thumbs and looking decidedly uncomfortable. There were dark circles under his heavy-lidded brown eyes. Larissa ran a hand through her tousled hair, wiped at the streaks of mascara, and hitched one thumb in the belt loop of her cutoff jeans. “I hadn’t seen her since she got back. Auntie left for the jungle over twenty years ago, when I was just a tot. It’s lucky we got to see her at all—we only came to town Sunday, Donn Bobb having been on the circuit in Redmond and Klamath Falls and…” She screwed up her face, which would have been pretty had it not been so vacant. “Where were we, Hot Spurs?”

  “Sublimity,” replied Donn Bobb, who seemed barely able to keep awake, “but only ’cause the pickup broke down.” He cast his heavy-lidded eyes at Judith. “I never met Auntie. Guess I missed one fine person. Larissa’s done nothin’ but talk about her since she found out she was dead as a bag of dirt.”

  Wincing at the simile, Judith considered offering her unexpected visitors coffee, thought better of it, and asked more questions instead. “I understand she was living down in the boathouse.”

  Larissa’s eyes got wide again. “Oh, no! She was up at the house with Momma. The boathouse is an awful wreck. I remember playing down there when my brother and I were kids and it smelled so awful. Like seaweed. Ugh.” Her voluptuous figure shuddered inside the tank top and cutoffs.

  Judith wore her most innocent expression. “It’s not half-bad, really. Decent furniture, clean, sort of cozy. A man named Titus Teacher has been living there for awhile, t
oo.”

  Larissa wrinkled her nose. “Never heard of him. Maybe Momma hired him as a caretaker.” The idea seemed to strike Larissa after the fact. She turned to Donn Bobb. “A caretaker! That makes sense, right, Passion Chaps?”

  Donn Bobb roused himself from his somnolent state long enough to look puzzled. “Right, what?” He nudged her in the ribs. “Hey, Thunder Thighs, your auntie didn’t bring some fella back with her, did she? I thought she was all religious and holy.”

  Larissa frowned. “She was. She didn’t eat breakfast unless the Lord told her to make bacon or eggs.”

  “But no ham,” remarked Renie. She glared at Judith. “Are we out of ham because Christ was a Jew or because these stupid stores in Buccaneer Beach are only open for two hours a day?”

  The Limas gazed blankly at Renie. “Christ was a Christian,” Larissa said with a knowing smile. “That’s how it all got started.”

  Renie rolled her eyes and went back into the kitchen. Unlike Judith, she did not suffer fools gladly. Or at least with patience. More to the point, the refrigerator was not in the living room. Judith cast about for a leading question, but felt at a loss. The Limas weren’t exactly a fount of information.

  “You mentioned a brother?” she finally asked for want of a better line of inquiry.

  Larissa blinked. The long eyelashes might not have been false but the smeared dark lines etched on her eyelids were. “My brother? Oh—Augie!” Her crimson mouth turned down. “He’s a jerk. Do you know he came to town the other day from Idaho just to ask Momma for a loan? After all these years, not so much as a phone call let alone a visit to Momma, then he comes mooching around with his hand out. Why can’t he get a real job like Donn Bobb? Augie keeps saying it’s all because of the Eeeconnnomyyy.” She spun the word out as if it were a joke.

  Judith passed over Larissa’s impression of national stability. “He’s in Buccaneer Beach?”

  Larissa batted her eyelashes again. “Augie? Oh—yes, at a motel up the highway. He and Momma had a big fight. Seven years since they seen each other—imagine! Then they squabble. Augie’s wife is a snot. All she can think of is money. She never misses a chance to buy a lottery ticket, neither.” Larissa sniffed as if such desperate attempts at fiscal security were beneath contempt. “If,” she went on with a sly glance at Donn Bobb, “Augie and Amy could figure out what causes her to have babies, they might be able to save ten cents.” Larissa aimed her bosom at Donn Bobb’s upper arm. “We know, don’t we, Italian Scallion?”

  “Scallion?” echoed Renie, returning to the living room with a handful of carrot sticks and celery. “I should be so lucky. I could have made a salad. Say, coz,” she said pointedly, “don’t we have a lunch date?”

  Judith looked up. “Ah—well, yes, I thought we’d drive up the highway to that log cabin place with the fresh trout.” Renie beamed; Judith turned back to her guests. “I’m very sorry about your Aunt Leona. How is your mother taking it?”

  Larissa frowned, then looked at her husband. “Oh—sad, wouldn’t you say, Lethal Weapon? Donn Bobb doesn’t know Momma real well. It’s our first trip back home since we got married, so he just met her. But you have to figure,” she went on as both Limas got to their feet, “she can’t be happy her sister got murdered, right? But Momma isn’t much for sharing her feelings. She’s one to keep to herself, too much so, if you ask me. At least she’s finally come out of her shell lately, even got a beau. After Auntie died, I told Momma to let loose and just wallow around in grief like a pig in a trough.”

  Donn Bobb was nodding—or nodding off. Even though he was standing up, it was hard for Judith to tell. His long sandy hair all but covered his face. “I gather your mother has been a widow for some time?” Judith inquired.

  Larissa jostled her husband’s arm, making him twitch a bit. “Oh, yes, my daddy’s been gone quite a while. He passed on after I got out of high school and moved away. He got himself drowned when he was still pretty young. Well, fifty or so.” She didn’t notice the effect of her vague disclaimer on the cousins.

  “Very young,” asserted Judith with a steely smile. “I take it you’re staying with your mother up at the family home?”

  Larissa’s eyes roamed about the ceiling. “Well—in a way. We’re actually in the RV. We hauled it up behind the pickup. Along with the boat and the bikes.”

  The idea of so much rolling stock all on one highway made Judith’s head spin. Feeling inadequate to the task, she tried to pin Larissa down. “It must be nice for your mother to have company. Evenings get particularly lonely when you live by yourself. Do you play cards?” she asked, almost gagging on the word.

  “Cards?” Larissa glanced at Donn Bobb for help. None was forthcoming as Donn Bobb stared on. “No, none of us play. Like I said, Momma’s not real sociable. That chubby ol’ police chief must have done some powerful wooing to get her to go out with him. We just watch TV in the RV. Momma sews. Quiet, like.”

  “In the house?” Judith felt like gnashing her teeth.

  Larissa burst into laughter. “Oh! What did I say? TV in the RV! Oh! A poem! And you said Momma in the house! She could be in the yard! Sewing! Oh!”

  Judith leaned on the back of the rocker for support. “She could be, yes. And we must be…gone.” With effort, she started herding the Limas toward the back door. “We’re so sorry about your loss. Do give our condolences to your mother. And your brother. ’Bye.”

  Larissa’s laughter reached even gustier proportions, like a tsunami rolling in from the ocean. “Mother! Brother! Oh, my, you are a caution! Thanks for making me laugh! I needed that! Donn Bobb says I’m too serious!”

  Judith evinced amazement. “No! And all along I thought you were giddy!” Still maintaining an astonished expression, Judith firmly closed the door behind the Limas. She could have sworn she heard Donn Bobb snore.

  SIX

  “I’M NOT UP to this one,” insisted Judith after the cousins had taken off like a shot in the MG. “You’re right, these people are all nuts. Now we meet a loon with a baseball bat and a narcoleptic rodeo clown. What next, a tap-dancing tuna fish?”

  Renie, finding herself en route to a restaurant, was in a less frazzled humor than Judith. “Give yourself a break, coz, it wasn’t a complete bust. You found out there’s a brother. And a wife. You learned that while Alice Hoke was with Chief Clooney, the Limas can probably alibi each other. Besides, they’re too dumb to commit a murder. What we need is a suspect with an IQ higher than his or her body temperature.”

  Judith kept her eye on the road but her mind on Renie’s words. “I don’t know—it doesn’t take a nuclear physicist to wring somebody’s neck with a kite string. Titus Teacher doesn’t have an alibi. And we don’t know about Augie or Amy. ‘Nearest and dearest,’ that’s what Joe said, remember?”

  “Right, right.” Renie settled back in the bucket seat. “What we need is a motive. If Leona was a missionary, she probably didn’t have any money. I wish we knew who the young guy we saw her with was. He was just an outline through the window.”

  “He was a blur to me,” said Judith, picking up speed as they left Buccaneer Beach’s city limits. “At least I understand old Jake Beezle’s remark now. He said Alice Hoke never smiled, much less giggled. But Leona and Larissa certainly do. Did,” she amended in reference to the deceased. Judith glanced over at Renie. “I wonder if Jake knew Leona?”

  “Probably.” Renie leaned forward as she spotted a log structure up ahead on the right. “You can interrogate him when we go to the hospital this afternoon. Is that the restaurant?”

  It was indeed Larsen’s Log House, part of a complex that included a motel and a small gift shop, also built of logs. The parking lot, however, was full. Judith pulled in next door, which was another motel, but much older and in considerable disrepair. The sign that swung over the office entrance read “Anchors Aweigh Inn and Apartments—Weekly/Monthly Rates.”

  The rusting, battered car in the next space had Idaho plates. It also had two infant safet
y seats and many toys strewn about the ripped upholstery. Judith paused next to the MG. “We don’t have a reservation,” she noted with a gesture at the log cabin restaurant.

  “So?” Renie blinked at her cousin. “Even I can wait.”

  “So do it,” said Judith, trying not to look sly. “I’ve got to see a man about a murder. I think.”

  Renie finally noticed the car with its telltale plates. “Oh, coz, there must be a zillion people down here from Idaho. What makes you think this is Augie Hoke and Company?”

  Judith lifted her hands. “The state of the car. The kiddie stuff. The motel up the highway, or so Larissa said. I could be wrong, sure, but as long as we’re here…”

  “…I’m coming with you,” interjected Renie. “This place looks a bit seedy to me. I don’t want you to get caught in the middle of a drug bust. Joe would be really annoyed.”

  The fat man with a day-old beard behind the desk confirmed that a Mr. and Mrs. August Hoke were registered at Anchors Aweigh. He would not, however, give them the unit number or deliver a message until Judith explained that she was from the Oregon State Lottery Commission. Swatting at a pair of flies, the motel manager offered to get word to the Hokes.

  “Tell them to ask for Mrs. Flynn over at Larsen’s Log House. We’ll be lunching there before we head back to Salem.” Judith’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if the threat of their departure were imminent.

  The fib, Renie insisted, was the reason for the forty-five minute wait. “God is punishing you for such an outrage,” she said as they cooled their heels in the reception area off the main dining room. “But why me? I never tell tall tales like you do.”

  “They’re always in a good cause,” replied Judith, on the defensive. “Besides, I didn’t say they’d won the lottery, did I?”

  Renie gave a slight shrug. “They’d know it if they had, I guess. Unless they’re as dumb as Larissa and Donn Bobb. I don’t know much about it—I haven’t bought a lottery ticket at home in years.”