Dune to Death

by Mary Daheim

  Alice stepped briskly up to Judith, gesturing with the .45. “Move closer to the bank. This farce has gone on long enough.”

  “That’s what Leona said, I’ll bet,” retorted Judith.

  What little color Alice possessed had drained from her thin face. “I couldn’t have killed Leona. I was with the chief of police. You’re not just a meddler, you’re a fool, Mrs. Flynn.”

  “You set Neil Clooney up, too,” said Judith, aware that her mouth had gone quite dry. “You must have known within the first few days of your return that you had to get rid of Leona. So you started courting the police chief for your perfect alibi. You invited him down to the boathouse and then went into the kitchen and pretended to bake for him. You turned on that portable mixer and the oven in the stove. If he spoke to you, you could always use the excuse that you couldn’t hear him over the mixer. But of course you weren’t there—you’d slipped out through the secret passage up to the house where you killed your sister. It wouldn’t take more than five minutes. That’s why those boxes were removed and replaced—so you could get in and out of the trapdoor. They were covering it up in the carport floor. I even tripped over the damned thing and didn’t notice. We must have dislodged the false covering on the trapdoor when we blew the lock off the strongbox. But you had it so carefully planned. You came back to the boathouse, zapped a baking mix in the microwave, and never used the oven. That dense chief of police didn’t even suspect you were gone.”

  Dense, Judith thought with a shiver, and slow. Where was Clooney? And Eldritch? She turned her head just enough to get her bearings. The mist had subsided to a drizzle. A hundred yards away, she could see the road that led up to the highway. But there were no headlights showing through the trees. Judith cursed the law enforcement officials of Buccaneer Beach and Juniper County.

  “You played a variation of the same trick on us last night,” Judith continued as she heard Alice release the safety on the .45. “You sent my cousin and me off on a wild-goose chase for Leona’s jewelry while you went out to the carport. You slipped down the passage—you probably had put the gun there beforehand—and shot your husband. I noticed you were out of breath when you came back into the house, but I didn’t understand the reason at the time. I’m not exactly sure why you killed Bernie, unless you wanted the money all for yourself or you feared his newly-found son was going to screw everything up, but…”

  “Shut up!” commanded Alice. “Thirty years of hell with that man, tied to him by money! Who wouldn’t want to shoot the tightfisted clod? The cheese factory was mine; I sold the property. Then he set up an account in Liechtenstein that I couldn’t sign on, and transferred my money into it! I was no more than chattel! I never wanted to spend my life in this dumpy little town! I wanted to go away to college and become something! But I ended up stuck with him, first in Buccaneer Beach, and then in Liechtenstein, for God’s sake! Next, it would have been some bug-riddled island in the Caribbean! I hated the man! How would you like to spend most of your life with some wretched creep who made you miserable?”

  Judith’s quiet answer took Alice by surprise. “I did. He’s dead, too.”

  The startled response was just enough to allow Judith to take off like a streak for the road. Behind her, Alice was screaming at her to stop. Judith kept going. To her dismay, there were still no signs of emergency vehicles coming from the highway. Judith ran until she thought her lungs would burst. The outline of the modern house on the point caught her frantic eye. To her amazement, there was a light on. Solar energy. She remembered seeing the telltale glass domes in the roof.

  Alice was pounding up behind her. Judith had reached the garden of the house which was enclosed by a wrought iron fence. Summoning up her last breath, she called out in a desperate gasp.

  “Help!” A bullet whizzed by her head.

  Above her, on the deck of the house where she thought she had noticed a hot tub earlier, a man stood up under the soft beam of a light encased in a ship’s lantern. He was naked as a jaybird. Judith, clinging to the wrought iron, stared incredulously. A second bullet seared her arm, sending her flat against the fence. She could hear Alice coming closer, still raining down wild curses.

  The naked man on the deck picked up a .22, aimed, and fired. Alice’s screams stopped. Slowly, painfully, Judith turned, still hanging onto the iron fence with her good hand. Alice Hoke was lying flat on her back, not twenty feet away. Blinking away hot tears, Judith gazed at her savior and tried to squeak out her gratitude. The man with the rifle waved. Judith’s eyes had not deceived her.

  It was Jake Beezle.

  The lights of Buccaneer Beach went on, but for Judith, everything, including Jake’s handsome solar-powered house, turned black.

  SEVENTEEN

  “AT LEAST YOU don’t have to share a hospital room with Alice Hoke,” said Joe, leaning on his crutches. “They took her into Salem. It was touch and go, but she’ll probably pull through.”

  “A mixed blessing,” commented Judith, lying back in the bed. Renie, who had arrived first, commanded the window view. Her foot was propped up on a pillow, the ankle wrapped in a thick brown bandage. Judith gingerly touched the dressing on her arm. “I’m lucky it was only a graze. I was sure Alice would blow me away.”

  “You’re lucky Jake Beezle was out in his hot tub. Mrs. Wampole had just left after a rousing evening of…something.” Joe rolled his eyes. “Jake keeps that .22 handy so he can scare off the sea gulls. He told me they make a real mess of his deck.”

  Judith reached for a glass of water. Her mouth still felt parched. It was not quite seven in the morning, a bright summer day, with a glorious sunrise that had followed the storm. “Why didn’t you tell me Jake lived in that beautiful house?” she demanded of her husband.

  Joe set the crutches down and carefully sat on one of the visitor’s chairs. “I didn’t know it then, either. I mean, I knew he lived some place by the beach, but like you and Renie, I assumed it was an old dump.” He chuckled. “Remember that packing house Jake said he worked in? It turns out he owned it—Jake started out as a pig farmer and eventually built himself a little empire. He’s a rich man. That couple he talked about watching out for him are his cook and his gardener.”

  “Jeez,” exclaimed Renie, propping herself up on one elbow, “don’t tell us Bernie Hoke built that house!”

  But Joe shook his head. “It was an architect from Portland. Jake never trusted Bernie Hoke. I guess he had a good reason.”

  “He sure did,” agreed Judith. “Bernie was a crook. So was Alice. They deserved each other, I suppose.” She gave a weary sigh. “Good grief, what a night!”

  Neil Clooney and Josh Eldritch had showed up less than two minutes after Jake Beezle had downed Alice Hoke with his .22. Judith had regained consciousness just as Jake, now modestly attired in a towel, had come down to unlock the gate and bring her inside. They had gotten as far as the fountain in the courtyard when the sheriff and the chief of police had arrived simultaneously from opposite directions—and rammed right into each other. Arguments had ensued about who owed whom for vehicular damages, but eventually they had settled down to business. Although Judith never found out for sure, she suspected that the near-fatal delay in their arrival probably had been caused by yet another dispute between the two law enforcement officials.

  Terrence O’Toole had accompanied Renie to the hospital where Dr. Scott had X rays taken to determine that she had suffered a severe sprain. Terrence had intended to escort Renie back to the beach cottage, but when Judith showed up a few minutes later with her gunshot wound, the cousins decided they might as well make a night of it—if the hospital could accommodate them. Judith had related her conclusions to a skeptical sheriff and an embarrassed police chief. Neither had wanted to believe her, but Terrence insisted on showing them the secret passage. The young reporter was in a state of excitement as great as the size of the typeface he expected to see on the front page of the Bugler’s next edition.

  “I’ll make the AP
wire!” he crowed. “I could do a magazine piece! I might write a made-for-TV movie! Wowee, I really like being a member of the press!” He had danced down the hospital corridor, colliding with two nurses, an orderly, and a medication cart.

  But that had happened shortly before midnight. Judith and Renie had each gotten about six hours sleep after being admitted to the hospital and treated by the staff. Dr. Lundgren, who had been called in to help Dr. Scott take care of a number of broken bones caused by the storm and the general holiday festivities, had told all three patients that they could be discharged by ten o’clock Sunday morning. But Joe couldn’t drive, and Judith was advised to wait a day before getting behind the wheel. They decided not to return to Pirate’s Lair, but to accept Jake’s invitation to spend the night.

  Renie, however, was determined to take the noon train from Salem. Terrence would drive her to the depot, she said, since he wanted to see what was going on with Alice in order to fill in some gaps in his story.

  The aroma of breakfast was filling the hospital halls. Renie perked up, while Joe informed one of the nurses that he would be eating in his wife’s room this morning. The trays had just arrived when Neil Clooney and Josh Eldritch came through the door.

  “We saw that damned passage,” grumbled Clooney, parking his large carcass in the remaining visitor’s chair. He glared up at Eldritch. “I’m from Milton-Freewater; I don’t know the history of this place, but you should have been wise to that bootlegging stuff, Eldritch.”

  “It was before my time,” said the sheriff, settling in on the windowsill and gazing covetously at Renie’s breakfast. “I suppose Bernie Hoke found it when he tore down the tavern. He must have thought it would be cute to have a secret way down to the beach.”

  “Probably used it for his girlfriends,” said Clooney. “That’s another thing, you should have known what a louse Bernie was. You grew up with him.”

  “Oh, no,” retorted Eldritch. “He was five years ahead of me in school. I hardly knew him. But you bragged about how you knew Alice. What a crock! The police chief, cozying up to a murderess!” Throwing back his head, Eldritch roared with mirth.

  “Stick it,” snarled Clooney. “Women are always going around deceiving men; it’s the way it is. Look at that Scottish guy in Shakespeare and that homicidal wife of his. Or Samson and Delilah. I’m not the first guy to get fooled by a female. Who was the broad in the Bible who suckered some poor sap into her tent and cut off his head?”

  Joe looked up from his Cream of Wheat. “Judith.”

  Clooney and Eldritch looked at Mrs. Joe Flynn. “Huh?” they said in chorus.

  “Her name was Judith,” Joe said mildly. “She beheaded Holofernes. The Judiths of this world have minds of their own.” The green eyes flashed gold sparks at his wife.

  “Maybe so,” allowed Clooney, getting up and strutting around the room. “But I’ll tell you, this case may not stand up in court. Face it, there’s not much physical evidence. Even with that bullet and the gun, there’s no proof that Alice was the one who shot Bernie. I’ve a feeling that in a day or two, we may have to drop the charges.”

  Judith, Joe, and Renie stared at Clooney. Even Eldritch looked a little put off, before he shook a long finger at his counterpart. “Hey—Clooney, you aren’t trying to get yourself off the hook, are you? Could it be that you don’t want to look like a goat in court?”

  Clooney held both hands up in front of him. “Don’t get me wrong. We got an incredible story and only circumstantial evidence. Prosecutors don’t like that.”

  “I think you can build a solid case.” Joe spoke quietly over the rim of his apple juice glass.

  The police chief snorted; even Eldritch gave Joe a faintly scornful look. Joe swallowed his juice and eyed each man in turn. “As you said, you’ve got the gun and the bullet. You’ll find footprints that match Alice’s in the passageway. You’ve got a key to a safety-deposit box that contains three million dollars. You’ve got bloodstained seat covers. And,” he added, his voice now rising, “according to my wife, you’ll find Race Doyle’s body under the kitchen floor in the old boathouse. What else do you want—a freaking diagram?”

  Startled, Eldritch jumped up from the windowsill. “Okay, okay, we’ll check it out. Don’t get all worked up, it isn’t your problem.”

  Clooney’s face had turned quite red. “It sure as hell isn’t. Listen, fella, don’t tell us how to do our job. It’s enough that we had Mrs. Flynn driving us crazy during this investigation. It’s a wonder she didn’t get herself killed. You outsiders don’t know what a policeman’s job is like. Butt out, Mr. Flynn.”

  Joe inclined his head in a seemingly acquiescent manner. Eldritch had joined Clooney at the door. They were about to stomp off when Joe spoke once more, “Hey, guys—you’re going to want witnesses. So make that Lieutenant Flynn. Homicide Division, metro police. See you in court.”

  The sheriff and the police chief gaped, then fell all over each other trying to get out the door.

  “I told you, Clooney, there was something about him that made me wonder if he…”

  “Listen, Eldritch, if you didn’t think I could smell another cop from a mile away…”

  They exited arguing.

  By nine o’clock, Judith and Renie were ready to leave. Joe was waiting for a final word from Dr. Lundgren who was still on duty. As the cousins bided their time, Judith remembered to call Gertrude to tell her they wouldn’t be home until the following night.

  “I’ll also tell her to let your mother know you’ll be in this evening,” said Judith, dialing for an outside line. “But I’m certainly not going to tell her I got shot. I don’t think I’ll even mention that you sprained your ankle.”

  “Hopefully, it’ll be okay in a few days so I can take my mother to see Dr. Clapp,” said Renie.

  The hospital operator told Judith that all the toll lines were tied up. “There probably aren’t more than two around here,” said Judith in disgust, putting the phone down. “Gee, coz, it doesn’t seem possible that by tomorrow night, we’ll all be home. The rest of the summer should be peaceful by comparison. Except for Joe’s being on crutches and the horde of guests at the B&B.”

  “You’re used to that,” Renie remarked with a little smile. “Joe isn’t, though. But after police work, a bunch of innocent out-of-towners shouldn’t bother him too much.”

  “Right,” Judith agreed. “And we’ll have the whole third floor all to ourselves, with Mother gone and Mike away in Montana.” She gave a little shiver of pleasure. “Really, in some ways it will seem more like a honeymoon than this trip to Buccaneer Beach.”

  “That’s for sure,” agreed Renie. “You two really deserve it after all you’ve been through.”

  “Still,” Judith admitted, “this town would be a nice vacation spot if you could avoid the dead bodies. I wonder what will happen to all that money in the safety-deposit box.”

  Renie shrugged. “It really belongs to Alice, of course. I suppose the creditors will get their share, some will go for her defense, and—if there’s any justice—her kids will get the rest.”

  “That,” Judith declared, trying the phone again, “would be wonderful. Especially for Augie and Amy. Somehow, I feel Donn Bobb and Larissa can fend for themselves.”

  “What a group,” remarked Renie. “In a way, I’m sorry we’re going to miss the big parade today.”

  Judith held up a hand; she’d been put through to long distance. As usual, Aunt Deb answered the phone. After explaining that Renie was in the bathroom and wouldn’t be out for a very long time, she asked for Gertrude. Aunt Deb reluctantly surrendered the phone to her sister-in-law.

  “You still gallivanting around on that stupid beach?” Gertrude rasped. “Why don’t you put that rotten egg of an Irishman in a plastic sack and ship him home C.O.D.?”

  “We’re driving back tomorrow, Mother,” said Judith, keeping a rein on her patience. “Renie will be in tonight on the train. She’s taking a cab from the station.”

>   “A cab!” Gertrude was aghast. “Do you know what those taxis charge these days? Why doesn’t she just buy a new car and be done with it?”

  Judith didn’t bother to argue; she was used to her mother’s pre-World War II views on prices. “Joe and I are going to be staying at a friend’s tonight. Our lease on the beach cottage ran out this morning. Let me give you the phone number at Jake Beezle’s.”

  “A friend’s? You don’t have any friend in Buccaneer Beach. Did you and that silly Serena pick up some lowlife on the beach?”

  “Never mind, Mother. In fact, you’d like Mr. Beezle. He plays cards.”

  Gertrude emitted a little snort that passed for mild interest. “He does, huh?” She paused. The snort turned into a growl. “He sounds like a good person.” The growl wasn’t coming from Gertrude. “What kind of cards?”

  “Mother,” said Judith sharply, “what was that noise?”

  “What? Probably my stomach. Your aunt is trying to starve me. We had milk toast for breakfast.”

  Judith heard the uncomely sound again. “No, Mother,” she said firmly. “It’s not your stomach. What is it?”

  Gertrude hesitated, then blurted out the truth: “Your ugly cat, what else? He’s trying to eat my housecoat.”

  Judith caught Renie’s glance. “Sweetums? Where did he come from? Is he okay?”

  “Of course he’s okay,” replied Gertrude. “Why wouldn’t the horrible creature be okay?” She chortled under her breath. “There, kitty, go climb on Debby’s lap for a change. Claw, kitty, claw.”

  “How long has he been there?” Judith demanded, as Renie leaned forward to see if she could catch any of the conversation at the other end.

  “How long?” Gertrude was annoyingly vague. “Oh—four, five days. He followed me over to Deb’s. Even a mangy cat knows who belongs where. I figure he was trying to tell me to come home.”