Dune to Death (17 page)

“They're a scream, if you ask me,” Renie remarked under her breath.

“What'd you say?” demanded Clooney.

“I said this is like a bad dream.” Renie gave him her middle-aged ingenue's smile.

Mollified, Clooney waited for a serious answer. Judith repeated her account of seeing Titus Teacher in the carport, adding that it had been about five or ten minutes after eight at the time. He had driven away in a black van. “Alice Hoke saw him, too. She was at Pirate's Lair. In fact, he was supposed to give her a ride home.”

“Aha!” Neil Clooney jumped on the idea. “So Teacher was in such a hurry to meet his killer that he ran off without Alice!” He rubbed his hands together and gave the sheriff a sly look out of his porcine eyes. “Now we're getting somewhere. At least
I
am.”

Behind them, a couple of policemen and a pair of deputies were arguing over whose crime scene tape would go up around the boathouse. Obviously, the animosity between Clooney and Eldritch carried down through the ranks. The matter was settled when one of the deputies took a swing at one of the policemen, while the other two exchanged swift kicks. Both sets of tape were applied.

Ignoring the commotion as if it were the norm, Eldritch fingered his long chin. “Teacher's killer must have been
waiting for him in the boathouse. Of course we'll assume that whoever killed him, also murdered Leona Ogilvie.”

“Assume!” cried Clooney. “Real homicide investigators never assume anything! It could be a copycat killing!”

“Then why wasn't Teacher strangled with a kite string, you fathead?”

“Because there was no kite in the boathouse! If you'd move those lazy bones of yours and look around the place, you'd know that, you nincompoop!”

Judith was beginning to feel that the cousins' presence was superfluous. However, she decided to make one last attempt in the name of reason. And logic.

“Wait—let me get something straight.” She had to pause for a moment until the jangling died down and the two law enforcement officials finally turned their attention back to her. “Somebody said they saw Titus Teacher go into the boathouse. But nobody saw anyone else go in. Or, apparently, come out. Is that true?”

Clooney gave Judith a patronizing look. “Hey, don't set any store by what all these people say. Half of 'em are tanked up on beer or spaced out on dope. Even if they weren't, who'd notice much of anything with all the fireworks and bikes and stuff? Hell, there was even a volleyball game going on about twenty yards away.”

Judith had to admit to herself that Clooney had a point. It was probably remarkable that Terrence O'Toole had found anyone who actually remembered seeing Titus enter the boathouse. Still, the police chief's glib dismissal of her query bothered Judith a bit.

“I don't suppose,” said Judith, taking another tack, “you can fix the time of death exactly?”

Eldritch took his turn at answering. “That's always iffy. We won't hear from the county coroner until some time tomorrow, probably.” He slapped his thigh. “Hey—tomorrow's a Saturday! The county offices are closed.”

“Of course,” murmured Renie. “You mean,” she asked in a louder voice, “your county officials aren't on standby in case of an emergency?”

Eldritch looked faintly sheepish. “It depends. How do you define ‘emergency'?”

Renie gave up, swerving on her heel and shaking her head. Clooney interjected his own theory into the discussion. “Who needs a sawbones to figure out the time anyway? He can dig out the bullet and do all that ballistics-forensics stuff, but we—I—got it pinpointed.” He shot Eldritch a self-satisfied look.

“Oh, yeah?” countered the sheriff. “So do I.” He glanced at Judith. “What did you say? Eight-fifteen? Eight-twenty, you saw Titus Teacher at the beach cottage?”

Judith suppressed a little sigh. “Between five and ten after eight. Let's say Titus drove the van over to the motel. I have a feeling he got permission to park there and use their tram because of his bad leg. Unless, of course, the van is down by the road next to that big modern-looking house on the point. He could have walked from there. Either way, he would have been back to the boathouse in ten minutes, less if he took the tram. If you know what time the teenagers heard the shot, you can easily establish when Titus was killed. My guess is somewhere between eight-ten and eight-twenty.”

Clooney was consulting his notes. “My God, she's right! One of those kids said it was eight-sixteen when they saw the body through the window, according to his digital watch. He reads those stupid detective novels, and felt he ought to check the time.”

Judith nodded in a faintly forbearing manner. “The next step is to find out who the dead man is. He seems to be a bit of a mystery, doesn't he?”

Clooney's snoutlike nose wrinkled. “Mystery? He was Alice's caretaker. What's so mysterious about that?”

Judith pressed the police chief. “For how long?”

Clooney shrugged. “As long as we've been going together. A month or so.”

“What did he do before that?” asked Judith, who noted that Renie had wandered off toward the incoming tide, apparently fed up with the law enforcement chiefs.

Clooney and Eldritch exchanged glances, indicative of both men's reluctance to admit they didn't know.

“Millwork, probably,” said Clooney.

“Commercial fisherman,” said Eldritch.

Judith decided that Renie was right; there wasn't any more to be learned from the police chief and the sheriff. “I'd dig a little deeper into his background, if I were you. Titus Teacher seems to have surfaced from nowhere.”

“A lot of people around here do that,” replied Clooney, on the defensive. “It's a way of life here on the coast. People keep heading west, and eventually they have to stop. Or they end up out there.” He gestured toward the ocean, where Renie was standing with her sandaled feel halfway in the water.

“Yes,” said Judith, trying to control her impatience. “I'm a native Pacific Northwesterner. I know all about the frontier and drifters and such. But this is also a part of the world where people who are on the run have nowhere else to go.” She remembered that Woody Price had not found Titus in his data base of perpetrators. “It's very likely that Titus Teacher isn't his real name.”

Clooney threw up his hands. “Oh, bull! Come on, lady, enough's enough! Where do you get off trying to tell us how to run this show?”

Judith was on the verge of blurting out the truth when Eldritch broke in. “Clooney's right, this isn't any of your business. You don't even live in Buccaneer Beach. It's bad enough to get all these Californians coming up here telling us how to run our town, but now we get you people down from…”

Judith held up her hands. “Okay, okay.” It seemed that the one thing the sheriff and the police chief could agree on was that she was a meddling pain in the neck. “I'm sorry, I got carried away.” She gave both men a self-deprecating smile. “It's just that my cousin and I found the first body in our living room. Now we've got one in what is technically our boathouse. It's terribly upsetting for a pair of women on their own in a strange place. I'm sure
you understand. After all, there is a killer loose, and we're utterly defenseless.”

Both men visibly softened. “Yeah,” agreed Clooney, “it's rough being the weaker sex, I suppose. No man to protect you.”

“Maybe,” offered Eldritch, “we should send somebody to watch the house.”

Although she knew Joe would approve, the last thing Judith wanted was a bumbling deputy or inept policeman to hover over every move she and Renie made during the next twenty-four hours. “That's very kind,” said Judith, trying to look suitably helpless. “But won't you have to pay them overtime? It
is
the weekend.”

The sheriff rubbed at his chin. “I'd better check that out.”

“I'll get back to you on that,” promised the police chief, starting to shuffle away. “Got to catch that radio message.”

“Hey!” shouted Eldritch. “That's
my
radio message!” His long strides swiftly caught up with Clooney.

Renie had strolled back toward the boathouse. She glanced over at the law enforcement officials and grinned at Judith. The cousins left them arguing on the sands.

 

“What are you looking for this time?” Renie asked in exasperation as Judith attacked another packing crate in the carport. They had just returned from the beach, making a detour to verify Judith's guess about the black van. It was in the motel lot, all right, parked in a stall near the office. The evening desk clerk was a young Hispanic man with large ears and perfect teeth. He had not seen Titus Teacher go through the lobby that evening, but confirmed the dead man's use of the tram. The motel didn't usually make exceptions, the clerk explained, but the staff was sensitive to the needs of the handicapped. Besides, he added, they understood he was going to be around for only a few weeks. Judith had given the young man a grateful—and enlightened—smile.

“This stuff's been rearranged,” said Judith to Renie, as
she lifted the top off one of the boxes. “Again. I want to see what's inside the ones toward the back.”

In order to get at the cartons that were up against the carport wall, Judith had had to back out the MG. The boxes of bedding and dishes had been pulled away to make a path. Judith stood on her tiptoes, feeling inside the crate. “Clothes, I think.” She hauled out a man's gray flannel shirt, a pair of brown trousers, and a dark blue pullover. She examined the tags, holding them under the carport light. “Made in West Germany. It figures.” She put the garments back in the carton.

“Do you also figure that the owner is dead?” asked Renie, helping Judith shove the other boxes back into place.

“I'm afraid so,” said Judith, tripping over what she presumed was a rough place in the carport floor. “It's after ten. Too late to call on anybody, I suppose. Let me put the car back inside.”

Five minutes later, Judith and Renie were in the living room. Having had their fill of iced tea for the season, Judith poured a scotch for herself and a bourbon for Renie. “If Alice Hoke has been living in Liechtenstein for the past several years, she wasn't alone,” Judith declared. “I'll bet anything she was with Titus Teacher.”

“Who,” Renie offered, “isn't really Titus Teacher at all, but…?” The word dangled between the cousins.

Over the rim of her glass, Judith gazed intently at Renie. “Don't hit me, coz. It's only a guess. How about Race Doyle?”

Somewhat to Judith's surprise, Renie merely nodded. “The late Race Doyle.” She raised her glass.
“Requiescat in pace.”

“Amen,” said Judith.

J
OE
'
S SURGEON
, D
R
. Scott, had conferred with his peers and come to the decision that the patient should not be moved for at least one more day. “Everything's coming along very well,” said Dr. Lundgren, relaying the message to Judith. “Dr. Scott is very pleased. It sounds as if Monday would be the latest that your husband will be released. Naturally, we can't make promises…”

Judith let the intern run on with his medical sops. She and Renie were in the visitors' waiting room, since Joe had not yet returned from wherever Dr. Scott had taken him. After Lundgren departed, Renie showed some signs of agitation.

“Gee, coz,” she fretted, “Bill's coming home tomorrow. And although the Franciscan monks may have all the patience of St. Francis, Maestro Dunkowitz will flip his toupee if I don't get going on that symphony job. Guilt has started sneaking up on me. I really should head back tomorrow morning.”

“Tomorrow?” Judith gaped at Renie. “You can't! We don't have a killer yet! Heck, we don't even have a motive!”

Slumping in the imitation leather chair, Renie sighed. “I bought an open-ended round-trip ticket. The train stops in Salem around noon. I can get home by early evening. You and Joe wouldn't have room for me in the MG anyway.”

That thought had never occurred to Judith. She was used to her four-passenger Japanese compact. And she wasn't accustomed to including a husband in her driving plans. Judith gave her cousin a forlorn look. “Great. Left all alone, I'll probably get murdered and you'll have to read about it in a badly-written story by Terrence O'Toole.”

“At least we've got the rest of today,” Renie pointed out.

Judith was still wearing a disheartened expression. “Right.” Slowly, she got to her feet. “Let's make the most of it. We'd better see if Joe is back in his room.”

He was, looking as down in the mouth as Judith. Jake Beezle, on the other hand, was dressed and raring to go. “I'm outta this joint,” he announced, leaning on his crutches and showing off a pair of brand new overalls. He was shirtless, but had tied a red and white kerchief around his scrawny neck. “I hear you two found another stiff.”

“Some teenagers found him,” said Judith in an uncharacteristically lackluster voice. She turned to Joe. “Renie's abandoning me. She's going home tomorrow.”

Joe looked unconcerned. “So? We'll probably be heading that way the day after. You'll have to drive. Just don't let it drop under eighty on the freeway.”

“But…” Judith started to protest.

“Hold it.” Joe put up a hand. “When I get out of this hospital, we're getting out of town. I've had enough of Buccaneer Beach. It's even possible we can leave tomorrow, too. Forget the murders. In fact,” he continued, his round face hardening, “after this last one, I want you both to back off. This killer is utterly ruthless. I mean it, Jude-girl.”

There was no brooking Joe's argument. Judith actually flinched at the stern expression in those green eyes. Indeed, the gold flecks sparked like flame. It had been a
long time since Judith had felt her will thwarted by anyone. Except Gertrude, of course. She turned uncommonly meek.

“Okay, Joe,” she mumbled. “We'll concentrate on finding the treasure.”

“Skip that, too,” ordered Joe. “Unless you mean this year's festival prize. That ought to be safe enough.”

A nurse, whom Judith had never see before and who actually weighed under three hundred pounds, pushed a wheelchair into the room. Obviously, it was time for Jake to leave. Getting settled into the chair, Jake gave the cousins a big grin.

“I'd ask you over for some cards tonight, but I already got company coming,” he said with a wink. Jake lowered his voice. “Mrs. Wampole gets out today, too.” He made a clicking noise with his tongue.

“That's wonderful,” said Judith, trying to stir up enthusiasm. “Does she play poker?”

Jake shook his head. “Naw, she's another one of them bridge fiends, like you two. That's one game I want no part of. All that counting points and bidding back and forth and crazy scoring above and below the line. It's the only kind of cards I know where your nearest and dearest will try to stomp in your skull for making an honest mistake. Seems to me everybody's got to be a dummy to play that game.” He lifted a bony white arm. “See ya in the funny papers. I've had a good time, but this wasn't one of 'em. Ha-ha!” Jake rolled out of the room, calling down the hall to Mrs. Wampole.

“I hope he'll be all right,” said Judith. “I worry about him. He's really quite frail. And old.”

“He's not frail, he's just sort of stringy,” said Joe. “Sinew, and all that. But he
is
old.” Joe's face had softened.

Renie stepped out of the way as an orderly came in to strip Jake's bed. “Should we ask him to visit us and introduce him to our mothers?” Her brown eyes danced.

Joe shook his head and grinned. “Jake doesn't deserve that. All things considered, he was a pretty good room
mate.” His gaze shifted back to Judith. “As a matter of fact, he invited us to come back down here some time and stay with him.”

Echoing Judith's feelings about Jake's home, Renie shuddered. “Oh, good grief, I can imagine what his place is like! Some run-down hovel with a one-holer out back and a woodburning stove. Or maybe just a hot-plate…” She, too, gazed at Judith.

But Judith wasn't gazing back. Rather, she was staring beyond them in the direction of the window. Suddenly, she jumped and snapped her fingers. “That's it! Bridge!”

Her cousin and her husband stared. “What's what?” asked Joe.

Judith was animated now, pacing the small open space of the hospital room. The orderly was finishing up, and Judith waited for him to leave. “The map,” she said at last, sitting down on the edge of the chair next to Joe's bed and digging the scrap of paper from her purse. “The four aces and kings and all the rest, In bridge, they add up to forty. The hundred—I still can't see this very well, but it's probably not a broken
m
, but a double
r
. For railroad,” she explained quickly. “A hundred miles of railroad, that's a card-playing term, too, for tens. So we get one hundred forty, which happens to be the number of stairs leading down from Pirate's Lair. The part about the bridge referred to the game, not a place. And to its rules.” Judith waited for comments from Renie and Joe, but both were still looking puzzled. “Don't you see—this map isn't really that old. Bridge wasn't popular until after World War I. I'll bet this is a map from one of the previous Freebooters' Festivals, maybe the same year as the newspaper that was under the rug.”

Renie groaned. “All this fuss over some meaningless Chamber of Commerce promotion! What a waste of time!”

Judith, however, didn't agree. “I think it's worth checking out. It's too bad we don't have the rest of it—we're sort of stuck after we get to the bottom of the stairs. Unless…” Her voice trailed off, but her black eyes gleamed, then suddenly snapped. She grabbed Joe's arm.
“You knew this all along, didn't you? You rat! You purposely misled us!” She gave him a sharp shake, rattling his pulleys.

“Hey, watch it, Jude-girl!” He wore his most ingenuous expression. “It doesn't take a homicide detective to figure out they wouldn't have had a bridge around this coast back in 1706 or whatever. Who do you think was in charge of Public Works around here, Sir Isaac Newton?”

Chagrined, Judith let go of her husband and gave Renie a vexed look. Renie was muttering to herself, something about coastal tribes and temporary footbridges. It didn't sound very convincing.

“Okay, okay,” allowed Judith, still annoyed at Joe's subterfuge. “So what did you find out about Alice and Leona's travel arrivals?”

Joe wore a bland expression. “Nothing. They'll get back to me after the weekend.” Judith started to look more than just annoyed, but kept her temper in check. She could hardly blame Joe for wanting to protect her. He gave her fingers a tight, almost painful squeeze. “Hey—what did I tell you from the start about backing off this case? Go look for your treasure chest, or whatever. That's harmless enough. Everybody else in town will be out there searching, too.”

“Okay, Joe,” Judith murmured, her eyes cast down. She stood up and blew him a kiss.

 

“Gee, coz,” said Renie as they made their way down the hospital corridor, “Joe sure has your number.”

“Right,” said Judith. “He knows me better than anyone. Except you.”

“I guess,” mused Renie. “So what do we do now?”

“Figure out the rest of the map,” replied Judith as they got into the elevator.

“Oh.” Renie sounded disappointed. “But if it's from seven years ago, there won't be anything there now.”

Judith gazed complacently up at the elevator ceiling as the car glided smoothly to the main floor. “I think otherwise. Besides,” she went on as they exited into the hospital
lobby, “I intend to find more than two free dinners at a local drive-in. We, dear coz, are about to find a motive—and thus, a murderer.”

Renie stopped in her tracks. “But, coz—I thought you promised Joe…”

Judith looked back over her shoulder. “Did I say that? Did you hear me give a promise? Well?”

Renie grinned and ran to catch up with her cousin. “No, of course not. Jeez, you had me scared there for a minute. I thought Joe really did have your number.”

“He does,” replied Judith. “He just doesn't realize
which
number—in this case it's three million.”

 

It was only 10:00
A
.
M
., but the beach below Pirate's Lair was already swarming with treasure seekers. Armed with shovels, axes, metal detectors, and even portable computers, the tourists appeared to have been joined by a large number of locals as well. As Terrence O'Toole had predicted, a few were indeed dressed in pirate garb, looking more like overaged Trick-or-Treaters than Independence Day revelers. One man even had a live parrot on his shoulder; another trailed a small kite which was emblazoned with a Jolly Roger; various pirate wenches trod the sands in flowing skirts and skimpy tops of a motley hue. The only empty spot on the sand was the area immediately adjacent to the boathouse, where a deputy sheriff and police patrolman stood duty. Obviously, the death of Titus Teacher had done nothing to daunt the treasure buffs.

The cousins already had encountered several people trooping through the yard of the beach cottage, headed for the long staircase. Efforts to discourage the intruders had been in vain. Consequently, Judith and Renie found themselves descending the steps with half a dozen others, including a Japanese family of four and a pair of young lovers holding hands.

“Now what?” asked Renie when they got to the beach and found themselves virtually surrounded by the milling crowd.

Judith looked above several shorter heads, to the stair-
case itself, which was one of the few unpopulated areas in the vicinity. “Let's see the back of this year's map. I'll bet that in the past, the treasure was hidden under the steps.”

Judith was right. Seven summers ago, the winner had found the stash of free dinners, discount coupons, and dune buggy rentals somewhere behind the staircase. Since the description wasn't precise, Judith and Renie approached with some uncertainty. At ground level, the open space between the bluff and the stairs was about eight feet wide. At the foot of the bluff, boulders had been piled some fifteen feet high to prevent slides. Further up, a vast network of heavy-duty chicken wire took over to hold the rest of the bluff in place.

“Rocks or sand?” Judith posed the question, leaning on the handle of her shovel.

Renie surveyed both possibilities. “With all the dogs around here, I'd say burying something really valuable wouldn't be such a good idea. Let's try the rocks.”

The cousins did, attempting to dislodge any loose boulders. After a quarter of an hour, they gave up. “It's been seven years,” said Judith, out of breath and already getting too warm in the morning sun. “These things have settled, or something. Let's dig in the sand.”

They concentrated on the area in back of the stairs. This far up on the beach, where the waves reached only during wild winter storms, the sand was soft and dry, but not particularly easy to work. The cousins, who had one shovel between them, took turns, giving half-witted smiles to treasure seekers who called to tell them that they were searching in an out-of-bounds area. At one point, the sheriff's deputy strolled over to ask why they were digging in a site that had been already used. Judith told them she'd lost her Miraculous Medal.

“Frankly,” said Renie, huffing and puffing, “it'll be a miracle if we find anything. Maybe we should borrow one of those metal detectors.” She gave one last desultory lunge; the shovel clanked against something hard. Both cousins got down on their stomachs and began to scoop out the hole with their bare hands.

“Oh, boy,” breathed Judith, as the outline of a strongbox emerged. She turned her smudged face to Renie and grinned weakly. “We did it, coz.” Angling her arm down in the hole, she grasped the catch. It was locked. “It figures,” said Judith, then tried to move the box. It wouldn't budge. The cousins stared at each other.

“You really think there's three million bucks in there?” asked Renie in a hoarse voice.

Judith nodded. “Or the equivalent thereof. She scrambled up on her knees, surveying the hordes of treasure hunters roaming the beach. “If any of those folks knew what we had here, they'd stampede us like a herd of water buffalo. I'm not sure we can lift this without help. We should Do the Right Thing and turn it over to the police. And the sheriff. But they'd fight over it, and we'd have to stand here in the hot sun with sand in our teeth and listen to them argue.”