Renie simmered down. "Well . . . I suppose if you said you think Blanche is the killer, I'd agree."

"Okay," Judith said, looking chagrined, "that's what I think."

"Oh, no." Renie staggered over to the sofa and collapsed. "I'm not sure I want to ask any more questions."

Judith rested a hand on the sofa arm. "Don't take off your jacket. We've got to get inside the Quimbys' house. Now, before everybody finds out Blanche isn't buried in the vacant lot."

"Not a chance." Renie shook her head so hard that she made herself wince. "The only way I go into that place is with police protection. I want weaponry nearby."

"You mean a gun?"

"I don't mean a slingshot and a handful of rocks."

Judith knew from Renie's mulish expression that drastic action was required. "Give me five minutes," she said, starting for the hall.

"If you intend to call the cops," Renie shouted, "you're going the wrong way."

Judith paid no attention. She had to focus on thinking back to what Auntie Vance had once said to Uncle Vince when two deer had invaded her precious rosebushes in back of the house. "Wake up, Weber!" she remembered her aunt yelling. "I've had it with these damned deer. Get your damned gun out of the damned . . ." Judith stopped in the middle of the bedroom. What had Auntie Vance gone on to say after she got through cussing? Close your eyes, she ordered herself, reach down, and bring back those words. . .

The Lost Sock Box in the closet. Auntie Vance kept every unpaired sock she'd ever found from the dryer in a shoe box along with the .38 revolver Uncle Vince had brought back from World War II. Judith hurried to the closet, scouring the shelves above the clothes rack for a shoe box. She didn't see it. Using her left foot to move aside several pairs of the Webers' footgear, she spotted the box in a corner.

"Coz!" she yelled. "Help me out here."

Renie wearily trudged into the bedroom. "Now what?" she asked.

"Can you pick up that shoe box? I don't dare bend over."

"Why," Renie inquired in a beleaguered tone, "do I feel I should refuse? Oh, I give up. You've got some crazy idea and you won't let it go." She retrieved the box and handed it over to Judith. "What do you think is in here? Blanche's remains?"

"Hardly," Judith replied, setting the box on the dresser.

"Socks?" Renie remarked after Judith lifted the lid. "You are nuts."

"You may be right." Judith removed the gun, making sure to keep it pointed out of harm's way. "I wonder if it's loaded. It's like one of Joe's guns. Maybe I can figure out how to-"

"No!" Renie was backing away. "You can't be serious."

"But I am." Judith noticed that Renie had taken off her jacket. "I'll see you later. I'm going up to the Quimby house."

Renie looked dumbfounded. "Good grief," she finally said, following Judith out of the bedroom and into the hall. "I'm calling the sheriff. I don't care who I have to wake up."

Judith opened her mouth to argue, but realized Renie was right. Somebody must be on patrol at the south end of the island. "Okay, but tell whoever it is to meet me at the Quimbys' house."

"Meet us," Renie muttered, dialing the emergency number with one hand while grabbing her jacket with the other.

Judith had gone down the steps by the time Renie emerged onto the deck, still trying to get her arms into the right sleeves. "Why should I bother locking up? We're going to face a killer. What could be worse?"

"Lock the lock anyway," Judith hissed. "We don't want someone stealing Auntie Vance's precious unmatched socks she's been saving since 1982. And keep your voice down. People are sleeping."

Renie joined Judith. "You're right. I can hardly see any lights around here. Oh, it's raining. Good thing we've both got hoods. Hey, why don't we drive up there?"

"Because cars make noise," Judith whispered. "It's less than thirty yards to the Quimby place. Think of it as well within field-goal range."

"About now I wish we had Zach Bendarek with us," Renie murmured. "He may be dumb, but he sure is . . . dumb."

"I wonder. In fact, I wonder if anything up here is as it seems. Tonight at the vacant lot, I felt as if we were watching a play."

Renie thought for a moment. "To what point?"

"Distraction," Judith replied, passing the Sedgewick house. "To throw the Quimbys off guard. Act One was the goofy clubhouse meeting."

"What's the point? The old guy's ornery, the son's a pathetic stooge, the daughter-in-law's a mess, and Betsy's mental."

"But they still have all the power," Judith asserted, adjusting her hood. "That's what matters at the fiefdom called Obsession Shores. The peasants are revolting."

"Well . . . some of them are annoying, but . . ."

"You know what I mean," Judith said as they walked off the road and paused to gaze through the drizzle at the shabby old house. "What did you hear about a sheriff's deputy being close by?"

"You know how that goes," Renie said. "'We'll inform a patrol officer who will assist you as soon as possible.' At least that's what they say when you're out here in the wilds."

Judith opened the gate. "I almost expected it to be locked at night," she whispered. "It has a lock, but part of it is broken."

"How do we get in?" Renie asked. "I assume that's your intention."

"The basement, maybe. Let's see if we can find a window. There isn't one in the front." They walked to the side of the house facing the road. "We can see the deputy arriving from here," Judith said softly.

"We can't see much else," Renie noted. "They've let everything grow up so that the foundation or basement or whatever is covered in shrubs and bushes. I can only glimpse what might be concrete." She jumped as a nearby noise startled her. "What was that?"

"A chipmunk? A squirrel?" Judith gazed at her surroundings. "It's a rat. He's burrowing under the shrubs. Maybe he's trying to get into the basement."

Renie grabbed her cousin's arm. "Shoot him! I hate rats!"

"I don't even know if the gun's loaded," Judith admitted. "I was afraid to check. It might've gone off. The rat isn't bothering you."

"I loathe them. You lived with a pack of rats in those dumps you and Dan rented. The rest of the family figured they were your pets. You couldn't afford a dog."

"Never mind," Judith said with a touch of indignation. "That was then, this is now. Let's check out the back of the house."

"I can hardly see anything," Renie griped. "Why didn't we bring Uncle Vince's big flashlight?"

Judith grimaced. "Because we were too stupid to think about it. Wait-look beyond that old trellis that's leaning against the bushes that are leaning against the house."

"I can't see all that leaning stuff," Renie retorted. "What is it?"

"A door, like to a root cellar," Judith replied, grabbing Renie's sleeve. "Come on, have a look."

Reluctantly, Renie joined her cousin. "That's what it is, all right. If you think I'm going in there, think again. The rats are rooting around inside. They're the only creatures who stir around here this late."

"The door looks kind of flimsy," Judith remarked. "I'll bet we could pry it open. Did you say you had your nail scissors?"

"Yes. No. I lost them."

"All I want to do is see where this goes," Judith asserted. "Okay?"

Renie sighed as she dug in her purse. "Why don't you have your own nail scissors? Is that because you really do still bite your nails?"

"Not very often," Judith replied. "Only when I get really nervous."

"I'm nervous now," Renie said, but she found the scissors. "Let me do the prying so you don't have to bend. Then you can do the snooping."

It took what seemed like a long time and several mumbled cusswords that would have done Auntie Vance proud, but Renie finally loosened the door enough to open it. "You're on your own," she said, stepping back. "All I see is more dark."

"Hey," Judith said under her breath, "don't you have that little light on your key chain? Let me use it."

"It doesn't shine very far," Renie warned, delving again into her purse. "Here. I took the key chain with the light off my big key ring, just in case you don't come out of the basement. Good luck."

Judith clicked on the light, which covered about a three-inch swath. She moved it to see how many stairs led to the basement. Only five were in view, but they were steep. There was a wooden handrail, which Judith grasped before leaving solid ground. Maybe it was a root cellar or a storage area as opposed to a full basement. Testing the wooden surface of the top step, she felt slick, damp moss underfoot and decided to take the steps one at a time.

Renie hovered above the opening. "For God's sake," she whispered fervently, "don't fall!"

"I'm hanging on," Judith assured her, counting the steps. Five, six, seven . . . solid ground, she thought-and realized she'd been holding her breath. Still moving cautiously because of the little light's restricted glow, she was able to see some discarded chairs piled on her left. The air smelled damp, even fetid. As she moved forward and her eyes seemed to grow accustomed to what little light that might have come in through the open door, Judith noticed the wall on her right was filled with cupboards. One of the doors hung open, its hinges broken. She glimpsed jars of what looked like cobweb-covered canned goods. Peering straight ahead, she saw a big wooden box. As she got closer, the big box's contents seemed to be protected by heavy plastic or maybe glass. Judith stifled a sneeze. From above, she heard a skittering sound, probably from the rats. Undaunted, she approached the box. The little light glinted on what Judith recognized was thick glass. She made out some kind of floral fabric, rotting with age. Moving the light over the glass, she saw what looked liked a pair of old kidskin gloves. She gave a start when she saw a face-and realized it was her own reflection. Judith laughed at herself for being so skittish and moved the light to the end of the box.

She took one look and almost dropped the key chain. Nausea overcame her. Covering her mouth with her free hand for fear of throwing up, she staggered to the staircase. Shaking all over and unsure of her footing, Judith croaked out the words, "Help me!"

Renie scrambled as fast as she dared down the steps and reached out to her cousin. "What is it?" she asked in a low, anxious voice.

Judith grabbed Renie's hand. "Wait," she said in a barely audible voice, taking deep breaths.

"Take it easy," Renie urged. "I'm hanging on to you. If you fall, you'll land on me. As usual."

Her cousin's normal tone helped Judith regain her composure. Wordlessly, they climbed the slick stairs and stepped onto the ground. Renie waited patiently, using the time to put the door back into place and retrieve the key-chain light from Judith's trembling hand.

"Well?" Renie finally asked, ignoring the rain that was dripping off her hood. "What happened?"

"I was wrong," Judith confessed, sounding almost normal. "Blanche didn't kill Ernie. Blanche isn't buried anywhere. Blanche is a . . . mummy."

Chapter 22.

I could make a really bad joke here," Renie murmured, "but I'll refrain. In fact, you look as if you need a really stiff drink."

Judith pressed her hands together as if she was about to pray, which, she realized, wasn't a bad idea. Neither was a stiff drink. "I flunked again," she said between clenched teeth. "Damn!"

"Let's go back to the house," Renie said, taking her cousin's arm.

"Fine. Where's the deputy?"

"Not here," Renie replied. "I kept an eye on the road. Nothing."

"It doesn't matter now," Judith muttered in a dejected tone. "The sheriff can't arrest a corpse. And just when I thought I'd solved this case in a way that nobody else would ever consider."

"I'll give you points for creativity and originality," Renie said.

"But where did I go wrong?" Judith asked as they started down the road. "It all fit. Blanche, faking that she died, but staying in the shadows and keeping control because nobody else had the mental or physical capability to murder Ernie Glover."

"Ah . . ." Renie made a face. "I'm missing motive here."

"Does it matter now?"

"Of course it does. I want to know how you arrived at such a weird conclusion."

"Wait until we get inside," Judith said as they turned toward the stairs that led to the deck. "Frankly, it seemed obvious, if wrong."

Once they were safely back in the friendly confines of the kitchen, Renie poured two short but stiff drinks. "Let's hear it," she urged, joining Judith at the table. "You do realize it's two A.M.?"

"We can sleep in," Judith said-and yawned. "It was Ernie's looks. We'd both noted a resemblance to my father. Of course we never saw Ernie up close when he was still alive, and we certainly couldn't see what he looked like when we found his body. He was facedown."

"I do remember the incident," Renie drawled. "It seems like it was only last Friday."

Judith ignored the sarcasm. "I assumed that Blanche had lost her marbles and become a recluse. Maybe Quentin or even Quincy didn't want anyone to know. It was bad enough that Betsy suffered from mental illness. They decided to tell everyone she'd died and had a marker made to prove it." Judith paused to sip her drink.

"What did they do with her?" Renie asked. "Lock her in the basement until she finally croaked?"

"I doubt that," Judith replied. "I've no idea how long she's been dead. A coroner can figure that out. But old Quentin was now in control of the money. Yes, he probably had handled the actual sales, along with Quincy's help. But while Blanche was still of sound mind, she ruled. Everybody seems to agree on that, according to the Hilderschmidts. When her remains weren't found in the vacant lot, I was convinced she was still alive. When I saw the Polaroids and the returned letters, I suspected she was the killer. In her muddled mind, even their last names were alike-Glover and Grover. She thought Ernie was my father. It even made sense that she could have come up with the idea of pretending she was dead and had buried the souvenirs of her unrequited love under her grave marker. That might've been part of the madness that afflicted her."

Renie leaned back in her chair. "That's all so twisted I could almost believe it. Of course, the Quimbys are a very bizarre family. Nan must've known, but when she was here, she talked about Blanche's death some years ago. Didn't that blow your theory?"

Judith shook her head. "Nan was following the party line. I figured that Quimby had indoctrinated her-and no doubt Quincy-to keep the ruse alive, even if Blanche wasn't."

"I guess I can follow your logic," Renie said, "which is usually spot-on. Anything to do with the Quimbys could derail Einstein. But what do you think has become of the French coins Blanche brought with her from the Paris museum?"

"I honestly don't know," Judith said, shaking her head. "They may be tucked away in her box. I mean, it's more of a coffin, though . . ."

A knock at the door made both cousins jump.

"What now?" Renie said under her breath. "I'll get it." She crossed the room and asked for the visitor's ID.

"Jacobson," he called back.

Renie undid the lock. "You're on duty tonight?"