Jane put her hand on his arm. "We still are. But Kent has put everything together for the confrontation with old Quimby and his offspring. We're waiting for the rest of the information Kent has ordered from the county courthouse. Then we'll sound the alarm."

"Literally?" Renie asked.

"Of course," Jane replied. "It's the one we ring during the summer to announce the cocktail hour."

Judith thought the bell sounded like it should have been a death knell.

Chapter 23.

I feel like a dupe," Judith declared after she and Renie had taken their leave.

"A dupe or a dope?" Renie asked.

"Both, maybe. No wonder I felt we were watching a play."

"What about the hidden treasure and the French coins and the phony ones Brose collected? Fact or fiction?"

"French coins, probably real," Judith replied, stopping at the road's edge. "The other coins seem like a scam Brose dreamed up. Maybe it's a ploy to get Fou-fou back."

Renie looked skeptical. "Why? She's a real twit."

"So's he. They make a good pair. Hey, if it gives these folks something to do, why not?" Judith sniffed at the damp, foggy air. "The fog's lifted enough so that I can see almost to the Quimby house, but I can't tell if Jacobson's arrived. Let's find out."

Renie groaned. "Why do I think more sleuthing is a bad idea? You were talking earlier about leaving. Worse yet, we had prelunch cocktails, but no lunch. Those cornflakes weren't very filling. I'm hungry."

"You had breakfast less than an hour ago," Judith reminded her. "Come on, let's go."

"You really are annoying sometimes," Renie grumbled.

"And you really like to complain," Judith retorted as the outline of the grim old house loomed up ahead of them. "No cruiser in sight. Maybe he's come and gone."

"We could be gone if we turned around," Renie muttered.

Judith stopped near the Quimbys' fence. "I wonder if . . ." She grew silent, seeing Betsy step out from behind the house.

"Hello," Betsy chirped in greeting as she approached the cousins. "How are you? I am fine."

"That's good," Judith said with a smile. "Are you going for a walk?"

Betsy grimaced. "I'm not sure. I have to take some pills."

"Well," Judith responded, "you could take the pills now and then go for a walk."

"No, no, no!" Betsy looked annoyed and stamped her foot. "I have to take them first. Then you can take them. Like before."

"You mean when I took the other pills for you?" Judith asked.

Betsy brightened and nodded. "Yes. Please. I hate pills. People shouldn't have to swallow them. They aren't at all tasty. Sometimes they make my tummy hurt and I get so sleepy." She whirled around, pointing toward the house. "Maman is leaving. I'm glad."

Judith frowned. "Mam-"

Renie interrupted. "Your mother is going away?"

Betsy nodded. "I'm glad." She wrinkled her snub nose. "Do you want to say good-bye to her? I mean, adieu."

"No," Judith said in what she hoped was a kindly tone. "We don't want to intrude. We've never been farther than your front door." A bit of a stretch, she thought, but does the basement really count?

"I see," Betsy said, tapping a finger against her cheek. "I'll let you in the back door. Then I'll start taking the pills. Come through the gate." She scampered away, heading for the opposite side of the house.

"We," Renie announced, "are not following her."

"I am," Judith declared. "Betsy's harmless. This is our big chance." She moved quickly to the gate.

"Coz . . ." Renie shut up, knowing that arguing was futile. She followed her cousin into the yard and around to the side of the house, where Betsy was standing by two sagging wooden steps that led to an entrance behind a battered screen door.

"The back door's not in back," Betsy said. She laughed merrily, then paused after opening the screen door. "Where did Hansel and Gretel go? I thought Quincy let them out. Oh, well." She tugged at the doorknob. "Stupid thing." Betsy launched a big kick. The door creaked open. "Come in, come in," she called to the cousins. "Let's play hide-the-pills."

Judith went up the two steps. Betsy ran off down the gloomy hall, calling to the Rottweilers before disappearing out of view.

"Are you coming?" Judith asked Renie.

"Do I have a choice?" Renie muttered, joining her cousin just inside the doorway. "Where did Looney Tunes go?"

"Down the hall," Judith replied. "Maybe we should leave the door open. I think Betsy's going to let out the dogs." She peered into a room off to her left. "That's the pantry. It probably leads into the kitchen. What's on the other side of the hall?"

"A wall," Renie said. "Not uncommon in most houses. Why are we here instead of just about anywhere else I can think of?"

"Stop bitching." Judith started down the hall. "Where did Betsy go? The pantry's the only room . . . There's a door on the right. Let's check it out." She turned the knob. "It's locked." She started to move on, but saw that Renie was leaning against the door. "What are you doing?"

"I'm sleuthing," Renie said. "I hear running water, so I deduce this is a bathroom. No wonder the door's locked."

They moved on, pausing at double doors that revealed storage for linen and china. Turning the corner, they saw two more doors, one straight ahead and the other on their left. The latter was ajar. Judith pushed it open, revealing a cluttered, windowless room where a single lightbulb dangled on a frayed cord from the ceiling. What had probably been used as a study was jammed with piles of books, newspapers, magazines, photo albums, and file folders.

"Firetrap," Renie observed. "Nan must not like housecleaning."

"I hope the rest of the place doesn't look like this," Judith said. "No wonder they don't encourage visitors. You're right. This wasn't one of my brighter ideas. It smells musty in here. I wonder why the light's on. Let's go before I start sneezing from all the dust."

A rustling sound made the cousins jump before they could get to the door.

"You're not going anywhere," a raspy old voice said.

Quentin Quimby rolled his wheelchair out from behind a stack of books and albums. He had a cigarette lighter in his hand. "Blanche isn't going anywhere either. At least not without me." He made as if to flick the lighter. "We're all going to hell, where the flames will burn forever."

"Don't," Judith said sharply. "There's something you should know."

The agatelike eyes stared at her as his hand faltered slightly. "There's nothing I don't know," he growled. "I saw you from my window when you arrived Friday at the Weber house. That's when I knew your husband had to die. Now you know too much, snooping all over my property. You and your smarty-pants husband! I fixed him. Stupid schoolteacher man. Who's to say the lot wouldn't perc? I say it does. Pshaw!" He spat on the floor.

Judith opened her mouth to speak, but clamped it shut. She felt Renie's arm brush against her elbow. The empathy they'd shared since childhood often allowed them to read each other's mind. Judith knew Renie also understood Quimby's delusion.

"He died a long time ago," Renie said. "He had a heart attack."

The old man's sagging jowls seemed to droop even more. "No! That's a lie!"

"Why do you say that?" Judith asked, hoping Quimby didn't notice the quaver in her voice.

"I know because I watched him die," he said with a twitch of a smile. "I told you, I know everything. I own everything. I am Obsession Shores." He flicked the lighter.

Judith sucked in her breath; Renie let out a little gasp.

Nothing happened.

Quimby clicked and clicked, using every cussword in the English language and a few more in French. His wrinkled face was turning purple. Judith was certain that he was apoplectic. But instead of collapsing, he dropped the lighter, heaved himself out of the wheelchair, and staggered toward the cousins.

"Hansel! Gretel!" he howled, clenching his fists. "Kill!"

Judith involuntarily looked around. She saw no sign of the dogs. But the door opened behind her. The Rottweilers charged into the room.

And stopped. Betsy was behind them, holding their leashes. "You called, Pere?" she asked. "I brought the dogs back in. They had to pee-pee." She frowned at her father. "You look all funny. Are you sick, mon cher pere?"

Quimby's eyes grew wide and he opened his mouth to speak. Nothing came out. He pitched forward, collapsing at the cousins' feet. The dogs sniffed at his prone body before settling in beside him.

Betsy frowned. "Is he dead?"

"I don't know," Judith said.

Renie knelt down, lifting the hand that had held the lighter. "I can't feel a pulse. Let me try his neck." She touched the crepelike skin by his right ear, waited a few moments, and shook her head. Renie crossed herself and stood up. Judith bowed her head, offering a silent prayer.

"Oh, my," Betsy said, "if he's dead, I'll have to tell the man to go away. Or should I have him see Quincy?"

"You'd better tell your brother about your father first," Judith advised, trying to discern any sign of distress on Betsy's curiously unlined face. "In fact, maybe we should go with you."

"No, no, no," Betsy replied. "Pere shouldn't be left alone. You go. I'll stay here with the dogs. And Pere."

Judith realized she had no idea how to get to the main part of the house. "Where does the door at the end of the hall go?" she asked.

Betsy didn't answer right away. She was studying the old man's body in a detached sort of way. "To all the other rooms," she finally said. "If you see my brother, tell him Pere is dead. Quincy will be so happy. Now he's rich."

Once outside of the cluttered room, Judith leaned against the wall. "I need to find my nerves. I know they must be somewhere."

Renie rubbed her eyes, then blinked several times. "I thought I'd die-literally. That's the first time we've had a killer croak on us." She frowned. "The old coot is . . . I mean, was the killer, right?"

Judith nodded. "I never suspected him until those letters showed up and we discovered Blanche really was dead. All along it bothered me that there was no apparent motive. Nobody commits murder over a proposed sewer. But several people mentioned that the victim should have been Quimby. Why didn't I realize that if you flipped that around, the answer was that he was the killer?"

Renie grimaced. "Because that's not the way your usual sound logic works?"

Judith shook her head. "Maybe not. It doesn't matter now. Let's find Quincy and Nan. Oh, let's not forget the visitor Betsy mentioned."

"I'll bet it's Jacobson," Renie said as she opened the door at the end of the hall that led to a more narrow, dimly lighted corridor.

"Maybe not, since Betsy knows Jacobson as Erik, so she'd . . ." Judith stopped, seeing Quincy, Nan, and Jack Larrabee come out of a room up ahead on their left. "What the . . . ?"

Quincy and Nan both looked startled. Jack seemed bemused.

"Fancy meeting you here," he remarked as the cousins approached.

Quincy stared at Jack. "You know these women?"

Jack grinned. "I've spent the night with Mrs. Flynn. She makes an excellent breakfast."

The flippant remark helped ease the tension that was still making Judith feel a bit wobbly. "Could we all find somewhere to sit down?" she said to Quincy.

He looked discomfited. "I suppose. But why? What's going on?"

Nan tugged at his arm. "Please, Quin. I told you I had a premonition, even before Mr. Larrabee arrived. Pere seemed very odd."

Quincy led them into what he termed the parlor, a room with closed drapes, shabby furnishings, and a Persian carpet that was threadbare in places. Judith and Renie sat down on a faded blue settee. The others seated themselves in worn side chairs flanking a fireplace sealed off with a piece of plywood.

Judith didn't mince words. "Mr. Quimby is dead, apparently from a stroke or heart attack. Betsy is with him. I'm sorry for your loss."

Quincy's jaw dropped. Nan simply stared at Judith. Jack looked mildly curious. In the silence that followed, a mantel clock chimed the half hour on a weak, quivering note.

Then Nan shot out of her chair and flung herself at Quincy. "We're rich! We're free! I love you, Quin! Let's have a cocktail!"

After being told where the body could be found, the two Quimbys rushed out of the parlor. Judith stood up, with Renie following suit.

"We're leaving," Judith said to Jack. "Are you sticking around?"

"No," he said, also getting to his feet. "I was on my way out when you two showed up. I don't suppose you want to tell me why you're here."

"Betsy invited us," Judith replied, noting that Jack looked puzzled. "Quincy's sister. How do we get out of here? We came in the side door."

"Follow me," Jack said, going out the way they'd come into the parlor, but turning to his right. "There's the front door. May I?" He opened it and followed the cousins outside. The fog had lifted, so that they could see the beach, if not the bay. "I don't suppose," he mused, "you've heard anything new about the homicide case?"

Judith paused at the bottom of the steps. "Check later with the sheriff's office," she replied. "Did you come here to question the Quimbys about the murder?"

Jack looked pained. "I lied."

Judith was taken aback. "About what?"

"I'm not a reporter," he said, looking sheepish. "I'm not from the Midwest. I'm a private investigator from Portland. Becca Bendarek is my sister. She was designated a week ago to find a PI to look into the senior Quimby's shenanigans with the property sales here. She found a Joe Flynn, but he turned down the case . . ." Jack chuckled. "You know why."