Dune to Death by Mary Daheim Page A

like…” She stopped, her hand on the rusty door knob. “Corduroy! That’s what Leona was wearing when I first met her. A corduroy jumper.”
    Renie stared at Judith, then inclined her head. “So now we know where the deceased was staying.” She gestured at the little sitting room. “Cozy, huh?”
    â€œSort 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.
    â€œBurglars! 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 aminute! 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.
    â€œNo 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 ?”
    â€œMe?” 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 sucha 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