Dune to Death by Mary Daheim

Author:Mary Daheim [Daheim, Mary]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Mary Daheim
Publisher: Unknown
Published: 2010-03-22T04:00:00+00:00

Fish and chips with a side of cole slaw purchased at a take-out stand on 101 satisfied the cousins’ appetites. Their curiosity, however, remained unassuaged.

“Do you really think this Darren Fleetwood might be the guy we saw Leona with through the window?” Renie asked, pitching the fast-food containers into a barrel at the intersection of 101 and Seventh Street. The cousins had strolled along the highway, past the kite shop, City Hall, several gift shops, and the Methodist church. They were now about half a mile from Pirate’s Lair, gazing through the shore pines at the handsome modern house Judith had spotted earlier from the beach. The place had a deserted air, and Judith wondered fleetingly if anything so lavish might be merely a summer home.

“It could have been him,” said Judith, getting back on track. “Maybe we should try that number tonight, too. We could call Malibu before we go to dinner.”

“Whoever Darren Fleetwood is,” mused Renie, admiring the sleek lines of the three-story house with its shake exterior and artfully angled rooftops, “he has the best motive for murdering Leona Ogilvie.”

“The only motive, as far as I can tell,” said Judith, staring not at the spectacular dwelling on the point but across the highway, at a souvenir shop made to resemble a lighthouse. “Come on, coz, let’s try to get ourselves killed in traffic and go over there to squander our meager savings on cheap presents. I’ve got to find a picture of the Sacred Heart of Jesus made out of a clam shell for Mother.”

Renie was game. Five minutes later, they were in the shop, browsing among as gaudy a collection of Oregoniana as they could possibly imagine. Judith didn’t find Jesus in a clam shell, but she did come up with the Blessed Virgin shedding beams of light over the skyline of Buccaneer Beach. She also selected a myrtlewood salad bowl for Joe and a coffee mug for Mike inscribed, “Oregon Coast—It’s the Most.” Renie got one just like it for Bill, except that it read, “Where the Hell Is Yachats, Oregon, Anyway and How Would You Pronounce It If You Cared?”

“I’ll get each of the kids an ornament at that Christmas shop at the other end of town,” said Renie, about to overdose on vulgarity.

They were at the cash register when a squeal erupted from the other side of the T-shirt rack. “Ooooh—Donn Bobb, look! It’s a picture of Bamm-Bamm! I’ve got to get it! He’s my favorite Flintstone!”

Donn Bobb was leaning up against a life-sized wood carving of Barnacle Bill or some other grizzled nautical type. “Go ahead, Sweet Cakes, we only live once.”

Larissa Hoke Lima sidled up to the counter with her purchase. She didn’t recognize the cousins until Judith turned around to greet her.

“What a coincidence,” said Judith, accepting her change from the cashier, “we just ran into your brother and his wife. I gather you had quite a session with Brent Doyle this afternoon.”

Larissa seemed more interested in Bamm-Bamm’s propeller beanie than in the lawyer’s pronouncement.

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