Free Dune to Death by Mary Daheim

thinking that Leona’s recent return might explain all the boxes in the garage. Perhaps they were her belongings, shipped back from South America. “Was she staying with her sister, Mrs. Hoke?”
    Terrence didn’t know. Indeed, after a few more inquiries, Judith came to the conclusion that except for the victim’s name and occupation, Terrence O’Toole didn’t know any more than the cousins did.
    But the youthful journalist was determined to proceed with the interview. “How did you react to murder in your living room?” Ballpoint pen at the ready, Terrence’s bright blue eyes roamed from cousin to cousin.
    Judith considered. “Shocked, of course. Upset. Violence is always disturbing, especially when it intrudes under your roof. Your rented roof, that is,” she added hastily. She felt crass, but the truth was, Judith had encountered death so often in the past year and a half that she had built up defenses to shield herself. The words tripped out as if by rote, having had far too many opportunities to sort out her reactions before setting foot in Pirate’s Lair. “Any life taken willfully is a life wasted,” she declared, looking unduly solemn.
    Terrence O’Toole regarded Judith with something that bordered on awe. He wiggled his eyebrows at her. “Deep. Very deep. Wow- ee .” His lively gaze shifted to Renie, who was complacently finishing her third waffle. “And you, ma’am?”
    Renie waved her fork. “Me, too,” she said with her mouth full. Her brown eyes veered up to the kitchen clock, whose crab claw hands pointed to nine forty-five, and very close to her traditional time for becoming fully alert. “First of all, you’re writing on your wallet,” she said after taking a big swallow and waiting for Terrence to notice his error. “Then I’d say it’s tragic, and wonder how Alice Hoke istaking her sister’s untimely demise. What do the law enforcement bozos tell you about Leona’s survivors?”
    In the wake of Renie’s unexpected statement, Terrence O’Toole all but reeled. “Not much,” he replied in a faint voice. “They don’t tell the press everything they know.”
    â€œBut we have,” said Judith with a smile. She stood up, hoping the young reporter would construe her move as the signal for his departure.
    Luckily, after taking the cousins’ names and addresses, Terrence also took the hint. With a final gap-toothed grin, he headed out the door and jumped onto a red motor scooter. Judith and Renie hurriedly cleaned up from breakfast.
    â€œYou’re right, coz,” remarked Judith as she loaded the dishwasher. “Where was Leona staying? Was she merely helping her sister out or really impersonating her? The problem is, we don’t know much about Leona or Alice, except that their parents owned a cheese factory that made great cheddar.”
    Renie nodded. “And according to Terrence O’Toole, Leona spent most of her life converting quaint natives in the Andes or up the Amazon. Somewhere down there.” She gestured vaguely in the direction of the Oregon-California state line.
    â€œI think we’d better call on Alice Hoke.” Judith pressed the button on the dishwasher and raised her voice over the machine’s din. “Let’s go see Joe first and then pay our condolences to Mrs. Hoke.”
    â€œOkay.” Renie gathered up her huge handbag and light-weight summer jacket. The sky was fitful, with a breeze blowing off the ocean. “But won’t she think we’re sort of pushy?”
    The cousins were at the car, with Judith unlocking the door on the driver’s side. She hesitated, her shoulders slumping. “Of course she will. We don’t even know the woman. It would be utterly tasteless to waltz in on her at a time like this. What are we thinking of?”
    â€œYou mentioned going to see the sheriff or the