few hymnals that had been used during the service and wondered what to do with the flowers he had brought with him for the occasion. He considered using them again on Sunday, then quickly, almost spitefully, rejected the idea—he didn’t think the people of Clark’s Harbor would appreciate the gesture. But if he took them home to Hoquiam, his landlady would be thrilled. She might even fix a decent dinner.
Harney Whalen walked into his office and settled into the chair behind his desk. He shuffled through some papers, but Chip Connor wasn’t fooled. Something was on Ham’s mind.
“Kind of quiet, aren’t you?” Whalen finally asked.
“Nothing to say. All quiet.” He paused a moment, then decided to goad his chief. “Quiet as a funeral,” he added.
Harney looked up at him then, and leaned back in the chair. “Is that supposed to be a hint?”
“I guess so,” Chip said mildly. “How was it?”
“A funeral’s a funeral,” Whalen said. “First time I’ve ever been to a double one with no bodies, though.”
“Lots of people?”
“Not really. Old Man Riley.”
“Granddad? That doesn’t surprise me.” Chip grinned. “Sometimes I think he has a fixation about funerals. Like if he skips one the next one will be his. I suppose Tad and Clem were with him?”
“Yup. Those three and me, and four other people. Bet you can’t guess who the other four were.”
Chip turned it over in his mind. From the way Whalen had said it, it must not have been anyone he was likely to think of. Then it came to him.
“Not the Palmers?” he asked.
“Right on the money,” Harney said. “Now you tell me. Why would the Palmers be at that funeral? Hell, hardly anybody was there and everybody in town knew the Shellings better than the Palmers did. So why’d they turn up?”
“How should I know?” Chip asked. “Why did they?”
“Good question,” Whalen said sarcastically. “Guess who’s going to find out the answer?”
“I see,” Chip said heavily, standing up. “You want me to go on over there and have a little talk with Palmer?”
“Right,” Whalen replied. “No rush, though. Anytime before tomorrow will be fine.”
He watched his deputy leave and wondered how Chip would handle the situation; wondered, indeed, why he even wanted Glen Palmer questioned. Doc Phelps had said Miriam Shelling killed herself. But Harney Whalen didn’t believe it. There was something more—something else happening, and Harney was sure that it involved the Palmers. It was just a hunch, but Harney Whalen trusted his hunches.
The Palmers walked the few blocks to the service station, paid an inflated repair bill without comment, and drove back to Sod Beach in silence. The silence was respected even by the children, who seemed to know that for the moment they should be quiet Glen turned the Chevy off the main road and they bumped over the last hundred yards into the clearing where their cabin stood.
“Can we go out on the beach now?” Robby begged as he and Missy scrambled out of the back seat.
“Don’t you think you ought to go to school?” Rebecca suggested.
“Aw, it’s after lunchtime already.” Robby’s face crumbled and Rebecca softened immediately.
“Well, I don’t suppose one day will hurt you,” she said. “Why don’t you let Scooter out before he ruins the house completely?” Before she had finished the words Missy and Robby were racing to the door of the cabin. A moment later the tiny puppy tumbled happily out to chase the children. Glen and Rebecca watched the scene until the trio disappeared around a corner toward the beach, then went inside.
“Damn that dog,” Rebecca said as she saw the pile in the middle of the rug. They had given up trying to confine the puppy to a box after the first day, when he had earned his name by chewing a hole through every box they had put him in, then scooting under the nearest piece of furniture, waiting for someone to chase him. Also, the name was close enough to that of the disappeared Snooker that the puppy would respond even when the children slipped and called him by their previous pet’s name. All in all, the puppy had worked out very well, and the Palmers had been spared the task of telling the children what had happened to the spaniel: since Scooter’s arrival, they both seemed to have forgotten the black-and-white mutt. The only problem was Scooter’s recalcitrance at learning the basics of being housebroken. Rebecca found a scrap of newspaper and gingerly picked up the pile, took it