Ah, ha! That nasty little boy of Joe and Marnie Sykes was teasing their German Shepherd again; one of these days that dog would pull his chain free and then young smarty, Little Joe, might be sorry. Oh, good, good! Big Joe, his dad, appeared on the back steps and motioned the boy into the house. But the ornery little whelp just ran down the hill and headed for the beach, no doubt to fool around and maybe drown himself. Saturday. No school to keep him in line. Oh, well—
What, no smoke rising from Silas Williams’ chimney? Had old tightwad Silas at last broke loose with some money and bought his prissy-mouthed Laura an up-to-date range that used gas instead of driftwood? Or maybe taken her up to San Francisco? Ha, ha, maybe to a lawyer to make her sign away all rights to his money so that one of these days she wouldn’t be aggravated into finishing him off. Well, keep looking, dear, Sea Mount’s got more in it than the Williams place.
Ringing the tiny community on three sides were low mountains, still green from winter and early spring rains. On the remaining side was the Pacific Ocean, blue and undefiled. Between the scattered houses and the mountains were dark fields of rich earth that produced artichokes, peas, and flowers for San Francisco’s markets.
The sight of the valley gave Cecilia a surge of satisfied possession. Yes, yes, it was a pretty place. Nice and quiet. A place for real down-to-earth folks.
She spotted Hughie Cornfeld carrying a bucket and slowly walking toward the cliff trail which led from his one-room shack at the cliff’s top down to the pale sandy beach. “Going clam digging,” she decided, her mouth watering in anticipation. Hughie was different from Angelo. Angelo charged money for his fish. Hughie, on the other hand, despised money and was generous with the food he garnered from the sea.
Hughie, that screwball, admitted he used to be head of some brokerage company in San Francisco. A really big company, according to rumors that were whispered around, with Hughie himself a millionaire. Imagine! Old holes-in-the-pants Hughie! Once, when she broached the subject to him, he told her he walked out of the whole dog-eat-dog mess because it was killing his soul.
“I gave all my money to my wife Sadie,” he had said. “Sadie loved money. So did I. Once. But finally I hated it and what it did to me. So Sadie got her money, and I got fresh air and freedom.”
Holes in his head as well as in his pants, that was Cecilia’s personal opinion. Not that she was wild about money herself, but thank God Tony left enough insurance to keep a roof over her head and her stomach filled. That ought to please Tony, who was always saying food, bed, roof over one’s head, in that order. “So, Tony, I got it all, even the other half of the bed I’m in no hurry to fill up,” she said to his memory.
The inner picture of Tony Pigazzi clung as she returned to her cheerful kitchen with its red and white checked wallpaper and white woodwork. She could almost see him stomp across the waxed linoleum, heavy belly hanging over pants that were fastened only at the top button, hawking and belching as he made his way to the bathroom. “Ah, well, old Tony,” she said cheerfully. Like a good placid pet patted on the head, the memory curled up in the back of her mind and went to sleep.
As soon as she finished her hearty breakfast she hurried back for another look through the spyglass. Down by the cliff she caught a flash of blue moving rapidly toward the highway. Must be Little Joe Sykes, he was wearing a bright blue shirt this morning. Running like crazy, he was. Maybe Hughie lost his good nature and chased the brat off the beach for interfering with his clam digging.
Sure enough, here came Hughie after him. Running good for a man of 50 or so, his shaggy hair bouncing in the breeze he made.
Well, now, look at that! Here comes that Sykes dog after them, beating its chain behind him, finally broke loose and a danger to everybody.
The boy, the man, and the dog ran down the brief stretch of highway, past the garage, to Ed and Anna Grimes’s general store. The boy flung open the door. Hughie followed. The dog ran back and forth outside, panting and looking nervously at his dragging chain.
It seemed only an instant until Ed Grimes, Hughie, and the boy tore out of the store, Anna Grimes behind them, all talking excitedly. “Pity this thing can’t hear!” Cecilia fumed.
The dog ran at the boy, his tongue slapping affectionately over him. The boy swatted the dog, mouthed something. The dog fell to its stomach and started creeping toward the hill. “Ought to have bitten him,” she muttered. “I can’t stand people who hurt animals.”
Anna stayed behind while the men and boy half ran, half walked toward Hughie’s shack and disappeared over the cliff’s edge.
Cecilia flung on a sweater, pulled out the percolator plug, rushed out the back door. She got in the big old station wagon Tony had left her and headed down the village lane toward the highway. She barely reached it ahead of Big Joe Sykes, the wheels of his car screaming right behind her. Of course. With Mamie Sykes glued to her binoculars at her front window every free minute of the day. Saw their boy maybe got himself into some devilment.
Farther up the hill two more cars barreled toward them, looked like Angelo’s fish truck and Joe Watanabi’s car.
She left her car and hurried along the cliff’s edge. Below her, the men and boy, with the dog skulking behind, ran along the tide-packed sand. They stopped, veered to a spot high on the beach, bent down. The dog, now close, darted at something. The boy slapped him back. Whatever they were looking at, they didn’t touch it.
Cecilia scrambled down the rough footholds worn into the steep path. As she reached the men Ed Grimes put out his foot and gingerly pushed at something. Hughie shook his head and turned his face. The boy was white under his tan and saliva moistened his lips. They all turned and looked at Cecilia, their eyes unfocused as though they had tuned out everything but what lay at their feet. As a group, Cecilia now part of it, they looked down again. Cecilia gasped and whispered, “Whose is it?”
Hughie shrugged, threw out his hands in a gesture of helplessness. Ed moved a chaw of tobacco from his cheek and began to chew.
“Could be anybody’s.” It was Big Joe Sykes speaking, now pushed in beside them, with Angelo big-eyed and quiet behind him.
Little Joe looked up at his father and stepped back. The paleness of his face had sickened into a greenish cast and he swallowed. “I wasn’t doing nothing,” he whined. “Just going along with Hughie. Then I got ahead and was fooling around by the cliff. And there it was. Like a funny stick, all covered with sand. So I picked it up.” He swallowed hard. “Then I could tell. What it was.”
“Can’t be just anybody’s,” Ed Grimes finally said. “Anyway, not a man’s.”
Hughie shook his head sorrowfully. His blue eyes tilted downward and his shoulders rocked slightly. All he needs is a shawl and a wall to beat his head against, Cecilia thought; the man’s a weakling.
“Yeah, must be a woman’s foot all right, by the size of it,” Big Joe agreed. “Rest of her is probably in the ocean, eat up by this time.”
Cecilia’s stomach churned, but she fought down the sickness. Now, let’s see, what woman around Sea Mount has trouble? Which of us could that foot belong to?
“Maybe gangsters did it!” Little Joe put in. “I seen a show like that on TV. Maybe we ought to call the F.B.I. or get Chief Ironside — gee, Dad—”
“Damn it, Little Joe, get out of here!”
“Aw, Dad, I’m the one that found it. Right over there.” He pointed toward the cliff.
“Get! And take King with you. Beat it, boy!”
Reluctantly the boy picked up the loose chain and slowly headed for the cliff path.