by Cate Conte
“So they never spoke.”
I shook my head again.
Ellory was silent for a minute. “Maddie. Do you think it’s possible she realized who he was and that was why she was staring at him? When people see someone famous, they tend to do that. And then they tend to rethink it if the other person doesn’t look interested in speaking.”
“I know that,” I said, trying to bite back the irritation. “But that wasn’t the vibe I got. I got the same vibe from him, that he knew her but wasn’t sure what to say.”
“Did you see how she got to the cafe?” Craig asked.
I turned to him, curious about the question. “No. But I was kind of rattled when she left and didn’t even think about it.”
“So you didn’t see her get into a car? Or see a car parked out on the street?”
I thought back. I hadn’t noticed how she’d left the cafe, or paid any mind to a car outside. People parked on our street all the time, whether they were coming to the cafe or not. And yesterday I’d been too focused on why she was in the same place as me to pay any mind to her car. “No. I’m sorry. Why?”
“Did she seem intoxicated when she was in your cafe?” Craig asked, ignoring my question.
“No.” I wished she had. It would’ve explained her insane claims a bit more. “Why, you think this was a drunken hit-and-run?”
Again, neither of them answered me. I sighed. “Of course you’re not going to tell me. But I’m telling you, there was something strange about that woman. Maybe she had a beef with Jason Holt and figured out she had a good opportunity to take care of it. Now that you know her name, you’ll check, right?”
“I appreciate you bringing this to our attention,” Ellory said. “Is there anything else?”
Ugh. I hated his ability to say nothing while saying something.
“One thing, actually,” I said, deciding to throw caution and sisterly trust to the wind. “My sister might have some info. Or know someone who does.” I cringed a little bit in the aftermath, thinking about how Val was going to kill me. But I couldn’t say I talked to Ava-Rose myself. It would make me an accomplice or something.
Ellory and Craig exchanged another glance. “What kind of info?” Ellory asked after a moment.
“Relating to the night the writer got hit.”
“So why hasn’t she come forward with this info?”
I shrugged. “She got it secondhand. It’s not really her story to tell. She’s trying to get the person to come forward.”
“Did this … other person have something to do with the death?”
“No! I think they … were just in the area.”
“Is it Ava-Rose Buxton?”
Shoot. I tried to keep the tell from my face and shook my head. “Definitely not my story to tell. But you might want to ask Dr. Drake…” I hesitated, then decided, no, this was way too important. “You might want to ask Drake what he and Jason Holt were discussing outside the yacht club the night he died.” Phew. There it was. Maybe they would get to him before I did and I wouldn’t have to ask him.
They both stared at me for a minute. I could see on Craig’s face, at least, that he’d had no idea about anything relating to Drake.
Ellory, however, played it closer to the vest. He placed his hands on the desk and rose. “Thanks for coming in, Maddie. We appreciate the information.”
Apparently he was done with me.
“Come on,” Craig said, taking my arm and turning me toward the door. “I’ll walk you out.”
Chapter 25
We were silent as we walked down the hall. Craig pushed open the door and held it for me to walk through, then followed. I paused under the awning over the door. The rain had started. I pulled my coat tighter around me. I didn’t have an umbrella.
“You should go in,” I said. “You don’t have an umbrella, either.”
He ignored me. “What’s the story with Val and Ava-Rose? How do you know the vet was fighting with our vic?”
I sighed. “You just need to talk to Ava-Rose. But if you say anything about me, I’ll have to kill you.”
“Threatening a cop now?” Craig asked, amused. “Didn’t your grandfather tell you that’s a no-no? Besides,” he added, glancing behind him to make sure no one had come out of the building, “we’ve been getting anonymous tips about ‘strange events’ at the yacht club. From Ava-Rose. Who isn’t really that anonymous.” He sighed. “She’s really got to find something else to do with her time than hang around that place every day.”
At least we agreed on one thing. And I was sure Val didn’t know about any of the “anonymous” tips. “Well, I can’t confirm or deny either way,” I said. “And what tips about the yacht club?”
“If there’s a witness, we need to talk to them, Maddie.” Craig ignored my question.
“I know that, Craig. That’s why I told you to go talk to Ava-Rose. On the down-low. Are you going to talk to Drake?”
Craig stayed silent.
“Fine, I know. It’s part of your investigation.”
I turned to go, but he called my name.
“Stay away from all this, Maddie. I know you.”
I half-smiled. “That’s the problem here. Everyone knows me.”
I watched as he yanked open the door and went back inside the building, then headed back to my car, deep in thought. Thea Coleman and Dr. Alvin Drake. Two completely different people, but both ratcheting to the top of the suspect list. My suspect list, anyway. Trouble was, I only had a hunch one of them knew Holt, and a secondhand account that the other was fighting with Holt right before he was struck and killed.
What were his ties to these people? And was Ethan right about me putting unfair attention on Thea Coleman because of the JJ thing?
I didn’t think so. She legit recognized Holt, and I needed to find out why. Unless I had it all wrong and those two incidents were coincidental and unrelated and Holt had really been run down by some random drunk person. Or someone had taken out a professional hit on him.
I shook my head to clear it. I’d been watching way too much TV.
But I couldn’t stop thinking about it. Where was the car that had hit him? It clearly hadn’t arrived in the one auto body shop on the island or we would’ve heard all about it on the news.
Which made me curious about Thea Coleman’s car, if she was driving one. And where was she staying, anyway? If the cops knew, they certainly weren’t going to tell me. But it shouldn’t be that hard to figure out, if she was at any of the local hotels that were still open. Which was, like, two of them. It might be worth a little investigating after my vet appointment.
Which could also be a mini-investigation. I ducked my head and made a mad dash for my car. Once inside I checked my watch. I had to get home and pick up Muffin.
Chapter 26
Muffin was as unhappy about his impending vet appointment as I was. As soon as he saw me approaching with the carrier, he bolted into the nearest cubby—one of the small cubbies, of course, that made it extra difficult to maneuver him out. After fifteen minutes of coaxing and the potential for real tears on my part, I was finally able to lure him out with some of the salmon Ethan had bought for tonight’s dinner. I figured I wouldn’t mention it.
Once we were in the car, I realized we were going to be late, even without much traffic on the road. Duck Cove, two towns over, was about twenty minutes away and I only had about thirteen minutes to play with. Cursing under my breath, I hit the gas. Pretty sure Dr. Charge-a-lot would bill me for being late and probably cancel my appointment or something.
I made it there only five minutes late. The vet’s office was in a house that looked more like a mini-mansion, with marble columns framing the front door and an old-fashioned lamppost next to the walkway. Not that mini-mansions were unusual out here in Duck Cove, Val’s old stomping grounds, where she and her ex used to live. Now she tended to avoid this area since her split, although I’d heard Cole had moved off the island last month. Presumably to live in Bos
ton, in closer proximity to his father’s law office, where he had a cushy job and a corner office.
A small sign hanging from the lamppost told me I was in the right place. A black Jag that I assumed was Drake’s was parked in the driveway. No other cars were around. I decided to stay parked at the curb and turned the engine off.
I grabbed the carrier and hurried to the door, shoving it open so hard it bounced back and hit the wall. Oops. At least it was a dramatic entrance. I looked around, finally able to register my surroundings now that I was here. There was a small desk set up off to the left. No one was at it. A closed door to my right, then a hallway, which I assumed led to more exam rooms. The house had clearly been remodeled, with gleaming hardwood floors and a museum-like feel. I wondered how many dogs came in here and knocked down the fancy vases and other vet-office-inappropriate decorations set up in various locations.
Muffin meowed loudly from the carrier, one of those super loud meows that cats make when they want to sound like someone is killing them. I held up the crate and peered inside. “You’re fine, Muffin. We’re going to get you all checked out.”
Muffin didn’t look thrilled. I felt his pain.
I looked around, then walked down the hallway. “Hello?”
No answer. Where was the receptionist? The only reason I didn’t figure I’d gotten the address wrong was the sign out front. But still, this didn’t seem to be operating like a real vet hospital. And why did I need to hold my spot for $250 when there was no one even in the waiting area?
I had put the carrier down and started down the hall to see if anyone was in one of the exam rooms when I heard voices from somewhere above me.
“I told you I’m handling it!” A man’s voice, angry. I paused and listened, trying to discern where it was coming from.
Then a woman’s voice, softer, but it sounded like she was crying. “How are you handling it? You won’t tell me. You won’t even talk to me anymore.”
I followed the voices to a door that I presumed led to stairs. Living quarters, I guessed. The Drakes must live here, too.
The voice I presumed was Drake’s spoke again, still loudly, but this time there was a weariness to it. “Have I ever let us down before? I told you, Marla, I have it covered. Now I have to get to an appointment.”
A door slammed and I heard footsteps coming down the stairs. I scurried back to the waiting area and tried to look like I’d just walked in just as Dr. Alvin Drake appeared through the door where I’d been hovering. I realized I hadn’t met him in person before, although I’d seen him once when I was out with Katrina and she’d pointed him out.
Up close, he looked older than I’d assumed. And tired. His reddish-brown hair had started to gray, and his eyes looked … heavy. He had a beard that made him look even thinner, but it held the only hint of color in his face, with some red tones interspersed with the brown and gray.
He looked at us and attempted a smile. “Hello. Are you…”—he glanced at his book—“Maddie?”
I nodded. “And Muffin. Sorry we’re late.” I watched him curiously. I didn’t know what I was expecting—maybe someone meaner—but this guy just looked exhausted. Well dressed, but exhausted.
“Late?” he said, then glanced at his watch. “Oh. It’s no problem. This way.” He picked up Muffin’s carrier, which I felt was very gentlemanly, and led us into an exam room. He closed the door behind us, set Muffin’s carrier down, and opened the door.
“So what brings you here?” he asked, reaching in to pet Muffin’s head.
“I’m Maddie James. I run JJ’s House of Purrs,” I said, watching for a reaction.
Drake merely looked preoccupied. “Mm-hmm,” he said. “How is business? I imagine slow nowadays?”
I shrugged. “As expected. But I do have a lot of regulars who come in. I work with Katrina Denning. She sends me the cats from the island shelter. Anyway, Muffin is new to the cafe, so I’m not sure if it’s nerves or getting adjusted, but he’s been lethargic and not eating well.”
He took Muffin by the scruff and pulled him gently out of the carrier. I wondered where his vet tech was, but the office seemed to be deserted. Except for the woman upstairs. He felt around Muffin’s stomach, checked his eyes and inside his mouth and ears. “Is he eating and drinking well?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Any diarrhea or vomiting?”
I shook my head. Although sometimes it was hard to tell with ten cats, not in cages, I was fairly certain I would’ve known if Muffin had been having those problems.
The whole exam took about five minutes. “We should do an X-ray,” he said. “And some bloodwork. To make sure there’s nothing obvious going on.”
I figured as much. I’d also hoped for as much, because I thought I’d snoop around out front a bit. “Go ahead,” I said.
He nodded. “I’ll just take him out back. We’ll be a few minutes.”
Once Drake had slipped out the back door of the exam room, I cracked the other door leading back into the reception area, my eyes darting around to make sure no one had entered the space. It was still silent.
Keeping the door cracked so I’d hear if he returned, I slipped out and hurried over to the desk. It was tidy. A cell phone sat facedown on an appointment book. I lifted it and perused the page. Mine was the only appointment today. I flipped the pages, noting how light his schedule seemed to be. Maybe he was charging so much to stay afloat with minimal customers, but that had the potential to be a vicious circle of keeping people away.
I returned the book and cell phone to their rightful position. Other than that, there was a small stack of mail, what looked like bills, and a Post-it note with a phone number on it. Not a Massachusetts number. I took my cell phone out of my back pocket and snapped a quick photo of it. There was nothing else in sight to snoop, sadly.
I came out from behind the desk just as the door down the hall opened and a woman stepped out, adjusting a rose-colored beret on her head. She paused when she saw me, then nodded. “Hello.”
“Hello,” I said. “Just looking for the bathroom.” I smiled sweetly.
“Oh. It’s over there.” She pointed to one of the doors along the hallway.
“Thanks. Maddie James,” I offered.
“Marla Drake,” she said. “Nice to meet you.”
“You too.” She slung her purse over her shoulder and moved past me. She was a wisp of a woman, even behind the giant puffy coat she wore.
“How are you liking the island?” I asked.
She turned, looking puzzled and maybe a little annoyed that I was still talking to her. “It’s fine. I’m late, though, so if you’ll excuse me.” And she hurried out the front door.
Friendly. I turned and went back to the exam room just as Drake arrived with Muffin, who looked even less happy than when we’d started our day.
“I should have the bloodwork back tomorrow. I didn’t see anything disturbing on the X-ray, so we’ll see what the blood says and go from there. I gave him some fluids because he was a bit dehydrated. That should perk him up a bit.”
“Okay,” I said. “Thanks.”
“You’re welcome.” He turned to put Muffin back in the carrier. “We can go out front.”
Crap. I was losing my opportunity to question him. “So how’s business?” I blurted.
He turned, looking a bit surprised by my question. “It’s fine,” he said. “Slow season, but it’s that way for us all, right?”
“Yeah. And it’s a shame about that writer. Did you know him?” Smooth transition, genius, I chided myself.
Drake straightened, setting the carrier back down on the exam table with a snap. “No,” he said, his voice ten times cooler than it had been. “I did not know him.” And he turned and strode out of the room, leaving me to pick up Muffin and follow.
Chapter 27
Back in my car, I got Muffin settled, then turned to look back at Drake’s office again. The good doc clearly hadn’t enjoyed me mentioning Jason Holt at all. He had
n’t spoken another word except to bark out the amount I owed him. Then he handed me my receipt and disappeared out back.
It had certainly left me curious, but the truth was I had no idea if he’d just gotten flustered because of his clandestine meeting or if he’d actually done anything he needed to hide.
So essentially, I was no further along than I had been when I started, and nearly four hundred dollars poorer.
I did have a phone number, though. Maybe it was a clue. Or maybe he’d been writing down the number for his new dog food supplier and I was crazy.
Either way, I decided to pursue my other suspect. I still had some unanswered questions about Thea Coleman and her mode of transportation. If I could find out where she was staying, maybe I could find out if she had a car. And while I didn’t expect to find a Jason Holt–sized dent in the front bumper, maybe there would be other clues that would be useful to me.
I dropped Muffin at home, poked my head in to say hi to Ethan and grab a sandwich, then headed back out. A few minutes later I pulled into the parking lot of the Surfside Resort, one of the most popular places to stay in the summer and one of the only hotels on the island to remain open in the winter. Surfside’s location was prime—right on a beach, with the small, quaint town green behind it, conveniently located not far from the ferry dock. The tourist center was across the street, with trolley stops, tour guides, and moped rentals. It was also a short walk to pretty much everything.
Some people thought the owners were crazy for keeping the place open during winter, but I thought it was actually a pretty smart business model. They were open for the people who worked on the island year-round. They didn’t all want to go back and forth every night, given the propensity for the ferry schedule to change on a dime due to the weather. Some had bosses who insisted they stay on-site for the same reasons, to ensure the job was done on time. This usually applied to contractors or construction crews. And while this hotel was a five-star resort in the summer, in the winter they dropped the prices down to something more in line with a Best Western, closed down two of the wings, and operated on a skeleton crew.
