I went inside, took a quick shower, then went to the kitchen, stopping to inhale the scent of Aunt Gully’s glorious pink roses. A giant box of chocolates sat on the table next to the vase. The box was tied with an elegant red velvet bow. I reached to untie it.
Aunt Gully came into the kitchen, carrying a stack of folded aprons. “Caught in the act!”
“Busted.” I picked up the card. “Let me guess.”
“Mr. Persistence. Don O’Neill.”
I flipped the card over. Dear Gully, Hope you’re doing well. Thinking of you and that great chowder. Don O’Neill.
She lifted the lid and offered me the box. At the rich aroma of chocolate, we sighed in unison. I took the lid and turned it over—it had a diagram showing the different types of chocolates. I love chocolates that have a map of the different types under the lid. I want to avoid getting one with coconut—my least favorite. I selected a chocolate and bit in. Salted caramel and bittersweet chocolate. Yum. “Died and gone to heaven.”
Aunt Gully picked up her book—Trouble Is My Business by Raymond Chandler—and tucked it in her tote bag. “I’m bringing the chocolates to share at book club. It’s next door at Aggie’s tonight.”
“You’re not really still considering Don’s offer, are you?”
“No.” She patted the box. “But Don O’Neill doesn’t have to know that.”
Verity honked from the street. I got in the Tank and we headed toward Rabb’s Point.
“I can’t remember—did I tell you about the Peeping Tom at the Shack?”
The Tank swerved. “No. What! Are you sure it wasn’t Beltane? Trying to cast another spell on Aunt Gully?”
“I’m pretty sure the Peeping Tom was a guy. But … Beltane’s pretty tall and has strong shoulders,” I mused. “No, it was a guy. And this guy could run.”
“Beltane gets strong muscles sacrificing goats at the Witch’s Table.”
I snorted. “It’s strange. When we had the break-in at Gull’s Nest, the only thing that was disturbed was the kitchen—and now this guy from Chowdaheads is trying to buy Aunt Gully’s chowder recipe.”
“Maybe you just scared off the thief before he got past the kitchen,” Verity said.
“Don’t be so reasonable. I don’t trust Don O’Neill.”
“At least now he’s buying Aunt Gully flowers and fruit baskets—”
“And he just sent her a box of fancy chocolates. He changed tactics, is all.”
Verity’s brow wrinkled. “Aunt Gully’s not interested though, right?”
I shook my head. “She’s not interested in selling her recipe, but Lorel has her thinking she has to be more practical. I do think she’s enjoying the attention.”
“Clever woman. I wonder what he’ll give her next.”
Lorel must think Don O’Neill was a respectable businessman but I would be keeping an eye on Aunt Gully.
Just past a rusted DEAD END sign, Verity steered into Old Farms Road. There were no streetlights and the dark closed in on us. We passed a small cottage at the end of a driveway, yellow light glowing through small mullioned windows.
“That’s Beltane’s house, isn’t it?” Verity said.
“Leave it to her to live here, right down the street from her buddy, Otis Parish. This is the creepiest street in town.”
Tree branches overhung the narrow road that threaded between stone walls. It felt like we were driving into a tunnel. The silence grew thick as we followed the yellow headlight beams down the rutted road.
Verity cleared her throat and spoke softly. “Why did Isobel want you to meet here?”
“I don’t know.” Now it really seemed odd—why didn’t she just tell me what she’d found? Or invite me to her house? Hadn’t Bronwyn and Officer Petrie said this was a crime scene? “I wonder if there are any cops posted here.”
But there were no cars parked in the lane. “Shouldn’t there be? Don’t murderers always go back to the scene of their crime? Or maybe that’s funerals?”
Verity gave me a look. “You sound like Bronwyn.”
The Tank drew up to the stone wall by a large willow tree. The dangling branches clawed the roof of the car as Verity pulled as far as she could onto the gravel shoulder of the narrow lane. The cemetery was just on the other side of the wall. Verity cut the engine.
A loud knock rattled my window. Verity and I screamed. Isobel Parish waved through the glass, uplighting her face with a flashlight, turning it into a terrifying mask looming out of the darkness
I rolled down the window. “You scared the living daylights out of me!”
“Yeah, sorry. I don’t want my parents to see what I’m doing. That’s why I wanted you to come in this way.” Isobel leaned into the car. “Oh, hi, Verity. Thank God the cops have finished up.”
I took a deep breath to steady my nerves as I got out of the car.
“How’s Madame?” Isobel asked.
For a second her question surprised me, but then I remembered how close her mother and Madame were. “As far as I know she’s still in the hospital.”
We followed her away from the car, our footsteps loud on the gravel, then swishing through a dense carpet of leaves. Birds called and bats flicked overhead. I pulled my jacket tighter.
Isobel shook her head. “It’s awful. I heard the police wanted to question her about…” Her voice trailed. “My mom said you were her TA.”
I was a TA. Just like Fern and Max had been. “Yes.”
There was a bit more moonlight than the night of the party, but still we followed the powerful beam of Isobel’s flashlight. I wasn’t taking any chances on stumbling over a tree root. I wasn’t sure what I’d done with the flashlight Aunt Gully had given me. Verity huddled close and kept an arm on my elbow. I didn’t know who was clinging to whom, but it helped.
Isobel turned abruptly as the path passed the entrance of the graveyard—a yellow ribbon of police tape sagged across it. The graveyard was encircled by a rough wall of stones. In some places the rocks had collapsed or given way, and those spots were jagged. Isobel kept to a path that curved into the woods.
“Years ago, there was an old dirt road that led to our barn. It’s kind of overgrown now,” Isobel said.
Something stirred in the woods. Verity and I froze.
“Just squirrels.” Isobel waved us on.
I was sure we were passing somewhere near the Witch’s Table.
“Don’t you worry about witches?” Verity said, giving voice to my thought.
“Bunch of dried-up old sticks who think they’re witches,” Isobel huffed. “We just hope they don’t burn the woods down. Tramp right past all the NO TRESPASSING signs like they own the place.”
Verity and I shared a guilty glance. Years ago, in high school, we’d been trespassers, too.
“My dad tried putting up a fence years ago, but kids just climbed over,” Isobel said over her shoulder as she strode ahead. “One got hurt and sued. Can you imagine? My dad’s a lawyer. He knew he’d spend a fortune just settling with people looking for a payout. So he took the fence down.”
“Don’t you have security?” I asked.
“Cameras. But not where the—where Max died,” Isobel said. “Plus, they were off the night of the party. I don’t spy on my party guests.” Her tone was defiant, but I knew we were all thinking the same thing: the cameras might have caught Max’s killer.
We continued walking in silence.
The path widened to a clearing where two stripes of dirt crested a hill and led to a barn. Spotlights blazed around the building.
I heard the sound of water lapping as we passed a small in-ground pool. “My dad’s lap pool. Salt water’s pumped in.”
“Ah.” I hadn’t thought about the role Lobzilla had played in Halloween’s events, but now I realized that to keep the giant lobster alive, the thief would have put Lobzilla in salt water. A thought took shape.
“Max—”
Isobel didn’t seem to hear me as she strode to the barn. She yanked op
en the door. Verity and I shared a glance, then followed her into the dark building.
“The cops have been over every square inch of this place, the woods, the graveyard, the house even.” Isobel flipped on the lights and slammed the door behind us.
Now that I could see Isobel clearly, her appearance shocked me. Her hair, pulled back into a ponytail, was matted and greasy. She had dark circles under her eyes and her eyeliner was smeared. I wondered if she’d showered since the night of the party.
She kicked a pile of dried newspapers. I stepped closer. Dark strands of seaweed were mixed with the papers.
I crouched and picked up a piece of the newspaper. I sniffed.
There’s no getting around it. Lots of things from the sea—drying seaweed, fish, and definitely lobsters—do not smell good. The paper smelled like lobster.
Isobel folded her arms.
“Did you tell the police?” I said.
Verity looked from Isobel to me. “What?”
“The thief must’ve used a box to transport Lobzilla. And to keep him alive, Lobzilla had to be kept moist. The seaweed and paper would’ve been soaked in salt water and put around him,” I said.
Had the cops missed this? Maybe it didn’t start to smell until today? Lobster smelled all the time, but the night of the murder, perhaps Lobzilla hadn’t been the cops’ first priority.
“What about the box?” Verity asked.
Isobel pushed back her hair. “The cops found one behind the—” She looked away. “Headstone near Max.”
I let the newspaper fall from my hand as I stood. “So you kidnap a lobster and bring it here. Why?”
Isobel paced. “Dad’s lap pool is filled with salt water, pumped in from the beach. The pool by the house is salt water, too.”
I remembered the leis. Max was in the frat. Stealing Lobzilla was a fraternity prank. But he needed a safe place to put Lobzilla. The saltwater pool had been perfect. Most people wouldn’t know the Parishes had a second saltwater pool, but Max did.
Isobel wrapped her arms around her waist as if she felt ill. She curled over and walked slowly down the middle of the stalls to a row of hay bales. She sagged onto one of the bales.
“Are you okay?” I joined her, careful not to sit too close. Isobel put her head in her hands.
Verity walked past the stalls, looking into each empty one. “Where are all your horses?”
“Sold. My dad lost interest. He didn’t care that I loved them. He needed money for something at the fraternity.”
“So you think the frat guys brought Lobzilla here for a prank?” Verity said.
“My dad had a very close relationship with the frat. His blessed frat!” Isobel balled her fists.
“Parish House.” I remembered the sign by the frat’s front door.
“My grandfather was the founding member. My dad loved it. He’s legal counsel for the frat. That means when they get in trouble they come running to my dad. And that’s all the fricking time.”
She wiped her nose on her sleeve. “They were his surrogate sons. When my mom had me and then couldn’t have any more kids, he lost interest in me. According to him I can’t carry on the family name. But the guys at the frat—he takes them sailing, let them ride here when we had the horses, throws them parties, gets them internships.
“I started dating Max in September. We met at a big fancy dinner for the frat.” She rubbed her arms. She was wearing a denim jacket over a sweatshirt, but still she looked cold. She spoke quietly. “We spent time here. Went swimming in the pool. Max knew this was salt water.”
“But Max seemed to like Fred Nickerson. Why would he steal Fred’s prize find?”
“Max, when I first met him, wouldn’t have. The Max I thought I knew. But the real Max, the frat Max, he loved stupid jokes. He’d stab you in the back to make his stupid fraternity brothers laugh.”
“What happened?”
She shook her head. “He was such a liar. A thief and a liar.”
“A thief?”
She took a deep breath.
“Our house was broken into last week.”
“I remember.” Johnny Sabino had gotten the call as we stood in the lobster shed at the Mermaid. “The burglary took place the night before Lobzilla was found.”
She nodded. “Our house wasn’t really broken into.” She swallowed. “Max said it would be fun if he pretended to be a burglar and climbed up the balcony to my room.”
Oh, Isobel.
Verity said, “That’s romantic.”
Isobel gave Verity a withering look. “I was an idiot. So I turned off the security system. And he came over just like he said he would. And the next morning he’s gone and my dad’s going crazy because stuff was missing from his office.”
“Stuff from his office?” I remembered what I’d heard. “I thought on the news your mom said nothing of value was stolen?”
Isobel pushed back her hair. “Dad was missing papers. Important papers. But he can’t say that because then his clients would freak out. My dad was beyond livid. I’ve never seen him like that. And”—she sniffled—“I couldn’t tell him it was Max. But I knew it was Max and Max was gone. Ergo…”
“Max took the papers,” I said.
She buried her head in her hands.
“Did you tell your dad now that Max is…?”
“Are you insane?” Isobel shouted. “Nobody knows, but the way he looks at me! He knows somebody had to have turned off the security system. He knows it was me, for a guy. He just doesn’t know which guy.”
“You should tell the police,” Verity said, echoing my thoughts.
“I don’t even know why I’m telling you! I just had to tell somebody!” She jumped to her feet and paced, her voice rising. “I’m such an idiot! Why did I even think he liked me? Max played me. And now he’s dead and I’m happy! I’m glad he’s dead! I wish I’d done it myself!” Sobbing, she flung herself next to me on the hay bale.
Verity and I exchanged glances, then I moved closer to Isobel. I laid a hand on her shoulder. She jerked away, but remained seated.
“I still hate him.” She sobbed but her tears belied her words. We waited until the storm of her weeping passed. “My mother thinks I killed Max. She knew I was angry with him.”
“I thought you were with that other guy at the party?” Verity said.
I’d been thinking the same thing. “Nate Ellis.” I thought Isobel would blow up, but she shook her head. “I thought that would help me forget Max.” She shrugged.
I thought back to the graveyard and the note I’d found. “Halloween night, I found a note, near Max. It said that he was to meet someone in the cemetery, someone who was going to give him money.”
She swore. She let her head fall back and wiped her eyes. “Max needed money. His parents cut him off because he got caught selling drugs. My dad made it all go away for him, but still his father was pissed. He was big on tough love, but without the love. He told Max he had to pay his own fees for the frat.”
The barn door jerked open.
Isobel jumped to her feet.
Kathleen Parish ran into the barn, her cheeks flushed, her chest heaving. “There you are!” She flung her arms around Isobel.
Royal Parish followed, his broad frame filling the doorway, his face stern. With a shock, I wondered if they’d seen us on one of their security cameras.
Isobel threw off her mother’s arms and pushed past her father into the darkness.
“Isobel!” Royal turned and ran after her. “Young lady, you stop right now!”
Kathleen started after them, but stopped at the door. “You girls—”
Verity and I looked at each other. “We were just going.”
Kathleen’s eyes darted from me to Verity. She did a double take. “Allegra.” Her expression softened.
“Mrs. Parish. Are you okay?”
She ran a hand through her hair. “This has all been awful. It’s a nightmare and I cannot awaken.” Her expression hardened. “What did Isobel
tell you?”
Verity and I glanced at each other.
I thought of the safest thing to say. “She’s upset.”
Kathleen took a deep breath, trying to compose her face. “Yes, she’s upset, she doesn’t know what she’s saying. Please don’t pay any attention.”
Kathleen slipped out. Verity and I followed slowly and peered around the door frame. Kathleen and Royal stood just outside, in an embrace. No, he was holding her back as she struggled to escape his arms. We jerked back.
“Kathleen, let her go. Now this is between her and the police.” Royal spoke as if trying to calm a small child.
“Royal, how could you? She needs us!” Kathleen shouted.
“She’s made her bed.” Royal’s voice rose. “She has to lie in it! All she’s done is brought disgrace to this family.”
I peered around the door frame again. Royal’s and Kathleen’s bodies were illuminated by the light over the door. He held her by her elbows as she fought him.
“This family!” Kathleen wrenched away. “Your perfect family is a disgrace! They were just as barbaric and superstitious as anyone else! And still all you care about is your family name! Not Isobel, not me!”
She pushed him away and stumbled toward the house. Royal swore and stalked after her.
Verity and I looked at each other then hurried in the other direction, toward the dirt road to the cemetery.
“Wow, what was that about?” Verity’s whisper was urgent. “She’s unhinged.”
“They’re all unhinged.” Isobel’s outburst had shaken me, but hearing her parents saddened me, too. “Talk about a dysfunctional family. I feel sorry for Isobel.”
We walked as fast as we dared on the uneven ground, our cell phone flashlight beams pulling us along. “There are tire tracks here. Too bad I know nothing about tire tracks.”
“So Max took the lobster here because he wanted to leave it on Otis Parish’s grave as a prank. Why? Why take it in the first place?”
“Let’s face it, Verity. It’s a bunch of frat guys. They don’t need an excuse to do anything stupid. Max liked pranks. The frat was invited to the Halloween party, right? Max probably figured everyone would go to Otis’s grave and wouldn’t it be funny to find a giant lobster there. It seems like he didn’t mean for Lobzilla to get hurt. He did put him in the right type of water,” I mused. “You know, it’s funny, did you see Max at the party at all?”
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