by B R Snow
“I think he falls outside your age formula, Mom.”
“It’s more of a guideline than a rule,” she said.
The formula was one my mother’s dating screening tools. This one dealt with the low end of the age range eligible for dating. Half her age plus seven was the general rule. Or as she just clarified; her guideline.
“Hi, Suzy,” Carl said, glancing at me, then at the strange overt look my mother was giving him. “Hi, I’m Carl. You’re the famous, Mrs. C, right?”
“I am indeed. And I’m delighted to meet you, Carl,” she said, grasping his extended hand with both of hers.
Carl forced a smile and managed to free his without drawing too much attention to the effort. He stuffed both hands in the back pockets of his jeans for safe keeping.
“I don’t have a reservation, but I was wondering if I could board Max overnight. I have to leave town for the day.”
“I’m sure we can find room for him,” I said. “Are you going to visit Chef Claire?”
“Yeah,” he said. “Jackson made a call to the prison and vouched for me. They’re going to let me see her this afternoon and maybe again for an hour tonight. I could probably make it back by midnight, but I don’t like leaving Max in that situation for too long. Besides, I could use a chance of scenery. Maybe it’ll help me get a good night’s sleep.”
Since I didn’t have a clue what he was referring to, I merely nodded my head sympathetically.
“I gotta get on the road,” he said, handing me Max’s leash. “I’ll swing by in the morning to pick him up.”
“Not a problem, Carl,” I said, attaching the leash to the dog’s collar. “We’ll take good care of him.”
“Thanks,” he said, then glanced at my mother. “It was nice meeting you, ma’am.”
I choked back my laughter as we watched him drive off. My mother’s mood turned dark. She glared after the truck, then caught the look on my face.
“Don’t you dare say a word,” she said, fishing in her shorts for her car keys.
“I wouldn’t think of it…ma’am.”
“Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a tee time with a delightful gentleman who appreciates a mature woman of substance.”
“See you, Mom,” I said, laughing. “Drive safe.”
She waved over her shoulder, hopped into the SUV, and roared down the driveway.
I led Max inside and turned him over to Sammy. I found Josie in one of the exam rooms giving shots to a Golden Retriever puppy named Gabby.
“Have you ever seen anything this cute?” Josie said, beaming at the puppy.
“If I have, I don’t remember,” I said, stroking the dog’s fur. “Guess who was just here?”
“Your mother,” she said.
“Yeah, but that’s not who I was talking about. Carl the Gardener.”
“Really?” Josie said as she gently lifted the puppy into her arms. I followed her out into the reception area where a young girl and her mother sat waiting. Josie handed the puppy to the young girl. “She’s perfect. And if you follow all the instructions I wrote down for you, she’ll stay that way. Okay?”
“Got it,” the girl said beaming as she cradled the puppy. “Thanks, Josie.”
We waved goodbye as they made their way to checkout. Josie checked her schedule on her phone. “Good. I get a bit of a break. What a morning. So what did Carl want?”
“He dropped his dog off for boarding.”
“Max? That gigantic Doberman who almost ate us that night?”
“Yeah.”
“Let me guess, Carl is paying a visit to Chef Claire.”
“He certainly is. You know what that means don’t you?”
“Oh, I hope I don’t,” she said, frowning at me.
“His house is going to be empty all night.”
“And you want to go out there and have a look?”
“Of course. Don’t you?”
“Suzy, I want to do that about as much I want to be arrested for breaking and entering.”
“Relax,” I said, waving that prospect off. “We’ll just take a quick look. We won’t even touch anything.”
“And what exactly do you expect to find?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe a clue. Or evidence. Like the murder weapon.”
Josie shook her head and got up out of her chair.
“You’re getting a little crazy with this one, Suzy,” she said. “First of all, if you’re right about a second knife, and I think you might be, by now, that knife is somewhere at the bottom of the River. And second, since when did Carl move back onto your list of prime suspects?”
“I’m not saying he did it,” I said. “But I’m not convinced he didn’t do it. Look, we know that he had been sleeping with Mrs. Crawford, right?”
“He’s been sleeping with all of them,” Josie said.
“Yeah, sure, I know that. But if Marge had promised him something, like giving him Candyland Island, and then changed her mind, that might have been enough to set him off in a rage.”
“Carl? In a rage?” she said, laughing. “Suzy, he’s a total stoner who constantly reeks of weed.”
“Okay,” I said, trying to regroup. “Then maybe he’s protecting the killer.”
“There you go again,” she said. “Who is Carl protecting this time?”
“It must be Roxanne,” I said, vigorously nodding my head.
“Suzy, we’ve been through this a dozen times,” Josie said. “There is absolutely no evidence that connects her to anything other than an especially close relationship with the gardener.”
“Exactly. And that’s why we need to go out there tonight and take a look.”
“Let me ask you this. If Carl is trying to cover up for Roxanne, why the heck would he even bother visiting Chef Claire? Wouldn’t he just want her locked up and the case closed?”
“Maybe he’s feeling guilty,” I said. “He’s conflicted. Or it’s a smokescreen to keep the attention off him.”
“You’re unbelievable. I can’t talk you out of this, can I?”
“You know better than that.”
Josie sighed. “Okay, we’ll go out there. But not until after dinner. I have a feeling we’re both going to need all the strength we can get tonight.”
“That’s great. You’re the best,” I said, gently punching her arm. “And that reminds me. It’s my turn to go grocery shopping. Anything you want me to pick up?”
“As a matter of fact,” she said, digging through the pocket in her coat. “I have a list somewhere.”
She pulled out a piece of paper and handed it to me. I unfolded the page and stared at the list that was long and extensive.
“That’s a long list,” I said.
“We’re running low on some stuff, and I have a variety of cravings coming at me from several directions.
“This will take forever,” I said as I continued examining the list.
“Consider it your penance for dragging me out in the middle of the night on another of your hair-brained schemes,” she said, waving and laughing as she headed off to her next appointment.
I stuffed the list into my pocket and headed outside. I made the short drive to the Clay Bay Super Saver, the name a total misnomer since the owner was notorious for his outrageous prices, especially during the summer when he had a captive bunch of campers and tourists visiting the area. I found a parking spot right in front of the entrance, grabbed the biggest shopping cart I could, and went inside the busy store.
My progress was slowed by several conversations I had with various friends and Inn customers. The topic at the top of everyone’s list was Marge Crawford’s murder and the certain fate of Chef Claire. I kept my comments on the subject to a minimum and tried to redirect the conversation whenever possible. An hour later the shopping cart was overflowing, and I was down to a few items in the condiments aisle. I always saved these for last because they were a total pain to locate.
And Mr. Frank, the owner, had a very broad definitio
n of what constituted a condiment. I finally located the brand of balsamic vinegar Josie wanted. And the kind of imported olives she liked. A couple of bottles of obscure hot sauces she’d discovered on a trip to Morocco that Mr. Frank special ordered just for her. A large jar of the dreaded Korean Kimchi which, to me, smelled like sweat socks left in a gym locker all summer.
I checked my list and scanned the overflowing cart. It was a bizarre collection of items, and if I weren't familiar with Josie’s personal life, I would have sworn she was pregnant. I reached the maple syrup section and started to reach for a bottle of our usual choice, then stopped. I left the cart in the aisle and walked to the back of the store where I found Mr. Frank comparing a handful of order slips with a stack of recently delivered boxes. He’d owned the store since I was a kid and we’d been friends for a very long time. Now in his late seventies, he was moving a bit slower, but his mind was as sharp as ever. He glanced up when he saw me standing in the doorway and smiled.
“Suzy, it’s so good to see you,” he said, shuffling his way toward me and giving me a warm hug. “I always love it when you visit the store.”
“That’s because every time I come here, you’re able to buy a new car,” I said, laughing.
“What can I say?” he said. “You have expensive tastes. At least when it comes to food. How’s your mom?”
“The usual,” I said, shrugging. “Active and involved. Sticking her nose where it doesn’t belong. You know, a total pain.”
He laughed and shuffled to his desk and sat down.
“You got a bum knee, Mr. Frank?”
“More like a bum body,” he said, shifting in his seat to get comfortable. “Word to the wise, Suzy. Never grow old.”
“It still beats the alternative, right?”
“Yes, on most days,” he said, winking at me. “Is there something you need help with?”
“Actually, yes, there is. I’m looking for a particular brand of maple syrup.”
“Okay, which one?”
“Sugarland Farms,” I said.
“Oh, my. Sugarland Farms,” he said. “Now there’s a blast from the past. I haven’t heard that name in years.”
“Did they go out of business?” I said.
“Let me think,” he said, squinting as he tried to jog his memory. “I remember that it was a very popular brand and then it seemed to vanish off the shelves. I suppose they could have gone out of business, but my guess is that they got bought up by some conglomerate, and then the name got changed.”
“Sure. That makes sense. Was it good?”
“Yes, if I remember correctly it was very good. But how many bad maple syrups have you ever had, Suzy?”
I laughed.
“None.”
“There you go. I’m sorry I can’t help you. But we’ve got quite a good selection of other brands.”
“Yes,” I said. “I’m familiar with all of them. Would you happen to remember where Sugarland Farms was based?”
“I wouldn’t have a clue,” he said, shaking his head. “But I imagine they were located fairly close to here. Back in those days, the distribution systems tended to be more regional. I’d say possibly Vermont, but my guess is that they were in Ontario or maybe somewhere in Quebec. Why do you want to know?”
“I had breakfast at the Café, and Eunice was telling me how good their maple syrup was, so I thought I’d give it a try.”
“Eunice has a long memory,” he said, laughing. Then he turned serious. “It’s quite a nasty situation with Chef Claire.”
“You know her?” I said.
“Of course,” he said. “She handled all the ordering and shopping on the island. And since she was working for Bob Crawford, there were a lot of specialty items we needed to order. We got to know each other quite well over the past few months. She’s even been over to our house for dinner a few times. Shirley is outraged that Jackson had the audacity to arrest her.”
“It looks like they have some pretty incriminating evidence,” I said.
“I don’t care what they think they have,” he snapped. “And I know Jackson is only doing his job, but that young woman didn’t kill anybody.”
“No, I agree. She didn’t,” I said, nodding. “Try not to be too hard on Jackson. He’s in a tough spot.”
“I suppose,” he said, getting up out of his chair and grabbing the stack of order slips before shuffling over to the boxes that were piled high on the adjacent loading dock. “But he should know better. He can be such a little priss when it comes to following the rules.” He winked at me and waved goodbye. “Just so we’re clear, he gets that from his mother.”
Sorry about that. I knew there was something I forgot to tell you.
Chapter 28
“This has to be the stupidest thing I’ve ever let you talk me into.”
“I don’t know, Josie,” I said, hunched down behind a bush and peering at the house through my binoculars. “That’s a pretty long list of choices.”
“Well, this one has rocketed to the top of the charts,” Josie said, swatting at a mosquito, then another. “I’m getting eaten alive out here. Where’s that bug spray?”
“It’s in my backpack,” I said, continuing to peer at the house. Carl had left several lights on, but I didn’t see any movement inside.
I wobbled in my crouched position as Josie noisily rummaged through the backpack I was wearing.
“You want some more?” Josie said.
“No, a gallon is my limit,” I said. I lowered the binoculars and stood and stretched. I grimaced at the pain in my knees and lower back. “This detective work is a young woman’s game.”
“Detective work? I’d call it a Class 3 Misdemeanor. And that’s before we’ve even gone inside.”
“I thought you said that if I got you an ice cream cone before we came out here, you’d stop whining,” I said.
“Obviously I lied,” she said. “Okay, Sherlock, how do you want to play it?”
“I think the best way is just to walk up and knock on the door. And when nobody answers, we’ll figure out the easiest way to get in and have a look around.”
“And if somebody just happens to show up while we’re in there, how do we explain ourselves?”
“We went over that in the car,” I said, slapping at a mosquito. “Weren’t you listening?”
“I was focused on my ice cream,” she said. “You were pretty clear about my not getting any on your seats.”
“Nice job with that, by the way,” I said, making a mental note to schedule an appointment to have my car detailed.
“I should stick with two scoops,” Josie said. “That third one is always tricky to keep on the cone.”
“Yeah, so I noticed. Look, as I said in the car, if anybody does happen to show up, we’ll explain ourselves by saying we thought we heard someone in distress inside the house. And it is highly unlikely that anyone will show up unannounced.”
“You’re probably right,” Josie conceded. “The house is remote, and the chain across the driveway sends a pretty strong message.”
“He obviously doesn’t want uninvited guests popping in. It’s not surprising since he’s growing enough weed in his greenhouse to cure Glaucoma on both sides of the River.”
“Did that just pop into your head or have you been working on that line all day?”
“It just popped in,” I said, grinning in the dark. “It’s a good one, huh?”
“Yeah, it’s great,” Josie said, flatly. “What if they don’t believe us?”
“It’s our word against theirs.”
“Great plan, Suzy,” Josie said.
Even though it was dark, I knew she was shaking her head at me.
“And if somebody does answer the door?” Josie said.
“We just tell them that we’re looking for Carl and want to discuss the possibility of him handling the gardening at the Inn. It’s perfect.”
“Apart from the fact that we’re showing up at his house in the middle of the nig
ht wearing backpacks and carrying binoculars.”
“That’s a good point,” I said, sliding my backpack off and putting the binoculars inside. “Let’s leave them here, and we’ll pick them up on our way out. Good catch.”
“No problem,” Josie said. “It’s the least I can do.”
“You need to start thinking of this as an essential component of this case,” I snapped. It didn’t happen often, but sometimes Josie really made me cranky.
“Whatever. Let’s just get this over with,” Josie said, tossing her backpack on the ground next to mine.
We strolled up the gravel driveway until we reached the front steps. I stopped and glanced at Josie.
“You ready?” I said.
“Lead the way, Columbo.”
I knocked on the front door and waited. Then I knocked a second time harder. The only sound we heard was the squeak the front door made as it partially opened.
“That’s odd,” I said, pushing my head through the opening. “Hello! Is anybody here?” I waited, then looked at Josie and shrugged. “Let’s check it out.”
I pushed the door all the way open and stepped into the living room bathed in light.
Josie followed me into the house, and we looked around the room. It was small but clean and nicely furnished. I glanced over my shoulder when Josie nudged me with her hand.
“What?”
Josie pointed at the far end of the living room that led to a hallway.
“Is that what I think it is?” Josie said.
“It looks like drops of blood,” I said, starting to walk toward it.
She grabbed my arm and halted my progress.
“What do you think you’re doing? I don’t like this. We need to get out of here now,” Josie said.
“No way,” I said, resuming my walk across the room. “Suppose they need our help.”
“So we call for help,” Josie said. “My phone’s right outside in my backpack.”
“C’mon, Josie,” I said. “We might not have time for that right now.”
“You’re such a piece of work,” Josie said, shaking her head, but following me down the hallway.
The amount of blood continued to increase the further we went. It continued under the gap of a closed door, and I glanced back at Josie when I grasped the door handle.
