“Great.” He gave me two thumbs up. “My cell number is on the form. Text me.”
“Sure thing.” I couldn’t wait to see what he came up with.
“Look,” Madison was saying. “It’s Eleanor.”
Indeed it was Eleanor, riding in Marilyn’s back seat and wearing a huge sunhat attached with a scarf and huge sunglasses, like an old-fashioned movie star. Lukas was at the wheel, dashing in a chauffer’s hat. From the attic, maybe? Eleanor gave the pageant wave to admirers on both sides of the street.
“Aww,” I said, seeing a line of vintage cars trailing after Marilyn. “I should have entered Beverly in the parade.”
“Definitely next year,” Madison said. “We’ll all dress up in period-appropriate outfits.”
“Is that Dr. Ruben?” Grammie asked. “He’s quite handsome.”
“No, that’s Lukas,” I said. “Sophie’s old college boyfriend. He’s the other professor on the seaweed project.”
Grammie’s brows rose. “Wow. Where can I sign up for a class?”
Madison and I exchanged delighted glances. “Grammie, you’re too funny,” I said. I drank the last of my coffee. “I think it’s time to go in and get to work.”
Down the street, the blat of trumpets and tubas announced the end of the parade, the marching band from the high school. A last police cruiser tailed the youngsters, keeping everyone safe. The onlookers began to fold chairs and chatter about what to do next. Children fought over candy thrown to them by parade participants.
“Same here,” Madison said. “I’ve got a client meeting in ten minutes.” Hitching up her tote, she said goodbye and dashed across the street.
Inside the store, Grammie puttered around, dusting and rearranging some stock. I used the store computer to check our website. Several orders had come in for Eleanor’s basic sheets so I pulled the sets from inventory to be packaged for mailing.
Customers drifted into the shop, usually in pairs or groups of three or more. The colorful summer prints were getting a lot of attention, including from a trio of twenty-somethings who were trying them on and giggling.
A pretty blonde wearing a cherry half apron over her shorts admired her reflection in a mirror. “I love this, but what if Geoff expects me to wait on him hand or foot or something?”
“The apron,” intoned a tall brunette, sliding her hands into the pockets of a lemon and lime bib apron that looked super with her coloring, “is a symbol of feminine oppression.”
“Seriously, Tiff, how true,” said the third, who had caramel curls. “My grandmother wore one like, all the time.” She fluffed the ruffles on the white taffeta hostess apron she was holding up. “But this is so, so pretty.”
Grammie, who was straightening stock nearby, popped around the corner and said in a deadpan voice, “And sometimes an apron is just an apron.”
The young women burst into laughter and, with a few nudges and whispers of encouragement among themselves, each bought an apron. They left the shop with tissue-stuffed Ruffles & Bows bags and smiles on their faces.
At lunchtime, I went down to the Mug Up Deli to pick up an order to go. Usually we brought lunch, either sandwiches or leftovers, but this morning we had been in a hurry. On the way, I passed the Bean, noticing a blue scooter parked outside in the alley. Brendan must have made it to work. Seeing the tiny vehicle reminded me that I needed to tell Anton about my near-accident yesterday. Just in case it did have a bearing on Hailey’s death.
Before I forgot, I stopped right there and called his cell. It went to voice mail, so I left a message. Then I continued on to the Mug Up.
As I opened the door, Bella was coming out, holding a paper sack. “Great minds,” I said after we exchanged greetings. “I’m here to get lunch too.”
“Town is crazy today and the festival barely started,” she said. “We’ve been slammed in the store, plus things have been coming in for the fashion show.” Clothing stores around the area were contributing outfits, both to help charity and for a mention in the program.
“I’ve gotten a couple of entries for the lobster bib portion.” I remembered Mr. Buxton’s query. “Is there power available for the contestants to use?”
She cocked her head, giving me a quizzical look. “I’m sure we can arrange something. But what—”
“I have no idea.” My phone rang so I waved goodbye and ducked into the deli. “Hey, Anton.” I said. “I know you’re super busy but I need five minutes.” I glanced around to be sure no one was listening. “It’s about Hailey.”
“Tell you what, let me grab lunch and I’ll come up to the store.” The sound of carnival music and passing traffic in the background clued me in that he was down at the festival.
I looked at the deli counter, which was miraculously experiencing a lull. “How about this? I’m at the Mug Up and I’ll buy you a sandwich.” I hesitated. “That won’t be construed as bribery of a public official, will it?” I was joking.
He bellowed a laugh. “As long as you’re not guilty of something, we’ll be all set.”
After we hung up, I hurried up to the counter to add a loaded roast beef sub to our order. I also grabbed another bag of salt-and-pepper kettle chips, mine and Grammie’s latest addiction.
Back at the store, I barely had time to set out the food on the side room table before Anton walked in. “I’ll keep an eye on the front,” Grammie said, taking her lunch to the counter. Quincy, torn between her tuna melt sub and my usual classic Maine Italian with ham and cheese, chose to follow Grammie. I wasn’t surprised. He loved tuna.
We dug into lunch for a couple of moments, crunching in silence. “Thanks, Iris,” Anton said. “It’s been a busy couple of days.”
“Everything under control down at the festival?” Thousands of visitors were expected, which meant our small force would be stretched thin. Traffic alone was a nightmare.
“Yeah, we called in additional officers from other towns,” Anton said. “They all appreciate the overtime.” His dark eyes locked with mine, and I sensed his thoughts shift from our chitchat to the much more serious issue of Hailey’s death. “What was it you wanted to talk to me about?”
I put my sandwich down and wiped my hands with a napkin. No sense in beating around the bush. “On my way to the park yesterday morning, on Cliff Road, a blue scooter almost hit me head-on. It was coming from the direction of the park and Shorehaven.” I paused to inhale, knowing that I was putting a nice young man directly in the investigation’s crosshairs. “I believe it was Brendan Murphy, who works at the Bean. He used to date Hailey. And he owns a blue scooter. It’s there right now, you can see it.”
Anton popped a chip into his mouth, his gaze never leaving mine. “You saw his face?”
This was the weak spot in my story, but I was glad to have one. Maybe it wasn’t Brendan driving. I shook my head. “No, he was just a blur when he went by, he was driving so fast. But how many blue scooters are there around here? And I saw the two of them talking at Taste O’ the Sea the night before. Maybe they reconnected.”
Anton pulled out his phone and made some notes. “I’ll certainly follow up on that.” His lips twisted in a rueful grimace. “We don’t have much else.”
My pulse leaped. “You mean besides the jacket? I think that was planted in Lukas’s room.”
He leaned forward, lowering his voice so customers walking into the store wouldn’t hear. “And why do you think that?”
“He was wearing a blue jacket when I saw him at the cliffs. After we”—I swallowed—“found Hailey. Would he have really gone back after killing her and changed to a different identical jacket? If my jacket ripped like that, I would have thrown it in the ocean or something.”
Anton considered this. “Unless he wanted to implicate himself and then throw us off the trail by claiming he was framed.”
I put a hand to my head. “Ouch. Maybe you can get some kind of DNA off the coat and figure out who else was wearing it.” Then I thought of something. “Was there any DNA
under her fingernails?”
“To answer your first question,” he said, “the jacket was stored next to a lot of others, so any hairs or skin cell samples are probably worthless. And no, there was nothing under her fingernails, unfortunately.”
“I appreciate you telling me this much,” I said. “I won’t blab it around, promise.”
He shrugged. “I trust you to be discreet. And to be honest, we never know where a break in the case will come from.” The rueful expression returned. “Not that I have so much experience with homicide, thankfully.”
Last spring, when helping solve not one murder, but two, I’d discovered that I had a knack for investigating. Not that I should put it to use or anything. But while we were on the topic … “I learned something interesting last night,” I said. “While chatting with Lukas at the Captain’s Pub.”
A crease appeared between his brows. “Iris,” he said in a stern voice.
“I wasn’t snooping,” I said hastily. “At least not much,” I qualified. “But anyway, it’s too late now.” I took a deep breath. “When I was at the Taste O’ the Sea, I saw Hailey and Lukas arguing on the deck. Last night, he told me that she and Theo were competing for a fellowship, and Hailey was trying to criticize Theo’s work. Lukas didn’t like that.”
“And?” Anton’s tone was bland, which made me think that I had overreacted to this information.
I shrugged. “Not sure. Just thought I’d mention it, in case it’s relevant. Theo was on the cliffs that morning. I saw him.” After a beat, I added, “Ruben said he was in his room. But he might have been lying.” Shut up, Iris. In a lame attempt to cover up, I said, “Ruben asked Madison out to lunch.”
Anton’s hand jerked, making his iced tea splash, but he quickly recovered. “Look, I appreciate you passing all this along, but please, don’t play detective, okay? It’s one thing to observe something, but to question people … not a good idea.”
I formed a Girl Scout salute with three fingers. “I’m not, promise. And I really hope you figure it out soon. Her poor family. They must be devastated.”
Sadness flickered in Anton’s eyes. “Both of Hailey’s parents are gone. Cancer, within months of each other a couple of years ago. We haven’t been able to find any other relatives.”
“Oh, how awful,” I blurted. Clapping a hand over my mouth, I looked over my shoulder, hoping the customers hadn’t heard me. But they were chatting with Grammie and not paying any attention to us. “I knew she was an orphan, but I was hoping she had someone who cared.”
“We do,” Anton said softly.
“I know,” was my reply. Of course Anton and his team were committed to bringing Hailey’s killer to justice. It was their job. And they were good at it.
Then a burst of resolve made me sit up straight in my chair. Hailey also had us, I realized, Grammie, my friends, and me. We’d make sure she wasn’t forgotten. And if we could do anything to help solve her murder—without interfering with the investigation, of course—then we’d do it. Hailey didn’t deserve anything less.
CHAPTER 11
The aroma of sizzling bacon greeted me when I lumbered into the kitchen early the next morning, still wearing short-sleeved summer pajamas. Grammie, who was standing at the stove flipping pancakes, laughed. “You two are quite the pair.”
I glanced behind me at Quincy, who was padding along, looking as tired and slothful as I felt. “Neither of us got much sleep.” Sometimes the racing thoughts and worries I managed to keep at bay during the day attacked me at night. Last night it was all about Hailey. Who killed her? Was it Brendan? Theo? Even Lukas? Would we ever find out? As a result, I was restless and up three times in the night, disturbing my poor cat.
Yawning, I staggered to the coffee maker and poured a cup. “Madison and I are going to run over to Eleanor’s this morning. She found some things that belonged to her mother. Maybe they’ll help us with our research.”
Grammie used tongs to remove strips of bacon from the pan and place them on a paper-towel-lined plate. “I hope so. The whole thing is quite the mystery.”
I pulled out the kitty kibble and filled Quincy’s dish. “Not to be mercenary, but a good backstory will help us sell the Chanel clothing and everything else too.” I’d learned that customers loved buying things with a story behind them. Claudia’s history would only add to the cachet of linens and aprons from a historic summer cottage, which I’d already factored into the prices. Every time someone used a pair of those sheets or tied on an apron, they could dream about staying in a romantic summer cottage on the coast. Or in the case of the European sheets, a castle, maybe?
“And that will help Eleanor,” Grammie said. “The auction houses are going to love it.” She put two steaming hot pancakes onto a plate and added bacon, then placed it on the island, next to butter and Vermont maple syrup. “Here you go.” At the sound of Madison’s Mini roaring up the drive, she pulled out another plate.
I went to let Madison in, and we pulled up stools to the island to devour breakfast. “I’ll drive this morning if you want,” she said around a mouthful of pancake. A tiny piece of bacon accidentally fell from her fingers to the floor, where Quincy pounced.
“Sure.” I chased syrup around my plate with a piece of pancake. “We go right by here so you can drop me off after.”
After we helped Grammie clean up, Madison had another cup of coffee while I showered and dressed. Today I was in a floral mood, so I wore a full-shirted frock with a pale lavender print. Matching flats completed the outfit.
On the way out to Shorehaven, I filled Madison in regarding my talk with Anton. The prohibition against blabbing didn’t extend to my inner circle, I was pretty sure—and almost definitely not to his crush.
“It’s got to be someone either staying at the house or with easy access,” Madison said as she expertly changed gears, sending us flying around corners and over hills. “And obviously someone who knew which jacket belonged to Lukas.”
“You think the killer used his on purpose?” I asked, thinking that such a move showed premeditation. “That would be truly fiendish.”
“More fiendish than pushing a young woman off a cliff and leaving her there?” She flipped on the signal and braked, then turned onto Cliff Road.
“Good point,” I said, my stomach clenching with anger. “We need to know more about the people involved.” One benefit of working on Eleanor’s research project was that it gave us an excuse to go to Shorehaven and talk to Hailey’s colleagues. Listening to myself, I realized I’d made the decision to investigate. Well, to help, I clarified, without treading on toes or angering a killer, as I’d promised Anton.
“Um, there is one more thing,” I said as we slowed to enter Shorehaven’s drive. “I kind of let it slip that Ruben asked you out.”
She shot me a glance. “But I said no.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t mention that part. Not on purpose. There wasn’t a good time, since we were really talking about Hailey. Now I feel bad.” And I did. While part of me wanted to let Anton squirm, let him worry about Madison dating someone else, it wasn’t really my MO to play games. Nor Madison’s.
Madison sighed. “Tell him I said no, okay? While I wish he would go ahead and ask if he’s going to, I’m not going to try to make him jealous.” Then she grinned. “Not on purpose anyway.”
I laughed. “Oh, he reacted all right.” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Anton. She said no. He’d get it.
Several cars were parked in front of Shorehaven, including a lime green VW, a white SUV, Lukas’s sports car, and Craig’s Mercedes. I groaned to myself. Hopefully Craig’s presence wouldn’t derail our plans today. We needed to speak privately with Eleanor.
“Ruben drives the SUV, which is a rental,” Madison said. “And how do I know this? We had to wrest the keys away from him the other night so Theo could drive. After that double Scotch.”
“Good times,” I said, picturing the scene. “I didn’t see Theo at the pub.”
“He showed up later,” Madison said, parking the Mini beside the VW. “With Jamaica.” As she turned off the engine, she nodded at the lime green bug. “I think that’s her car.”
I realized I hadn’t seen or spoken to Jamaica since the tasting at the Grille. “I’m glad she’s here. I’d like to know more about her seaweed farm. Plus maybe she knew Hailey.”
“Maybe so,” Madison said. “Since they were all working together.” She lowered her voice. “Iris and Madison, on the case.”
I laughed as I grabbed my tote out of the back. “Come on, partner. Time to get to work.”
Lukas and Jamaica were seated on the pool terrace, drinking coffee and looking at what looked like a marine chart. They both looked up when we walked through the gate. Today Jamaica wore blue overalls and a white T-shirt, a blue-and-white bandana constraining her braids. “Good morning,” Lukas said. “How are you today?”
We returned his greeting and then I asked Jamaica, “Is that the plan for your seaweed farm?” I marveled at the idea that someone could choose an area in the bay and call it a farm.
“It is.” She ran a finger along a rectangle out in the water. “I’m going to be a thousand feet off shore out here.” She pointed to a rectangle on land, the representation of a building. “That’s Shorehaven. But all you’ll be able to see from the cliffs are orange mooring balls. And lobster buoys when the lines growing seaweed are in.”
“In order to get lease approval from the state,” Lukas said, “the farm needs to be away from any navigational channels. It also can’t infringe on essential habitats.”
“And then there’s the sea bottom to consider so the moorings hold,” Jamaica said, “plus current, nutrient availability, and depth.” She laughed. “It’s been a process. Especially since…” Her words trailed off but she didn’t clarify.
Despite all the miles of shorefront and acres of water edging Maine, I could see that finding a good site might be complicated. But I had another question. “Ruben and Patrick mentioned something about a lab. Are you growing test-tube seaweed?”
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