Claws for Alarm

by Karen MacInerney

  Claws for Alarm

  A Gray Whale Inn Mystery

  Karen MacInerney

  Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  More Books by Karen MacInerney

  Recipes

  Natalie’s Sort-of-Guiltless (okay, Gluten-Free, Anyway) Flourless Chocolate Cake

  Velvety Lobster Bisque

  Gray Whale Inn Morning Glory Muffins

  Avocados Stuffed with Crab Salad

  Eli’s Lemon Cookies

  Bonus Recipe: Natalie’s (and my) Favorite Popovers

  Bonus Recipe: Blueberry French Toast

  Killer Jam: Chapter One

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  Copyright © 2018 by Karen MacInerney

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Other books in the Gray Whale Inn Mysteries:

  The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries

  Murder on the Rocks

  Dead and Berried

  Murder Most Maine

  Berried to the Hilt

  Brush With Death

  Death Runs Adrift

  Whale of a Crime

  Claws for Alarm

  Cookbook: The Gray Whale Inn Kitchen

  Blueberry Blues (A Gray Whale Inn Short Story)

  Pumpkin Pied (A Gray Whale Inn Short Story)

  Created with Vellum

  Dedicated to the memory of my grandmother, Marian Quinton, and to her dearest friend, the wonderful Nora Bestwick. I love you!

  1

  "I'm going to kill her," Charlene fumed, stabbing her apple kuchen with a fork. The afternoon light had turned my yellow kitchen walls gold, and a cool breeze wafted through the open window.

  "Whoa there," I said. "Francine's just trying to make the island look better." The garden-obsessed Floridian and her husband had recently bought a house on Cranberry Island, and Francine Hodges had immediately directed her prodigious energy to turning the island into something that belonged in House and Garden magazine. "Besides," I reminded her, "they're summer people. She'll be gone soon enough."

  "Soon enough? We’ve got months to go," she said. "She doesn't go back to Florida until October. By that time, she'll have the lupine field turned into the front lawn of Versailles and Claudette's goats turning on a spit."

  "There might be a few people who wouldn't mind that," I pointed out. "Those goats have rampaged many a garden on Cranberry Island. Ingrid Sorenson's been replacing her geraniums biweekly for years. Besides," I added jokingly—I was rather fond of Muffin and Pudge, after all—"Cabrito's pretty good, especially on tacos. It's a Texas specialty.”

  "I hear they have breakfast tacos in Texas, too.” Charlene wrinkled her nose. "Sounds kind of gross."

  "Oh, they're not," I said. I didn't miss many things about Texas—I'd moved to Maine from Austin and bought the Gray Whale Inn a few years back and had never looked back—but I did miss Mexican food, particularly breakfast tacos. And Blue Bell ice cream. "I'll make you some soon," I promised. "The salsa might be a little hot for your northern palate, but there's nothing wrong with eggs, potatoes, and melted cheese on a fresh tortilla."

  "Sounds passable," she admitted. "But back to Francine. How are we going to keep her from trying to turn the island into a picture postcard?" She leaned forward. "She was after me to take all the notices off the front window of the store the other day. Said it looked 'messy.'"

  "What did you tell her?" I asked. Charlene was the postmistress and owner of the island's store, which also functioned as the island's living room. The front part was filled with squashy couches where locals drank coffee and exchanged news, and the windows were always plastered with notices of local goings-on.

  "I said I'd think about it, which I did for about two seconds. And did you know she wants the lobster co-op to stop loading traps on the dock? Says the bait smell is a problem for visitors getting off the mail boat."

  "Seriously?"

  "Seriously. She plans to bring it up at the next town meeting."

  "I'll bring popcorn," I said. "What else is going on? How are things with you and Alex?"

  Charlene and Alex van der Berg, a talented photographer and naturalist, had started dating earlier in the summer, when a schooner nature tour had made the inn home base.

  She sighed. "Well, Alex is working in Alaska this summer, so I won't see him till the fall, but things are going great. We talk every night.”

  "I'm glad," I said. "It's about time you met someone wonderful."

  "Yeah. It's just too bad he's on the other side of the world. I was thinking I might fly down to see him for a few days this winter."

  I took a bite of my own kuchen and nodded my approval. "Sounds like a good plan to me."

  "November might be a good time. It depends on what his schedule is. And we'll see about Christmas..."

  "Holidays can be weird when you haven't been dating long, can't they?"

  "They can," she agreed. "Especially when it's long-distance.” She toyed with a bit of apple on her plate. "And speaking of romance, how are things going with Gwen and Adam?" My niece and her lobsterman boyfriend had gotten engaged, and there was talk of a wedding in the fall, but the date was still kind of uncertain.

  "She's supposedly planning the wedding, but she's been so busy doing workshops, trekking back and forth to the art studio on the mainland, and helping me out here that I don't think she's made much progress."

  "Maybe she should push it out to the spring and figure it out this winter," Charlene suggested.

  "I think they're anxious to get the show on the road," I said. "They'd like to move in together, and I get the feeling they may be thinking of starting a family."

  "Oh my gosh," Charlene said, her eyes getting wide. "That would be so amazing! You'd be Aunt Nat to a munchkin! Do you think she'd let me be Aunt Char?"

  I laughed. "I think she'll have a whole island full of aunts and uncles if she decides to have children. But in the meantime, we should probably see if we can help her get down the aisle."

  "I love weddings," Charlene sighed. "I wonder what kind of dress she's getting? I was looking at a few strapless Vera Wangs the other day..."

  "You were looking at wedding gowns?"

  My friend blushed and stabbed at her kuchen again. "I've always wanted a wedding," she confessed.

  "I know," I said, reaching out to touch her arm. "But take your time, please. You haven't known Alex that long."

  She waved me away. "It's kind of hard to marry someone when you never see him in person, so you don't need to worry. Speaking of halfway around the world, I hear you're cooking Indian style this week."

  "Not exactly," I said. "They originally wanted all vegetarian food, but I talked them into a good bit of lobster and fish." I shrugged. "After all, this is Maine."

  "Not
a lot of coffee cakes?"

  "I got them to compromise. I tried a giant tofu scramble this morning at Willow's request. So far, there hasn't exactly been a run on the tofu, but the coffee cake is going down awfully fast." I grimaced. "I probably should work on eating healthier myself; I run around all the time, but all this good food is catching up with me." I pulled up my T-shirt and showed her the top button of my jeans, which no longer met the buttonhole, and which I'd resorted to fastening with an elastic band.

  "Sexy," Charlene said.

  "Yeah, well, I haven't had a lot of time to go shopping."

  "I'm just teasing," Charlene said. "But I'll bet a week of tofu scramble would do the trick."

  "No, thank you," I said. "Moderation, not masochism, is my motto."

  At that moment, there was a knock at the kitchen door; soon after, Willow, the yoga retreat leader, shimmered into the room.

  When she'd called to set up the retreat, I'd imagined a wispy, tall, Gwyneth Paltrowesque woman—the kind who disappears when she turns sideways. Willow, despite her high, reedy voice, looked more like an MMA fighter than a supermodel. She didn't just have abs of steel; she had everything of steel, all packed into a solid frame that was just over five feet tall, along with a halo of black corkscrew curls she pulled back from her face with a purple bandanna. Her coffee-colored skin was flawless: not a scar or blemish to be seen. Maybe there was something to the whole vegan lifestyle after all.

  "How's it going out there?" I asked.

  "Oh, it's been a brilliant day," she said in that incongruously breathy voice. She moved into something like tree pose—I'd tried it once in a yoga class in Austin—and picked an invisible piece of lint off her pale green spandex crop top. The movement made her six-pack ripple. "It's just so peaceful out; we're about to go meditate on the lawn."

  "Sounds lovely," I said. "Willow, this is my friend Charlene. Charlene, this is Willow; she's running the yoga retreat."

  "Nice to meet you," Charlene said as she took Willow's firm extended hand. "And I hope you don't mind my saying so, but I had no idea yoga could make you so fit; you look amazing!"

  "Oh, yoga is just wonderful on so many levels," Willow said. "You're welcome to come join us for one of the sessions!"

  "Really?" Charlene looked both excited and dubious.

  "Why don't you come over for the sunset yoga session?" Willow suggested.

  "I think I might do that. I don't have a yoga mat or anything."

  "You can borrow one of mine," she offered.

  "Green tea and kale smoothies at three?" I asked.

  She nodded. "That would be perfect," she said.

  "I'll have it lined up in the dining room," I told her.

  "If you'd like to join us for a session, you're always welcome," she offered. "Both of you, in fact."

  "Think I could manage it without keeling over?" Charlene asked.

  "Of course," she said. "And you can always modify the posture. We've got a relaxing one an hour after dinner tonight; it's not too strenuous, if you want to just try it out."

  "Thanks," I said. "I might take you up on it."

  "If it means I could have abs like yours, I'll try it," Charlene said.

  Willow laughed. "I've got to go help Sequoia get things set up." She beamed at Charlene, flashing her ivory white teeth. "Hope to see you after dinner!"

  "Wow," Charlene said once she'd left the kitchen. "She's gorgeous."

  "I know."

  "But what's with the tree names?" Charlene asked. "Do you pick your magical forest name when you get your yoga instructor certification?"

  "I'd probably be Stumpy," I joked.

  "And with my dating history, I'd be Hemlock," she said with a wry grin. Her previous beaux had had a rather high mortality rate. The grin faded. "I haven't told Alex about what happened."

  "Unless there's something you haven't told me about and you're a closet serial killer," I said, "I don't see how it matters."

  "You don't think I'm... jinxed?"

  I shook my head vehemently. "I think you've had some bad luck. And I think it's about to change. As long as you take things slowly, that is."

  She sighed. "Hard not to. Man, these long-distance relationships are tough. If he had an actual home, I'd be tempted to move."

  "Don't even think about it," I warned her half-jokingly. I couldn't imagine living on Cranberry Island without Charlene. "There's plenty of room for Alex here... if things work out."

  "Why are you so down on Alex today?"

  "I'm not," I said. "I'm just... I care about you. I want you to make sure he's the right one."

  "All right, Mom," she said, sliding off her chair. "Need help with the smoothies?"

  "Sure," I said. "I wouldn't suggest drinking them, though."

  "If drinking them would make me look like Willow, I could be convinced," she said. And then I put a bag of kale, two cucumbers, and a canister of soy protein next to the blender. "Or maybe not," she added, looking somewhat horrified.

  "There are a few leftover chocolate chip cookies in the jar if you're interested," I suggested.

  "Thanks." She walked over and snagged two. "After all, I'll work these off at yoga tonight, right?"

  * * *

  At three on the dot, I had a dozen glasses of green sludge on a tray, ready to go, along with an assortment of seaweed snacks for the yoga retreat participants. Although Willow and Sequoia put on wholesome-looking smiles when I stepped out of the kitchen, most of the rest of my guests seemed to share Charlene's misgivings at what was on the tray. Except for James, who was a tall, ultrafit CrossFit type who seemed to survive on bacon and kale. I had to admit it was working for him; he looked like he belonged in GQ, if GQ did photo shoots of men in yoga pants.

  "What's in it?" he asked, gazing at me with serious hazel eyes.

  "Soy protein, kale, and cucumbers," I said.

  "Not whey protein?"

  "Sorry," I said.

  "Soy has a lot of benefits," Willow said brightly.

  "And lectins," James added. I wasn't sure what lectins were, but evidently, they were some kind of dietary evil on a par with mercury. Ah, James. He was good to look at but didn't appear to be fabulous company—at least not for me.

  "Next time we'll make yours with whey protein," Willow assured him.

  "I'd love to hear about lectins," Kellie, one of a trio of young mothers from Dallas, piped up. She was bright and perky, with purple yoga pants and a tight-fitting matching top. Although she sported a rather large diamond ring and a matching wedding band on her left hand, she had been flirting with James since she arrived. Unfortunately for her, I wasn't sure he'd noticed.

  "Lectins," he began, "are a protein that seeds use to protect themselves. When we eat them, our bodies produce antibodies to them. That's why it's advisable to eat sprouted grains, which don't have lectins."

  "Fascinating," she said, blinking her long lashes at him. I think she was talking more about the view than the lecture. "Are there lectins in vodka?"

  "No," he said. "But if you're going to indulge in spirits, vodka is one of the best choices—in moderation, of course. Definitely not beer, though.”

  "Good. Because I'd kill for some vodka right now," said Kellie, taking a sip of kale-cucumber sludge. "Maybe it would cover up the soy protein, or whatever it is in this."

  "Vodka would be so awesome," agreed her sidekick, Barbara Sue. She wore an almost identical outfit, only in teal, and not quite to the same advantage. Both women were coiffed perfectly, with honey-blond locks that looked as if they'd been ironed. The third of the trio looked a little out of place with her friends; she had on an oversize T-shirt and a pair of compression shorts with a streak of yellow paint on the left thigh, and her slightly curly brown hair was pulled back in a ponytail. She passed on the green sludge, instead taking a sip from a water bottle.

  I glanced around at the rest of the room. The yoga cabal, as I thought of them privately—Willow and her waiflike assistants, Sequoia and Rainy—who looked l
ike she still belonged in high school—were sprinkled through the room, all wearing organically sourced formfitting yoga attire. As I watched, Rainy winked at Ravi, her boyfriend, who was sharing a room with her and was, from what I could see, kind of in-and-out at the retreat. He had long, silky black locks that framed his high-cheekboned face and large, liquid eyes. I had the feeling Rainy was the jealous type; she tended to fret when he wasn't around, and I noticed her watching when he talked with the other female participants—particularly Kellie.

  "Is there any vegetable juice?" asked Sebastian in a doleful voice.

  I glanced at Willow, who was frowning. She had originally been picky about the food and drink offerings, but I was in the business of hospitality. "I've got cranberry juice, orange juice, and apple juice," I offered. "There are also a variety of teas and a kettle, if you're interested."

  "I could go for a Pimm's Cup," Gage said, flopping back in his chair as if he'd just finished a stage of the Tour de France. Unlike Sebastian, who wore sweatpants and a Portland T-shirt, Gage had stylish track pants and a muscle shirt that showed off his trim physique. Unlike James, however, he clearly hadn't sworn off the mixed drinks. "That Pimm's Cup was divine... with a little bit of cucumber and strawberry, just like we had in the Monteleone in New Orleans... remember, Bastian?"

  "I remember I had to practically carry you up to our room," Sebastian sniffed.

  "Nonsense.” Gage waved him away. Gage and Sebastian were a testament to the opposites-attract school of relationship theory. Where Gage seemed to be the human equivalent of Tigger, Sebastian appeared to be channeling Eeyore. "I was the life of the party!" Gage protested. "We only went home because you were tired."

  Sebastian turned to me. "Do you have any chamomile tea?"

  "I'll get you a cup," I said, and turned to Gage. "Anything for you?"

  "You don't have any Pimm's No. 1 hiding back there in the kitchen, do you?"

  "I'm afraid not," I said. "I might be able to find some wine for dinner, though."

  He snuck an exaggerated glance at Willow and Sequoia. "Meet me out back when the cock crows twice," he said in a stage whisper.