She stood there for a moment, eyes closed. Although she was completely still, I could feel the struggle going on inside her. After a moment, her shoulders slumped, and she wrapped her arms around her body. "He wanted me to get a divorce," she said abruptly, looking at the floor. "Oh, God." She went from beet red to pale, but still didn't meet my eyes. "I can't believe I'm telling you this. Promise me you won't say anything to anyone. Please."
"I promise," I said, taking the broom and dustpan from her. "Sit down," I told her as the kettle started whistling. "I'll take care of the tea."
"I feel like such a horrible, horrible person," she said, tears running down her face as she sat at the table. She reminded me of a crushed flower. "I never meant for it to happen. When he told me they were moving up here, I never thought..."
"So he was in touch with you before they moved?"
She nodded. "We connected on an alumni group online," she said.
"Were you lovers in college?"
"Only once," she said, still not meeting my eye. "I started dating Jack at around the same time, and things between Gus and me just kind of never got started. I think he was carrying a torch for me all these years. And now, after all this time, it seems..." She shrugged and looked up at me, her eyes hollow. "Well, it's hard to choose for the rest of your life when you're only twenty-one, isn't it?"
"I can imagine it would be," I said. "So it was Gus's idea to move to Cranberry Island?"
She nodded. "He talked Francine into it. Said with all the threats, they should move somewhere far away. Somewhere that was hard to get to, where outsiders would be noticed."
"Like a gated community of sorts."
"Exactly," she said. "She read one of those Coastal Living articles about islands, and she agreed... but only if she could pick and completely redesign the house."
"But the whole time he just wanted to be close to you," I said.
"I didn't realize how much I meant to him," she said. "Or how much he means to me." She looked up at me. "I feel... alive, Natalie. For the first time in years. I feel alive."
I had a very bad feeling about how all this was going to turn out—anyone as crafty as Gus wasn't good news in my book—but I held my peace. "You mentioned he wanted you to get a divorce. Was he taking steps in that direction, too?"
"He said he'd talked to an attorney," she said. "There was some issue with the estate... it was complicated."
Complicated. Well, now that Francine was out of the way, there was no need to do anything legal at all. Just get the death certificate signed, and Gus was free to do what he liked. As I looked at Ingrid, whose eyes were sparkling, that very bad feeling came back. Gus Hodges's wife had come to a rather untimely end.
I was afraid Ingrid's husband might be next.
18
I was back at the inn and stewing over Ingrid and Gus when the phone rang. It was Charlene.
"How's the investigation going?" she asked as I finished cutting up shallots and garlic for lobster bisque. I pushed the garlic aside and reached for an onion.
"I keep finding out all kinds of things," I said, "but I'm not sure any of them are helping me figure out what happened to Francine or Rainy."
"How's Rainy doing?"
"No change, from what I hear," I told her. I finished chopping the onion, then poured a bit of olive oil into a pan and turned on a burner. I figured I'd make the bisque now and let the flavors meld in the fridge for a few hours. "How are things with you?"
"Better, actually," she said. "Now that Alex is done with his assignment, he's been great. He's taking me out to dinner on MDI this evening, and he's been really attentive."
"Still looking for jobs in Portland?" I asked as I added the onions, garlic, and shallot to the hot oil in the pan, inhaling the savory scent. As they cooked, I grabbed the rest of the ingredients, then deglazed the pan with wine.
"No," she said, "but I'm thinking about that online dating thing."
When the wine was sizzling, I added Worcestershire sauce, Tabasco, and thyme. "Good," I said, then added a dollop of sherry. The kitchen smelled heavenly, and I hadn't even added the lobster broth yet.
"That doesn’t mean I’m giving up on Alex, though. I’m just thinking about it. Plus, it might be nice to explore the area a little more, you know?"
"I like that idea," I said, retrieving lobster broth from the fridge and hurrying back to give the pan another stir.
"There's a cute guy at your retreat, too," she said. "That guy James... think he might consider a return visit to Maine?"
"You don't want to take up with James," I said.
"Why?" she asked.
"Well, if you enjoy long conversations involving lectins and dietary restrictions, go for it. But he broke up with Willow a week ago and still came on the retreat." As I spoke, I added the broth and a bit of paprika to the pan, then stirred in tomato paste and a couple of bay leaves. I'd let it simmer for ten minutes, then add cream and the extra lobster meat I'd picked the night we served lobster. Cream was low carb, right? How could my guests complain?
"That's got to be miserable for her!" Charlene said. "Why?"
"I saw her journal when I was tidying... apparently, he was still interested in someone else, I think. I'm not quite sure."
I gave the pan another stir as it came to a simmer, then turned the heat down. "So that's why he broke up with her?"
"I think so," I said. "I'm not really sure. I know she's upset, though.” I thought again of the picture in James's room. Something about it was familiar... and suddenly, I thought I knew why. "I think I know who she is," I said.
I grabbed my laptop and pulled up a name, then clicked on photos until I found the right one. "That's her," I said.
"Who?"
"The woman in the picture upstairs. In his room."
"What about her?" Charlene asked.
"It’s Audrey Meadows. She's the one who tangled with Francine in Florida," I said. "They argued over a development. Francine had her arrested for arson."
"I'd say the odds of that being a coincidence are low."
"I'd agree," I said. "Willow said his ex-fiancée died... hang on a moment." I typed in her name and "obituary." A chill ran through me; she'd passed six months ago. "She did die," I breathed. "And she was only thirty-five."
"That's young," Charlene said. "What was the cause of death?"
"It doesn't say," I said. "Which means it probably wasn't foul play. Or if it was, it was well hidden."
"Maybe Willow knows," Charlene said. "I think you might want to talk to her. Find out what else she knows about James. It's a shame..."
"What?"
"All the good-looking ones turn out to be messed up."
"Even Alex?"
"I don't know," she said. "I'm reserving judgment. Now, go find Willow and ask her about James. And let me know what you find out."
"Got it," I said. Had I been wrong about Gus? Was the murderer at the inn after all?
* * *
I finished the lobster bisque with cream and lobster meat and tucked it into the fridge before hunting down the yoga instructor. Willow was just finishing up a session when I found her out on the back lawn. James, as usual, was checking his Fitbit and syncing it up with his phone. "Can I talk with you for a moment?" I asked in a low voice.
"Is everything okay?" she asked, looking concerned.
"I think so," I said. "I just found something out, and I wanted to ask you about it."
"Sure," she said, and followed me into the kitchen. I opened my computer and showed her the picture of Audrey Meadows.
"Why do you have a picture of James's fiancée?" she asked, looking puzzled... and a little bit wary.
"She got into a turf war with Francine Hodges back in Florida," I told her. "Did you know anything about that?"
"Maybe," she said vaguely, shaking her head. "All I know is that she died."
"Do you know what happened?"
She shook her head again, and her eyes slid away from me. "I have a fe
eling it might have been suicide, actually. James never talked about it, but he let on that she struggled with depression."
"She died about six months after being charged with arson and losing the election to Francine. Think it could be related?"
She turned to face me, and her voice was somber. "Are you thinking James came here to get back at Francine for what happened to Audrey?"
"You know him better than I do," I said. "Does that sound like something he'd do?"
"He's just so... clinical," she said, her voice agitated. "I don't know. I thought I knew him, but... I just don't know anymore."
"Was he still hung up on her?" I asked gently.
Tears filled her eyes, and she looked away. "Yes," she said. "And to be honest... I wonder if he was just using me to get to Cranberry Island.” She looked back at me. "I knew about his ex and Francine. He was at the yoga studio when he lost his fiancée; she came to the studio a couple of times, too, before she… passed. I didn't know Francine had moved here until she marched into the inn that night, though... and then I wondered."
"Wondered?" I prompted.
"James had been so pushy about having the retreat here. I mean, it's a lovely place, but it just seemed... weird to me."
"So you thought he pushed you to have it here just so he could get to the island with the group?"
She nodded, eyes tearing up. "And then he broke up with me last week. He was so matter-of-fact about it. I really fell for him, and now I'm wondering if he ever felt anything for me at all, or if he was just using me."
I put my hand on her arm. "I'm so sorry," I said gently. "And I hate to ask this... but do you think it's possible he killed Francine?"
"I do," she blurted out. "And it's been eating me up all week. I know someone left the inn the night she died; I was sitting by the window and I saw the flashlight. I've been worried sick and haven't known what to do."
"When did he come to Maine?"
"He flew up early," she said. "Why?"
"Francine and Gus apparently received threatening notes the week before she died," I said. "Someone sent them from Bar Harbor."
"Oh my God. You're thinking he came up early and made up the notes, then showed up at the yoga retreat so he could kill her and have someone on the island take the blame?"
"It's a theory," I said. A theory that was becoming stronger by the moment.
"I dated a murderer," she said, paling.
"We don't know that yet," I said, "but it's definitely a possibility. I think it's time we talked to the police, don't you?"
"I can't right now," she said, glancing at the clock. "I've got to run the retreat. But can you get in touch with them?"
"I will," I said. "Be careful in the meantime, okay?" As I spoke, the phone rang. Willow excused herself to go back to the retreat as I answered it.
"Rainy's coming to.” It was John.
"Has she said anything?"
"Not yet," he told me.
"I just talked with Willow," I told him. "I think James may be a murderer."
"What?"
I relayed what we'd discussed. "I told her to talk to the police... but she's busy with the retreat."
"I'll call them right now and get someone over there," he said.
"I have to head to the mainland this afternoon to pick up a few things," I said. "I think I may stop by the hospital to see how Rainy's doing."
"I'll take care of dinner," he said.
"Thanks. Crab salad and lobster bisque are made; if you just throw together a salad, we'll be good."
"Are you taking the mail boat or the skiff?"
I looked at the sky; it was a beautiful clear blue. "I'll take the skiff," I said.
"Storm's coming," he warned me, "but not till tonight. Leave the skiff there and take the mail boat if it looks bad."
"Thanks," I said, grateful to have such a sweet husband.
Everyone else's relationships might be going south, but John and I were still solid. More than solid. Despite the horrible events of the week, I found myself smiling as I grabbed my jacket and headed out the back door.
* * *
The trip to the mainland was brisk and refreshing, as always. As the little boat skipped over the waves, I took a deep breath of the salt-laced air and looked back at the inn. The weathered gray shingles were accented with pale blue shutters, and the inn was nestled into the green island like a jewel. Brilliant purple lobelia and red geraniums burst from the window boxes; somehow, they'd escaped the attentions of Muffin and Pudge, at least so far. It was a far cry from my previous life as a cubicle denizen in Austin, Texas. I sometimes missed the breakfast tacos, but lobster bisque was more than a fair trade.
As I rounded the island, the lighthouse came into view. All this time I'd thought it might be responsible for what had happened to Francine... apparently, I'd been wrong. I'd also been wrong about Gus; I'd thought him mild-mannered and completely subjugated to his powerful wife. Ingrid, too, had surprised me. You never could tell with people, could you?
I wound through a colorful array of buoys, most of them familiar, and thought of the quiet lobstering territory war that was happening once again on the island... under cover of night. The island might look peaceful, but lots of things were happening on Cranberry Island this summer... and a lot of them were rather surprising.
Had James sent the letters from Bar Harbor? I wondered. And had the flashlight I'd seen leaving the inn been him on his way to kill Francine... or spray-paint a threatening message on her house? What was the purpose of sending those threatening letters, anyway? To scare her? I was guessing that was part of it... but I suspected he was also trying to throw suspicion off himself. I knew there had been articles about Francine in the Daily Mail recently; it wouldn't take too much Googling to discover she was up to her old tricks again on Cranberry Island. And by showing up with the yoga retreat, James wouldn't stand out as much on the island as a solo visitor; he was just one of the pack.
Had he really used Willow to get to the island? And if I was right, and he was the killer, why had he hurt Rainy?
As the mainland grew closer, I slowed the skiff; soon, I was weaving through the beautiful sailboats moored in Northeast Harbor. I tied up at the dock and then headed to the little Kia John and I kept on the mainland, hoping the battery hadn't died. My next stop was the hospital... and Rainy.
* * *
Rainy was on the second floor of the hospital, according to the volunteer at the front desk. I headed upstairs with the flowers I'd picked up on the way in hand, hoping the young woman would be conscious... and that her prognosis was good.
"Can I help you?" asked the nurse at the station closest to her room.
"I'm looking for Rainy," I said.
"Oh, she's in there," the nurse said. "Visiting with her uncle."
"I didn't realize she had family in town!" I said. Ravi and Willow hadn't mentioned anyone coming to visit. I hesitated; the door was closed.
"I'm sure it's fine if you go in," she said.
I opened the door; the curtain was closed around Rainy, and other than the sound of breathing, I couldn't hear anything. I closed the door behind me and took a few steps forward. "Hello?"
Somebody swore. I stepped around the curtain and encountered a man holding a syringe in his hand.
It was Gus Hodges.
"What are you doing here?" I asked. "And what are you doing with that syringe?"
He fumbled at his waistband; a moment later, I was staring into the barrel of a gun.
19
"Shut up," he said. "Just... shut up." He swept a hand over what was left of his hair, looking spooked. "I knew I should have taken care of this days ago."
"Taken care of... of Rainy? Wait a moment." Suddenly, it all fit together. Meeting Ingrid in secret by the co-op and pushing for her to be divorced. Not sharing the threatening notes with the police. Forty years of living with Francine... I almost felt sorry for him.
Almost.
"You killed Francine," I said
slowly, scanning the room and trying to figure out how to get out of here alive. What would he do if a nurse walked in? Kill all three of us? I just didn't know, so I kept talking. "You wanted to be with Ingrid, so you killed your wife."
"Don't get Ingrid into this!" he said.
"Did she follow you?" I asked. "When you went out to meet Ingrid... I presume that's where you were going. Did she catch you?"
"I wasn't meeting Ingrid," he said. "I would never get her involved in something like this."
Plus, who would want to run off with a murderer?
"What was Francine doing there?"
"She was going to set the co-op on fire," he said. "I followed her there."
"What?"
"She figured if they wouldn't listen to her, she'd send the place up in flames. She had her eye on the pier, too. She was a bit of a firebug."
"Was she responsible for the fire in Florida, too?"
He nodded. "That's why she only set the garage on fire. She could blame the other woman, get the insurance money, and keep the house."
"Nice," I said, hoping the nurse would come soon. Very soon. I scanned the room; the Call button was out of sight, probably buried in the blankets. Rainy's face was peaceful: no help to be found there. "That explains the lighter," I said, trying to buy some time. "And the goats?"
He shrugged. "I always carry a pocket knife. They were there... it was convenient. Bolstered the motive."
"And then you left the knife next to Francine. Smart."
"I wiped the handle, of course," he said, puffing up a little bit.
"And Rainy?"
"She knew," he said. "She saw me that night, when I was walking home."
"You tried to kill her just because she saw you?"
"I was afraid she'd say something. I couldn't take the risk; I had to be sure."
"So you wrote the notes," I said.
He nodded. "So it would look like Florida. And then, when Claudette attacked Francine in the convenient store... the timing was perfect, anyway."
"You were planning it, then. It wasn't an accident."
Claws for Alarm Page 15
