So the big question, they all agreed, was the identity of this supplier. That took the whole thing to a new level. Justin was unpredictable and not very truthful, and alienating someone who might be dangerous was now a possibility. Finding the man who gave him the goods needed to be a top consideration. But the best route to that end was to talk to the people Justin had rendezvoused with over an innocent baby carrier. Whoever they were.
And maybe Horace Stevenson and his dog, Red, on an innocent walk down the beach, had come upon something not meant for his eyes.
Before they finally parted ways that night, Jerry told them they’d examined the morphine vial carefully and it definitely came from Doc Hamilton’s dispensary. They were working on fingerprints, but it had been rubbed by the sand and he wasn’t sure what they’d come up with. Then, pulling his car keys out of his pocket, he assured them that no matter how fragmented it all seemed right now, the police would find the person who had killed Justin Dorsey and Horace Stevenson. These cases would not be relegated to a cardboard file box in a storeroom somewhere, leaving a lingering fear that would hover over the community until finally enough time passed that it morphed into a blurry memory—two tragic happenings that ruined a summer before they became cold, nearly forgotten cases.
• • •
“So the person who sold it to Justin is the person we need to find?” Cass asked. She hoisted a lobster trap off a wooden platform and set it down between her and Izzy.
It had been Gabby’s suggestion that they all go down to the dock Tuesday and give Cass an hour or two of help—maybe over a lunch hour? Better than eating in some dark café, Gabby had said, though not one of them could name such a place in Sea Harbor. Some new buoys needed to be marked with the license numbers, and there were a couple of broken traps. And Pete got a new GPS that she was dying to learn how to use.
Although Gabby didn’t say it, they all knew it to be true that ever since her performance with the Fractured Fish, she loved being around the band, and endearing herself to them just might get her another gig. Pete was an excellent place to start. Besides, she was crazy about him and claimed him as the big brother she never had.
“Has anyone else noticed how our famous young singer volunteers us to work, then slips off to help Pete with the cushier jobs?” Izzy teased.
Gabby stuck her head out of the boat’s cabin where she and Pete were fiddling with the GPS. The wind sent her hair flying as her infectious laugh filled the space between them, and then just as quickly she disappeared inside.
“She’s fascinated with all this boat stuff. And Pete, too,” Birdie said, unwrapping the sandwiches she and Nell had picked up at Garozzo’s deli. “I don’t know what her dad will say when she asks for lobster gear for Christmas.”
“Or a microphone and a chance to be on American Idol.” Izzy opened the small hatch on the side of the trap and smoothed the torn vinyl with a piece of light sandpaper. “She’s a special kid, for sure. I can’t imagine our lives before Gabby.” She shifted on the hard floor of the dock, trying to assume her usual pretzellike position. “Geesh, this is getting hard,” she said, looking down at herself.
Cass eyed her warily. “Are you sure that baby isn’t coming today? This isn’t the best spot to have a baby—although we do have a new machine on the boat that boils water.”
“Thanks, Cass. But I think I can make it to dry land without borrowing your fancy trap cooker. Besides, the baby’s not coming today.”
“You know that how?”
“I’m not ready. The universe isn’t ready. But it’s getting there. Which brings me back to Justin’s supplier, or whatever it is you call him.”
“Well, that was Jerry’s thinking last night,” Nell said. “That finding the person Justin went to for his supply was key. If there was a conflict between Justin and this person, it could be a huge lead.”
“You mean this person could be the one who murdered Justin?” Birdie said, pulling bundles of white-wrapped sandwiches from her bag.
“Yes.” Nell took bottles of iced tea from the cooler and passed them around, while Birdie handed off a bag of sandwiches to Pete and Gabby. “Justin had a knack for making people mad—even people who cared about him. Imagine if it was someone who didn’t care about him.”
Izzy wiped her hands on a wet rag and unwrapped a giant vegetable hoagie. “Oh, my—Harry came through again.” She pushed a thin slice of provolone, sandwiched in between pieces of forest ham, sliced mushrooms, and red onion, back into the pocket of bread. “Heaven,” she said, her eyes closing as she sank her teeth into the thick sandwich.
“I think you eat as much as I do these days,” Cass said.
“And you don’t like it because there are never any leftovers for you to take home.”
“I suppose you could say that.” Cass tossed her a piece of paper towel. “You’re a mess. There’s sauce on your chin.”
A silence fell over the group as they bit into the fat crusty sandwiches and chewed ravenously, as if no one in the group had eaten for days. In the background, instrumental music rolled down the green incline from the Ocean’s Edge bar.
Nell wiped sauce from the corner of her mouth and looked over at the luncheon crowd on the restaurant’s porch, unable from that distance to distinguish faces, though she was sure if she waved, someone she knew would be receiving the gesture.
Then her face lit up. “Tyler,” she said.
Birdie looked up to the porch. “If you can see the bartender from here, you have superhuman eyesight, my dear.”
“No, I’m remembering that night Justin showed up at the bar. Janie was worried he was there for a drink, but it wasn’t that.”
“I remember it, too,” Izzy said, “mostly because you and Janie were watching him so closely that I felt sorry for him. But he didn’t get a drink, he just talked to Ty, right?”
“That’s my memory. They talked, but then Justin pulled something from his fanny pack and set it on the bar. Money, I think. Kevin saw something similar that night. But it makes me wonder how much Tyler knows about Justin’s side job. Those two were friends—of a sort, anyway.”
“Maybe that’s all they were, just friends,” Birdie said.
“I asked Tyler about it once and he kind of shied away from it. He admitted knowing him, but seemed to move on to other topics when I asked him about it.”
“So you think he might have been buying from Justin?” Izzy asked.
“It’s possible.”
“Tyler is kind of a party guy,” Cass admitted. “He’s a good kid, I think. But I can see him getting caught up in it. Ty finds it hard to say no to anyone—and he’s fun to be with. Have you watched the way women flock to him? He loves all that.”
“Except for Tamara Danvers,” Nell said.
“Tamara?” Cass tested the gates on another trap.
“Well, it’s only an observation,” Nell said. “He tried to get her attention at the Edge one night, and she brushed him off as if he had the plague. Tyler isn’t used to that, I don’t think. At least that’s what I read on his face.”
“Hmm,” Cass said. “Interesting.”
“She did the same thing at the Fractured Fish concert,” Birdie said. “Nell and I are letting our people-watching habits get a bit out of hand, but I did notice him that night, wandering down her way while Franklin was somewhere else.”
Nell remembered, too.
Izzy said, “I would think Tamara would like the attention.”
They admitted she was conscious of how she looked and, as Birdie said, was quite adept at highlighting her significant assets. So her reaction to Tyler was strange, shunning him as she did.
Izzy folded up her sandwich wrappings and shoved them back into the bag. “But back to Tyler. We should ask Pete if he knows anything. He knows that crowd.”
“True. And even if Tyler wasn’t involved, he still might know something,” Izzy said. “He’s down on the beach whenever he isn’t at the bar. There’s always gossip flying arou
nd with the volleyballs.”
Pete came over and stepped around the lobster traps. He grabbed the extra sandwich from the bag before his sister could reach it. “Are you guys aware that voices carry clearly on water?” His eyebrows lifted while he chewed a gigantic mouthful of ham and provolone.
He took another bite and went on. “I don’t know if Ty was buying anything from Justin, but there’s talk going around that the police will want to talk to a bunch of those guys—maybe even Andy and me.”
“You, too?” Cass said. “Ma will kill you if you’re wasting money and your mind fooling around with stuff like that.”
Pete offered Izzy a hand and helped her to her feet. He looked at his sister calmly. “As would a lovely woman in my life named Willow, who scares me almost as much as Ma. No worries,” he said.
He leaned his head to one side and looked at Izzy, then her tummy, concern creasing his brow. “You sure that baby’s arrival isn’t imminent. Like now?”
“People need to stop telling me when and where I’ll have this baby,” Izzy grumped.
Gabby ran up to catch the end of the sentence. “Baby? What? What’s happening?”
They all laughed and Birdie promised Gabby she’d know the instant anything was happening. But as Izzy reminded them all, “It won’t be today. I have a class to teach—and so do you, young lady,” she said to Gabby. “Come, your fans await you.”
Pete and Cass piled up the lobster traps and announced they were taking off across the harbor to buy more bait.
“We’ve been abandoned,” Birdie said, watching them walk toward Pete’s pickup truck.
Nell looked across the water at the Ocean’s Edge. The noontime crowd had thinned some, though tourists often ate late. Nell could see waitresses moving around between the tables. “The sandwiches were great,” she said, checking her watch. “But I think I need dessert.”
Birdie followed her look. “And a glass of iced tea at the outdoor bar. Perfect, in my book.” They slipped on their sunglasses and walked back down the dock, the sea breeze ruffling their hair and adding a snap to their steps. “Cagney and Lacy?” Birdie suggested.
“It works for me,” Nell said.
• • •
Jeffrey Meara greeted them at the door. “Now, where have you been all my life, you two beautiful ladies? Haven’t seen you here in nearly a week.”
“Jeffrey, you old flirt.” Birdie pecked him on the cheek as she looked around the restaurant.” It looks like business is good, even in the middle of the day.”
“And tonight it’ll be packed. Kevin is bringing ’em in in droves. Had a whole tourist bus from Boston come up here just to have lunch. He’s making us all famous.”
“What’s this guy saying about me?” Kevin Sullivan walked up behind them. He had exchanged his apron and toque for a pair of jeans and a plaid shirt and dangled a ring of car keys from one finger.
“Just singing your praises, dear,” Birdie said.
“Are you here for a late lunch?” Kevin looked around for a hostess to find them a table. “I’m off but will be sure you’re taken care of.”
“No, not lunch today,” Nell said. “Just dessert. Is Tyler Gibson working?”
Kevin nodded. “I’m keeping his nose to the grindstone for a few days. He’s been taking time off, lured away by too many party invitations—then he looks like something the cat dragged in the next day.”
“Will we be disturbing things if we go back to say hello?”
“You two? Never. Make yourselves at home. Tell Ty I said the dessert and drinks are on the house.” He waved to Jeffrey and headed out the door.
They made their way back around the tables and booths and through the wide-open doors to the outdoor bar. A few men sat at the end of the bar watching the television. Tyler Gibson stood nearby, one eye on the baseball game while he wiped glasses and set them on shelves. A waitress was back and forth, serving drinks and delivering bowls of chips to guests seated at the tall cocktail tables.
Birdie waved at Tyler and he made his way down the length of the bar.
“Ladies,” he greeted them warmly. “What’s your pleasure?”
“You are, Tyler. Along with iced tea.”
Tyler’s returning smile was hesitant.
“We’d like to talk if you have a minute,” Nell explained.
“Me?”
“It’s about Justin Dorsey’s murder,” Birdie said.
Tyler’s smile disappeared and he glanced around the lounge area, then back at the men watching the game. “A couple minutes, max,” he said. “We’re a little busy and it’s almost time for the cocktail crowd.” His smile was too bright and never reached his eyes. “Don’t want to get fired.”
“Of course not, dear,” Birdie said. “We don’t want that, either. This will take just a minute or two.”
Nell started in. “I’m sure everyone knows by now that Justin Dorsey was selling marijuana.” She wondered how specific they should be with him, but it didn’t seem to matter. Tyler just stared at them with a blank look on his face.
“I’m sure you’ve heard the rumors flying around the beach,” Birdie continued.
“Well, sure,” he said.
“We’re trying to find out a little more about what he was doing, who was involved, that sort of thing,” Nell said. “We think it might help the police find the person who killed him.”
“Well, sure,” he said again.
He forked his fingers through his hair and shifted from one foot to another. “Hey, you’re thirsty. Sorry.” He spun around, filled two tall glasses with iced tea, and stuck a lemon slice on each rim. They slid a little forcefully across the bar, tea sloshing over the side, but Tyler didn’t seem to notice. He drummed his fingers, then glanced down at the cocktail waitress standing at the other end. She was talking to the men watching the game.
“Oh, jeez,” he said. “Duty calls. Just one sec while I fill Stacey’s drink order and I’ll be right back.”
He fairly flew down the length of the bar. “Poor Tyler. He thinks we’re going to arrest him.”
“Or worse, tell his grandmother,” Nell said.
A waitress walked by with a tray of desserts, and Birdie picked out a single piece of carrot cake. “Two forks, please,” she said, then turned back to Nell. “I believe this is Kevin’s mother’s recipe. Cream cheese frosting. Sinful, as is appropriate.”
Nell laughed and took a bite, then wondered aloud how they could make Tyler feel more comfortable while they talked to him. “I think he was starting to perspire,” she said.
They looked back down the bar. A few more men had joined the others watching the game.
“So much for making him comfortable,” Birdie said.
Stacey, the young cocktail waitress, was now behind the bar, stirring a pitcher of margaritas with one hand and sliding a beer across the bar.
Tyler Gibson was nowhere in sight.
Chapter 23
Hours later, as the sky turned purple and tiny lights flickered on up and down Harbor Road, Izzy, Nell, Cass, and Birdie found a parking spot and walked across Harbor Road toward Jake Risso’s Gull Tavern.
Meet us for Tuesday night baseball at the bar, Ben had written in a text.
“So that was the end of that,” Birdie said, detailing their afternoon sleuthing adventure to Izzy and Cass. “But the carrot cake was the best I’ve ever had.”
“You don’t think he left town, do you?” Izzy said. “What was he thinking? And being intimidated by you and Aunt Nell? That’s goofy.”
Cass was perplexed. “Tyler’s a sweet guy, but he’s definitely a sandwich short of a picnic. Maybe he just panicked and did the first thing that popped into his head—disappear. He used to do that with his mom when he was a kid and got into trouble. I actually found him under his bed one time.”
“The problem is, it makes him look guilty,” Nell said. “He definitely didn’t want to talk to us, even though just days ago he was asking all kinds of questions about Horace Ste
venson’s death. But once it seemed we wanted to ask him questions about himself, he froze.”
The door to the Gull was open, letting in breezes while the noise from the crowd rolled out onto the sidewalk.
“Why did we let the men talk us into this?” Izzy asked, peering into the crowded, noisy bar.
“Because Jake’s food is passable and it means none of us will have to cook tonight,” Cass said.
That was part of it, they agreed. And the other part was that being home alone these nights wasn’t something any of them cherished.
Ben waved to them as they came in the door, then pointed above the heads of those around him to the corner booth that Jake always saved for them. Iced water was already poured and a basket of fried calamari and plenty of napkins sat in the middle.
Nell had called Ben on her cell and filled him in on what had happened. In his calm, collected way, he had downplayed it, suggesting that maybe Tyler’s shift had ended and he wanted to get home.
But he was wrong this time. Tyler left because he didn’t want to talk to them. Even the cocktail waitress stumbled when trying to explain his sudden exit. “He . . . he had to see someone,” she had mumbled.
“A man about a horse, no doubt,” Birdie had said sweetly back to her, bringing a smile to the uncomfortable young woman’s face.
Nell looked around at the crowded room. It was packed with a mixture of townsfolk and visitors, sunburned young women in halter tops and weathered fishermen, friends and neighbors and strangers. Many were at the bar, three deep, cheering on the mighty Sox, most of them drinking beer to drown out the strikes and outs, and some just sitting along the window bar with giant baskets of clams and calamari and crisp, cheesy fries in front of them. When her eyes adjusted to the light, she spotted Pete over in a corner. Willow was with him, along with a group of friends. But not Tyler Gibson.
Perhaps Cass was right—he took a slow boat to China. Or Gloucester, maybe.
Nell noticed a shaft of light coming from the wooden steps leading up to the roof. “How about we go up on the roof? Stars, moon, no television, a cool breeze.” The rooftop seating was a new addition to Jake’s bar, a casual area with long tables and benches for those who didn’t like the din and swell of bodies below. Izzy, Birdie, and Cass were up the steps before Nell had the words out of her mouth. She mouthed over the crowd to Ben where they’d be, then asked a waiter to bring up their food and drinks.
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