“Her mom is a wreck. So am I. What do we do if they sentence her to jail?” Charlene swallowed. “Or me?”
“We’ll find a way through this,” I told her, wishing I felt half as confident as I sounded. “Now. Sit down and let me get you some tea, and then I want you to tell me everything you can think of that might help her.”
“Okay,” she said, taking a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay.”
As I filled a mug with hot water from the pot next to the coffee maker, Charlene dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. I handed her a cookie and tossed a tea bag into the mug. When she had managed to pull herself together, I pulled up the stool next to her.
“Tell me everything,” I said. “What has she told you about Derek?”
She glanced up at me. “She was in love with him.”
“Do you think he’s the source of the marijuana?”
“I don’t know, Nat, but once she started dating him, she seemed so … different. Making bad judgments, moody. Just not herself at all.”
“She seemed almost scared the other day,” I said. “Do you think someone was trying to make her life difficult?”
Charlene’s mascara-smeared eyes widened. “Like setting her up?”
“I don’t know, but it’s possible.”
“Oh, Natalie.” She buried her face in my sleeve. “I’ve done such a terrible job of being an aunt. She was under my care, and now she’s going to jail.”
“She hasn’t been convicted of anything,” I said in a soothing voice. “Talk to the attorney,” I advised her. “And I’ll talk with John. You can stay at the inn tonight if you need company; I’ve got your favorite room open. You can join us for dinner, too.”
“Thanks, Nat. I can’t do dinner, because with Tania in jail …” She broke into tears again, and I stroked her back. When they subsided, she looked up at me with raccoon-ringed eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You always make everything better somehow.”
“I’ll try,” I said, trying to sound comforting, but praying I wasn’t giving her false hope.
_____
“How’s Charlene holding up?” John asked. I’d walked back to the inn to make dinner, and John had arrived a few minutes later.
“As well as can be expected.” I took a break from rummaging through the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of me. “They’re still searching her place. Any word on how they got a search warrant?”
“Someone called in a tip,” he said.
“Who?”
“Johnson didn’t know much, or wasn’t telling me. I’m going to head down to the station in person tomorrow.” He sighed. “I hope there wasn’t much of whatever they found.”
“Why?”
“It could be the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.”
A felony. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. “I wish she’d never gotten involved with Derek Morton,” I said bitterly.
“You think it was because of Derek?”
“That’s what my gut says. He was a shady type, and it seems to me the drugs had to come from outside.”
“Makes sense. Cranberry Island isn’t exactly drug central.”
“Exactly,” John said, nodding.
I looked up at him. “Most of the people here think getting high means climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.”
Despite the dire situation, John cracked a smile.
“Maybe she was keeping it for him,” I suggested. “Did they find any at his house?”
He shook his head. “They didn’t find anything, but you were right about Derek and drugs.”
“What do you mean?”
“Detective Johnson told me there were track marks on his arms, and the autopsy results showed several drugs, including marijuana, in his system. And since she and Derek were close …”
I groaned. “I hope it wasn’t anything other than marijuana. I know it’s illegal, but it’s so much more benign than the others. Even if there’s not enough for a felony, if she’s addicted …”
“It’s a scary situation,” John concurred. “Even so, at least she’s still alive.”
“I suppose that is a silver lining, of a sort.” I got up from the table and headed for the cookie jar; times like this called for sweets. I took the lid off the cookie jar and reached inside, but the jar was empty. “Shoot,” I said, putting the lid back on. “No more Texas Ranger Cookies in the freezer, either.”
“We’ve got pecans and butter,” John said with a hopeful look in his eyes.
“Are you thinking about Turtle Bars?”
“They’re Charlene’s favorite,” he said in a cajoling tone of voice.
“And yours,” I pointed out.
“True.”
“I need to make dinner,” I said.
“Don’t worry about dinner; I’ll take care of it. You need some chocolate therapy.”
“All right,” I said, retrieving my recipe book and flipping through it until I got to the recipe. The page was dog-eared from frequent use. “Baking helps me think, anyway.” As I reached for the brown sugar and butter, I wondered aloud who might have called in a tip on Tania.
“A friend?” John suggested. “Someone who was worried about her?”
“Now she’s at risk of a police record, though; it doesn’t make sense.” I measured brown sugar and flour into the mixing bowl, combining them with a fork. “Why not confront her directly? Or talk to Charlene, or Tania’s parents?”
“Maybe whoever it was did talk to Tania, and thought it wasn’t working.”
“Or else they wanted to get her in trouble,” I suggested. “Someone connected with Derek’s death?”
“If she knew something about what happened to Derek, why would you want her in police custody, though?”
I unwrapped a stick of butter and sighed. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”
“Did anyone have a grudge against her?”
“I’d have to ask Charlene about that.” I added the butter to the bowl and started the mixer, creaming the butter together with the dry ingredients. “Can you call and find out what they found?”
“They weren’t done with the search, and I couldn’t get specifics out of them. I’ll try again in a few hours,” John said. “Hopefully they’ll post bail soon—and it won’t be too high.”
“Bail?” I hadn’t thought about bail. Feeling slightly sick, I turned the mixer on low, scraping the sides of the bowl as the butter and dry ingredients combined into a crumbly mixture.
Before John could answer, Catherine breezed into the kitchen, looking like Jackie O. in dark glasses and a scarf. For the first few months when she came to the island, her wardrobe had moved from cashmere twin sets toward jeans and wool sweaters, but with the advent of Murray Selfridge, her sartorial selections were swinging away from the practical and more toward the decorative. At least it was tasteful decorative—and although she was in her seventh decade, she still had the figure to pull it off. I found myself tugging unconsciously at my waistband, which was a bit more snug than usual, and glancing ruefully at the bowl of butter and sugar. Weight gain is an occupational hazard of innkeeping, unfortunately. At least it was for me.
“I was hoping I’d find you two here.”
“Hi, Catherine.” I turned off the mixer and waved a wooden spoon in her direction.
“Terrible news today!” She perched the glasses atop her coiffed silver-blonde hair and took a can of sparkling water from the fridge. “Murray and I were just talking about your friend’s niece.”
“Tania?” I asked as I poured the crumbs into a baking pan.
“That’s the one.” Catherine tossed a few ice cubes into a highball glass and filled it the rest of the way with sparkling water. She used to be a Perrier girl, but since she’d had to cut her budget, she had started drinking the grocery store brand. I had still never seen her drink from the can, though. She took a sip and sat down at the table. “Poor dear was arrested
, I hear.”
“We were just discussing that,” John told her. “Has Murray heard anything?”
She set down her glass and crossed her stockinged legs. “He knows the judge—they play golf at Kebo Valley on Mount Desert Island every Wednesday—and put in a good word for her character. It should help with bail.”
“That was awfully kind of him,” I said, impressed with Murray’s willingness to help—and hoping it would be enough. I patted the dough into the pan and began pressing pecans into it. How much are we talking?” I directed the question to John, who was the most likely of the three of us to know.
“I have no idea. Not a lot of drug busts in this part of the world, thankfully, but I think it depends on what—and how much—they found.”
“I hate not knowing.”
“I’m sure she’ll be taken care of,” Catherine reassured me. “And although the situation is unfortunate, maybe it will scare her straight.”
“As long as she doesn’t end up with a felony conviction, that would be great,” I muttered as I plopped the remaining butter into a saucepan with half a cup of brown sugar. “Please tell Murray thank you for interceding on Tania’s behalf, Catherine. And for finding her an attorney.”
“He’s a prince, isn’t he?” she beamed, then took another dainty sip of seltzer.
I glanced at John, who looked as if he were in pain. Like him, I was having a hard time believing Murray had somehow gotten in touch with his softer side; I suspected he was trying to impress Catherine. Still, there was no denying John’s mother was an excellent influence.
As I stirred the gooey mixture in the pot, Catherine stretched daintily. “Well, I’m off to go and change; do you need any help this evening?”
“No hot date?” John raised an eyebrow at her.
“A lady needs to have other engagements from time to time,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “Otherwise, her suitors won’t have an opportunity to miss her.”
“Suitors?” John teased. “Don’t tell me you’re dating Fred Penney, too.”
“Fred?” She raised a thin hand to her chest. There was a necklace there I didn’t recognize, I realized: a tasteful sapphire pendant. “The surly lobsterman who spends all of his time down at the store and hasn’t shaved since the Reagan administration?”
“That’s the one,” John confirmed. “Not your type?”
“Oh, John.” She gave him a withering look, but there was still a sparkle of amusement in her expression.
“You’re welcome to join us for dinner if you’d like,” I told her as I poured the caramel mixture over the pecans and dough in the pan, then put it in the oven. In twenty minutes, I knew, the caramel would be bubbling, and I could swirl milk chocolate chips over the top.
“Thank you for the invitation, dear, but I had a rather large luncheon today, so I think I’ll stay in and have something light. I’ll be happy to set up the dining room before I retire, though.”
“That would be great.” I was grateful for the help. Catherine might look as if she felt housework was something best handled by aproned maids, but she was always quick to pitch in. Although we still had our differences, and I often felt her mild disapproval at the high-fat, high-sugar fare I made at the inn (and tended to consume, as well), I had grown to like her a lot since she moved to Maine. For her part, she seemed more than happy to have me as a future daughter-in-law. Or at least she hadn’t expressed any opinions to the contrary.
“What delicious treat are you making now, anyway?” she asked, watching as I disposed of the butter wrappers. “My. Two sticks of butter?”
I sighed audibly. I was just going to have to get used to this.
“Natalie is just whipping up another batch of cookies for the guests,” John said, tactfully not mentioning the empty cookie jar in the kitchen. Gosh, did I love that man.
“Good idea; the plate in the dining room is almost empty,” Catherine said. “Those guests certainly do cut a swath through them, don’t they? I thought about whipping up some of my Oatmeal Delites this morning after breakfast, but I ran out of time.”
“It’s fine,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. I had sampled her Oatmeal Delites once when John and I visited her in Boston, and they resembled nothing more than crispy sawdust patties. “I’ll just get these whipped up and then make a pan of blondies, and that should keep us for a few days.”
“Fabulous. I’ll go and put the dining room to rights and then head down to the house. Give me a jingle if you need me!”
“Will do,” I said, as she disappeared through the swinging door in a faint cloud of Chanel No. 5.
_____
The caramel pecan turtles came out looking as good as they smelled, and I couldn’t help but snag a few as I finished whipping up a batch of brownies. John had offered to be in charge of dinner, and after refilling the plate in the dining room, I put a few turtles in the kitchen cookie jar and loaded the rest in a storage container, along with some brownies. I bundled everything into a cloth bag with a tub filled with frozen Beef Stroganoff; Charlene might not be able to join us for dinner, but that didn’t mean I couldn’t bring dinner to her.
“See if you can find out who might have called in a tip,” John said, kissing me on the forehead. “And be careful.”
“I’m not going in the skiff, remember?” I asked. “Oh, yeah—I almost forgot to go see Eli!”
“You can drop by on the way back home. Are you walking, or do you need the van?”
Glancing out the kitchen window at the sunlit trees, I said, “I thought I’d walk.”
“Good; I could use the van today.”
“For what?”
“I have some things to take down to Island Artists,” he said. “Plus, I’ve got other errands.” He gave me a wink, and I felt my insides quiver a little bit.
“I love you, you know.”
“I love you too,” he replied. “Enough to leave you a cookie.”
“Just one?”
“If you’re nice, I might leave two.”
I laughed and headed toward the kitchen door. As I pulled on my sneakers and a windbreaker, I had a thought. “While you’re down at the dock, can you stop by the co-op?”
“Good idea,” he said. “We need to find out who owns that orange and turquoise buoy.”
“Could be a Miami Dolphins fan,” I joked. John raised an eyebrow; we were deep in Patriots territory. “Shouldn’t be too hard to find. A snowbird, maybe?” I suggested.
“Wouldn’t last ten minutes here,” he said with a grin. “Let me know what you find out, okay?”
“Of course,” I told him as I headed out the door.
It was a lovely walk to the store—being outdoors in the fresh air always soothed me—and I even resisted the temptation to break into the container of turtles and brownies, instead limiting myself to plucking a few roadside blueberries.
The sun was still fairly high in the sky when I stepped onto the wooden porch of the store. News of Tania’s arrest had obviously traveled across the island; even from outside the mullioned windows I could see a gaggle of islanders tucked into the couches and chairs at the front of the store. The bell above the door jingled as I entered. Charlene sat behind the counter, her face startlingly devoid of her customary Mary Kay products.
I smiled and nodded to inquisitive islanders and headed to the counter, where Charlene looked up at me with a bleak expression. “I brought you dinner.” I dangled the cloth bag enticingly. “And Turtle Bars.”
She barely batted an eye, which is when I knew it was time to be worried.
I glanced behind me and spotted Eli in the crowd. “Can you man the front counter for a few minutes?” I asked. He hurried to the counter, allowing me to escort my limp friend to the back room. “Sit here,” I ordered her, leading her to a battered, stuffed armchair. “I’m getting you tea and cookies.”
She sat listlessly as I bustled to the front of the shop, returning to the back room a few minutes later with a cup of tea—two sug
ars, heavy on the milk—and a plate of warm cookies.
“Drink this,” I ordered, and she mechanically lifted the cup to her lips.
“It’s all my fault, Natalie.” Her voice was a monotone. “I should have seen the signs. I should have taken better care of her. And now her life is ruined.”
“It’s not ruined,” I corrected her. “We don’t even know what the evidence is yet. Plus, I hear Murray got you in touch with a great attorney.”
Charlene shook her head. “I don’t know how we’re going to get her out of this.”
“For starters,” I replied, “we can start thinking about who might have called in that tip.”
My friend looked up at me. “What tip?”
“That’s what made them get the warrant. Someone called in a tip.”
“Why does that matter?”
“I don’t know. Because whoever did it wanted to hurt Tania. Or because it could be that whoever called in the tip planted something for the cops to find,” I suggested.
Her eyes widened. “You think she was framed?”
“I don’t know if she was framed, but if we don’t do some digging, we’ll never know. I need your help, though.”
“What do you want me to do?” The voice was still monotone, but her posture had straightened a bit.
“Tell me who she hung out with. Who her friends were—and her enemies. Does her mom know?”
“Her mom lives over on MDI,” Charlene said. “She isn’t that involved.”
“So it’s up to you, then.”
Charlene hesitated, then reached for a turtle. My heart lifted a bit as she took a bite. “She and Kaitlyn Bennett have been friends since third grade,” she said. “But they haven’t been as close lately. I don’t know what happened.”
“Worth looking at. Any reason she might hold a grudge?”
“Not that I know of. But Tania didn’t tell me much.”
“All right,” I said, grabbing a pad and a pen from a shelf. “We’ve got one potential person. Anyone else you can think of? Ex-boyfriends, maybe?”
“There is Evan,” she mused.
My mind began working. Evan would almost certainly have access to drugs. If he held a grudge against Tania, he could simply plant them in her place and call the cops. He knew she was dating Derek; maybe jealousy played a factor. The spurned lover thing. But Derek was dead; would he still need to get revenge?
Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) Page 12
