Well, that answered the barrette question.
"Anyway, I've got to run; I've got work to do. Let me know if you hear anything, okay?"
I didn't wait to hear any more, and let myself quietly out the door. I could see why Chelsea wasn't Chad's biggest fan. I certainly wasn't, either.
And now I was curious about what "investigation" Chelsea had instigated... and whether anything had come of it.
9
Catherine had already started back to the inn to get ready for her date with Murray, so after checking in on Thuy and Gwen and extracting a promise that Adam would escort my niece home, I headed over to the store to check in with Charlene.
"You didn't call me!" she said when I walked in the door. Eli was ensconced on one of the squashy sofas in the front of the store, a scone in one hand and a mug of tea in the other, but otherwise the store was surprisingly empty.
"Sorry," I said. "It's been a crazy day." I turned to Eli. "How's Claudette?"
"Still waiting for results," he said dolefully. "She sleeps all the time these days; it's not like her. I'm hoping it's just a touch of depression."
"I hope so, too," I said. "The waiting's got to be hard."
"The hardest," he replied, looking worn. "You hear what happened to the fleet?"
"I did," I said. "Any luck finding the missing boats yet?"
"We've only found some of them," Charlene said. "Two were grounded, three were caught up in fishing lines out between here and MDI, and three more are still missing... including Adam's boat. And Mac's."
"That's terrible!" I said. "Who do you think did it?"
She shrugged. "Nobody knows."
"Has Tom called the Marine Patrol?"
"Not yet," Charlene said. "Not too much damage so far, and no one on the island wants outsiders involved, particularly with everything that's been going on lately."
"That's what he told me.” I sighed. "So no one was out to sea this morning." Which meant just about anyone on the island could have done in Chelsea.
"I saw the police launch and heard from Tom that you had some excitement out by the inn, too," Charlene said.
"We did," I confirmed. "Chelsea disappeared after breakfast. We found her on the cliff path."
"I heard it wasn't an accident," she said in a soft voice. "The whole island is buzzing; you just missed a whole contingent of lobstermen."
"I'll wait to hear the official report," I said, "but Gertrude Pickens called me and wanted a statement for the paper. I want to know what happened to poor Chelsea, but I'm also worried about what's going to happen to the inn if she blasts something untrue." I sighed. "Besides, the last thing I need is another murder connected with the inn."
"So you do think it's murder?"
"I don't know, but circumstances were a bit... well, weird." I grimaced. "Should I give her a statement or say nothing?"
Charlene bit her frosted lip. "When does she need it by?"
"Five," I said.
Charlene glanced up at the clock. "You've got forty minutes to figure it out. I think you should say something so she doesn't put words in your mouth."
"Maybe something along the lines of 'We are saddened by this tragedy, and our hearts and prayers are with Chelsea's family?'" I suggested.
"That sounds perfect," she said. "Why don't you call and tell her now?"
"I think I will," I said, and pulled out my cell phone. Gertrude didn't answer; I left her a message, thankful to be able to cross that off my mental list.
"Tom told me he thinks someone in the co-op might be involved in what happened," Charlene told me when I put the phone back in my pocket.
"Why does he think that?"
"Chelsea's arrival wasn't popular," she said. "Mac wasn't exactly a fan, obviously. And there's been talk about Adam, too."
"Gwen's Adam? What about him?"
"He's had a good run lately," she said. "There's some talk that he's fishing hidden traps. I heard Earl suggesting that maybe Adam did Chelsea in so she couldn't find out what he was up to."
"That makes no sense at all," I said. "She wasn't even scheduled to be on his boat."
"The word on the street is that she was an undercover officer," Charlene said. "You know tempers have been hot here lately."
"I do," I acknowledged. "Which is why Eli's got the Lucky Lady in his workshop. I just can't imagine that someone would kill an innocent young woman over potential fishing infractions."
"I don't know," Charlene said. "For a lot of the folks here, lobstering is the only job they've got training for. The penalties for illegal fishing are pretty steep: Having your license suspended for a few years—or permanently—could mean total ruin for a lobsterman."
"Ayuh," Eli agreed from the couch. "I'm not sayin' it was anyone from the co-op, but there's a lot ridin' on those licenses."
"Adam told me Mac wasn't going to let her on his boat," Charlene said. "Do you think maybe Mac decided to get rid of her before she got to the dock?"
"It's a thought," I said. "I hate to think of anyone on the island being responsible for what happened to Chelsea."
Charlene quirked up a penciled eyebrow. "Do you have any other ideas?"
"I don't know that much about her, unfortunately," I said. "But Chad Berman is certainly on my list."
"He's one of the artists, right?"
"Yeah. There was some bad blood between them. Apparently, she accused him of buying his way into college when they were in school; got an article in the school paper about it and started an investigation."
"That's certainly bad blood," she said. "But why kill her now? I mean, college is in the rearview mirror for both of them, presumably."
"I don't know," I said. "It's worth asking about, though."
"Anyone else?" she asked.
"No," I said.
"Except Adam," Eli offered from the couch.
"Still? But he's such a good guy!" I protested."
"He's not from the island," Eli said. "A few people still got a grudge that he got his license. And that Ivy League degree of his don't help."
My niece's husband had earned a degree from Princeton before chucking it overboard—literally—and starting a new career as a lobsterman here on the island. Normally, I didn't hear much negative talk about him, and he seemed like an accepted member of the lobstering community, but it seemed with tensions so high lately, some of that goodwill had evaporated.
"Anyone else saying that?" I asked.
"Not that I've heard yet," he said, "but she just turned up this morning. There's a good chance that isn't the last we've heard of it."
"I hope he's got a good alibi," I said.
"He wasn't on the Carpe Diem this morning, I know that," he said.
"How about Mac? Was he out before nine?"
Eli shook his head. "Neither one of 'em showed up to the co-op before nine, from what I hear."
Surely Adam had been at home with Gwen, I told myself, but I felt uneasy. "Anyone else from the co-op making noise about an observer coming to the island?" I asked.
"Oh, there's griping, of course, but Mac's the main one. Well, him and Earl," he said.
"What did Earl say?"
"Just that things were better before all this regulatory stuff, and it's our taxes paying for invasion of privacy. He's a pretty strong libertarian, you know."
"Not surprising," Charlene added. "Lobstermen are an independent bunch."
She'd barely finished speaking when the bell above the door rang, and Mac Penney strode in, wearing a wild beard, a stained plaid shirt, and overalls tucked into black rubber boots.
"Howdy there, Mac," Eli said, tipping an imaginary cap.
Mac grunted. "Got any PBR in stock?" he asked Charlene.
She pointed to the cooler. "Just refilled it last night," she said. "Did you hear the news?"
He shot her a piercing look from bloodshot eyes. "About that investigator? Ayuh." He opened the cooler door and pulled out a case of Pabst Blue Ribbon. "Guess that's what happens when you
stick your nose in where it's not wanted," he said.
"She wasn't an investigator," I pointed out.
"Observer, investigator... same difference. Tryin' to catch me out on the littlest thing. I'm an honest man. Always have been."
Charlene and I exchanged looks; I had a feeling she had some inside information on that.
"Know anything about what happened to her?" Charlene asked.
"Only what everyone else knows," he said. "Took a tumble and got brained on the cliff walk. Probably wearing city shoes."
"She was wearing boots, actually," I said. Bean boots, in fact; I'd noticed as I waited by her side that morning.
"Well, not used to rocky terrain, then," he said, putting the case of beer on the counter alongside a can of Sour Cream & Onion Pringles and fishing a wad of bills out of his overalls. "How much?"
"Twenty dollars and forty-two cents," Charlene informed him after she rang up his purchases.
He forked over a twenty and a one, and she counted out his change.
"Know anyone else who wasn't happy about her coming to the island?" I asked Mac.
His blue eyes swung to me. "Not offhand," he said, sizing me up. "Why?"
"Just curious," I said. "I don't like it when bad things happen to my guests."
"So, you think someone did away with her, is that it?"
I shrugged. "I don't know what happened. I'm just curious about it, is all."
"Well," he said, holding my gaze, "if I were you, I'd mind my own business. Curiosity killed the cat, as they say."
There was a menace in his gruff voice that made me swallow hard.
"You sound like you're threatening her," Charlene said coolly.
Mac shrugged and hefted the case of beer under one arm and grabbed the potato chips with the other. "I'm just stating the obvious," he said. "Good afternoon," he said formally to all of us, then ambled out of the store, leaving the smell of cigarette smoke, old beer, and herring in his wake.
10
"Well," Charlene said when the door swung closed. "I'd put him on the top of your suspect list, for sure." She turned to me. "Don't take it too personally, though. He's always had a thing against anyone who wasn't born on the island."
"He seemed more worried about me poking into his business," I said thoughtfully. "And usually, people who are worried about that have something to hide."
"I can't say you're wrong," Eli said from the couch. "But go easy with that one. He's got a temper."
"I know," I said, remembering what had happened to the Lucky Lady. "Speaking of a temper, any more exchanges between Mac and Earl?"
"Not that I've heard," Eli said, "but I wouldn't call it resolved."
Charlene was still staring at the door. "Do you think he's taking that out on his boat?" she asked.
"Likely," Eli said.
She sighed. "I hate to say it, but I probably need to give Tom a heads-up. And I hope Josie's driving today."
"I don't know how she puts up with him," I said.
"She's a distant cousin," Charlene said. "I think he's nicer to her than he is to the average person."
"That's not saying much," I pointed out.
"True," said Eli with the first grin I'd seen.
"How are you holding up?"
"On pins and needles waiting for results."
"I hope there's nothing to it," I said.
"Oh, believe me, so do we," he said, taking another swig of his tea and getting up. "I'd better get back to work on the Lucky Lady," he said.
"Let us know when you hear anything, okay?" I asked.
"Of course," he said. I couldn't help noticing that his shoulders slumped as he headed toward the door of the store.
I made a quick dinner of cod a la meunière that night—a simple fish dish sautéed in brown butter sauce, served with asparagus, roasted potatoes, and a blueberry crumble for dessert. John had spent most of the day with Thuy, and now that the police had headed back to the mainland, he was in his workshop catching up on what he'd planned to do earlier. I missed his presence in the kitchen as I arranged asparagus on the guests' plates. If he'd found out anything else about the case, he hadn't told me; I knew the police had been to the Art Guild to talk with the artists, and I'd seen them talking with Bruce and Noelle in the parlor earlier, but I didn't know what else they'd managed to turn up that day. I hoped it was an accident, but unfortunately, I suspected the odds were slim.
Sarah was the only guest not in attendance tonight, as she was off on the mainland for dinner; presumably, she was taking a water taxi back or had a ride from someone with a boat, because the last mail boat had long since gone. Catherine had been picked up by Murray in his Jaguar before dinner service began, after debating outfits for an hour, looking more excited and almost nervous than I'd seen her even at the beginning of their courtship. I hoped things were going better between them, but I still had a niggling feeling.
It was a fairly full house, but the dining room was almost eerily silent. .
The two lovebirds were remarkably restrained; in fact, Bruce spent most of dinner checking his phone, and the PDAs had declined to an occasional sympathetic pat on the hand from Noelle, who also looked pained. "Can I get you some blueberry crumble?" I asked as I cleared their plates.
"Sure," Noelle said in a lackluster tone of voice. There was a crease between her dark eyebrows I hadn't seen the day before.
"Me too," Bruce said. Both were in their forties, and obviously worked to stay in shape. I wondered how long they'd been seeing each other—and why the change in mood.
"I'll bring two in a moment," I assured them, and gathered their dinner plates; half the cod was still on Noelle's plate, and Bruce's was barely touched. Bad news from home? I wondered as I took the plates into the kitchen. At least Biscuit and Smudge would be happy, I thought as I spooned the leftover fish into their bowls. It was almost gone by the time I'd dished out the crumble.
I ferried dessert out to the lovebirds and checked on the artists' table. Chad was sitting next to Emma again, and I got the impression—again—that Chad was more interested in her than the other way around. He was asking about how helpful her MFA had been, and getting one-word answers. Apparently, dinner with Quartz had been scotched, poor thing... but something told me she wouldn't give up that easily. Thuy sat across from them, doodling in a notebook and lost in thought... altogether not the most congenial group.
"Blueberry crumble?" I asked the table, and got three yeses. The plates were mostly clean... maybe the starving artist bit was a real thing, I thought as I stacked them up. There was hardly a bite left.
I glanced at the table where Chelsea had briefly sat that morning, and felt a pang. Who had cut her young life short? Was it an islander?
Or, I thought as I headed back to the kitchen again, was it one of my guests?
I had just delivered three more plates of crumble when the phone rang. I hurried back into the kitchen; it was Eli.
"What's up?" I asked.
"Don't say anything to anyone... but will you come down here?"
"Is Claudette okay?"
"Oh, yes... it's nothing to do with that," he said. "But I just found something on the Lucky Lady, and I want to see what you think."
I glanced up at the clock. "I've got some cleanup to do here, but I'll be down in an hour, okay?"
"That'll work," he said. I hung up the phone a moment later, wondering what Eli had found... and why he wanted to show me.
It was dark by the time I got to Claudette and Eli's. The wind had kicked up, coming in restless gusts that blew hair up into my face as I walked, and clouds were scudding over the star-studded sky as if they were racing somewhere. I found myself wishing I'd put on a sweater as I stepped onto the porch, hugging myself. Eli answered the door even before I knocked. "I don't want to wake up Claudie," he explained in a hushed voice. "She went to bed early."
"Got it," I said. "What did you find?"
"I'll show you," he said, putting on his boots. "Follow me."
<
br /> A sharp gust tugged at my windbreaker as I followed my friend out to his workshop, wondering what he'd found on the Lucky Lady. Drugs? Incriminating evidence? I just didn't know.
Eli opened the big garage door to his workshop and flipped on the lights, making the darkness outside more impenetrable. "Climb on board," he said, climbing the short ladder to the boat with an agility that belied his age. I followed, rather less gracefully, and a moment later, was standing next to him on deck of the Lucky Lady. It was weird to be on a lobster boat in a barn.
"I found it back here," he said, leading me to the back of the boat. "I took off this washboard, see," he said, removing a panel on the back of the boat to expose a plastic tub with a pump in it.
"What is it?" I asked.
"It's a holding tank," he said. "I noticed the tube down below the boat," he said. "It's the water intake; there's another one on the other side."
"So it's a hidden holding tank," I said. "What's he been keeping in it?"
"Illegal lobsters is my guess," he said. "I'm surprised he let me have his boat; he had to guess I might find it."
"Although the damage is in the front," I said. "He probably figured you'd never look elsewhere."
"Then he doesn't know me very well," Eli said. "If he is storing illegal lobsters—shorts or berried lobsters—he knows the co-op would never buy them.”
"Berried lobsters... that's females with eggs, right?"
"Right," he confirmed.
"So what's he doing with them?" I asked.
"Selling them to someone, I'm guessing," he answered. "Someone willing to take the risk."
"I heard a rumor about a few lobster pounds on the mainland," I said. "Selling to tourists who can't tell the difference."
"Could be it," he said. "Maybe there was something to that poor young woman being here undercover. Looks like some shady business going on."
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