"Another good point," Gwen said, staring at the profile of Chelsea on the screen. "So what was she investigating?"
"She was supposed to be on Mac's boat," I said.
"And she died before she got on it," Gwen said. "Plus, all the boats being cut free..."
"Someone was trying to cover their tracks," I said.
Gwen looked at me, her face pale against her dark curls. "So did they arrest the wrong person?"
"I don't know," I said, "but I think it's a good possibility."
She let out a low, deep breath and stared at the picture on the screen. Chelsea had been so alive. And now..."What do we do?"
"I don't know," I said. "And the other thing that doesn't make sense is Quartz. She had nothing to do with the co-op. Why kill her?"
"Could there be two murderers?" Gwen suggested.
"The MO seems too similar."
"Unless whoever attacked Quartz imitated what happened to Chelsea to cover his or her tracks."
"I don't think the details of what happened to Chelsea were common knowledge," I said.
Gwen gave me a look. "Everything that happens on this island is common knowledge. I know how she died, and you didn't even tell me."
"True," I said. "But I still feel like we're missing something."
"So what do we do?"
"I've got pottery class in a minute," I said, glancing at the clock on the wall. "Let's talk about it afterward."
"Okay," she said. "How's class going, by the way?"
I gave her a look.
"I know," she said, wincing. "He's not great, is he?"
"Hard to say," I said diplomatically. "I guess I was more interested in making useful items than art objects. Then again, I'm not an artist," I said.
"I am an artist," she said in a low voice, "and I don't think he's very good, either. But sometimes you have to do what you have to do."
"I get it," I said. "Paying the bills is always a good thing." I stood up, still thinking about what we'd discovered about Chelsea. If I called the paper, would they tell me what story she was working on? Probably not, I decided; they'd decide to pursue it another way. What was she looking in to? Was there more going on with the local fishery than I realized? I thought again about the hidden compartment in the Lucky Lady. Were the lobstermen of Cranberry Island involved in illegal practices that would damage the fishery?
I thought again of the mortgage company notice I'd seen Tom Lockhart pick up at the store. I knew he was the head of the co-op; had he encouraged or enabled illegal practices to line his pockets? And was that why he was trying to keep the investigation from going beyond the island?
Even if he had, though, it still didn't explain what had happened to Quartz.
I was still thinking these thoughts as I headed into the studio where Catherine and Emmeline were already seated, chatting.
Five minutes before class was about to start, the sound of arguing came from the hallway.
"It's too much.”
I recognized Chad's voice. A deeper male voice answered. "What do you mean, it's too much? It's what you wanted."
"I never wanted that," Chad answered.
"But sweetheart..." A woman's voice. "Everything your dad has done has been for you."
"Don't lay that on me," Chad said. "Nobody asked my opinion. Anyway, I've got to go. I have a class to teach."
"Only because of us," the deeper voice said. The condescension and menace in it made my skin crawl.
"Honey..." It was the woman's voice again. It was only one word, but the fear and supplication running through it made me shiver. The Bermans might look like they had it all, but at that moment, I was glad I was not Mrs. Berman.
"Don't 'honey' me," the deeper voice commanded.
"I didn't mean to upset you... it's just... there are people here..." she said in a cajoling tone. "Let's go outside to talk."
The man said, "I suppose you're right." Then, a moment later, "Son?" It sounded more like a command than a question.
There was no response. A moment later, a flustered Chad came through the door of the studio.
"Hey," he said in a distracted voice, then put on a bright smile, his eyes flitting only briefly to the door, as if he were expecting his father to storm through it. "Let's get out our projects from last time, okay? I'm going to give you a few minutes to get reacquainted with them."
I glanced through the window. Outside, Chad's parents were striding down the walkway, his father in the lead with his mother a few paces behind. Something about her posture put me in mind of a child who had been recently reprimanded. There was no question who ruled the Berman household—and fear and intimidation appeared to be the favored tactics.
As I retrieved my lump of clay, I watched Chad out of the corner of my eye. He was still flustered. I was guessing he didn't usually stand up to his father, and the experience must have upset him. What was he upset with his father about? Was there an argument over the funding of the Art Guild? Had Chad not known they were footing the bill? I knew Gwen knew it, but until the paper got wind of it, it hadn't been common knowledge.
All these thoughts percolated as we "worked," trying to form our clay wads into something artful. I really wanted to make a mug, but what I ended up with reminded me of an ashtray I'd made in second-grade art class. Catherine was having more luck with a vase, but I could sense she was still frustrated with the relative lack of instruction.
Chad looked agitated. About halfway through class, he excused himself for a few minutes and left the room. I looked at Catherine. "What do you think that was all about?" I asked in a low voice.
"I don't know," she said. "Maybe the funding?"
I thought about what Quartz had said. Maybe she’d told Chad his parents were funding the Art Guild? Maybe he'd thought she was saying he wasn't good enough, and hit her in a fit of anger? Had seeing Chelsea dredged up those old feelings again, too?
A shiver passed through me as I worked the cold clay. Was our art teacher—and Gwen's employee—actually a murderer after all?
I was still contemplating that awful thought when Chad returned. "I'm afraid I'm going to have to leave class early," he said. "Something's come up. You're welcome to work as long as you want... just be sure to wrap up your clay and put it on the shelf."
"But... we haven't learned anything!" Emmeline said.
He seemed about to answer, then thought better of it and walked out of the room, leaving Emmeline, Catherine, and me staring at one another.
"If Gwen weren't running the place, I'd ask for a refund," Catherine said.
"I'm going to go talk with her," I said. "Find out what's going on."
"Let us know, okay?" Emmeline said.
Gwen was finishing framing her painting when I got to the studio.
"What's going on with Chad?" I asked.
"He quit," she said. "He said he was going to finish out the day and he was done."
"He just walked out of class," I informed her.
She muttered something under her breath, then said, "That was unprofessional of him."
"I know. Did he say why he was quitting?"
"Personal reasons," she said with a shrug. "It wasn't a very popular class anyway. I'll go talk to the students... I just hope it doesn't affect our funding."
"I noticed Chad's parents were here just before class."
She nodded. "They swung by to check in," she said. "See how the Guild was doing."
"I wonder what they're doing out here," I said. "I thought they were staying on Mount Desert Island."
"I think they rented a place out by the lighthouse," she told me. "The big blue house looking over the water."
"They didn't rent it for Chad?"
"Maybe they're staying with him," she said. "They seem a bit... overprotective. They remind me a little bit of my mom. Although at least they're supporting his art career."
"How much work has he done since he got here?" I asked.
"He's really not in the studio much," she admitted. "I almost feel a
s if he likes the idea of being an artist more than actually being an artist. Quartz sure seemed smitten with him."
* * *
"I know. I hope she's doing okay, after what happened."
"She hasn't come to yet," I told her. "I'm hopeful, though."
"Poor thing," Gwen said. "I'd better go talk to the class. Thanks for letting me know. And please keep me posted if you find anything else out."
"Of course," I said.
"Are you heading back to the inn?" Catherine asked after Gwen had finished talking to the class and we'd put our clay clumps back on the shelf. Gwen had told us she was going to try to find another instructor; if she couldn't, our money would be refunded.
Now, as we stepped out into the sunny afternoon, I said, "I think I'm going to go for a walk." I was actually thinking of paying Chad a visit, but I didn't want Catherine along; I had a feeling he'd be more open if it was just me.
"That sounds nice; I think I may head to the store to talk to Charlene about online dating. I'll take care of the rooms when I get back to the inn. Do you have dinner taken care of?"
"John's cooking tonight," I said.
"You have the night off, then," she said. "I think you need it!"
"I do," I agreed. "See you back at the inn? I may swing by a friend's house on the way back," I added, thinking of Eli and Claudette, "so I'll probably be an hour or two."
"I'll be there... along with Sarah," she told me, and a shadow passed over her face. She might be over Murray intellectually, but I knew there was still some more emotional work to do.
"Are you doing okay with everything?" I asked.
"Up and down," she said, averting her eyes. "I know it'll get better, but sometimes..."
"I understand," I said, reaching to touch her arm.
"Thanks," she said, looking up at me. "Thanks for being there. I know you know I thought you two were crazy for moving to this island, but you've been so kind to me, and so gracious, letting me in to your lives."
"We love you," I said. "You're family."
Her eyes teared up, and she pulled me into a hug. I was so startled—John's mom wasn't much of a hugger—that it took me a second to respond. I held her thin frame for a long time before she relaxed and moved away from me, dabbing at her eyes. "Thank you," she said in a husky voice.
"Anytime," I said. "I mean that."
"I know," she said, giving me a grateful smile.
I was still thinking about Catherine when I got to the big blue house by the lighthouse. It had a commanding view of the rocky beach below, and seemed awfully big for one person; it wasn’t much smaller than the inn, from the look of it. Nor was it cheap. I wondered how Chad was feeding himself, then realized his parents had probably hired a personal chef, too. I almost felt sorry for him. Then I remembered the offhanded way he'd talked about Quartz and got over it.
I pushed the button beside the gray-painted door, and a sonorous doorbell sounded inside. I was about to ring the bell a second time when there was a shadow beside the stained-glass sidelights; a moment later, the door squeaked open, and Chad stood there.
"Can I help you?" he asked, looking confused.
"I wanted to ask you a few questions, if you don't mind."
"About what?"
"Can I come in for a minute?" I asked. "I'm dying for a glass of water."
"Ummm... sure," he said after a moment's hesitation. I stepped into the cool interior, admiring the plank wood floors and the bank of windows along the back of the house. As I followed him to the kitchen, I said, "This is a really nice house."
"Thanks," he replied. "I'd really rather be at the inn, though. Your food's really good," he said with a sheepish smile. "I'd ask for a recipe for those apple pancakes, but I don't know how to cook." The good-looking, arrogant young man seemed abashed somehow... uncertain. He'd just cut some serious apron strings from his parents, I reasoned; no wonder he wasn't his normal confident self. Even though I still wasn't sure he didn't have something to do with what had happened to Chelsea and Quartz, I felt a bit of tenderness and compassion for him.
"I could teach you sometime if you like," I offered.
"To cook?"
"To make apple puff pancakes, anyway," I said as he grabbed a glass from one of the painted cabinets next to the enormous farm-style sink and filled it with ice and water. He handed it to me, and I took a grateful swig.
"So," he said. "I'm guessing you don't want to talk about cooking?"
"Not really," I said, shaking my head. "I'm curious about the barrette I found in your room, for starters."
"Oh, that barrette. You got me into a lot of trouble with that," he said, then caught himself.
"So you talked with Quartz the day she died," I said.
"Damn," he said. "I wasn't supposed to say anything."
"No? According to whom?" I asked as I slid onto one of the metal barstools at the mile-long soapstone island.
"Never mind," he said. "Anyway, the barrette belonged to Emma. I asked her about how she'd made it into some of the galleries she's in. She came over to my room for a few minutes. I guess she must have dropped it."
"Right by the bed?"
"I promise," he assured me. "I didn't sleep with Emma."
"But you weren't as crazy about Quartz as she was about you."
"Of course not," he said. "My parents would never let me..." He trailed off, catching himself. "She was fun, but not the kind of person I was interested in for a long-term relationship."
"She was interested in you, though," I said.
"Lots of women are," he said. "I come from a wealthy family, I've got a cool job..."
I took another sip of water. "Not anymore," I reminded him.
"True," he said.
"What are you going to do to support yourself?" I asked, knowing full well he didn't have to.
"I don't know yet," he said, looking very young and very lost. Gone was the callow youth on the phone with a friend, dissing Quartz; now he looked like a troubled young man. Had the two deaths caused a true sea change in him?
Or was he just a very, very good actor?
22
"I heard you arguing with your parents earlier," I said.
"Oh," he said, flushing.
"Sounds like things have been tough lately."
"They just... they just do things without consulting me," he said. "Always for my own good."
"Like the issue at Middlesex College?”
His face turned an even darker pink. "You know about that?"
"Chelsea wrote the article, didn't she?"
"She did," he said. "Just because she couldn't afford to study art. She was angry that she didn't have the same options I did. As far as she was concerned, I was pretty privileged."
From what I could see, he was pretty privileged.
"What made her choose you?" I asked. "I'm sure you weren't the only one."
"We had a one-night stand after a gallery field trip," he said. "I didn't call." He shrugged. "I guess it made her mad."
"I guess so," I said. "Any idea why she was here on the island?"
"My parents thought she was writing another article about me and the Art Guild.” He snorted. "Ridiculous. If that guy at the inn hadn't offed her, they would have figured out it was crazy." The old Chad was back for a moment. "Why did he off her, anyway? I assumed it was one of the locals, with all the boats cut loose and everything. I hear someone thought she was some kind of policeman."
"I'm not privy to all the facts," I said.
"Maybe he was bonking both of them," he said. "Chelsea and Quartz. Maybe his girlfriend found out."
I tried to hide my distaste and returned to an earlier subject. "Quartz wasn't too happy about that barrette, was she?"
"Nope. She came to the Art Guild practically in hysterics. We were supposed to go for a walk, but she was so mad, we didn't even get out of my studio."
"So you argued at the Guild?"
"Yeah," he told me. "I didn't realize she was taking things so
seriously. It was just fun. It wasn't like we were planning to get married or anything."
"She thought you were, I think."
He glanced up at me, then looked to the side.
"Did she know about the Art Guild and the fact that your parents funded it?"
"Yeah," he said. "She heard Gwen talking about it. She kind of threw it in my face."
"What do you mean?"
"She called me... some not nice things," he told me. "She was upset. I'm sure she didn't mean them."
"How did you part ways?"
He shrugged. "I told her it was over and she stormed out of the place."
"You didn't follow her?" I asked. I wanted to ask about the money in her hand, but I wasn't sure how to do it without revealing information I shouldn't.
He shook his head. "No," he said. "My dad was..."
"What?"
"Nothing," he said.
"He wasn't a fan of Quartz, was he?"
Chad averted his eyes. "He didn't really take it seriously."
"It's been tough, being his son, hasn't it?"
"It has," he said, and looked up at me, suddenly guarded. "Why am I talking to you, anyway? I hardly know you."
"It's been a rough week," I suggested. "Sometimes it's good to talk."
"I guess," he said. "But I probably shouldn't."
"Why not?"
"I don't like to talk about family matters," he said.
He seemed defensive, but I'd just asked if his dad liked Quartz. I was beginning to have some serious doubts about Chad's father. I thought again about the wad of money in Quartz's hands... and her comment about "not good enough." A disturbing thought occurred to me. Had Chad's father killed Chelsea because he thought she was going to write another exposé on his son? And had he tried to murder Quartz because he thought she wasn't good enough for him? Or that, in her anger, she was going to expose his son's incompetence somehow?
"I should probably get to work on a few things," Chad said, taking my water glass from me.
"Got it," I said. "I'll head out, then." As I stood up, there was a knock on the door. Chad looked sick, but didn't move to answer it.
He didn't need to, as it turned out. I heard the sound of a key in the lock, and a moment later, his mother's voice sounded. "Sweetheart? Are you here?"
Scone Cold Dead Page 15
