by Barbara Ross
Was that a joke? It was a hell of a time for him to develop a sense of humor. I didn’t know whether to laugh or freak out. “I want to be on the island tomorrow when you search it,” I said with as much force as I could muster.
“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sure that will be helpful.”
I left police headquarters and fast-walked down to the town dock. Our little ticket kiosk was locked up tight with a sad sign in the window indicating the clambakes were canceled until further notice. I let myself in and raised Etienne on the radio, telling him we needed to talk immediately. He agreed to come in from the island right away.
When he arrived, we sat on a bench overlooking the harbor. The cocktail hour cruises had left, so it was quiet, if not completely private. I could tell Etienne was anxious. It was unlike me to order him around. He was my father’s best friend and knew more about the clambake than I did. I wondered if he’d guessed what I wanted to talk to him about.
“I’ve just come from seeing Lieutenant Binder,” I began. “He tells me Ray Wilson approached you about buying our island.”
Etienne stared at his boot-clad feet.
“Etienne, what’s the deal? Why would Ray approach you in the first place? And why didn’t you tell me?”
“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it mattered. It was talk, not a real offer. I could tell he was feeling me out. I figured if he had a real offer, he would present it to you and your mother. I thought he was just trying to get an idea of what kind of offer your family might look on with favor.”
Etienne’s Québécois accent was more pronounced when he was stressed, but what he was saying made sense. I’d worked with a lot of great salesmen during my time in venture capital and they all made sure the “influencers” were on their side before they approached the “decision-makers.” Certainly, Etienne was the first person I would have consulted if someone approached me about buying Morrow Island. My mother, who actually owned it, would have relied on him, too. On him and on me, if she could even face the emotional trauma of selling Morrow.
“Did he mention a figure?” I almost hated to ask.
“Six million dollars.”
Wow. That would be enough to pay off the bank, save my mother’s house in the harbor, provide her a tidy sum to live on, with money left over to send Page to boarding school when the time came. Livvie and Sonny could invest in a business, and I could do . . . whatever I wanted.
Etienne took my hands in his huge, calloused ones. “I did not encourage these conversations to hurt you, Julia. I believe in you. I believe you will be able to save the clambake. But what if you can’t? I thought I would keep the offer warm for you. Keep the channels of communication open. For your mother. Especially after Sonny turned Wilson down flat.”
Wait. Sonny did what?
Chapter 34
Sonny was in my office working at the computer. I walked in and shut the door. Over the last few months, we’d tried, not always successfully, to keep our frequent disagreements about the business away from the rest of the family.
“Sonny, we need to talk.”
“Okay, just let me finish—”
I pulled the plug on the computer. “You’re done.”
“What the hell—?”
Blood pulsed in my ears while questions rushed out of me like a torrent. “Why didn’t you tell me you’d met Ray Wilson before the morning of the wedding? And that he’d offered to buy the island? And since you haven’t been honest with me, have you, at least, been honest with the police and told them you met him? Are you freaking insane?”
“Julia, take a breath before you have a heart attack. And give me a minute to explain.”
I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started the stopwatch function. “Start now.”
“Very funny. Okay. Calm down. I didn’t tell you, and I didn’t tell the cops I’d met Ray Wilson before because I didn’t know I had. He wasn’t in great shape the morning of the wedding, if you remember. I took a quick glance at the body after you discovered it, but I didn’t recognize that the person hanging there was him. I didn’t remember his name, either.”
“Some guy offers you six million dollars for our debt-ridden property and you don’t remember his name?” I was so angry my voice was up in dog-whistle range by the end of the sentence. Sonny lost some of his ruddy color at the mention of the price.
“We never got to numbers, okay? I told him right up front the island wasn’t for sale. Because it wasn’t. That’s what your father used to tell everyone who asked. ‘We’re keeping it in the family.’”
That stopped me. “Dad had offers for the island?”
“The island, the business, especially during the boom. He always said no.”
“Times are different now.”
“Really?” Suddenly Sonny was the one doing the shouting. “What are you going to do? Take the money and leave, Julia? Leave just like you always do?”
I came back at him just as loud. “That’s the second time you’ve said that, Sonny. I don’t appreciate it.”
“Because it’s true. You were gone. Livvie and I were here. Your dad got cancer, and we were here. Livvie bought your parents’ groceries, cooked their meals, ferried your dad to all his treatments. With a kid, Julia. A little kid. And where were you? I ran his business as best I could so all of us would have something to live on and to keep that damn island your mother loves so much in the family. And where were you?”
“Just shut up, Sonny. I’m here now and I’ve given up my whole life to be here.”
“I get it. I get that you want to sell the island and hightail it out of here back to your New York City life—”
“What? Sell the island?” Page was in the doorway, lip quivering. Neither of us had heard her open the door. “Grandma said to call you for dinner.” Then she turned and bolted down the back stairs.
“Now look what you’ve done!” Sonny started to go after her, but I grabbed his shoulder.
“You better tell Lieutenant Binder all of this,” I hissed. “Because Etienne’s already told him Ray Wilson approached you about selling the island.”
“What does Etienne have to do with this?”
“Ray talked to him about purchasing the island, too.”
“What? I never knew that.”
“Doesn’t feel so good, does it—being kept in the dark about things that are important?”
Chapter 35
Dinner was a quiet affair. Sonny’s and my fight was the elephant in the room. No one wanted to talk about it, but no one wanted to talk about anything else, either. Page stared at her plate like she couldn’t bear to look at me. I wanted to reassure her, but I didn’t want to touch the topic of selling Morrow Island in front of my mother.
After about ten minutes of nothing but the sound of forks scraping across plates, casting around desperately for any neutral topic, I said, “I ran into Quentin Tupper III at Gus’s today.”
“That’s nice, dear,” Mom said. “His parents are lovely people.”
“He owns that new house on Westclaw Point, across from the island.” All four of them looked at me like, why was I bringing this up? Of course they knew about Tupper’s house. I was the only one who didn’t know about it, the one who’d been away, as Sonny had just reminded me. “Where does his money come from, anyway? Family?”
“Oh, no. There are far too many Tuppers for him to have inherited a lot of money from family,” Mom answered. She was something of an expert on the topic of inheritance. The only reason our family had held onto Morrow Island was because Mom was the only child of an only child.
“Quentin Tupper invented some kind of window when he was in college,” Sonny said with the authority of one who knows. “He hasn’t had to work a day since. He gets paid a royalty for every one that’s sold.”
Some kind of window? What kind could it be? I cast my mind over all the potential investments I’d looked at while I was working at the venture capital firm. Solar? Insulated? Self-cleaning?
“Isn’t that nice,” Mom proclaimed. “Imagine. Windows. What did you talk to him about, dear? Do you think you’ll see him again? Maybe you’ll be going out?”
Oh, great. I’d thought this was a neutral topic. I knew the reason for my mother’s enthusiasm. Someone to go out with might keep me happy enough to stay in the harbor and run the clambake business. Of course, she didn’t yet know there might soon be no clambake business for me to run.
“Mom, he’s like fifty years old,” Livvie protested.
“I don’t think he’s that—” I started to say.
“I don’t think Quentin Tupper, er, dates women,” Sonny interrupted.
Page got that about twenty seconds before Mom said, “Oh.”
Funny, I hadn’t felt that vibe at all.
With that, the subject of Quentin Tupper III was mercifully retired. We ate the rest of the meal in silence.
Livvie had saved some of the rhubarb and strawberries back from the jam-making session and baked one of her delicious rhubarb sour cream coffee cakes. It’s delicious smell still lingered in the house, but no one had the heart for dessert. As soon as the meal was over, Sonny gathered up his little family and took them home.
I helped my mother with the dishes. She asked if I wanted to watch TV with her. The only set in the house was in the tiny sitting room off her bedroom.
I said, “No thanks,” and went to my office. But there was nothing to do there. No clambake to run. We’d been closed for three days and wouldn’t be open tomorrow. I expected I’d be hearing from Bob Ditzy in the morning.
On that depressing note, the walls began to close in. Even though I was tired, I had to get out of the house. I headed out for a drink.
Crowley’s was an expensive tourist bar, but it masqueraded as a dive—to give visitors a sense they’d had a real Maine experience. It was cavernous, as you’d expect a wharf-side warehouse to be, with a big open ceiling, exposed beams, and rough planks on the floor. The place had a decent crowd—Thursday night building up to the weekend. No live music on a weeknight, but most of the tables were full.
Chris wasn’t working as a bouncer. I admit I was disappointed. I’d come to the bar as much because I hoped he’d be there as for the drink. He’d heard all the details of my epic battles with Sonny. I needed to talk about this latest one, to unload. But no Chris. Plus, I worried about how his meeting with Binder had gone. I hoped he was okay.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone wave from the far end of the bar. Jamie. Jamie?
Even though Jamie and I were exactly the same age, for some reason, in my mind, he was still back in junior high, back in the years when we spent the most time together. It never occurred to me that I’d run into him in a bar. But why not? I squeezed through the crowd and climbed onto the stool next to him. I’m too short for barstools. My feet didn’t reach the footrest and dangled on either side of me.
Jamie ordered me a mojito. “Tough day?” he asked.
“You don’t know the half of it. Or maybe you do.”
At least he had the grace to laugh.
“Seriously, can you work your magic and get Binder to let us open? I think the bank’s going to call tomorrow and shut us down for good.”
“The lieutenant knows your situation,” Jamie said in a warning tone.
“So help me out. Is this case anywhere near being solved?”
“You tell me. You’re the one playing detective.”
Okay. What the heck. “I know Michaela called Ray the night of the murder and I know she left the Snuggles to meet him. I know the maid of honor called Tony and his bed wasn’t slept in that night. I know Ray was a recovering alcoholic who hadn’t had a drink in a long time, but he did that night. He was sick in Chris’s cab, which is why Chris cleaned it. There was blood in his vomit.” I took a breath. “How am I doing so far?”
Jamie raised his eyebrows. “Not bad. I’m impressed.”
Why not go for broke? “I know Ray had talked to Etienne about buying Morrow Island. I know the fire on the island was arson, though I can’t for the life of me figure out what it has to do with us.” I didn’t say anything about seeing Sarah’s mother at Ray’s funeral. I figured the cops might not know about that. I also didn’t mention Ray’s approach to Sonny. Etienne had told Binder about it, but I thought it was up to Sonny to come clean. I swiveled to face Jamie. “So now, it’s your turn. You tell me something.”
“Oh, no. That’s not going to work.”
“C’mon, I know you’re dying to.”
Jamie looked up at the ceiling like he was trying to figure out what was safe to tell me. I was surprised he even considered it, but he was a few drinks ahead of me. “Okay. How about this? Ray Wilson had major drugs in his system when he died. Someone drugged him.”
“Get out. What kind of drugs?”
“That, I am not going to tell you.’”
I wasn’t going to let him get off the hook so easily. “So he was drugged and then hung him from the staircase? Are the drugs what killed him?”
“He had drugs in his body. He was dead when he was hung. That’s all I’m going to say.” Jamie shifted his body away from me like he was afraid he’d said too much.
“And the police are sure he didn’t take the drugs himself ?”
Jamie was silent.
“C’mon,” I prodded. “You can’t leave me hanging.”
“Geez, Julia.”
“No pun intended. Believe me. How do you know he didn’t take the drugs himself ?”
“There were no drugs on him or in his hotel room. And the levels in his blood were high, way too high . . . and doubly dangerous when mixed with alcohol. He wouldn’t have taken that much and had so much to drink unless he was trying to kill himself.”
“You’re sure he didn’t kill himself ?”
Jamie burst out laughing. “And then hung himself from the stairway at Windsholme after he was dead? You are one cheap drunk. That’s your first mojito.”
Oh, right. I guess that scenario was unlikely. I finished my drink and signaled to the bartender for another round. “How long before he died was he drugged?”
“Several hours.”
“He was drinking right here in this bar several hours before he died.” I started to get excited. Who had been in Crowley’s that night? Michaela, Tony, the maid of honor. The entire wedding party, in fact. And Sarah Halsey.
And Chris Durand.
Damn.
The bartender arrived with mojitos for both of us.
Jamie and I closed down Crowley’s. After he told me about the drugs in Ray Wilson’s system, we moved on and talked about everything except the murder—our days at Busman’s Elementary, our high school and college summers working at the clambake. When I asked why he became a cop, he answered, “to help people.” Then he asked why I became a venture capitalist, and I answered “same reason,” which four mojitos in, we found hilarious. I laughed until I cried.
He insisted on paying for my drinks, which I protested, and on walking me home, which I didn’t, because I felt awfully wobbly. On my front porch he kissed me. Between one thing and another, it had been a while since I’d been kissed, but I was certain that’s what it was. A gentlemanly graze of the lips.
He mumbled, “G’night,” and took off down the block like a rocket.
Chapter 36
By morning, the whole night seemed like one terrible idea after another. Going to Crowley’s, sitting with Jamie, the mojitos, the walk, the kiss. Argh. The harder I worked at forgetting the whole thing, the more I remembered.
The persistent buzzing of my cell phone finally got me out of bed. The display read, BOB DITZY. I didn’t answer. I figured there was a limit to the terrible news he could leave in a phone message. Four days closed, one to go. He’d said if we were closed today, he’d have to inform his loan committee.
There was also a message from Lieutenant Binder saying his team would do “one last” search of the island this afternoon and I was welco
me to come along. They’d meet me at 1:00 on the town dock. That, at least, was welcome news. If we were cleared to open the clambake by 4:00 or so, I had time to call my suppliers and at least let the hotels in the area know we were back in business, so they could send their guests in our direction.
That left the whole morning open with too much time to think. About everything. The murder. The loan. The fire. The kiss.
It’s not that I didn’t like Jamie. He’d been a friend all my life. I just didn’t think of him that way. And besides, I liked Chris.
I could freak out about the business or freak out about Jamie, but neither seemed productive. Or, I could go see Sarah Halsey. As far as I knew, Binder hadn’t had anyone at Ray Wilson’s funeral to observe the strange scene between Sarah’s and Ray’s mothers. Even if he did have someone there, a state cop might not have recognized Marie Halsey. I decided to visit Sarah.
I’d never been to Sarah’s apartment over Gleason’s Hardware on Main Street. When her mother opened the door, I was shocked by how tiny the place was. It’s not unusual in resort areas for housing to be too expensive for teachers, firefighters, and cops to live in the town they serve. Sarah had managed to find a place in town by making a major sacrifice on space. The door opened into the living room, which was currently decorated with several hundred strewn Legos. Tyler waved when I walked in, then returned to his building project. Right off the living room, I could see a bedroom with two twin beds. I guessed those belonged to Tyler and his grandmother. Sarah probably slept on the uncomfortable-looking pullout sofa in the living room.
Sarah came out of the bathroom. There was no way in that tiny apartment she hadn’t heard me come in.
“I need to talk to you. It’s about Ray Wilson.”
Sarah nodded toward Tyler and gave me a warning look. “Tyler, I’m going outside to talk to Miss Snowden for a minute. Stay with Grammie. I’ll be right out front.” She led me out onto the sidewalk in front of Gleason’s and gestured toward an outdoor bench.
