by Zara Keane
“I’d imagine the golf club was pretty mad at the idea of the Greers selling the land. What did this aggressive investor from England intend to do with the land if they’d agreed to the sale?”
Carl snorted. “Raze the hotel and build a water park.”
“Wow. That’s quite a difference from a five-star golf hotel with spa facilities.”
“I’ll say,” muttered Carl. “And to make matters worse, he wanted to build themed guest lodges for people who wanted to stay longer. I got a peek at the layouts, and they were awful. Definitely not what the island needs.”
And definitely not the sort of place that would be in need of a chef of Carl’s caliber. “Do you think this thwarted would-be buyer is on a vendetta to close down the hotel?”
Carl shrugged. “Who knows? It’s a more likely explanation than the hotel having a resident poltergeist.”
The guy had a point. I mulled over the conversation while I worked, but came to no concrete conclusions. After I’d helped the kitchen staff clean up from lunch, Melanie reappeared in the kitchen. “One of our secretaries has called in sick,” she said the instant we made eye contact. “I’d like you to take over for the rest of the day.”
I took off my apron, once again exposing my cleavage. “Any chance I’ll get to wear a different outfit?”
Melanie waved a hand in a dismissive gesture. “You’ll be in a back room answering phones and booking appointments. No one will care what you’re wearing.”
With these not very reassuring words, she frog-marched me up the stairs. When we reached the lobby, our progress came to an abrupt halt.
Sergeant Liam Reynolds strode toward us, stony-faced, and flanked on either side by the island’s two reserve policemen. My heart beat a little faster. That didn’t bode well.
“Maggie Doyle,” he said in a hard tone, surveying my outfit and pausing a second too long on the V on my shirt. “Got a new job?”
“Part-time,” I replied nonchalantly, a betraying warmth creeping up my cheeks. “I’m still working at the Movie Theater Café.”
His eyes flashed and I took a step back, surprised by his anger. “I’m looking for the kitchen,” he ground out.
Melanie stared at him in surprise. “Why? Is something wrong?”
“Yes. I’ve come to arrest your head chef for murder.” Sergeant Reynolds turned to me, a flash of anger in his dark blue eyes. “And I’ve a good mind to haul you down to the station for withholding information.”
9
I swallowed hard. “I didn’t—”
“Save it.” Reynolds’s jaw hardened. “I’ll speak to you later.”
“What do you mean? Is my chef a murderer?” Melanie’s voice rose to a shriek.
Reynolds ignored her and marched to the stairs that led down to the basement. When he and the reserves disappeared from sight, Melanie and I stood rooted to the spot.
“What’s going on, Maggie?” she demanded. “Clearly you know something I don’t.”
I released a long breath. “You’ve heard the postman died?”
She screwed up her nose. “Paul said something about it this morning. The silly man threw himself into the sea.”
“Lenny and I found him at the bottom of a cliff.”
Melanie rounded on me. “Again? Seriously, how many dead bodies can one woman find?”
I threw my arms up in defense. “Hey, Lenny was with me. And I don’t plan to discover corpses. It just sort of happens.”
A line appeared between Melanie’s perfectly plucked eyebrows. “If Sergeant Reynolds wants to arrest Carl Logan for murder, the postman’s death can’t have been suicide. Do you know what happened?”
I was spared the necessity of answering by a raucous roar from the bowels of the hotel. A moment later, Sergeant Reynolds appeared at the top of the stairs, hauling a protesting Carl.
“Let me go,” the chef yelled. “I didn’t do anything. All I said was the man deserved to die. It doesn’t mean I killed him.”
The former cop in me winced. I stepped in front of them and blocked their path. “Shut up, Carl. Don’t say a word until you have a lawyer present.”
Reynolds’s face turned an angry shade of red. “He’s been read his rights. If he wants to shoot his mouth off, let him.”
I ignored the policeman and focused on the sweating chef. “Carl,” I said in a gentler tone. “I’m serious. Say nothing—and I mean nothing—until Jennifer Pearce gets to the station.”
I pulled my phone from my pocket and located the lawyer’s number from my list of contacts. Jennifer and I weren’t destined to become best buds, but we’d reached a mutual understanding after I’d helped her locate a valuable missing necklace. In short, she owed me one, and I intended to persuade her to deliver.
My twelve-hour shift at the hotel finished at six. Exhausted, I dragged myself into Smuggler’s Cove and stocked up on groceries. After I’d finished shopping, I drove to the police station and dutifully allowed one of the reserves to take my fingerprints. Try as I might, I could glean no information from the man about what was going on with Carl Logan. Feeling grumpy, frustrated, and tired, I stomped out to the parking lot. I’d just slipped behind the wheel of my car when Lenny emerged from the police station. An anxious expression creased his bony face. My stomach clenched to see him so worried.
I rolled down my window. “Hey, Lenny.”
His head jerked up at the sound of his name. A slow smile broke the tension on his face. He jogged over to my car. “Good to see you, Maggie.”
“Has Jennifer arrived?”
“She got here an hour ago,” Lenny said in a more subdued voice than I was used to from him. “She’s talking to Carl now.”
I reached across the gearbox and opened the passenger door. “Get in. We need to talk.” Lenny slid onto the passenger seat and buckled his belt. I started the car and eased us into the evening traffic. “I thought it would be smarter if we talked away from the station.”
He nodded. “Thanks for calling Jennifer. It’s not like you know Carl well.”
“But I know you. You’re my friend, and Carl’s your brother.” I sighed. “Listen, I’m going to ask you a few questions, and I need you to tell me the truth.” I glanced across at him, noting the grim set of his jaw.
“Okay,” he said finally. “What do you want to know?”
“Do you think Carl killed Eddie Ward?”
Lenny stared at his hands for a long while before answering. “They found his knife at the top of the cliff. We must have missed it in the dark. It had Ward’s blood on it.”
“Back up for a sec. The police found a knife belonging to your brother near where Ward went over the cliff? When?”
He shrugged. “The following day, I guess. I didn’t see a knife that night.”
“Neither did I.” I gritted my teeth. “And after the suicide note that conveniently appeared on the dashboard of the post van while you and I were down on the beach, I find that suspicious. Heck, Lenny. You, me, Reynolds, Mack, and Günter trampled all over that clifftop, and we all had flashlights. How big is this knife that supposedly belongs to Carl?”
Lenny averted his gaze, choosing to stare out the passenger window. “Big enough. And there’s no question that it’s Carl’s. It’s part of a set of chopping knives that the hotel presented to him on his tenth anniversary. They have the Whisper Island Hotel’s crest and his initials engraved on them.”
“Isn’t it mighty convenient that the postman was stabbed with a knife whose owner is easy to identify?”
“Yeah, but…” Lenny gulped for breath. “Carl was spitting mad when Ward dumped Katie.”
“Mad enough to kill him?”
He sighed. “I don’t know, Maggie. I hope not. Carl’s my brother. I hate having this niggling doubt.”
I didn’t like him having any doubts. I’d hoped he’d leap to his brother’s defense and produce a compelling argument for why Carl couldn’t have done it.
Stifling a yawn, I forced my tired br
ain to concentrate. Sifting through what Reynolds had told me the previous evening, I considered the facts of the case. At some point before Lenny and I had discovered his body at the bottom of the cliff, Eddie Ward had been poisoned, stabbed, and hurled off the cliff. I knew from Reynolds that the stab wound wasn’t the cause of death, although I was well aware that a cut of that nature to the heart would have proven fatal had the poison not done the job first. Even if Carl had stabbed the man in a fit of rage, could he have poisoned him? I didn’t know Carl Logan well, but my gut told me that poison wouldn’t be his weapon of choice, despite his profession. “Look, Reynolds shared some info with me that I’m not at liberty to pass on, but I can say that I’d be interested to know what evidence he has to link Carl to the murder beyond the knife.”
“I have no idea. The reserve policeman on duty wouldn’t let me see Carl, and Reynolds was on the phone.” Lenny snorted. “I got stuck with O’Shea blathering on gleefully about how he’d always known my family was a bad lot.”
“Ignore him. The man’s a vindictive fool.” I glanced at my watch. “I’m due to get the Movie Theater Café ready for the Unplugged Gamers. Do you want to cancel the meeting?”
“No.” The word was adamant. “I need the distraction. Besides, I know Noreen relies on the extra trade she gets from the clubs. I don’t want to let her down.”
“Under the circumstances, she’d understand.”
“I’d rather keep busy. Günter, Mack, and Julie aren’t the type to press me to talk about Carl’s arrest. All I want to do is play a game and get my mind off what’s happened.”
“Okay. Sounds good.” I continued in the direction of the Movie Theater Café and pulled into my usual parking place outside.
Julie and Mack were already outside, bouncing up and down in an effort to keep warm. Farther down Main Street, I recognized Günter’s loping stroll and German Army jacket.
I got out of the car and forced a smile. All I wanted to do right now was crawl into bed and sleep for ten hours, but I’d promised my aunt I’d keep up with my shifts at the café, and I didn’t intend to let her down. If Lenny wouldn’t cancel, neither would I.
Julie and Mack’s attention latched onto Lenny. “We heard about Carl,” Julie said. “Is there anything we can do to help?”
Lenny gave her a weak smile. “You can distract me with a complicated strategy game. And Maggie can make me one of her legendary Irish coffees.”
“Legendary only because of the amount of whiskey I put in them,” I said dryly, opening the café’s door and letting us in. “And that was an honest mistake the first time.”
“A mistake we’ll gladly ask you to repeat forever,” Julie said with a laugh.
I took the hint and fixed strong Irish coffees for Julie, Lenny, and Günter, and regular coffees for Mack and me, the two designated drivers.
Günter, who prided himself on his skill at the more complicated strategy games, pulled Agricola out of his backpack.
Mack groaned. “No way. I come in last every time we play this game.”
“You’re such a showoff, Günter,” Julie said with the hint of acid that she reserved for exchanges with our German friend. “You know most of us are terrible at that game.”
Günter’s expression remained benign. “It’s Lenny’s turn to choose. What does he think?”
“Agricola is exactly the sort of complicated distraction I need tonight,” Lenny replied. “So suck it and help me set up the game.”
Mack grumbled, but good-naturedly, while Julie shot Günter a look of venom. By the time the game was ready for us to play, I’d made the second round of Irish coffees.
Fifteen minutes into the game, Lenny’s phone rang. He glanced at the display and shot out of his seat. “It’s Mum. Sorry, I have to take this.” He bounded over to the front of the café, the phone pressed against his ear. “Any news?” A brief silence. “What? You’re not serious?” Lenny’s pacing increased in speed. “Okay. I’ll be there in ten.” When he disconnected and turned to face us, his face was ashen. “Mum says Reynolds has taken Granddad in for questioning.”
Oh, no. My stomach dropped like an elevator in free fall. “That’s outrageous,” I said. “Reynolds is crazy if he thinks Gerry had anything to do with the murder.”
The words were out of my mouth before I’d had time to process the situation. My sluggish brain caught up with my emotions, and I tried to assess the situation with a degree of detachment. The Logans were a tight-knit bunch. They’d have taken Katie’s abandonment hard, and the situation would have been made worse by Katie cutting ties with her family. Gerry Logan made a particularly potent version of poteen, Irish moonshine, and he’d worked as an electrician before his retirement. He wasn’t scientifically clueless, but would he have access to cyanide?
Mack got up from his seat. “I’ll drive you to the station, Lenny.”
“I’m sorry to break up the game.” Lenny’s thin face looked suddenly older than his twenty-nine years.
“No need to apologize.” I went over and gave him a hug. “If there’s anything I can do, let me know.”
“Thanks, Maggie. I’ll call you when I have an update.”
After Mack and Lenny had left, Günter and Julie helped me to put the game pieces back in the box, and then clean the café. The dramatic end to the game appeared to have pushed them to reach an unspoken truce, much to my relief. The tension between my cousin and our German friend had been building ever since Günter had taken temporary refuge at her parents’ house after his houseboat had been destroyed in a storm. I couldn’t understand Julie’s objection to him staying there. She didn’t live at her parents’ house, and they were happy to have Günter as their guest. If Philomena was putting pressure on her daughter to date Günter, it still didn’t account for the animosity she displayed toward him. Part of me wondered if Julie didn’t object to Günter little too much for her dislike of the man to be credible.
“I can’t see Mr. Logan killing anyone,” Günter said after he’d finished sweeping the floor. “He’s very—” he paused as though searching for the correct word, “—proper.”
“I don’t buy it, either. Sergeant Reynolds is barking up the wrong tree.”
“But why?” Julie demanded. “What evidence does he have against the Logans? We all know they hated Ward, but hating the man doesn’t mean they killed him. They’re not the sort of family to go around murdering people.”
I gave her a wan smile. “You’d be surprised at the kind of people who commit murder. But I agree with you. It doesn’t fit.”
“Will you help Lenny figure out who killed Ward?” my cousin asked. “If Reynolds is determined to blame Lenny’s brother and grandfather, it’s up to you to set him right.”
I sighed. “Why does everyone seem to think I’m the island’s answer to Miss Marple?”
“Because you have an excellent reputation as a solver of crimes,” Günter said, and then added, “and you play an excellent game of Cluedo.”
I exchanged an amused glance with Julie. “Being able to play Clue,” I said, using the American name for the game, “doesn’t qualify me to solve crimes.”
“But your work experience does,” Julie insisted. “You’re an ex-cop, Maggie. Who better to do a bit of investigating on the side? Surely your hotel work isn’t taking up all of your spare time?”
I gave a silent laugh. Spare time? What spare time? Now that I was working for Paul and Melanie, I’d committed every second I wasn’t at the café to catching their would-be ghost. “Actually, I’m going to be pretty busy over the next few days.”
Julie crossed her arms over her chest and fixed me with a belligerent stare. “Lenny’s our friend. Don’t you want to help his family?”
I sighed. I’d sworn secrecy to Paul and Melanie, and I couldn’t tell Julie and Günter what I was truly doing at the hotel. On the other hand, my cousin was right. Lenny was our friend, and he’d helped me out more than once. I owed it to him to be there when he needed my help.
I blew out my cheeks. “Okay. I’ll see what I can do.”
Julie’s face flooded with relief. “Thanks, Maggie. I appreciate it. I know you’ll figure out who killed Eddie Ward.”
“I can’t promise anything,” I cautioned. “I have no idea what new evidence Reynolds has turned up, and let’s just say he’s very unlikely to confide in me at the moment.”
This was an understatement. Whatever tentative trust we’d built, I’d shattered by my failure to tell him of Eddie Ward’s rift with Lenny’s family. It wasn’t fair, but I understood Reynolds’s sense of betrayal that I’d held out on him, especially when he’d just confided in me. Had our roles been reversed, I’d have been livid.
“Is there anything we can do to help?” Julie asked. “Maybe I can question people like I did when Sandra Walker was killed.”
“Leave the heavy lifting to me,” I said, thinking of the ferocity with which Ward had been killed. Whoever was behind the murder was ruthless as well as violent. “If you could ask around if anyone had a reason to want him dead, that would be cool.”
My cousin beamed. “Consider it done.”
Günter pulled on his jacket and trudged out of the café with us. “I, too, will do the asking,” he said in heavily accented tones. “I have friends at the hotel who know Carl Logan.”
“Sven and Marcus?” It was a guess, but there weren’t many foreigners on Whisper Island, and even fewer for whom English wasn’t their first language. I could imagine they’d stick together.
The German nodded. “Yes, they are both my friends, but I know Marcus a bit better because we can talk German to one another. Did you know Marcus worked with Eddie Ward?”
My ears pricked up at this unexpected information. “Ward moonlighted as a massage therapist?” A vision of the postman’s slick smile and groping hands made me shudder.
Günter laughed. “Oh, no. The opposite way around. Marcus helped deliver post when Ward was on holiday or sick, and sometimes during busy periods like Christmas.”
