Clammed Up (A Maine Clambake Mystery)

by Barbara Ross

  Binder turned to me and said, “I’d like you to come with me.” Together we walked up the great lawn toward Windsholme. At the top of the hill, he veered off and took the path through the woods to the playhouse. He pushed open its Dutch door and we stepped inside.

  It was as neat as it had been the last time I was there. We walked through to the bedroom where the blanket was still neatly folded on the mattress on the bottom bunk. Chris’s initials, carved into the board that supported the top bunk, screamed at me as though they were etched in neon. But Binder didn’t comment on them.

  We returned to the front room. “Nice place to spend your childhood,” Binder said in a neutral tone.

  “If you mean the island, yes it was. If you mean, specifically, this playhouse, I wouldn’t know. During my childhood, we spent the summer in the house where Etienne and Gabrielle live now, and they spent their summers here. With their son.” Even as I said it, I suspected Binder already knew.

  “Did the playhouse look like this the last time you saw it?”

  “If you mean cleaned up, yes, it did. On the day we had the first—the only—clambake of the season, I came over here to look around. It looked exactly as it does now.”

  “Which surprised you.” It was a statement, not a question.

  “It did. When I went off to college, my parents decided to stay on the mainland during the summer. My sister was on the swim team at the Y.” Funny, I’d almost forgotten that. “And between practices and meets it just wasn’t practical to live on the island anymore. So Etienne, Gabrielle and Jean-Jacques moved into the house by the dock, and the playhouse was abandoned. The last time I came here, before this summer, it was in really rough shape.”

  “What did you think when you saw it all fixed up?”

  “I assumed Sonny, Chris, and Etienne fixed it up when they were out here this spring getting ready to open the clambake. My niece and her little friend were with the men during school vacation. I assumed the guys had fixed this place up for them.”

  “But that’s not what happened?”

  “I guess not. My niece and her friend said they didn’t play here.” No point in mentioning the boy who was on the island this spring was Ray Wilson’s son.

  “Who do you think cleaned it up?”

  “I don’t know.” And I didn’t. But the whole conversation had caused a knot in my stomach. What had happened there? Was a stranger living on my island? That was the first time it had occurred to me. A murdering stranger actually living on my island.

  “C’mon,” Binder said. “I want to go through the big house.”

  When we reached Windsholme, he took a moment to inspect the work we’d done demolishing the side porch then we climbed the front steps and opened the doors. He held the door open and I went through it, grateful I’d taken my desensitizing walk the day before. He led me to the dining room, inspecting the fire damage, and then moved through the butler’s pantry. On the balcony of the two-story kitchen, he gave a low whistle. “This place is amazing.”

  “I guess so.” For most of my life, I’d seen this kitchen as something impractical and unusable, with a huge, wood-burning stove and a pump in the soapstone sink for drawing water. In the corner was an ancient propane-powered refrigerator, long disconnected, from back in the days before the island had electricity.

  We continued through each room on the main floor. Everything was as it had been the day before. In the great hall, Binder paused. I was sure he was remembering, as I was, Ray Wilson’s body hanging from the banister.

  On the floor that housed the bedrooms, Binder opened every door. He was relaxed and chatty, asking me questions about my ancestors, most of which I couldn’t answer.

  “Did you ever find the boat?” I asked.

  “What boat?”

  “The one Ray used to get here.”

  “No,” Binder admitted. His hand felt along the wallpaper in the master bedroom where it had been discolored by the smoke.

  “So you think Ray came out with his killer, who took the boat when he left?”

  Binder grunted, noncommittal.

  “What about the camp trunk?”

  He stopped. “What trunk?”

  It seemed like an honest question. Maybe the cops didn’t know about the trunk.

  “Tony told me Ray Wilson had a big camp trunk in his car when he left New York, and I wondered if you found it. I know it wasn’t in his room at the Lighthouse Inn.”

  “How’d you know that?”

  “I have my sources.”

  Binder grimaced. “Very funny. But thanks, I hadn’t heard about this trunk.”

  We climbed to the top floor. Windsholme never really got hot. Its thick stone walls and the ocean air created a state of permanent cool, but on the fourth floor the air was stuffier than I remembered even from the day before. Binder started at the end of the hallway closest to the porch fire, methodically opening each door. He’d stand for a moment in the doorway, looking thoughtful, but he didn’t enter the rooms.

  “Did you find the windbreaker?”

  He was losing his patience. “What windbreaker?”

  “After Ray puked on himself in Chris’s cab he put his jacket on to cover the mess. He wore it when he went into the Lighthouse that night. But when I saw him here the next day, he didn’t have it on. Just a pink polo shirt.”

  I thought for a moment the lieutenant would deny knowing about the windbreaker, too. But he said, “No. We haven’t found Wilson’s jacket.”

  We were at the door of the room across from the landing. Binder turned the knob and pushed, but it wouldn’t budge, just like the day before.

  “It’s so damp here,” I apologized. “Things are always sticking.”

  “Why do you keep all the doors closed, anyway?”

  “In case birds get in. Confines all the damage to one room.”

  He grunted, put his shoulder to the door, and shoved hard. It made a loud creaking sound and bowed in the middle, but didn’t open. Then he put a foot on the door and leaned in. I thought about reminding him it was an antique, but he’d seen the state of the rest of the place, so I kept quiet. Besides, it was in my best interest that he see everything he wanted. I was just hoping for those magic words You can open the clambake tomorrow.

  He knelt down and stared at something by the keyhole. “I think this is locked.”

  Locked? As long as I could remember, nothing in the interior of Windsholme had been locked.

  There was simply nothing to take. “Was it locked when you searched here after Wilson’s body was found?”

  “No,” Binder answered. “Are there keys?”

  “Butler’s pantry,” I answered, but he was busy jimmying the door with a long, slim tool. We heard an old lock grind, and the door swung open.

  Inside the little room, a mattress was on an iron bedstead. The bed was made with white sheets and covered in an old wool blanket. And on the bed was an entire man’s wardrobe—T-shirts, cargo pants, boxers, and socks—folded with military precision.

  I started to shake and gasp for air. Binder reached for his radio and called his officers to come.

  Chapter 39

  “Do you think Jean-Jacques is back?” Sonny was the one who actually said it, though all three of us were thinking it. He and I sat on the dock, our feet dangling over the side and Jamie lounged against a post. I’d avoided a full-blown panic attack, but still felt drained. We were waiting for Binder and Flynn, who were at Gabrielle and Etienne’s house, interviewing them again. Binder had sent the rest of his team back to Busman’s Harbor with the harbormaster.

  “Could Jean-Jacques have been living here?” Jamie asked. “Right along?”

  “No way,” Sonny and I answered simultaneously. For once, something on which we agreed. There was no way Jean-Jacques had been living on the island for six years.

  “Was the playhouse fixed up when you were out here cleaning up in the spring?” I asked Sonny.

  He shook his head. “I’m sure it wasn�
�t.”

  “That’s what the kids said, too.”

  “You asked the kids about it? How long have you known?” He seemed aggravated and accusatory.

  I took a deep breath before I answered. “On the day of the first clambake, I discovered the playhouse had been cleaned. I thought it was something you, Chris, and Etienne had done to keep the kids occupied this spring.”

  “Nope. Way too busy for that.”

  I flashed him the best smile I could muster. Yes, Sonny. I got it. You work hard, too. “Page said she saw the ghost—or one of the ghosts. Could she have seen Jean-Jacques?”

  Sonny started to say no, but then rolled his big shoulders. The day had already been full of surprises.

  “We all saw the ghosts when we were kids,” Jamie said. “We talked about them all the time. Remember the ghost stories around the fire after the guests were gone?”

  When we’d lived out on the island in the summers, sometimes as an extra special treat, after the dinner guests left, Etienne and my father would build us a little fire and we’d roast marshmallows. Usually, it was Livvie and Jean-Jacques and I, but sometimes Jamie stayed over. It was Jamie’s first mention of a personal, shared memory all day. Neither of us had even breathed a hint about the kiss. What was there to say?

  “What will happen to Jean-Jacques if they find him?” I asked.

  He wasn’t on the island. Binder and his men had searched every square inch of it, quizzing Sonny and me about hidden rooms in Windsholme, island caves, or forgotten outbuildings. Morrow Island was only thirteen acres and there was a limited number of places to hide. If it was Jean-Jacques who occupied the room in Windsholme, and he wasn’t on the island, that meant he had a way to get on and off. Binder’s team had again searched for signs of a boat and found nothing.

  “He’s a deserter, right?” Jamie answered. “He’ll have to go back. I imagine there’ll be some kind of hearing. He’ll go to prison.”

  I hadn’t seen Jean-Jacques in six years and only sporadically for seven years before that, but he was a part of my childhood and my heart ached at the thought of him in prison. I felt terrible for Etienne and Gabrielle. “But he didn’t desert troops in the field. He walked away when he was on leave, after he’d already done two tours.”

  Jamie shrugged. “Maybe there’s some kind of leniency in those situations. Who knows?”

  Binder finally emerged from the house, followed by a drawn and gray Etienne. We piled into the Whaler for the trip to the harbor. I wanted desperately to talk to Binder, but not in front of Etienne. The poor man was in enough pain. I walked to the helm and stood silently by his side all the way to the harbor, hoping my posture conveyed my support. I doubted any greater demonstration would be welcome.

  Etienne dropped us at the town dock and left again without saying a word. I checked my cell phone. Three more calls from Bob Ditzy, and he’d started leaving messages. It was well past six o’clock. No point in calling him at the bank at that hour, so why listen to the messages?

  “Can we open tomorrow?” I asked Binder.

  He looked at me like I was crazy. “There appears to be a fugitive living on your island. No, you cannot open tomorrow.”

  “He’s not there. You didn’t find him. Besides, isn’t he a problem for the military?”

  “Not if he killed Ray Wilson, he isn’t.”

  Chapter 40

  At the top of the street we split up. Binder and Jamie headed toward the police station, Sonny and I trudged up the hill to Mom’s house. Both of us were so down, it was almost impossible to speak. In twenty-four hours, we would be the people who lost the Snowden Family Clambake.

  Livvie’s minivan was in the driveway. So was another car I didn’t recognize—a sporty red BMW with the top down.

  Tony Poitras got up from the porch swing when he heard us come up the front steps. “Your mom said I could wait here.”

  Sonny shook Tony’s hand, mumbled something, and went inside.

  I was glad he left us to talk privately. “What brings you here?” It had to be something important. He’d driven for twenty-five minutes and then waited who knows how long.

  “You ratted me out.” His tone was light, teasing, but with an edge. “You told Michaela I wasn’t in my room the night Ray . . . that night.”

  “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset her. I had no idea she’d get so mad.”

  He pulled his perfect brows together. “I want to assure you, what happened that night was totally innocent.”

  “I’m not the one you need to tell.”

  “I’ve already talked to Michaela. Now I’m talking to you.”

  We sat across from one another in my mother’s big wicker chairs. It was that time in the early evening when the wind died and everything was still. I heard the hum of a lawn mower from some far-off yard. Other than that, the town was silent.

  “I wasn’t feeling great the night of the rehearsal dinner,” Tony started. “I don’t know if it was prewedding jitters, or too much to eat or what, but I left Crowley’s early. Michaela was dancing with her girlfriends and having a great time. I didn’t want to be a stick in the mud.”

  “Was Ray drunk when you left?”

  “No. I didn’t see him take a drink except for seltzer water. He’d been sober for a year. I wasn’t worried about it.”

  “Did you see Sarah Halsey while you were at Crowley’s?”

  “So you know about that? The answer is I glimpsed her coming in as I was leaving. I don’t think she saw me. Frankly, it just made me even happier I’d decided to leave. I didn’t want to see her.”

  “Why not?”

  Tony’s jaw tightened. “Because she made a chump out of my friend. She’d lied to him, never told him he had a kid. And when he’d sobered up, she tried to keep his son away from him. Ray had a hundred reasons to get sober, but the only one that worked was knowing he had a son. Wanting to spend time with the boy. He tried to work things out with Sarah for more than a year, but she just stonewalled him. He had just told her he planned to sue for visitation. Now he’s dead. His son never even knew him. The whole thing is a terrible waste.” Tony pinched his nose between his thumb and forefinger.

  Ray threatened to sue Sarah for visitation? Why had she kept that information back, when she’d told me so much? I needed time to think. “Can I get you something to drink?”

  “Sure. I’ll have a beer, if you’ve got one.”

  I took a Sea Dog from the fridge and poured an ice water for myself. I’d already done one dumb thing due to drinking in the last twenty-four hours. I needed to be sharp for this conversation.

  I handed Tony the beer and sat down. “You were explaining why you didn’t sleep in your bed the night before you were supposed to be married. I know the maid of honor called you.”

  “Michaela was out wandering the streets at 2:00 in the morning, meeting up with a drunk man. Lynn was frantic with worry. So she called me. And I went out to look for Michaela.”

  “But you didn’t find her.”

  “No. Instead of walking from my hotel to the other side of the harbor, I got in my car. I thought it would be more efficient to drive around looking for Michaela than to do it on foot. I drove for a while, but didn’t find either Michaela or Ray. I thought she might be back at the B&B by then, so I pulled up in front and called Lynn on her cell. No Michaela. But Lynn came right outside and got in my car to talk.”

  “Oh, Tony.” According to Fee Snuggs, Lynn hadn’t asked Tony to look for Michaela. She’d asked him to come to the B&B. Tony had given Lynn exactly what she wanted.

  He put up a hand. “Nothing happened. Well, almost nothing. I was out of my mind with worry. It was the night before my wedding and my wife-to-be was missing. She’d gone off to meet my best friend. Lynn pointed out that maybe Michaela didn’t have her priorities straight in terms of the attention and consideration she gave me versus Ray. There was some frustration on my part. Some venting. But that’s it. Nothing happened between Lynn and me.” He
hesitated. “Even though that might have been what Lynn wanted.”

  “If nothing happened, then why didn’t you tell Michaela?”

  “Lynn is a sensitive topic where Michaela is concerned. I didn’t think she’d want to know that I spent part of the night before our wedding—”

  “With an old girlfriend,” I finished.

  “But I did tell Lieutenant Binder. I’ve been completely honest with the cops about where I was that night.”

  “After you left Lynn, where did you go? There was still plenty of time for you to go back to your hotel and get a few hours sleep. But you didn’t.”

  Tony exhaled loudly as if he’d gotten through the worst of what he had to tell. “I sent Lynn back inside before anything could happen between us. I turned my car around in your driveway, right here. I was going to take one more trip around town before I turned in. I was still worried about Michaela. And Ray. I headed down toward the Lighthouse Inn. I thought maybe they’d gone back to his room. Just for a place to talk. But I never made it. That guy who works for you at the clambake and his wife were walking up from the town dock. I almost hit them. She was in a terrible state. Disheveled and raving. Something about her son. I recognized the guy’s name as soon as he introduced himself, Etienne Martineau. Ray had been talking to him about a business deal.”

  Yeah, about buying my family’s island. But I didn’t say it. I didn’t want to get Tony off track. I was amazed to hear that Etienne and Gabrielle had been on the mainland that night. It contradicted everything Etienne had let me believe. He said he would have heard anyone coming onto our island, but he wasn’t there.

  “Etienne said his wife was having some difficulties, which was obvious. There was a prescription waiting for her at the twenty-four-hour pharmacy up on Route One. He asked me to drive them there. I wanted to say no, I had my own troubles, but anyone could see the poor guy had his hands full. He told me he didn’t feel he could leave his wife on the island alone.