Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7)

by Karen MacInerney

  “Do you want a soda, or a cup of coffee, or tea?”

  “A cup of coffee would be great,” I said. I sat at the small kitchen table while fumbled with the coffee things, debating whether I should offer to help, but she managed with only a few extra grounds and some water on the floor. She got it started, then sat down at the table across from me. “Oops. I forgot my own drink,” she said, and wandered back into the living room, returning a moment later with her giant glass.

  “And thanks for talking to me.”

  “I still can’t believe he’s gone,” she said. “I shouldn’t have, I know... I’m married to Bill, but I think Carl was the love of my life. Everyone thought he set me up, and that I was stupid to still love him, but... I do.”

  “That’s got to be really hard,” I said.

  “It is,” she said, taking a big swig from her “soda” and giving me a strong whiff of what I suspected was rum. “And now he’s gone,” she continued, tears streaming down her face, “and we’ll never be together.”

  “Did you see him when he came back to the island?”

  “We got together once,” she told me. “He came to the house during the day, while Bill was gone. He said he was so sorry for leaving... that he thought I hated him, and that’s why he didn’t come back.” She rubbed at her eyes. “He said he thought I blamed him for everything. And now... now he’s dead.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said, not sure what else to say. “Were you and he planning to still see each other?”

  She nodded. “But now that awful man killed him, and we can’t,” she said. Again, I found myself wondering how much of this plan her husband had known about—and where he had been the night Bridges died.

  “Was your husband with you the night he died?” I asked.

  “I guess,” she drawled. “He was here when I went to sleep, but I sleep pretty hard.” Sleep, or pass out? I wondered. She squinted at me. “I thought the police said that naturalist killed him?”

  “That seems to be the theory.”

  She gave me a confused look. “But he couldn’t have killed that reporter, could he?”

  “Not from jail,” I agreed. I wanted to ask more about her husband, but decided to wait. “Is there anyone else you can think of who might have wanted to harm the captain?”

  “That Martina woman was jealous,” she slurred. “I think she wanted him for herself. She didn’t understand the history we had together.”

  “I heard something about that,” I said, thankful that she’d broached the subject. “What happened with the whole tiara fiasco, anyway?”

  “Carl talked me into giving him a tour of Cliffside when the owners were out on their boat. We.... Well, we spent some romantic time there.” She sniffled, then leaned forward, almost falling off her chair. “I’m not supposed to say anything, but I got... got pregnant. When he had to leave, my mother was furious with me.”

  “Had to leave?”

  “He said he had signed up to crew some ship in Japan, and that he’d lay low until it all got worked out.” She raised the tumbler to her lips. “I wanted to keep the baby and wait, but my mother insisted I have an abortion. Now I can’t get pregnant... and the lawyers got all of my fund. If only someone hadn’t stolen that tiara...” Her face crumpled. “He never would have left, and we could have had a family together.”

  My instinct told me that Carl Bainbridge had no interest in a happily-ever-after with Jenna. Although something and obviously brought him back to Cranberry Island. Was I wrong? I wasn’t sure who I felt sorrier for: Jenna, or her poor husband, who was married to a woman who was obviously still in love with someone else. Had he taken care of his rival that night on the Summer Breeze?

  “Who do you think took the tiara?” I asked.

  “Lorraine Lockhart. She was jealous of me. She wanted Carl for herself.”

  “Did anyone suspect her?”

  “I told them she did it, but no one believed me.” She choked out a sob. “I was going to get married to Carl, go to college, have beautiful children... and now my whole life is ruined.” The coffee pot gurgled behind her. “I think your coffee’s done,” she said, swaying in her chair.

  “I’ll get it,” I told her. “Don’t get up.”

  She swiped at her eyes. “You sure?”

  “Positive,” I told her. “Do you want one, too? You look like you’ve had a lot of... soda.”

  “Rum and Diet Coke,” she clarified.

  “Why don’t you have a cup of coffee, instead? I’m worried about you.”

  She grimaced. “I guess, maybe.”

  I poured us both coffee and sat back down at the table, sliding a mug across to her. “You can still go back to school, you know.”

  “It’s too late for me.”

  “No it’s not,” I countered. “It’s never too late to pursue a dream.”

  “You think?” She gave me a skeptical look.

  “I’m positive,” I told her. “I switched careers in my thirties, and my life is so much better because of it.”

  “But I’m stuck out here on this island, and the nearest university is on the mainland!”

  “Isn’t there a community college in Ellsworth? You could start taking a few classes there; you could knock out half your degree and still stay here. You don’t have kids, so you don’t have to worry about child care.”

  She pursed her lips. “I never thought about anything like that. Do you think?”

  “I do think. You might even be able to do a few online,” I suggested. “You might want to cut down on the rum and Diet Coke, though,” I said with a smile. “But in the meantime... I promised I’d try to help Charlene out. I was hoping you could tell me something... anything... that would help us figure out what happened to Bainbridge.”

  She took a sip of coffee, sloshing a good bit of it onto her sweater. “I don’t know,” she said. “My husband, for sure, if he knew about us.”

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN

  I leaned forward. “Did he?”

  “I don’t think so,”

  “It’s hard,” I agreed. “I know he knew Lorraine Lockhart,” I said, and her mouth twisted into a grimace, “but I can’t imagine she would have done that to him. I mean, she’s got a life now... a family.”

  “People do funny things,” I said. “What did you and Carl talk about when you saw him?” I asked.

  “He said he was terribly sorry about what had happened, and that he’d find a way to make it up to me.” Her eyes welled with tears again. “And now... he’s gone.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I told her, leaning forward and wondering if maybe, despite her sad story, it was Jenna who had done the captain in after all. But somehow I didn’t think so; she seemed more crushed than angry, somehow. “It was a setback—a big one—but it didn’t ruin your life. The captain may be gone, but you can still pursue your dreams.”

  “Do you think?” she asked a second time. “After all this time? My mother always kind of treated me like my future was over. She was so angry at me for letting myself get involved with him.”

  “We all make mistakes. But it’s never too late,” I said. “I’ll go with you to check it out if you want.”

  She gave me a dubious look from bloodshot eyes. “Will you?’

  “Of course,” I told her. “Classes probably start in September; we’ll head over one day. But in the meantime, can you think of anyone else here on the island who might have wanted to kill Bainbridge? I promised Charlene I’d help if I could.”

  “Well,” she said, her voice slightly less slurred. “I guess my hubby wasn’t too happy about him, but I don’t think he had the guts to do anything. Besides, Carl was so much stronger than Bill.”

  “Where was he last night?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” she said. “We don’t always sleep in the same room. Plus, I’d had a few drinks.”

  “So he could have been out.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t think he has it in him. What about Lorraine Lockhart?” she
suggested. “Or her husband, Tom?”

  I’d had the same thoughts, unfortunately. “Whatever happened with Lorraine and Bridges, by the way? Do you know?”

  “I know he was seeing her a bit on the side, way back when,” she said. “I didn’t know, but he was just doing it to be nice to her.”

  “When did you find out?”

  “After he had to leave,” she told me. “And this time, he told me she begged him to see her... he went to tell her he wasn’t interested, but I think Tom found out.”

  “Why?”

  “I heard he spent the night at the co-op. I figured he came home while he was there, or something.”

  “But why would Lorraine want to kill him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t want him messing up her relationship. Maybe she found out about me. Maybe she was jealous.” Her eyes widened. “Should I be worried?”

  “I’m sure you’re fine,” I said, and hoped I was right. “Do you think there may be some other reason he went over to see Lorraine?”

  “Maybe he knew something,” Jenna suggested. “Who knows? Maybe the reporter found out Lorraine stole the tiara.”

  “It’s a theory,” I said. “Would she have had access to the house?”

  “Everyone did,” Jenna told me. “Those people didn’t keep things locked up. It was only because I worked there that the police arrested me.”

  “I’m so sorry,” I said. “Why do you think he came back to the island?”

  “He was carrying a torch for me, of course,” she said. “Only now...”

  “I’m sorry,” I said, reaching over and touching her hand. “But there’s still hope.”

  “Really?”

  “Really,” I said. “Let me know when you want to go to look at the college. In the meantime, I think I may have to go talk with Lorraine.”

  As Jenna trailed after me to the door, Bill walked in, looking angry. He was a short, solid man, with none of the captain’s handsomeness, and a ruddy face over ginger whiskers.

  He squinted at me. “What are you doing here?”

  “She stopped in to ask about the dead reporter,” Jenna said.

  His eyes narrowed. “Why?”

  “I’m just trying to figure out what happened, that’s all. Another guest turned up dead outside the inn. It’s a bit distressing.”

  “What does Jenna have to do with anything?” he asked, coming and putting a protective arm around his wife.

  “I was trying to find out if she knew of any other old island connections,” I said.

  “Like Lorraine Lockhart, you mean?”

  “Yes, that name came up,” I said, feeling suddenly defensive. “Do you know of anyone else?”

  “I know I saw him and Lorraine canoodling the other day,” he said. “And she’s a married woman. No wonder Tom left her.”

  Canoodling? Jenna’s face hardened, but she said nothing. I knew Tom had had his own lapse in judgment in the past, but I decided not to bring that up. “What do you mean, canoodling?”

  “Kissing, hugging... you know.”

  Jenna looked down, but I could feel her practically bursting to talk.

  “When was this?” I asked.

  “A couple days before he died,” he said. “They were out on the path by the cliffs. Thought no one could see them, but I spotted them on my way to town. Good thing I wasn’t on the mail boat, or the whole island would have known.” He grunted. “Probably did Bridges in when she realized he wasn’t serious. And then took care of that reporter so that her husband wouldn’t find out.”

  “Did the reporter know?”

  He shrugged. “Reporters find things out, don’t they?”

  “Natalie was talking to me about community college,” Jenna said, changing the subject.

  “What about it?”

  “I’m thinking of taking some classes.”

  “Is it going to take too much time away from your work?” Not the encouragement I would have hoped for.

  “It’s never too late,” she said, lifting her chin.

  “I bought the inn in my 30s,” I piped up.

  “I don’t know. It’s expensive. I’m not sure we can afford it.”

  “It doesn’t have to be, and there’s financial aid, too.”

  “We’ll talk about it,” he said, but I wasn’t optimistic. “In the meantime, do you need a ride to work?”

  “Sure,” Jenna said meekly. “Let me just get cleaned up.”

  “I’ll let you go, then,” I said. “Think about the college thing. And if anything else occurs to you, let me know.”

  “I will,” Jenna said as I let myself out the front door. I glanced back over my shoulder; Bill still had a protective arm around her. Someone had been in a skiff the night Bainbridge died; could it have been Jenna’s jealous husband?

  It was a definite possibility.

  ***

  On the way to Lorraine’s, I stopped by the store to check in with Charlene, who was working her way through a Snicker’s bar and talking on the phone.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Alex’s mother is trying to post bail,” she said. “The attorney thinks with the second murder, it should be lowered.”

  “Does it work that way?”

  She shrugged. “I have no idea, to be honest, but I hope he’s out soon.”

  If there was another murder, it might be better for him to still be in jail, I thought, but let it pass. Hopefully the body count would stop at two. “What do you know about Jenna Pool’s husband?” I asked.

  “Bill? He’s a nice enough man, but not a lot of imagination. Why?”

  “He seems really protective of her,” I said. “I found myself wondering if maybe he had something to do with the murders.”

  “Why?”

  “Jealousy,” I suggested. “Just ask around, will you?”

  As she nodded, the bell rang. I turned to see Tom Lockhart’s tall frame at the front of the shop.

  “Here we go,” Charlene murmured as he walked toward us. He looked haggard—kind of like he’d slept on the floor of the co-op for a bit—but still flashed us a smile.

  “Hello, ladies.”

  “You look like you’ve been wrestling sharks or something,” Charlene said.

  “It’s been a tough couple of days,” he confessed.

  Charlene offered him a cookie from the jar by the register; she’d given up on me and dumped in a package of Lorna Doones, it appeared.. “It’s on me today,” she said. “You look like you need it.”

  “Thanks,” he said, taking her up on it. As he bit into the shortbread cookie, my friend said, “I heard you and Lorraine had a bit of a tiff.” I stared at Charlene, impressed at the way she got straight to the point.

  “Well, you don’t make it through a decade or so of marriage without a few dust-ups,” he admitted. “Yes, we did.”

  “Was it about the late captain?” Charlene asked.

  “What, are you telepathic?,” he asked. “I have to admit I was a bit jealous. Bainbridge—Bridges—was a good-looking guy. I heard he and Lorraine met and talked, and well...” He shrugged. “I said some things I regret. We spent a few days apart, and now we’re making it up.”

  “You don’t seem to torn up about his loss,” I said.

  “He was a bad egg,” Tom said. “Set up poor Jenna all those years ago, and I got the impression from the reporter that there were a few other skeletons in the closet.”

  “The reporter?”

  “Yeah. Real shame about her; she was a nice young woman. She came and talked to me a few days ago,” he said, and now his face looked solemn.

  “What did she ask you about?”

  “The captain, of course. What happened while he was here—the whole theft thing, and if I had any idea what he had been doing since then.”

  “And did you?”

  “No,” he said, shaking his head. “She implied he’d been involved some unsavory businesses, though.”

  “Like whaling,” I said
.

  They both stared at me. “What?” Charlene asked.

  “He was part-owner of a Japanese whaling boat, I think.”

  “No wonder she was investigating him. Do you think someone else was involved in it? Someone who wanted to kill the story?” Tom asked.

  “It’s worth thinking about,” I said. Privately, I was wondering about both Bill and Martina, but I still had to view Tom with suspicion --much as I didn’t want to. Had he killed Bridges in a fit of passion? I hoped not, but I couldn’t rule it out. If things had gone so badly with Jenna and the tiara, why would the captain ever come back to Cranberry Island? Unless he still had designs on Lorraine...

  Too many strands, and none of them were weaving together properly. Before I could ask another question, the bells on the door jingled, and Gertrude Pickens walked in.

  All three of us stifled a groan.

  “I’m so glad to find you here,” she said. “I got a phone call saying that there are problems at the inn; a health inspector shut you down, and now you’ve got two murders on the premises. That’s got to be bad for business, don’t you think?”

  ***

  “What a nightmare,” I said as I walked into the kitchen of the Gray Whale Inn a half hour later.

  “What?” John asked, looking up from the kitchen table, where he was feeding Smudge.

  “She’s looking better, isn’t she?” I asked, smiling at the little gray kitten. She mewled and then continued to eat while Biscuit looked on from the windowsill.

  “Gertrude Pickens was at the store,” I said. “She knows all about the health inspector, and I think she’s going to do an article about the murders.”

  “Of course she is,” he said. “It is news. But how did she find out about the health inspector?”

  “Someone called,” I said. “I have a guess who it might be.”

  “Our lovely guests the Fowlers?” he asked.

  “Either that or Ms. McGee,” I said. “She wouldn’t say, of course.”