I took one of the stools and watched while Norlene put up a kettle to boil water, rinsed a teapot using the hot water tap over the stove, and poured tea leaves into a mesh basket.
“I like fresh-boiled water for my tea,” she said.
“It must be wonderful working in a kitchen as nice as this one,” I said.
“It’s a lot fancier than my kitchen at home.” She looked around with approval.
“It’s a lot fancier than mine, too,” I said. “And about ten times larger. But I do love my little kitchen. It’s full of warmth and wonderful memories.”
“My kitchen is full of noisy children and a messy husband,” Norlene said, chuckling. “Doesn’t have a lot of room, either, but sometimes I make dinners for my family here and take them home. The judge doesn’t mind. He’s a nice man.”
“Have you worked for him for a long time?”
She nodded. “Ever since he moved here. Of course, he’s not here all the time, but he pays me anyway,” she said proudly. “And when he’s away, I can still use the kitchen. I do more of the housekeeping then. I make sure the place is ready for the family whenever they have time to come.”
“Do his children stay here without the judge when he’s working in the States?”
“Oh, yes. Stephen is here all the time, but he takes most of his meals out. Madeline comes over on weekends and stays for a month every holiday.”
“And Alicia, did she stay here as well?”
“Some,” she said, pouring the water over the tea and setting the pot on the island while she took down two cups and saucers. “Would you like a biscuit? I made some fresh this morning.”
She put four triangular cookies on a plate and placed it in front of me.
I took a bite of one. “These are delicious,” I said. “You’re some baker, Norlene. The malasadas this morning were terrific, too, and I’d love to get the recipe for these. Would you mind? I’ll understand if you do. Some people don’t like to share their recipes.”
“I don’t mind. I’ll write it out for you,” she said, pleased. “These here are butter almond biscuits, but some people call them Bermuda triangle cookies.”
“Bermuda Triangles? Very clever,” I said, taking another bite. When I finished the cookie, I asked, “May I ask you another question? You let me know if you’re uncomfortable answering. I’m just trying to get a feeling for the family relationships.”
She shrugged. “I guess it’s okay. Is it for a book?”
“Not one I’m working on right now,” I answered honestly, “but it could be for another one, perhaps later on.”
“Okay. I’ll help you if I can.”
“Thank you.” I took a sip of tea and put my cup down. “How long does—did—Alicia stay when she came to Bermuda?”
“Not long. She and Madeline didn’t get along.”
“Why do you say that?”
“Because they were always screaming at each other. When Alicia got out of the hospital, she stayed here during her recovery and I thought they’d shout the walls down.”
“How long was Alicia in the hospital?” I said carelessly, not wanting to alert Norlene to the fact that this was news to me.
She thought for a moment. “A year and a half, maybe two. I don’t recall exactly.”
It was unlikely that a physical disease or even a drug problem had put Alicia in a hospital for that length of time. But a mental illness could take a long time to treat. It would also account for the family’s hesitation to talk about where Alicia had been after boarding school and before she moved back with her uncle. The pieces of the puzzle were falling into place.
“Had she been out of boarding school long when she was hospitalized?” I asked.
“Wasn’t out of it at all. Went straight from school to the hospital. Had some kind of breakdown, I heard.” Norlene tsked and shook her head. “She was always an angry child, that one. Knew how to get her way, though. She could work the charm when she wanted to.”
“So I understand,” I said.
She lowered her voice. “You know that she and Madeline had a big row that night.”
“Do you know what it was about?”
“Uh-uh, but I heard Madeline say she’d kill her if she did that.”
“Did what?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear that part.”
“That’s a fairly common expression,” I said. “People threaten to kill without ever meaning to carry it out.” I took another sip of my tea. “You don’t think Madeline killed Alicia, do you?” I asked, deciding to be direct.
“I hate to think she would, but she could. She was that mad. And she’s a good one with a knife, Madeline. She can scale and gut a fish as good as Adam.”
Chapter Eighteen
The next morning Adam didn’t bring me the newspaper as he had before. I assumed that the family was lingering over their morning meal and still reading it. I made myself a cup of tea and ate the last of yesterday’s malasadas. Norlene had kindly wrapped them up and insisted I take them back to my cottage.
The sky was a beautiful blue and there was a slight morning chill in the air when I walked down to the beach with a towel and a book, hoping to get in an hour of reading before the sun’s rays became too strong.
The beach was almost deserted when I spread out my towel on the sand. I wore my sunglasses and the pink hat Tom had sent me, and for the first time my bathing suit covered by the long skirt and white shirt I’d worn to the party. I sat facing the water, my book open and propped on my knees, but the air was so refreshing, the view so peaceful, that I hated to take my eyes from the water.
A couple walked along the strandline off to my left, bent at the waist and obviously beachcombing. He carried a small bucket like a child’s toy and each of them stopped at intervals to drop a find into the pail. I had to smile. Beachcombing is as pleasurable for adults as it is for children, and I’ve done my share of it back in Cabot Cove.
As the couple neared, I recognized them as Daniel and Lillian Jamison, Tom’s next-door neighbors, the ones who objected to his building a studio for Stephen because they claimed that it would impair their view, the same couple whose stairs to the beach may have been used by the killer to escape the night Alicia was killed. We’d been introduced briefly at the party but hadn’t had an opportunity to talk. I wondered if they remembered me, and if so, would be willing to talk a little about the victim. I was thinking of how to approach them when Lillian hailed me.
“Hello! You’re the writer, aren’t you? The judge’s guest?”
“That’s right,” I said, scrambling to my feet to shake hands.
“Oh, you don’t have to be so formal down here,” she said, but she took my hand. “Please, sit. Do you mind if we join you for a few minutes?”
“Not at all.”
Lillian threw herself down next to me, pulled off her moccasins, and dug her feet into the sand.
Her husband took his time getting into a sitting position and I recognized the signs of sore knees.
“Here, give me that bucket,” Lillian said to her husband, reaching across me to grab the little pail. “Put both hands on the ground and swivel around,” she told him. “Dan had a knee replaced last year,” she said to me. “He needs the other one done, but hasn’t gotten up the nerve to do it yet.”
“It’s not a matter of nerve, Lil. I’m just too busy to take the time it requires.”
“They say that the reason people have both knees replaced at the same time is that after you’ve gone through the pain of one, you’ll never go back for the second,” I offered.
“I’ve heard that, too,” said Lillian. She turned to her husband, saying, “You remember Jessica Fletcher, don’t you, Dan? Tom introduced us at his party.”
He smiled and shook my hand. “Nice to see you again,” he said. “Everyone doing okay up there?”
“As well as can be expected.”
“Terrible thing,” he said. “The cops better find the killer before all of us
start selling our homes here.”
“It won’t be so easy to sell if there’s a serial killer on the loose,” Lil said. “Anyway, I’m not going anywhere. I love it here and this so-called Jack the Ripper will never scare me away. He’ll have to make me his next victim if he wants me gone.”
“Pfft,” said Dan. “He’s not interested in you or me for that matter. He likes ’em young and easy.” He turned to me. “Not to say Tom’s niece was easy, mind you. Sorry, didn’t mean to imply that. Hope you weren’t offended.”
I ignored his remark and asked, “Did either of you hear anything that night or see anyone down here on the beach?”
“Better ask Lil,” Dan replied. “I was three sheets to the wind. Boy, haven’t had that much to drink in an age.”
Lillian rolled her eyes. “You were awful, Dan, and I think we’d just as soon not relive your behavior that night.”
“A man’s got a right to get drunk every now and then,” he said. “I was having a good time, that’s all. It’s not like I do it every day.”
“Never mind that.” She looked at me. “No, I didn’t hear or see anything after Claudia helped us home. I felt foolish being driven such a short distance, but considering Dan’s condition, it made sense. He could barely walk. Do you know Claudia?”
I nodded. “We’ve met.”
“We got Dan into bed and then sat outside for a while.”
“Claudia helped put me to bed? I didn’t know that,” Dan said.
“You didn’t know anything.”
“That’s embarrassing.”
“There’s nothing you have that she hasn’t seen before,” his wife said.
“How late did Claudia stay?” I asked, interrupting what seemed to be the beginning of an argument.
Lillian shrugged. “Maybe another half hour.” She giggled. “Claudia left her shoes by the pool and the constables took them. I didn’t know who they belonged to; I only knew that they weren’t mine. I forgot that she’d complained about how uncomfortable they were.”
“I’m sure the police will return them if she asks,” I said, wondering whether the police ever did identify the shoes’ owner. I made a mental note to tell them if they hadn’t. I then wondered why Claudia hadn’t told the police about the shoes, so I asked.
“I think she’s afraid that they’ll accuse her of killing Alicia,” Dan offered. “They never got along. The kid resented her big time. That happens with stepmothers all the time. Hard for a kid to accept a new woman in the house.”
“I understand that she was a difficult child,” I said.
“Difficult? That’s putting it mildly,” Lillian said. “If you ask Claudia, she can go on for hours about her. I don’t think she’ll miss Alicia at all.”
“Tom will, though,” Dan said, adjusting his legs so they stretched out in front of him. “Feel a little sorry for him. He was attached to her.”
“Just a little sorry?” I said.
“I don’t know how well you know your host, Mrs. Fletcher, but the judge is not the greatest guy in the world. Not the sharpest knife in the drawer either. I could tell you stories.”
“Dan!”
“What?”
“That’s not a very kind thing to say, Dan, considering what’s happened to his niece.”
“What’d I say that was so bad?”
“‘Sharpest knife,’” his wife reminded him.
“Aw, it’s just an expression. What I mean is that he’s not so smart for a judge.”
“Now, Dan, don’t get off on that topic.”
“That’s all right,” I said. “Why do you think he’s not smart?” I asked. “After all, he is a district court judge. You have to have a lot of knowledge to hold that position.”
“You have to have a lot of contacts,” Dan corrected. “He’s shrewd—I’ll give him that. But shrewd isn’t the same as smart. He’s a politician, knows the president. If he’d never been appointed to the bench, he’d probably be running Ward E campaigns in Jersey City or some other place.”
“I think you may be underestimating him,” I said. “Tom wrote a book about judicial reform, which I understand was very well received.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it? Of all people.”
“Dan, that’s enough,” Lil said.
“She should know who she’s dealing with, Lil. Tom is not the Honest Abe judge he makes himself out to be.”
“How do you know this?” I asked.
“I just know,” Dan said, struggling to get to his feet again and moaning in the process. “I’m too old to sit on the beach,” he groused, dusting sand off his pants.
“We’ll bring down a chair next time,” Lil said.
“You were talking about Tom,” I said, not wanting him to leave without explaining his comments.
“Look,” he said, “I don’t have to present anything in court, make a legal case out of it, but I know who I’m dealing with. I don’t trust him as far as I can throw him. Please excuse me, ladies,” he said as he limped off in the direction of their stairs.
“Sorry for Dan’s outburst, Jessica. He’s not a fan of Judge Thomas Betterton.”
“That’s easy to see,” I said. “I’m just curious what Tom did to make Dan so angry with him.”
“My son from my first marriage is a lawyer. There was a disagreement about something between him and the judge. I don’t know the details.”
“Lawyers and judges often have disagreements,” I said. “That goes hand in hand with the judicial process.”
“I told Dan he should stay out of it; it’s between Barry and the judge. Barry is a grown man now and has to fight his own battles.” She shook her head and sighed. “Unfortunately Dan doesn’t forgive easily.”
“Did you and Dan know Alicia well?” I asked.
“I don’t think anyone knew her well,” she replied. “After all the stories I’d heard from Claudia, I avoided her as much as I could, and she didn’t go out of her way to make a friend out of me. Claudia said that was typical. As far as Claudia was concerned, Alicia was your standard spoiled brat, and she felt that Tom enabled her through his generosity. I think she spent half their marriage trying to convince him to let her grow up, go out on her own, fight her own battles like we all have to.”
I had no idea whether Lillian was right. After all, she was only repeating what Claudia had told her, and from what I’d gathered, the relationship between Claudia and Alicia was a poisonous one.
Lil said that she had to get back to the house, but before leaving, she showed me the beach glass they had collected, the little shards of blue, white, and brown glass that had been softened into pebbles by the action of the ocean. “Come over anytime,” she said before walking away. “We’re not leaving for another week.”
When she was gone, I gathered up my towel and unread book. The breeze had dropped off and the sun was getting too high to remain on the beach. I looked over to the cottage where the Reynoldses were staying. Funny how they’d been unable to find a hotel room on an island filled with hotels. Or perhaps, I speculated, Godfrey had never made a sincere effort and had only been placating his wife with his supposed search for an alternate place to stay.
As I debated whether or not to knock on their door, Godfrey came outside with a beach chair and unfolded it on his porch. I waved at him and called out “Hello.” He returned my greeting and I took the opportunity to approach him.
Tom’s publisher had been unable to account for his whereabouts when the police arrived following my emergency call, and the constables had insisted that he and Daisy remain in Bermuda until further notice. While he’d obviously been reticent in speaking with the authorities, I hoped I could coax him into answering my questions. He was too smart a man to have gotten lost on the property. Besides, it hadn’t been that dark; there had been a moon out that night. Even if he was simply stretching his legs, as his wife said he told the police, he must have seen something. I wanted to know what that was.
“Still here, I see,” I
said, climbing onto his porch.
“Yes,” he said as he got to his feet. “No rooms at the inns, so to speak.”
“Not even one?” I asked archly. “Not anywhere on the island?”
“Well, those that were available were outrageously priced, but don’t let my wife know. I told her they were all full up, and innocent that she is, she believed me. Why should we abandon a perfectly lovely room with a view, and one that is gratis to boot?”
“Speaking of your wife, is she here?”
“I’m afraid she isn’t. Daisy went shopping with Madeline, some sale or other.”
“How nice for her,” I said. “May I talk to you for a moment?”
“Would you like me to get you a chair?”
“This is fine for me,” I said, sitting on the swing that was a match to the one on my porch.
“What are you reading?” I asked.
He held up the thick volume. “Tom’s book.”
“Is it as good as I’ve been told?”
“I’ll tell you after I’ve read it.”
I laughed. “I would have thought that you’d read it by now,” I said.
“I have people for that,” he said, smiling. “Seriously, I can’t read everything I publish, now, can I? I’d never get out of the office. One of the smart young fellows in my acquisitions department recommended that we publish it. It was already out in the U.S.”
“Did Tom actually write it?” I asked. It was a question I’d never put to Tom.
He chuckled. “Spoken like a woman in the book business. I understand that he paid a ghostwriter to help him. Very wise decision. Just because people are experts in one area doesn’t mean they can put words together mellifluously, although I understand your American judges have to write opinions and such.”
“Often they have people for that,” I said, echoing him.
Trouble at High Tide Page 16
