The Pour House was certainly the liveliest place on the main drag. Loud classic rock blared from speakers mounted in the overhang above the sidewalk. “This looks like the most popular place,” Tori shouted above the racket, “but will we be able to hear ourselves think—let alone what anyone else has to say?”
“We’d better move on to the next one,” Kathy advised, and they kept going east down Bay Street.
They paused before The Lakeside Grill, taking in the large two-story building with a huge outdoor deck which was not yet in use.
“What do you think?” Kathy asked.
“It looks more like a restaurant and bar—and a lot more expensive. But it’s going to be an older crowd that remembers Charlie Marks, although its clientele aren’t likely to be the gossipy type.”
“You’ve got a point,” Kathy agreed. “But maybe the bartender doesn’t mind telling tales. If it’s a bust, we can head back to that first bar near the highway—Schooners—and as a last resort, The Pour House.”
“Okay, but that’s it. I can’t afford to pay for more than three drinks—and especially can’t handle a DUI arrest.”
The place wasn’t what you’d call elegant, but it was tastefully decorated and the chairs—what Tori thought of as the ballroom type, the kind you sat on at wedding receptions in hotels—had been embellished with fabric covers, looking more upscale, but not delivering much in the way of comfort.
As Kathy suggested, the place seemed to cater to an older crowd, but there were younger people sitting at tables near the bar and that was the direction the women gravitated toward. They sat at the end and looked around.
“What are the odds anyone here is going to talk about a scandal that happened two decades before?” Kathy asked.
“Zero,” Tori guessed. “But we’re here and we should at least try to engage the bartender.”
They glanced toward the man behind the big oak-topped bar. He didn’t look much older than them. What were the chances he’d know about Charlie Marks/Mark Charles? That would be yet another zero.
“We’re wasting our time—and our money,” Kathy observed.
“Maybe,” Tori said, looking around.
The bartender approached. “What can I get you ladies?”
“I’ll have a gin and tonic,” Kathy said.
“A Margarita,” Tori replied.
The man nodded and retreated.
“Think we can get him to give us some chips or popcorn?” Kathy asked.
Tori shook her head. “Not a chance.”
“Is that you Tori Cannon?” came a male voice from behind them.
Tori turned around to see the owner of Bayside Live Bait & Marina.
“Don Newton?”
“That’s my name,” said the man who slid onto the stool beside Tori.
“What are you doing here?” Tori asked.
“I could ask the same of you.”
“Hi, I’m Kathy Grant,” Kathy said, reaching around Tori and offering her hand.
“Don Newton.”
“Yes, I know.” They shook on it. “I’m the owner of Swans Nest Inn—across the street from Cannon’s and Tori and I came out to celebrate.”
“A little premature, isn’t it? I thought you weren’t opening until the first week in May.”
“You’re well informed,” Kathy said.
“I’ve visited your website,” Don said. He signaled the bartender, who wandered over.
“Heineken?”
Don nodded.
“Coming right up.” The bartender turned away.
Newton looked different than he did when behind the counter of his bait and tackle shop. When Tori had seen him there, he’d either been dressed in a grungy T-shirt or a plaid flannel shirt. He’d spiffed up for a night on the town—or rather, the Point—looking rather dapper in a nicely ironed blue dress shirt and sports coat, sans tie. He looked younger, too. Tori guessed him to be in his early forties instead of … older. Clothes really did make the man.
“I’ve never seen you ladies here before,” Newton said.
“We haven’t been here. We usually hang out at The Bay Bar.”
Newton frowned. “I wouldn’t have thought that was your kind of place.”
“You’re right, but we’re friends with Noreen—the cook and co-owner.”
Newton nodded.
The bartender returned with an opened bottle of beer and a glass, setting the latter on a cocktail napkin. “Can I get you anything else?”
“Chips?” Tori asked hopefully.
“Coming right up.”
Of course. Now that they’d been joined by a man they were getting a little more attention.
Newton poured his beer. “So, you ladies found Mark Charles’s body?”
Tori blinked. “Yeah.”
Newton nodded. “I read about it online.”
“Did you know him?” Tori asked.
“Not really. I recognized his face from the news report. He came into my place a couple of times to buy ice—nothing else—and that was a couple of years ago.”
Tori took a sip of her Margarita. They’d learn nothing new about the dead man from him.
“But my dad remembered the whole scandal,” Newton said and picked up his glass.
Both Tori’s and Kathy’s heads whipped around to look at him.
Then again….
“Oh, yeah?” Kathy said.
Newton sipped his beer and the bartender returned to place a paper napkin-lined bowl filled with potato chips in front of them.
“Let me know if you need anything else,” he said and left them.
Newton set his glass back down on the bar.
“Scandal?” Tori asked innocently. “What did your dad say?”
“It seems there was a bar fight at what’s now The Pour House.”
“We also heard Charlie Marks was beaten up pretty good and then disappeared,” Kathy said, toying with the napkin under her drink.
“We heard it was a couple of his friends that attacked him—and it was over a woman,” Tori said, selecting one of the smaller chips.
Newton nodded. “Lucinda Bloomfield,” he said with disdain. Tori already knew that Newton had a poor opinion of the woman thanks to a conversation they’d had the summer before. He considered Lucinda to be a slumlord—even if they were located in rural New York.
“Why would Charlie Marks’s friends beat him up?” Kathy asked wide-eyed.
“Because word was he’d taken liberties with Lucinda.”
Liberties was a lot nicer word than rape, Tori thought. “I heard they were called the Three Musketeers.”
“That was in high school. The incident I’m talking about happened a couple of years later.”
Tori frowned. “How much later?”
Newton shrugged. “I’m not sure. A couple of years, I think. All three guys worked for old man Bloomfield at his canning factory.”
“I didn’t know they made their money that way,” Kathy commented.
“Oh, sure. They canned fruit and vegetables for all the local and lots of name-brand companies under license. They still do, but the old man sold out about a decade ago. Still, Ms. Bloomfield will never have to work a day in her life,” he said, bitterness tinging his voice. What was his beef with Lucinda? That she was rich and he wasn’t? He made a very nice living from his marina and especially his boat launch. There must be another reason, but Tori wasn’t sure that this was the time to push for that explanation.
“What else do you know about it?”
Newton shrugged. “I guess Lucinda used to visit the factory and got to know Charlie. There was that whole rich girl/poor boy dynamic. Her father was not pleased. And then—something must have happened.”
“But what?” Kathy asked.
Newton shrugged. “That’s all I know.”
“Who would know the rest of the story?” Tori asked.
Don looked at her without blinking. “Who else? Lucinda.”
16
Newton
turned the conversation from decades before to the present and he and Tori started talking shop. It didn’t take long until shop talk became flirt talk and Kathy felt like a third wheel.
But it was Tori who put a halt to it by glancing at the digital clock behind the bar that gave the date and time and said that anyone born after the current day would not be sold liquor.
“I really need to get home. The phone could ring just after five and I might have to go to work substitute teaching.”
“You must be counting the days until the season starts,” Newton said, and Kathy was afraid he’d bend Tori’s ear for another twenty minutes, so she stood. “I’ve got that bedroom to paint in the morning, too. It was sure nice talking with you, Don.”
“Yes,” Tori agreed. “Maybe we can do it again sometime.” She smiled at the man. Kathy knew that look.
Newton stood. “I’d sure like that,” he said, his gaze riveted on Tori’s face.
Kathy paid their tab and grabbed her best friend’s arm. “See you soon,” she called cheerfully, dragging Tori along with her toward the exit.
“Hey, don’t be so pushy,” Tori admonished her. “Don shared a lot of good information with us.”
“Yes,” Kathy agreed as they ventured into the cold evening air. The noise level at The Pour House had not dropped one decibel and they had to wait until they were nearly to the municipal lot before they could hear each other speak.
“So what do you think about what Don said?” Tori asked.
A young jeans-clad couple stood under the glow of a lamppost, passing a joint back and forth, the heady aroma wafting their way. “Let’s talk about this in the truck,” Kathy advised.
Once inside the cab, Tori started the engine and pulled out of the lot. “Did you want to try that bar up the street?”
“I think it would be a waste of time. If we hadn’t run into Don, going to The Lakeside Grill would have been a waste.”
“Yeah, what were we thinking?” Tori asked, but in the wan light Kathy could see a smile quirking the corners of Tori’s mouth.
“You like him,” Kathy accused.
Tori shrugged, but kept her eyes on the dark road, “What’s not to like?”
“He’s old,” Kathy accused. “At least ten years older than you. And he’s a workaholic.”
“And we’re not?” Tori accused.
“We have goals.”
“Who’s to say Don doesn’t have goals? And he was out on a weeknight, just like us.”
“We don’t make it a habit,” Kathy said. “That bartender knew what he drank. He must go there on a regular basis—which means he’s probably looking to get laid.”
“Ya think?” Tori asked. “That place wasn’t exactly hopping. Wouldn’t his chances of finding a willing partner have been better at The Pour House?”
“How do I know? I don’t know anything about the local nightlife.”
“And maybe you ought to. Your guests might want to visit some of these places.”
Kathy frowned and turned her gaze to the road, which she could only see in the truck’s high beams. “I guess,” she admitted. “So what do we do next? Visit a new bar every weekend?”
“That’s not my plan,” Tori said. “I was thinking more about Lucinda Bloomfield and her heroic saviors.”
“I don’t know that they were saviors. More like revenge seekers. But it begs the question: What happened among those Three Musketeers? The yearbook made it seem like they’d been and were destined to stay friends forever.”
“Yeah. That’s been niggling at my brain ever since Don told us about the incident. How would we find out?”
“By asking them?”
“Them who?” Tori asked, sounding wary.
“First of all, Lucinda. You’ve got a great in with her.”
“How?”
“That contract you got from Rick Shepherd. You did promise her you’d speak with her again before you made a decision.”
“I’ve already made my decision. I’d rather The Lotus Lodge stay shuttered rather than give away control of it.”
“Lucinda doesn’t have to know that. You could say you’re looking for advice.”
“Uh-uh,” Tori said and shook her head. “There’s no way I’m going to go to her house under false pretenses to ask about the man who apparently raped her. We’re not friends. She wouldn’t confide in me just because I also have a uterus.”
Kathy sighed.
“Don’t try to guilt trip me,” Tori said. “If our places were reversed, would you want to walk in that house and ask her about what was probably the most emotional and physically painful incident of her life?”
“Well, when you put it that way—no.”
“And neither do I, so don’t suggest it again.”
Kathy wasn’t about to promise anything when it came to that particular subject.
“You should ask Paul,” Tori said.
“Me?”
“You’re the one who wants to get to the bottom of all this. You ask him.”
“I’m not going to ask him about it,” Kathy declared.
“He would probably be more willing to talk about it than Lucinda.”
“You did see how he ignored us the other night, right? He wouldn’t even look us in the eyes.”
“And why was that? Was he embarrassed that he’d come to a woman’s rescue? I would think he’d be proud of that.”
“It was a fight in a public place. We don’t even know if he and Collins were arrested. If they were, it could be a reason Collins has had a job with the Bloomfield family for what appears to be years.”
“Maybe,” Kathy said.
Tori turned onto Ridge Road, heading east toward the Cannon Compound. “Noreen knows. She’s the one we should talk to.”
“She’s not about to discuss it at the bar.”
“Then maybe we should ask her to lunch.”
“And go where? Cunningham’s Cove?”
“Why not at Swans Nest? You can say you’re testing recipes for your brides. It would also show her you don’t hold a grudge for her sending you the people who trashed your bedroom.”
“But I do hold a grudge,” Kathy said. “I’m pissed as hell.”
“At Noreen?” Tori pressed.
Kathy let out a sigh. “No. If she could have accommodated them, she would have.”
“Yeah, and then it would’ve been her room that was trashed.”
“It wouldn’t have taken almost a grand to fix it,” Kathy muttered.
Tori didn’t seem to have a retort for that remark. “Of course you know, we don’t have to do anything. We can just go on with our normal lives—”
“There’s nothing normal about our lives,” Kathy pointed out.
“We could just forget all about this. You’re the one who wanted to do so just days ago,” Tori reminded Kathy.
“I know … but now I feel like we have a stake in this.”
“Why?”
“Because … I don’t know. I kind of admire Lucinda Bloomfield. She’s gracious, and she’s had a traumatic past.”
“She’s also rich and beautiful.”
“And alone.”
“Like us?” Tori asked.
“The way you were looking at Don tonight, who says you’ll be alone much longer.”
“Oh, stop it,” Tori protested.
“Okay, okay.”
“And think about what I proposed with Noreen. You know she hasn’t got a lot of friends—just acquaintances at the bar.”
“Like us?”
“We’ve shared Christmas dinner. We’re more than just acquaintances,” Tori stressed.
“I guess you’re right. But I can’t do it tomorrow. I need to get that bedroom painted.”
“If I don’t get called in for school, you know I’ll help.”
“Yeah, but—I don’t have anything to feed the poor woman. We haven’t gone grocery shopping in almost two weeks. My cupboards have nothing but baking supplies, and yours are just about em
pty.”
“Yeah, and it would look really last-minute to say ‘Come over and try these appetizers.’”
“Why appetizers?”
“Because I like them, and you make the best,” Tori said, sounding hopeful. “Besides, if there are any leftovers, you can feed them to Anissa and me when we do our dry run, which you mentioned might be Friday.”
“If I have to make a load of appetizers, it might be Saturday—or next week.”
“So why don’t you give Noreen a call tomorrow before the bar opens and invite her to lunch or tea or whatever you want to call it. If I can, I’ll be there for moral support.”
“Big of you,” Kathy said with sarcasm.
“Oh, come on Kath. Do you want to see this thing settled or not?”
“Yes.” Even though it really wasn’t any of their damn business. For some reason, Kathy did want to know the truth about what happened to Charlie Marks. She did want to extend the hand of friendship to both Noreen and Lucinda. But would reaching out to them—asking terribly personal questions about Noreen’s husband and Lucinda’s traumatic past—also make them enemies for life?
17
The phone rang at just after five thirty, waking Kathy who groaned. The sound meant that Tori would be gainfully employed that day and unable to help her paint the guest room at Swans Nest.
She listened as water ran for a shower, and then got up, tying her bathrobe cord around her middle, and headed for the kitchen to make coffee. Tori usually didn’t bother with tea on days she had to work—“a waste of teabags” she often lamented—and Kathy pulled a couple of muffins from the freezer, waiting until the coffee was brewed before nuking her own. She sat down at the table to wait for her friend.
Tori breezed into the kitchen, once again Teacher Barbie, with her hair tied in a ponytail. “Hey, you didn’t have to get up.”
“A ringing phone makes a great alarm.”
“I’m sorry, but—”
“Don’t be sorry. This household needs the income,” she said with just a tinge of bitterness.
“Once Swans Nest is up and running, you’ll be up to your chin in money.”
“From your mouth to God’s ears,” Kathy said. “You’ve got time for a muffin and a cup of coffee before you go.”
A Reel Catch Page 12
