“Hi, Anna,” I said. “Is your mother home?”
“She just ran to the store, but she’ll be right back. You can wait, if you want.”
“Thank you. I think I will.” I crossed the room to sit at Mary’s oval table, taking care not to step on Anna’s sneakers, which she’d left on the floor by the baker’s rack.
Anna looked around the kitchen at the mess she’d made. “I better clean this up before Mom gets back, huh?”
“It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”
“That’s what I thought,” she said, screwing the lid onto the jam jar and dropping the dirty knife into the dishwasher without rinsing it. “You want some coffee? Mom has some left in the pot.”
“No, thank you. I just had breakfast a little while ago,” I said. “I understand you’ve been watching the pageant rehearsals. How are they going?”
“It’s going to be awesome. But it sucks that it’s raining, don’t you think? It would be way cooler if we could be outside.”
“The rain may let up tonight. There’s still hope for dry weather tomorrow.”
Anna put away the bread, jam, and milk, swiped a sponge over the granite countertop, rinsed out the sink, and wiped her mouth with the dishtowel hanging by the window. “There,” she said, grinning at me. “Perfect, huh?”
“What about those?” I said, cocking my head at her sneakers.
“Oh, gawd, thanks. She’d kill me if she saw I’d left those there again. My pop almost took a switch to me the other night.” Anna flopped onto the floor next to the baker’s rack and pulled on the high-tops one at a time, carefully loosening the laces so they wouldn’t drag on the ground if she didn’t tie them. Finished, she lay on her back and sighed.
“Tough day?” I asked, smiling.
“Yeah. Wow. Everybody’s so nervous about the festival. They’re fightin’ all the time. But rain or not, it’s going to be awesome. Really awesome. What do you think?”
“I agree,” I said. “A little rain won’t make the day any less memorable.”
“Mom says all the guesthouses are filling up. I’m really excited.”
She rolled to her side to get up. “Hey, what’s this?” she said, reaching under the bottom shelf of the rack. She sat up cross-legged and examined the object she’d found. “It’s an earring.”
My hands automatically reached for my ears, but my earrings were in place. “I’ve never seen your mother wear earrings,” I said.
“She doesn’t.”
“May I see it?” I asked.
Anna scrambled to her feet and dropped the gold disk into my palm. I turned it over and over, examining the outer surface, where a set of initials had been engraved.
“No, it’s not mine,” I said, “but I think I know the person it belongs to. May I keep it for a little while?”
“Sure. But let me know if there’s a reward for finding it. My friend Emily Corr—she’s Katherine’s sister—she found a diamond ring in the bathroom at Mara’s once, and the lady who claimed it gave her ten whole dollars.”
“If there’s a reward, I’ll be sure to pass it along,” I said.
The kitchen door swung open and Mary bustled in, her arms full of packages. “Anna, run to the car and bring in the cake box. Hello, Jessica. Hope I didn’t keep you. You wouldn’t believe what Sassi’s is like this morning. Lines out the door.”
“My heavens,” I said, relieving Mary of one of her shopping bags and placing it on the counter. “What’s going on?”
“It’s the visitors. There’s not a room to be found in Cabot Cove. The guesthouses are full, and all the motels and hotels out by the highway are completely sold out. The mayor put out a call asking anyone who can accommodate guests in their spare rooms to sign up at town hall.” As Mary talked, she unpacked her groceries. “We have Ginny’s old room we can rent out. She and Pete were going to come for the festival, but they can drive over. It’s less than an hour. I’m stocking up in case we get called upon.”
“Looks like the festival is going to be a big success,” I said, handing her a box of cereal from one of the shopping bags.
“Yes, thanks to you.”
“Me! Why?”
“All the papers and the TV stations covered the murder, and you being found alive”—Mary imitated an announcer’s formal voice—“only days before the Cabot Cove Lobsterfest.”
“Oh, my.”
“The mayor said the phones haven’t stopped ringin’ since. I hope Levi won’t mind if we rent out Ginny’s room. We can use the extra cash. Anyway, I bought a lovely coffee cake for the continental breakfast we’re supposed to provide. Do you think it’s all right to serve eggs at a continental breakfast?”
“I’m sure any guests of yours will be delighted with your breakfast,” I said.
“Mom, can I have one of these cookies?” Anna asked, lifting the corner of a cake box she’d brought in.
“No, those are for visitors. Take one from the cookie jar instead.”
“But these have chocolate on the outside.”
“You may take one, but if I see you sneaking more, I’ll tan your hide.”
Anna extracted a long oval cookie with chocolate on both ends and wrapped it carefully in a napkin. “I’m going to share it with Emily. We’re meeting at the gym. Okay if I go now?”
“Yes, off with you, but be back early.”
“Okay. ’Bye, Mom.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “ ’Bye, Mrs. Fletcher. Don’t forget my reward.”
“I’ll remember,” I said.
“What is that girl going on about?”
“Mary, why did you buy cookies when you’ve got homemade ones?” I asked.
“There are only a few in the jar,” she replied, folding the grocery bags and putting them away. “All the ones in the freezer are for the festival bake sale tomorrow. I won’t have time to make a new batch before then. Too much to do.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s so exciting. I’ve got coffee. Want some?”
I shook my head.
“Tea?”
“No, but you go ahead.”
Mary poured herself a cup of coffee and we sat at her table.
“Are you still on duty for tomorrow?” she asked.
“I was signed up to cover the used book sale,” I said, “but the library director left a message saying that in light of the recent incident, they’d gotten a replacement for me.”
“That was smart of her. You shouldn’t be on your feet so much. But you look a lot better today than yesterday.”
“I feel a lot better, too. Thank you for the beautiful roses, by the way. It was so thoughtful. A lovely surprise to come home to.”
“That was Levi’s idea,” she said. “I would’ve sent you a casserole, but he said you probably had a dozen of them already.”
“People have been very generous,” I said. I hesitated. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to ask about the wine bottle. Everyone was in a holiday mood. The festival was upon us. Why bring up accusations and suspicions? I conducted an internal debate. Should I wait until the Lobsterfest was over to continue my investigation? Who would suffer if I waited a few days? What would be the right thing to do?
“Mary, I have a question for you.”
“Yes?”
“I saw a pretty heart-shaped bottle at Charles the other day. David said it was from homemade blueberry wine, and that Levi gives him a bottle every year.”
“I know exactly what you saw.” She jumped up, pulled out a step stool, climbed on it, and reached the top shelf of the cabinet over the refrigerator. “You mean this, don’t you?” she said, coming down and placing a full bottle of blueberry wine in front of me. It was the same shape and color as the bottle with the wildflowers in it, only this one had a label on it with an elaborate drawing of blueberries and glasses intertwined. In calligraphic script, it read CABOT COVE BLUEBERRY WINE, VINTAGE 2004.
“Yes,” I said, turning the blue bottle around. “I didn’t know Levi made wine.”
“He doesn�
�t. We get a couple of these as a gift every year. Levi isn’t crazy about the stuff, but he doesn’t want to be rude, so he gives it away to someone who might like it.” She giggled. “Don’t tell.”
“Who makes the wine?”
“Ike Bower, Sandy’s husband. You met her the other day.”
“Yes, of course. The lady with all the blueberries. Her husband makes wine from them and gives it away?”
“Everyone I know has at least one bottle in their pantry. You should have one, too. Take this home and try it. You might like it. Lots of people do.”
“You wouldn’t mind?”
“No, I’ve got another bottle, although I thought I had more. Levi must have found another taker.”
Mary wrapped up the bottle in a newspaper and put it in a shopping bag for me.
As I was leaving, I asked, “Where is Levi today? Is he out fishing?”
“All the lobstermen are checking the stock at the pound for tomorrow.”
“Will he be home later? I’d like to talk to him.”
“Actually, he probably won’t be home till late. There’s a meeting of the executive committee of the lobstermen’s association tonight. You want me to tell him you’re looking for him?”
“That’s not necessary,” I said. “I can catch him another time. Thanks for the wine, Mary. I can’t wait to taste it.”
I stepped outside and was hit in the face by a wet gust of wind. The rain was coming down even harder, if that were possible. I stepped back into Mary’s kitchen.
“I think I need a taxi,” I said.
“You want me to drive you?”
“Absolutely not. You’ve got enough to do today.”
“I’ll call the cab company,” she said, taking the receiver from a wall phone.
A few minutes later, the cab, driven by an elderly man who’d been working for Cabot Cove’s largest and busiest taxi company for years, arrived. I ran to it, pulled open the rear door, and tumbled in. “My goodness,” I said, “it’s a downpour.”
“Not fit for man nor beast,” he said with a scowl.
I pulled the gold earring from my blouse’s breast pocket, and a wave of despair swept over me, as the rain had done. That small, gold disk, with its initials on the surface, had the potential, I knew, to cause a great deal of pain to certain people in my beloved Cabot Cove, and possibly place a damper on the lobster festival that no rain could ever equal.
That I was the one who might be the instigator of this bad news did not sit well with me.
Chapter Twenty-one
I called Seth from home, and asked if he’d like to bring more flowers to the hospital. He had said my kitchen resembled a funeral parlor, and while I was thankful for the thoughtfulness of so many friends, it was not a look I was eager to preserve. Seth had just seen his last patient of the morning, and agreed to drive over and pick up some of the bouquets. I placed baskets of blooms in my bedroom and living room, put Mary’s roses on the kitchen table, and even pulled a few blossoms to go in a small bud vase to brighten the bath. That was more than sufficient. Knowing the excess would cheer up the day for patients and nurses alike was a pleasing contemplation.
“You feelin’ better, my friend?” Seth asked, while we selected the arrangements he would take with him.
“Yes, much.”
“Stayin’ home this afternoon?”
“I, ah . . . I’m not sure. I thought I might treat myself to lunch at Mara’s.”
“Well, that’s all right, but don’t go getting cocky just because you’re feeling better. Takes a long time to get over what you went through.”
Dodging raindrops, I helped him load the flowers in his car. Afterward, over a quick cup of tea, I quizzed him on a question that had been bothering me.
“I keep thinking about the murder,” I said.
“I imagine that will be on your mind for a while.”
“No, not from an emotional point of view—although I can’t deny the lingering effects of the shock—but from a practical one.”
“What do you mean?”
“I didn’t examine the body as carefully as I might have.”
“For heaven’s sake, Jessica, you were abandoned at sea on a sinking ship. You can’t fault yourself for not conducting an autopsy.”
“I know that, but hear me out. From what I did see, I don’t believe Henry Pettie knew what hit him,” I said.
“Why do you say that?”
“There were no defensive marks on his hands or arms.”
“Well, if you don’t see what’s coming, there wouldn’t be.”
“Exactly. The strike came from behind, and there was only one. Can a single blow to the head be fatal?”
“Ayuh. Blunt-force injury to the back of the skull is more likely to be fatal than one to the front. That’s why you’re such a lucky lady. That bump you sustained was toward the side.”
“I must have turned my head slightly. It’s hard to sneak up on a person. I was certainly aware of someone behind me just before I got hit, even though I didn’t have time to defend myself.”
“That movement of your head may have saved your life. Gave you a painful egg but did relatively little damage to the braincase, a mild concussion, but that will heal—if you rest and let it.”
“I’ll remember that,” I said.
“Be sure you do.” He glanced at his watch, rose from the table, carried our cups to the sink, and rinsed them out. “Come along and I’ll drop you at Mara’s,” he said. “Got a meeting at the hospital, and I want to deliver those flowers first.”
I grabbed my raincoat, still damp from the morning’s deluge, and opened the front door. The sight that greeted us was a surprise. As though someone had flipped a giant switch, the drenching rain of the past hours had suddenly ceased, and shafts of sunlight played off the glistening grass and wet, shiny road. We stepped outside with buoyed spirits. As I stood on my front step, I was able to see a lovely rainbow that arched from a massive cloud down to the eastern horizon.
“What a positive omen for the lobster festival,” I said.
“Ayuh, looks like we may get good weather after all.”
Mara’s was virtually empty when I walked in. The inclement weather had kept people at home, and the change from rain to sunshine had been too sudden to change that in the near term.
“Will you look at that?” Mara said, referring to the sunlight. “The man upstairs is looking out for us.”
“Wonderful, isn’t it?” I said, settling into a booth by a window. “Clam chowder on the menu today?”
“Certainly is. Just made it. Bowl or a cup?”
“A bowl, please.”
I sat back and drew deep breaths. All the tension of the past week seemed to drain from me, and I enjoyed the resulting feeling of well-being. The sound of the door opening caused me to turn. It was Barnaby Longshoot. He stood just inside the entrance and seemed unsure of where to sit. I could see from my vantage point that he still bore the scars of his beating. The area above his right eye was swollen, the eye itself ringed with a greenish-purple hue, turning yellow, a classic black eye. His lips, too, were still puffy from where a fist had connected.
“Hello, Barnaby,” I said, waving. “Join me?”
He hesitated, looking left and right in search of others in the restaurant. I was pleased that he eventually decided to take me up on my offer. He slid into the booth opposite me and managed a painful smile. “I don’t look too good,” he said, his lips barely moving, the pain from talking evident in his expression.
“Actually,” I said, “you don’t look that bad, considering the beating you took. I feel terrible about it, Barnaby. You waited here after Mara’s closed because I asked to meet with you.”
“Wasn’t your fault, Mrs. Fletcher.”
A few other patrons entered Mara’s, but fortunately took seats apart from us. Barnaby seemed visibly anxious that others had arrived, and I knew any productive time with him would be limited. I leaned across the table and asked,
“Are you still willing to talk to me, Barnaby, about what’s been going on?”
He nodded solemnly. “My mother says you’re somebody who can be trusted.”
I hadn’t expected that answer, and paused to digest it before saying, “Thank you, Barnaby. That’s very flattering, and I’ll try to live up to your mother’s faith in me. Do you know who was responsible for dumping rotten bait on Spencer Durkee’s boat?”
Barnaby nodded again.
“Was it Brady Holland?”
Another nod.
“Was he also responsible for the hole in Ike Bower’s boat?”
Another nod.
“And was it Brady who attacked you?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Yet you told Sheriff Metzger it was too dark to see your assailant.”
“Didn’t want to tell tales outside the association. Linc, he gets real mad when anybody does that. No airing our dirty laundry, he says. What happens here stays here.” He smiled. “They say that about Las Vegas. I’ve never been there. I’d like to go someday.”
“I’m sure you will,” I said. “But Barnaby, you’re not a member of the association. You’re not a lobsterman. You can tell the truth about what happened.”
His smile turned into a frown.
I leaned even closer as others came into the restaurant. “Barnaby, what do you know about Henry Pettie’s murder?”
“I think I’d best be going,” he said, sliding to the edge of the bench. “I’ve got things to do.”
“Sure you don’t want lunch? My treat.”
“No, thank you, ma’am.”
“Barnaby, I appreciate your talking to me today, and for telling me the truth about Brady Holland.”
“I can do it now.”
“Why? Why can you do it now?”
“He doesn’t live here anymore.”
“Ah.”
“But I’ve got one more thing to say.”
“What’s that?”
“You be careful. There’s bad stuff going on around here.”
I watched him grimace as he stood. He placed the index and middle fingers of his right hand to his brow and gave me what I assumed was a form of salute, navigated tables between him and the door, and left just as Mara delivered my chowder.
The Maine Mutiny Page 20
