Dead and Berried

by Karen MacInerney

  And why were they trying to get in?

  Adrenaline was still pulsing through me as I arranged the covers around me and picked up one of Michele Scott’s wine lover’s mysteries. I had locked the door to my room. So had Gwen—I checked. And the downstairs was secure. If anyone other than a guest came in, they’d have to break a window to do it, and I’d be sure to hear it. Besides, John was fifty feet and a phone call away.

  I tried to lose myself in the California wine country, but tonight it wasn’t working. Finally, I turned off the light, and almost had a cardiac arrest when Biscuit jumped up into the bed beside me. She nestled into my shoulder, and after a long while staring at the darkened ceiling and straining my ears for the sound of breaking glass, I drifted off to sleep.

  ___

  It was still dark when the alarm went off a few hours later. I jabbed the button with a finger and turned on the light. As Biscuit burrowed under the covers, I pulled on a bathrobe and headed downstairs to make coffee.

  The rain had stopped, but windows still shone cold and black when I flipped the light on and walked to the sink. I pulled the bathrobe tighter around me, once again feeling exposed. Whoever was out there last night must surely have gone by now, I told myself as I measured out coffee. They couldn’t possibly have stayed out in the storm all night.

  My eyes still strayed to the door as I assembled the strata, stirring the eggs and pouring them over layers of bread, sausage, and cheese. My plan had been to assemble it the night before—the recipe called for the strata to rest in the refrigerator for several hours—but the quickie version would have to do.

  When the sky outside turned pearly gray, I breathed a sigh of relief. I arranged the pineapple in a bowl with some strawberries and kiwi slices, popped the strata into the oven, and headed upstairs to change. Only this time I had a cup of coffee in my hand instead of a carving knife.

  By the time 8:30 rolled around, the strata was bubbling nicely, I had laid out slices of moist cranberry walnut bread on a silver platter, and the red, green, and yellow fruit glowed in the sunlight streaming through the windows.

  Benjamin was the first one down, looking trim and attractive in tan corduroys and a dark red shirt that reminded me with a pang of the one McLaughlin had worn yesterday. Cowboy boots peeked out from below the hem of his slacks. You can take the boy out of Texas...

  His eyes swept over me. “You look particularly beautiful this morning, Nat.”

  “Thanks.” I straightened my shirt self-consciously; I had picked one of my nicer blouses this morning, a pale blue-gray that matched my eyes. “Can I get you some coffee?”

  “Sure,” he said, sitting at a table near the window. “I hear there was a murder yesterday. The rector, or something.”

  “Yes. It was my best friend’s boyfriend, actually.”

  Benjamin shook his head. “I’m sorry to hear that. You wouldn’t think an island this small would be a hotbed of crime, but people seem to be dropping like flies.” He leaned forward in his chair. “Austin doesn’t sound so bad after all, does it?”

  “Did Candy ever find you last night?” I asked. He fixed me with those mesmerizing blue eyes as I filled his mug with coffee, and my insides twisted up. When Benjamin wasn’t around, I could swear off him forever. But the moment he stepped into the room, all bets were off.

  He sidestepped my question and grabbed my free hand, stroking my palm.

  Heat shot through me, and I put the coffeepot down hastily, before I spilled it all over my shoes.

  “Did you think anymore about my proposition?” His voice was low, urgent.

  My body was saying yes, yes, yes, but my brain, for the moment at least, was still in control. Think of John, I told myself sternly, forcing my eyes from Benjamin’s blue ones and focusing on the lighthouse in the distance. I struggled to conjure his sandy hair, his long, lean face...

  I took a deep breath. “You mean the inn in Austin?”

  He gripped my hand. “I mean my proposal.”

  I swallowed hard. “The marriage thing.”

  “Yes.”

  I meant to say no, but what came out was, “I’m still thinking about it.”

  “Good.” He traced the skin of my palm. “Should I call the real estate agent, then?”

  I pulled my hand away like it was burned, and grabbed the coffeepot. “No, no... not yet.”

  “I’m not going to bite, Nat. I just want to make sure you explore all your options.”

  Fortunately, at that moment Russell Lidell walked in, dressed once again in the too-tight charcoal suit. He sat down near the window, and I rushed over to his table. “Coffee?” My voice sounded strangled.

  “Sure.” He gave me a funny look. “Something wrong?”

  My eyes flicked to Benjamin, who was staring at me with a wounded expression. “No, no. Nothing at all,” I babbled. “We’ve got strata this morning, and fruit salad, and cranberry bread... in fact, I’d better go check on the strata. I’ll have it out in a minute!” Two pairs of eyes followed me as I hustled back to the swinging door and the safety of my kitchen.

  I grabbed the potholders and pulled the strata out of the oven, but the aroma of melted cheese and sausage was wasted on me. I slapped the pan down on a trivet. Why had I said I was thinking about it, when I knew the answer should be no? My eyes drifted to the window, and John’s carriage house. John, with the pine shavings in his sun-streaked hair, his easy smile, the solidness I felt when he was with me... Would I really want to give everything up—the Gray Whale Inn, Cranberry Island... John—to chase after a second chance with Benjamin? An image of Zhang’s long black hair, Benjamin’s hand on her back, floated into my mind, and the pain of betrayal stirred again. It occurred to me suddenly that he had dodged my question about Candy. Benjamin and Candy had been kayaking together, over to the mainland... he’d been spending his days with her, even while he was trying to convince me to marry him.

  He had been unfaithful once.

  I wasn’t willing to risk it again.

  I gripped the strata pan, steeling myself to go out into the dining room and tell Benjamin it wasn’t going to work out. I had almost reached the swinging door when the phone rang.

  I put down the pan and grabbed the receiver. “Good morning, Gray Whale Inn.”

  “Miss Barnes?”

  “Speaking.”

  “This is Gus Fruhstuck from Allstart Insurance. I’m calling about your recent claim on the Gray Whale Inn.”

  “Yes? Are the repair people coming out this week?”

  “Well, not quite yet.”

  “What do you mean, not quite yet? I thought you said you were sending someone out immediately. I live in Maine, and it’s almost winter. The weather’s going to get bad soon. We don’t have much time.”

  He cleared his throat. “I’m afraid your case is under investigation, ma’am. It seems there’s, um...” He paused for a moment. “Well, there’s some question as to whether the damage was intentional.”

  “Intentional? You think I trashed two of my rooms and the hallway intentionally?”

  “All I’m saying is that the case is under investigation. We’ll let you know what the decision is when the department completes their evaluation of the circumstances.”

  I closed my eyes and tried to stem my rising panic. “How long does that take? I’ve got a business to run here, and it’s going to be hard to sell ‘luxury accommodations’ with warped floorboards in half the inn.”

  “Ma’am...”

  “Can I talk with your supervisor?”

  “I’m sorry, ma’am...”

  “This is my livelihood we’re talking about here! This is why I have insurance!”

  “As soon as the investigators are finished...”

  I opened my eyes and glanced at the clock. “Look, Gus. I’ve got
guests to feed right now, but I’m going to call you back in an hour, and when I do, I want your supervisor to explain to me why your company is withholding what it promised to provide...”

  “Ma’am...”

  “I have to go. I’ll talk to you in an hour.” I slammed down the phone, caught my breath, and picked up the strata again.

  When I pushed through the swinging door, Candy stood behind Benjamin, rubbing his shoulders with manicured hands. Benjamin shrugged slightly and gave me a rueful grin as I laid the strata on the buffet.

  It took two more trips to get the fruit salad and the cranberry bread on the buffet. By the second trip, Candy was leaning against Benjamin, pressing her chest into the back of his head. I headed back into the kitchen a last time and returned with a pot of coffee.

  “Good morning, Candy,” I said, filling the cup across from Benjamin’s. She sidled out from behind Benjamin, slid into the seat next to his, and pulled the cup toward her.

  “Good morning,” she said. “Anything low-carb for me this morning?”

  “I hear you were out at Cliffside yesterday,” I said.

  She blinked her mascaraed lashes. “Oh, yes. Just doing a little bit of research.”

  “Someone told me you were talking about making an offer on it. To open an inn.”

  She looked down and rearranged her yellow scoop-necked T-shirt. “I’m looking into it, of course...”

  “I thought you were going to open an inn on the mainland.”

  She darted a glance at Benjamin and pursed her pink lips. “I was, I was... I still may be. But when the agent called and told me about it, I thought it wouldn’t hurt to look...”

  “Of course,” I said frostily. I glanced at Benjamin, who looked dazed, and turned toward the kitchen. “Breakfast is on the buffet. If you need anything else, let me know.”

  ___

  Two hours later, I was still stewing about my ex-fiancé, Candy’s offer on Cliffside, and the jerks at Allstart Insurance. After calling Gus back three times, I had only gotten his voice mail, and my frustration was mounting. What would happen if the insurance company refused to cover the damages? Would I be able to afford the repairs myself?

  I forced myself to focus on the tasks that needed to get done. On the plus side, at least Candy wasn’t haunting the kitchen this morning. I had cleaned up most of the breakfast dishes and was about to wipe down the buffet table when Charlene appeared at the swinging door in a baggy T-shirt and jeans. Her hair was flat on one side, and her makeup was still smeared under her eyes, accentuating dark circles I’d never seen before.

  I put the rag back down and headed for the coffeepot, my mind suddenly swept clear of everything but Charlene. “Did you get any sleep?” I asked, scooping fresh beans into the grinder.

  “Yeah. Thanks.” She slumped into one of the kitchen chairs.

  “I’ve got fruit salad, strata, and cranberry walnut bread for breakfast. Want me to heat some up for you?”

  She shook her head. “No. Not yet.”

  “Whenever you’re ready,” I said.

  She looked up at me with blue eyes that were tired, but determined. “I want to go to the rectory today.”

  I sighed. “I know. I just don’t know if the police have cleared out yet.”

  “Maybe tonight, when everyone’s back on the mainland.”

  After the coffee grinder finished whirring, I nodded. “Maybe.” I poured the coffee into a fresh filter, filled the coffeemaker with water, and sat down next to her. “In the meantime, there are a few things we might be able to do.”

  “You mean calling Boston?”

  I nodded. “Do you know the name of the church he was at?”

  “Saint something, I think.”

  I shook my head and grinned. “Well, that narrows it down.”

  A faint smile echoed on my friend’s face. “I guess that isn’t very specific, is it? Maybe we should call the bishop.”

  “Good idea.” The coffeepot gurgled as I reached over and grabbed a pen and paper. “Okay. We’ll call Boston and see what we can find out about his life there. Anyone here who didn’t like him?”

  Charlene pursed her lips. “No one that I know of.”

  “Anyone he was spending a lot of time with?” I was thinking of Polly... and Murray.

  “Nothing out of the ordinary. He and Murray were working on something together, though, I think.”

  My antennae went up. “Do you know what?”

  “I know Murray was getting very involved with the church. I think he funded some of the renovations for the rectory.”

  For what in return, I wondered? “Did they have some kind of an arrangement?”

  She shrugged. “Not that I know of.”

  I thought of McLaughlin’s strong support of the development. Was the money for the rectory a payment for McLaughlin’s pushing Cranberry Estates to his congregation? Or did McLaughlin have enough put aside from his time as a plumbing salesman to cover the renovations? Murray Selfridge, I wrote. “Maybe we can talk to him, see what we can find out.” I chewed on the pencil for a moment. “Anyone else?”

  She shook her head. “Just the parishioners, really. I know he was counseling a few people, but he never told me who.”

  I added rectory to the list. Maybe we’d find McLaughlin’s notes, I thought. If the police hadn’t already taken them.

  The coffeepot stopped gurgling. I grabbed a mug from the cabinet, poured Charlene a cup, and handed it to her. “Cream and sugar?”

  She sighed. “I guess there’s no point in dieting now. Yes and yes.”

  “Why don’t I fix you a plate?”

  “I’m really not hungry.”

  “You haven’t eaten a thing since yesterday. And you barely touched your dinner last night.”

  She shrugged. “I guess so.”

  I heated up a mound of strata, then heaped fruit and quick bread next to it and slid the plate across the table to her. She picked at the fruit a little, but her eyes widened when she tasted the strata. “This is good.”

  I smiled, relieved to see Charlene eating, and was about to sit down next to her with a cup of coffee of my own when the doorbell rang.

  “I’ll be right back,” I said, and headed for the front door.

  My heart sank as I opened it. It was Grimes.

  “Can I help you?”

  Grimes dropped his cigarette on the front stoop and ground it out with his boot. “Need to see your knives. And talk with your friend, if she’s here.”

  “We’re in the kitchen,” I said.

  He smoothed his hair back with nicotine-yellowed fingers and followed me through the parlor and the dining room to the kitchen. Charlene looked up as we entered through the swinging door.

  “Good morning, Sergeant Grimes.” Her voice was flat.

  “Good morning, Miz Kean.” He turned to me. “Where are your knives?”

  I pointed toward the block next to the sink. “Help yourself.”

  Charlene raised her eyebrows at me as Grimes walked over to the counter.

  “Looks like one or two are missing,” he said.

  “The paring knife is in the dish drainer. The French Chef’s knife broke a while ago; I haven’t replaced it yet.”

  “Are you sure it was a French... whatever it is?”

  I nodded.

  “Anyone seen it other than you?”

  I shook my head. “It broke several months ago.”

  “Mmm hmmm.” Grimes pulled out his notebook and scrawled something. “Miz Barnes, let’s go over this again. where were you on the day Richard McLaughlin died?”

  Charlene’s eyes widened. I glanced at her and shook my head a fraction. “I was here in the morning, of course. When I finished cleaning up I visited Rev. McLaughlin a
t the rectory.”

  Grimes narrowed his eyes at me. “That’s what I figured. What time?”

  “I already told you. Around eleven thirty.”

  “Anyone see you there?”

  “Not that I know of.”

  “Where did you go next?”

  I sighed. “I left at about twelve, and stopped by Emmeline Hoyle’s. She wasn’t home, so I went to Polly’s house to check on the cats.” I cleared my throat. If I was coming clean, I might as well tell him everything. “Someone else went into Polly’s house while I was there.”

  Grimes’ head snapped up. “Who?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “I was hiding in the closet.”

  “Hiding in the closet?” He scratched his greasy hair with one finger. “I thought you were checking on the cats.”

  “I was,” I said. “I just went upstairs to make sure I hadn’t missed anyone. Someone came through the door, and...” I shrugged. “After Polly’s death, I guess I was scared.”

  “But she offed herself. I know you keep saying it was murder, but...”

  I took a deep breath. “Whoever came into the house took a box of bullets,” I said.

  “How do you know that?”

  “Because they were in her top dresser drawer before I hid in the closet,” I said. “When I came out, they were gone.”

  Grimes shrugged. “So?”

  “One of the bullets was missing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I counted them. She only shot herself once, but two bullets are missing.”

  He leaned back in his chair and tapped his pen on the table. “How do you know one was missing? Maybe she shot off a round or two to scare off a stray dog or something. Besides, what were you doing snooping around the place?”

  “I wasn’t really snooping. The drawer was open, and I thought a cat might have snuck in.” I shrugged. “And I guess I was curious.”

  Grimes peered at me with close-set eyes. “What I want to know is, why were you visiting McLaughlin?”