Dead and Berried

by Karen MacInerney

  “I know,” I said, yelping again as she attacked my cut with renewed vigor.

  “Sorry about that,” she mumbled, attempting to dab more gently.

  “No problem,” I said, thinking that what Patrice said was true. After all, I had moved to the island with the idea that it would be a quiet, peaceful life. In the six months since I’d moved here, it had been anything but.

  “Do you have any idea who might have killed Polly or Rev. McLaughlin?”

  “No, I can’t say that I do. But I did hear something...”

  I sat up straight.

  “Someone told me that Polly might be getting mixed up with someone she shouldn’t be,” Patrice said.

  “You mean romantically?”

  “Maybe,” she said.

  “Any idea who?”

  She sighed. “I don’t like to talk—it’s just hearsay—and I’m not sure I want to say, what with Charlene and all.”

  “You mean... with Rev. McLaughlin?”

  “I don’t know,” she said. “But it’s pretty well known he was visiting her a lot there... near the end. And someone I know was down at the bog one morning early, saw someone leaving her house.”

  “A man?”

  “Ayuh. And it was a bit early for breakfast, if you know what I mean. What I can’t figger is, who would have wanted both of ’em dead? Other than...”

  I stiffened. She hadn’t finished her sentence, but it was quite clear she was talking about Charlene.

  “It wasn’t Charlene,” I said sharply.

  “I know, I know,” she said. “I’ve known Charlene since she was a tot, and she’s not the type to... you know. It’s just, that’s what the police are bound to think, isn’t it?”

  I sank back down into my chair, thinking of Rev. McLaughlin’s handsome face. McLaughlin and Polly.... And Grimes, who was so determined to involve Charlene—or me—in the investigation...

  “Anyway,” Patrice said, “don’t listen to me. I’m just an old woman babbling. Why don’t I get a little gauze on this, and you’ll be all set.”

  “I can’t thank you enough,” I said.

  “Don’t think twice about it,” Patrice said, examining her handiwork one last time before sitting down across from me, straightening her heavy green wool sweater. Her brown eyes crinkled as she smiled at me. “Now, how do we get you home?”

  ___

  “You’re a menace,” Charlene said as I pulled the truck door shut behind me, still shivering from the cold rain.

  “Hey. I’m the victim here, not the perpetrator.” I winced, remembering that I wasn’t the only victim this week... and that I’d gotten off relatively lightly.

  The pickup’s engine growled as Charlene threw it into gear, and we lurched forward. “Why’s your bike by the rectory, anyway?”

  “Actually, it’s by the churchyard,” I said as she swung onto the road leading to the rectory.

  “What on God’s green earth made you decide to visit the churchyard?”

  “I was looking for something,” I said.

  Charlene’s head swiveled toward me. “Does this have something to do with the mess we found in your kitchen last night?”

  “Maybe.”

  “Maybe? That’s all you’re going to tell me?”

  “Remember that diary we found the other day?”

  She nodded.

  “There was a confession in it,” I said, watching the rows of tall pine trees slide by and melt back into darkness.

  “What do you mean, a confession?”

  “Someone admitted to a murder, and the priest wrote it down. All he wrote was the person’s initials, though—J.S. I was trying to figure out who it could be.”

  The windshield wipers squeaked, and the reflection of the headlights showed Charlene’s features in sharp relief as she shook her head. “That’s all very interesting, but I think we’ve got bigger fish to fry. May I remind you that Richard was...” she swallowed hard “...was killed this week, and the police seem to think that one of us was responsible for it?”

  “I think it might be connected,” I said softly.

  “What are you talking about?”

  “Whoever hit me took the diary.”

  Charlene sucked in her breath. “So the murders...”

  “Might be related to what happened a hundred and fifty years ago,” I finished for her. Although how that related to Polly’s nocturnal visitor, I had no idea.

  “Jesus,” she breathed.

  “Exactly.”

  ___

  A half hour later, after I had taken a hot bath and drunk a cup of tea, I slipped into sweatpants and a sweatshirt and opened the door to the hallway. The aroma of cheese and melting butter floated up to me as I took the stairs; I had been planning to make dinner for us, but it smelled like Charlene had beaten me to it.

  Sure enough, the table was set and Charlene was just sliding two golden grilled cheese sandwiches off the griddle as I entered the kitchen.

  “Smells great,” I said, shaking a couple of ibuprofen out of a bottle and washing them down with the rest of my tea. The bath had helped, but my bones still ached from the cold, and my head had started to throb.

  “Do you like yours with tomato, or without?”

  “With,” I said, and she slid a few red slices between the buttered slices of bread before setting the plate down at the table.

  “More tea?” she asked.

  “Thanks. But aren’t I supposed to be taking care of you?” I asked.

  “I didn’t just get whacked over the head and left for dead in the rain,” she said, refilling my cup and pushing the cream and sugar toward me. “Speaking of which, we need to call a doctor about your head.” She grimaced. “In the meantime, though, I’ve got more bad news, so you’ll need to eat to keep up your strength.”

  I paused with the sandwich halfway to my mouth, feeling the blood drain from my face. “Oh, God,” I said. “Did someone else...”

  “No, it’s not that bad,” she said, sitting across from me in a soft gray sweater and form-fitting jeans. She’d even put on eyeliner; she must have been feeling better.

  “It’s about Cliffside.”

  I squeezed my eyes shut and groaned. “Don’t tell me.”

  “It’s under contract.”

  I opened one eye. “Candy?”

  “You guessed it.”

  I sighed and took a big bite of sandwich. My stomach growled as I chewed, enjoying the melted cheddar cheese and the buttery toast. “Maybe I should have taken Benjamin up on his offer,” I mumbled through a mouthful of sandwich.

  Charlene’s eyebrow rose. “What offer?”

  I swallowed. “He’s offering to buy me an inn in Austin.”

  “A what?”

  “I’d have my pick, actually. One of them’s just gorgeous. Rose bushes all across the front, two stories, wide porches.”

  “And what does he want from you?”

  I pressed my lips together. “Oh, just for me to forget about those women he slept with when we were engaged the last time.”

  Charlene leaned back in her chair and studied me. “So he wants to marry you.”

  “Why else would he be up here?”

  “And do you want to marry him?”

  “No.”

  She narrowed her eyes.

  “Are you sure?”

  I took another bite of sandwich, and the cheese formed a gluey lump in my mouth. I swallowed hard. “Sort of,” I said.

  “Sort of?”

  “Look,” I said, setting down my sandwich. “Things aren’t exactly swell right now. Candy ruined two of my rooms and destroyed the hallway floor, the insurance company is giving me a hard time about covering it, and now she’s going to be
opening a rival inn down the street.”

  “So you’ve got obstacles. Who doesn’t?”

  “Pretty friggin’ big ones, if you ask me.”

  “Actually, you missed one.”

  I looked up. “What?”

  “Grimes thinks you may be a murderer. Remember?”

  “Oh, yeah,” I said, waving a hand. “But doesn’t he always?”

  Charlene chuckled. “Seriously, though, is it really worth giving up everything just so you can have a cheating ex-fiancé buy you an inn?” She took a bite of sandwich. “Granted, he’s a pretty cute ex-fiancé,” she said through a mouthful of crumbs. “But if you take him back this time, he’ll just go back and do it again, because he knows you’ll forgive him. Besides, there’s John.”

  I thought about Benjamin and Candy, and their kayak trips, and their visits to Jordan Pond House, and knew she was right. Benjamin had done it once. What would stop him from doing it again?

  “Okay. So I shouldn’t sell the inn and move back to Texas.” My head throbbed insistently. “Can we please talk about something else?”

  “Sure.” Charlene took a bite of sandwich and chewed pensively. Relieved, I took a bite from mine as well, and for a moment, we sat eating our dinners and trying not to think of unpleasant things.

  Then Charlene changed the subject. “So who do you think killed Richard?” she said in a quiet voice.

  I sighed. “I wish I knew.”

  “The same person who killed Polly?” Charlene asked.

  “I think so,” I said. “The question is, why?”

  “And who. Do you think it has something to do with the diary?”

  I raised my cup to my lips and sipped at my tea. “It’s looking that way. But I can’t understand why.”

  “Who do you think J.S. is?”

  “There are two options,” I said. “There’s a Jeremiah Sarkes, who was twenty-three at the time Annie died. And then there was Jonah Selfridge.”

  “Murray’s ancestor?”

  Our eyes met. “Yup.”

  “Would he kill to cover it up?”

  “I don’t know,” I said. “But what worries me is, if the murderer killed Polly and Richard because they knew something...”

  Charlene looked at me blankly for a moment, then her eyes widened. “You mean... you think the killer might come after me?”

  I nodded. “The thought crossed my mind.”

  “But... but you were the one with the diary! Why didn’t he kill you?”

  “Maybe he meant to,” I said slowly. “It was a pretty hard whack on the head. Also, someone was outside the kitchen door the other night. He—or she—tried to get in while I was here by myself.”

  “Oh my God! Who was it?”

  “I don’t know. He was gone too fast.” I sipped my tea. “Have you had anything weird happen?”

  “No,” she said, shaking her head. “But then again, I’ve been here the whole time—or at the store, where there are people all over the place.” Her eyes widened further. “Maybe whoever was at the door the other night came for both of us.”

  My eyes flicked to the door. It was locked. “We need to be careful,” I said in a low voice. “And I need to go down to the museum again, to find out everything I can about the murder.”

  “What do we do about Murray?”

  “Nothing, now,” I said. “We don’t even have the diary anymore. We need to find out everything we can before we confront him.”

  Charlene shivered. “I’m not looking forward to that.”

  “Me neither.”

  “Are you sure it’s Murray?”

  “No, I’m not.” I thought again of the late-night visitor Patrice had seen at Polly’s—but decided not to mention it to Charlene until I found out who it was. If it was McLaughlin, then had someone killed the pair in a jealous rage? And if so, who? Charlene? I quickly dismissed the thought. I didn’t know a lot of things, but I knew my friend wasn’t a killer.

  But if it wasn’t Charlene, then who was it? “I’ve got a couple of other ideas,” I said vaguely. “And we still need to find out about what happened in Boston.”

  Charlene shook her head. “I still think you’re barking up the wrong tree. Besides, what does that have to do with Polly?”

  “I don’t know,” I said, popping the last of the sandwich into my mouth. As I swallowed, Pepper appeared, winding around Charlene’s legs.

  “Hello, sweetheart,” Charlene said, lifting the little gray kitten to her lap. “You’re so sweet, I might just have to take you home with me.” She looked at me. “Do we have any idea if she’s had her shots?”

  “There was a number for the shelter at Polly’s house,” I said. “They would know, if anyone would. I’ll swing by and pick it up.” At the thought of Polly’s house, I remembered Russell’s appointment in the morning and groaned. I’d forgotten to see if Gwen could pick up breakfast duty tomorrow. “Did you see my niece, by any chance?”

  “No. Why?”

  “I was going to ask her to cover for me tomorrow morning,” I said.

  “Well, if you don’t find her, I’ll take care of it,” she said.

  “Really? I just need someone to cover the second half of breakfast.”

  “Absolutely,” she said. “You need to get to a doctor. And besides, what are friends for?”

  I didn’t tell her that the doctor wasn’t what I had in mind, but thanked her anyway. As I climbed the steps to my room a few minutes later, my head still throbbing dully, I reflected with a twinge of guilt that as awful as McLaughlin’s death was, it was wonderful having Charlene as a friend again.

  The alarm rang at six thirty the next morning, and I headed downstairs in the dark to get breakfast started. My head still hurt, but it was better than yesterday, so I just tossed back a few more ibuprofen with my coffee and started in on breakfast. Fortunately, my hair covered the cut.

  Charlene had restocked my flour and sugar supplies, so I was able to whip up a quick batch of muffins. Then I cracked eggs into buttered ramekins for shirred eggs, layered frozen peaches in a baking dish with brown sugar and butter, and filled a pan with frozen sausages.

  As I expected, Russell came down at around eight forty-five, dressed in his charcoal suit again, but this time carrying a wool coat. It was a chilly morning; the rosehips were glazed with ice, and the tips of the grass outside were frosted white. Although his meeting wasn’t scheduled for an hour, he made quick work of his sausage and shirred eggs, helping himself to a second muffin. By nine fifteen, I started to get nervous. Where was Charlene? I filled Russell’s cup a third time and excused myself, heading down the hall to find her.

  We almost collided by the staircase. “Sorry I’m a little late,” she said.

  “It’s no problem,” I said. “Everything’s in the kitchen. Russell’s the only one down so far.”

  “No Candy?”

  I rolled my eyes. “The one good thing about her making an offer on Cliffside is that she’s leaving me alone.”

  “It’s not much, but it’s something. Did you get an appointment with the doctor?” she asked as Russell appeared in the hallway, a heavy black coat over one arm. We both smiled at him as he passed us and headed out the front door, shrugging the coat over his shoulders as he pulled the door shut.

  “Yes. Oops! I think I left something on the stove,” I said. “Would you mind checking on it? I’ll be back soon!” I said, grabbing a heavy brown cardigan from behind the front desk and hurrying toward the front door.

  “Exactly what doctor are you seeing?” Charlene asked suspiciously.

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said, peering through the wavy glass. A moment later, I slipped through the door, leaving Charlene staring after me, hand on her hip.

  Easing the door shut behind me, I sidl
ed over to a post, waiting until Russell’s heavy frame had disappeared over the top of the hill before hurrying after him. The cold wind bit through the two sweaters, and I wished I’d grabbed a jacket, but at least it wasn’t raining. My breath caught in my throat as I hustled up the hill, hoping I hadn’t waited too long.

  As I crested the hill, I caught sight of Russell’s broad back not far ahead of me on the hill. If anything, I hadn’t waited long enough.

  When he disappeared behind a curve, I trotted after him, trying to keep my footfalls soft and hoping he wasn’t going for the mail boat. Besides the fact that it would be viciously cold out on the water, it’s hard to stay out of sight when you’re sharing a thirty-foot boat.

  I was in luck. Instead of turning right toward town, he veered left, down the pitted road that led to Polly’s house. Since I was pretty sure where he was going, I fell back a bit, crossing my arms and shivering. The wind made little swirls of leaves as I walked, and my breath frosted in the air, but despite the cold, it was a beautiful morning, the sky blue and crisp, a few clouds scattered like stray bits of wool. The birds were silent; except for the rustle of leaves in the wind, the only sound was the clomp of Russell’s boots somewhere in front of me.

  Twenty minutes later, the sound of footsteps died. I slowed, and a moment later came within sight of the bog. Sure enough, there in front of Polly’s house stood Russell Lidell, picking something off his right pant leg.

  I ducked behind a tree just before he stood up and scanned the road behind him. About a hundred yards stood between Russell and me. Unfortunately, that hundred yards consisted of bog and road. There was no way to get to Polly’s house from where I stood without Russell seeing me.

  Fortunately, the other side of the road was crowded with pines and spruces. I glanced at my watch: it was 9:50. Ten minutes before Russell’s meeting was supposed to start. Hopefully whoever it was wouldn’t be early.

  I retraced my steps until Russell was out of sight, then dashed across the pitted blacktop and dove into the woods. When I was a good way back from the road, I started moving toward Polly’s house, trying to avoid the occasional pocket of brown leaves among the needles as I stepped over dead branches. Thank goodness it was predominantly pine forest, not hardwood; the crunch of leaves would have given me away in a second. As I drew level with Russell, my foot hit a hidden branch, and I stumbled. Russell’s head jerked toward me. I pressed myself to a tree and peered around the trunk as he took a few hesitant steps in my direction before glancing at his shiny shoes and turning back. I sagged against the tree, relieved. Thank God for wingtips.