Skip pushed the plate of muffins toward me. “Please, help yourself. And if you need anything else, just let me know. We’re serving a limited breakfast menu this morning, but if you want eggs, or a simple omelet, we can manage that.
“I’d better get back to the kitchen.”
I put my hand on his arm to stop his exit. “Are the police here now, Skip? Do you know if they’ve found the man I thought I saw in the inn foyer last night?”
Skip shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a man, Carol. And the police have left for now. But I’m sure they’ll be back. Oh, God, what a mess.”
He turned and fled to the safety of the kitchen.
Skip was right. This was a mess, all right. I just hoped it wouldn’t affect the wedding plans.
Then I realized how stupid I was. Tiffani was helping Jenny and Mark plan their wedding, and now, she was dead. Of course, her death would affect the wedding. But it was not going to ruin it. Not if I had anything to say about it.
“I wonder if Jenny and Mark have been downstairs yet,” I said to Jim. “As upsetting as this is for Skip and JoAnn, and for us, it’s even worse for the kids. They were depending on Tiffani to plan the perfect destination wedding. Would you be a sweetie and go check on them? I want to be sure they’re all right. Jenny, particularly.” After all, Mark was a detective. He was used to dealing with dead bodies. For my daughter, it was a newer experience.
Jim rose to his feet, nice guy that he is. “That’s a good idea, honey. I’ll be right back.”
I took a quick sip of coffee and directed my attention to the array of muffins. But while I was dithering over my breakfast choice, the rude couple who’d been gossiping about me made a beeline in my direction.
Double rats. Just what I needed. And I had no husband to run interference for me.
I’ve heard that attitude is everything. And I had a bad attitude, which was getting worse all the time. I ignored them, choosing to focus my attention on a warm blueberry muffin which I sliced into dainty, bite- sized pieces.
“Excuse me,” the man said. “My wife and I don’t mean to disturb you.”
“Well, you are,” I shot back, glaring up at them.
The female half of the couple, a tiny birdlike woman, had the good grace to blush. But that didn’t stop her from saying, “We’ve never been at the scene of a possible crime before. It’s very…upsetting. But thrilling at the same time. And we wanted to ask you, how did it feel? To find a dead body, I mean.”
I sat there, perfectly still. I hope you’re all proud of me. What I wanted to do was take my blueberry muffin and smash it into her face. But that would have been a waste of a perfectly good muffin, and my mother taught me never to waste food.
They continued to stand in front of me. And I didn’t say anything. Instead, I carefully chewed a bite of my muffin.
Then another.
I chewed slowly. And deliberately. Then I took a sip of coffee. And ignored them.
Sheesh. Couldn’t these twits take a hint?
Go away, you stupid people.
I mentally flipped through Of Maids and Manners to see if it contained advice on how to deal with idiots like this. This little pamphlet was The Last Word about proper behavior for Catholic high school young ladies way back in the last century. I think we even had pop quizzes on some of the situations.
Those nuns took good manners very seriously. It was years before I was comfortable crossing my legs in public.
Nope, I was sure nothing in the pamphlet covered this kind of situation. I was on my own.
I decided that the only way to get rid of these idiots once and for all was to get up and leave the dining room. I folded the remains of my muffin in a napkin and rose from my chair. As regally as I could manage.
But I couldn’t resist a parting shot.
“You asked me how I felt, finding a dead body,” I said, glaring at the woman. “It felt terrible. Scary. Unbelievable. I was absolutely terrified.”
I paused for maximum effect. “Especially since I thought the dead body was my own daughter. I hope that satisfies your curiosity.”
I didn’t give the stunned woman a chance to reply. I turned and stalked out of the dining room.
But I didn’t get very far. Mark met me in the lobby. And he didn’t look happy.
“Carol, Detective Sweet just contacted me. The Nantucket police have found Bob Green. He was at the airport, trying to get on a flight to the mainland. He’s been taken in for questioning.
“Detective Sweet wants you to come to the police station and see if you can identify him as the man you saw here last night. There’ll also be someone from the State Police present this time.”
“State police!” I yelped. “Why?”
Don’t panic, Carol. Don’t panic. You haven’t done anything wrong.
“Don’t worry, Carol,” Mark said. “That’s standard procedure on Nantucket. The state police have a presence here, and they’re always involved in cases like this. You’ll feel a lot better when the questioning is over, and I’ll be with you. I already told Jim and Jenny where we were going. There’s an unmarked car waiting outside the inn for us.”
He touched my arm, gently but firmly. “Let’s go.”
Chapter 21
I don’t want a phone that’s smarter than I am.
You won’t find the new Nantucket Police Station (it opened in 2010) included in any regular tours of the island. But the structure is so beautiful, it should be.
Actually, from what I found out later, the expansive brick building, located just a few miles from the center of town, is not just for the police. Truly a community center, it also houses the Registry of Motor Vehicles, and provides a meeting venue for several public boards and commissions. The building is very high-tech – public meetings can be streamed over the Internet or broadcast over the public access cable channels, providing everyone on Nantucket with an opportunity to hear the discussions. Plus, the community spaces are also available to private and nonprofit groups in need of meeting spaces. (I don’t think a wedding has ever been held there, though. And I decided not to ask.) All in all, it’s a nice place to visit, I guess. But I would have just as soon skipped it. And I never would want to live there, even if HGTV came and completely redid my cell.
I never dreamed BJR – Before Jim’s Retirement – that I would become so familiar with police stations. Not that I’ve personally been arrested, you understand. But, well, just say that the local Fairport police and I have more than a nodding acquaintance. And I’m not just referring to my son-in-law-to-be.
Although, come to think of it, Mark and Jenny’s wedding was a direct result (ok, maybe direct result is a bit overstated) of my (and Jim’s) recent collaborations with the Fairport police. I do “help them with their inquiries” when those inquiries involve some of my nearest and dearest. Which seem to be happening with alarming regularity SJR (Since Jim’s Retirement).
And now my collaboration skills (I think snooping is such a harsh word, don’t you?) would extend to the Nantucket police as well. Who would have thunk it?
The short ride from the Grey Gull Inn to the police station had not calmed my nerves. If anything, I was even more on edge by the time we arrived.
Mark must have realized how nervous I was. I hadn’t said a single word since we left the inn. He knows that’s totally unlike me.
I sat back in the car and closed my eyes for a minute, trying to channel some courage, inner peace, anything that could get me through this ordeal. Unfortunately, the face that popped into my mind on my way to inner peace was Nancy’s. And she did not look happy.
And if I did what I knew I had to do – you get that sentence structure, right? – she’d probably never speak to me again.
“Ready?” Mark asked me. Was he joking?
“I’ll never be ready,” I responded. “But the sooner we go in, the sooner we can leave. I wonder if there’ll be a line-up, like there used to be on all those old television shows.”
Mark looked at me and raised one eyebrow. I got the message. Don’t kid around.
“Just tell the truth, Carol,” Mark said, holding the police station door open for me. “And don’t embellish your answers with opinions or theories, the way you sometimes…”
I shot him a look. “I know!” I said. But don’t forget that my theories have often been right, buddy. And have helped you out more than once.
I didn’t really say that last part, of course.
“I hope you’ll be able to sit in on this interview with me, Mark,” I said, rising above his criticism like the trooper I was. “It’d make the questioning much easier if you were there.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” Mark said as we entered the lobby, which was painted in a tasteful shade of grey. (Of course.) It looked more like a corporate office lobby than a police station’s. I had to admit, I was impressed. So far, the building looked welcoming, not threatening. But it was so quiet. Like a library.
“Wait here.” Mark gestured toward a comfortable looking bench and headed toward the window marked “Information.”
I only had a millisecond to think about what I was going to say during the interview. Or, to be more accurate, how I could dodge the questions, not identify Bob Green, and still tell the truth. A tall order, even for me.
I practiced opening my eyes wide and looking guileless. Probably not my best look, but what the heck.
I’m not sure this is the man I saw. It was so dark. I could be wrong.
All too soon, Mark was back, accompanied by Detective Sweet (again wearing grey) and another man introduced as Lieutenant Finn from the Massachusetts State Police.
I’m not going to bore you with the details of what happened next. Except to say that when I left the building, shoulders slumped, I felt like a traitor.
But in case you were wondering, identification procedures in real life are nothing like what you see on television. Instead of bringing a witness (that would be me) into a room with one-way glass, then presenting a lineup of possible felons to see if one of them ran the recognition bell, witnesses are presented with a variety of photos of possible perps. (I know, I’ve been hanging around police stations too much and it’s affecting my choice of language.) I looked at each one carefully, praying I wouldn’t see Bob’s photo among them. But there he was, big as life. Or, not as big as he used to be, but still, unmistakable. I had to identify him as the person I saw crying over Tiffani’s lifeless body. I had no choice.
I consoled myself with the fact that I didn’t offer any additional damaging information about Bob and Tiffani during the identification process (because I wasn’t asked, thank God). I did not say that Bob and Tiffani had a romantic relationship. Nor that he and I had run into each other (quite literally) on the ferry to Nantucket the previous day. (I couldn’t believe only 24 hours had passed since we arrived – it seemed like an eternity.) Nor did I mention Bob’s harebrained plan to surprise Tiffani. And I especially didn’t talk about the fight Jim and I had witnessed in the lobby of the Grey Gull Inn the afternoon before, when Tiffani pretty much threw Bob out on his ear. Or whatever body part was handy.
I didn’t speculate, didn’t offer any additional facts, and certainly didn’t offer any opinion. I answered the questions as succinctly as I could. And as fast as I could.
Of course, the fact that the interview was conducted by Lieutenant Finn of the Massachusetts State Police, rather than my new girlfriend Detective Cynthia Sweet, made it easy for me to guard my tongue. Because the sight of him scared me to death.
I know. I have a problem with male authority figures.
And now I had to go home and tell my best and oldest friend that her husband – who was leaving her for another woman – was now a suspect – make that, The Suspect – in that same woman’s suspicious death.
Chapter 22
Every successful marriage is a series of compromises between the husband’s way of doing things and the right way.
We were a pretty glum group sitting around the Andrews family dinner table on Sunday evening. But, speaking for myself, I was so glad the police had allowed us to leave Nantucket on Sunday that I almost knelt down in my driveway and kissed the asphalt when we got back to Fairport.
I didn’t feel much like cooking – no surprise there – so we’d ordered a takeout meal from Seafood Sandy’s. I’m not embarrassed at all to admit that we have the restaurant phone number on our speed dial. Nor to tell you that the owner recognizes my voice whenever I call to place an order. Normally, the delicious aroma escaping from the foil containers makes my mouth water. Especially their coconut shrimp platter, my absolute favorite. Not tonight, though.
I noticed that even Jim was pushing the food around his plate, not devouring it like he usually does. A sure sign that he was upset. No matter what, he can always eat.
“I wish that I’d picked up Lucy and Ethel and brought them home this afternoon,” I said. “Being around them always cheers me up.”
“Why didn’t you, Mom?” asked my daughter, who up until now had been uncharacteristically quiet. “I sure could use some unconditional love right now. I think we all could.”
Mark grabbed Jenny’s hand and kissed it. “I may not be a cute dog,” he said, “but I hope you know how much I love you. Unconditionally. And I have since we were in grade school together.”
Jenny blushed. Then smiled lovingly at her fiancé.
And, just like that, the mood around the table lightened up. Like the sun coming out from behind a bank of dark clouds.
Good for you, Mark. You said exactly the right thing.
I stole a quick look at Jim to see if he was embarrassed by the overt show of affection. I was amazed to see him give me a quick wink.
The old softie.
“I told Mary Alice that we wouldn’t be back from Nantucket until Monday,” I said. “And I didn’t want to explain to her why we were back earlier. Or to anyone else, for that matter. Especially Nancy. I don’t know how I’m going to tell her what happened.”
Cue the dark clouds covering the sun again.
“She may already know, Carol,” Mark said. “And remember, Bob Green is being questioned as a material witness. He hasn’t been accused of anything.”
“That we know of,” I said.
“But it did look suspicious that the police found him at Nantucket Airport, trying to book a seat on the first flight off the island,” Jim added, not one to stay out of a conversation for very long.
“Well, let’s put Bob and Nancy aside for a while,” I suggested. “The most important question for you two,” I said, addressing the bridal couple, “is what to do about your wedding. Do you still want to be married on Nantucket, after all that’s happened? Do you think Cinderella Weddings could provide you with another wedding planner on such short notice?”
“Jenny and I talked about this a lot coming home,” Mark said. “Unfortunately, we didn’t come to any conclusions,” Jenny added. “All I know is, I want to be your wife. And the sooner, the better.
Maybe a destination wedding isn’t right for us.”
“You could be married right here at the house at Christmas,” Jim said, jumping in before I had a chance to say anything. I absolutely hate it when he does that.
Although, I do it all the time. Jump in, interrupt, whatever. But only when it’s absolutely necessary to voice my opinion. Which is always needed, but seldom appreciated. Unfortunately.
“You know,” I said, pausing to take a tiny sip of wine, “there’s another couple to consider before any decisions are made. What about Mike and Marlee? Do they know what’s happened?”
“I texted Mike this morning before we left Nantucket,” Jenny said. “He was shocked about Tiffani, of course. As a matter of fact,” she checked the iPhone she had placed next to her plate, “I got a text from him on the way back to Fairport. He asked if we could do another Skype call tonight at seven o’clock to figure out what to do about the wedding.” She jumped up from the t
able. “Let me get my laptop. I’ll be right back.”
My daughter, the techie. Although, to be fair, I knew that she had to be up with the latest in technology to keep up with her students at Fairport College. And I also knew that some of the courses the college currently offered were online.
What a change from the way it was when I was in school, when all you needed was a loose leaf binder for each subject and a pen that worked.
I cleared a place in the center of the kitchen table for Jenny’s computer, and we positioned our chairs on the same side of the table, facing the screen.
It was like going to the movies in my kitchen. With better seats and no popcorn.
I was glad to be able to see Mike after all the trauma of the past 24- or- so hours. He always made me feel better.
I was looking forward to seeing my daughter-in-law, too. Of course.
A few clicks on the keyboard and there they both were, Marlee’s chair carefully placed slightly behind Mike’s.
Before any of us in Fairport had a chance to say anything, Mike started talking.
“We’ve got to make this short, because the Cosmo’s is open and people are coming into the bar to watch a Dolphins game. It’s one of our busiest nights of the week.”
“Hello, Mike, and how are you?” I interrupted, not letting him get away with being curt. After all, I raised the boy with better manners than that!
I could tell I made him feel defensive by the way he lowered his face and shifted in his chair. He always did that as a child when he’d done something wrong and I’d caught him at it.
But he’s a man, now, Carol. You’d better start treating him like one.
Jenny jumped right into the conversation, saving me from the opportunity to put my foot in my mouth still again.
“Hi Mike. We’re all a little on edge here,” she said, shooting me a warning glance. “It’s been a terrible weekend, and we’ve been sitting around the kitchen table trying to figure out what to do about the wedding. I mean, our weddings.”
Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) Page 10
