I had just returned to the kitchen and asked Catherine if she’d like a little more oatmeal when the front doorbell rang. I passed through the dining room and hurried to the front door of the inn.
“Good morning,” Detective Penney said when I opened the door, her thin mouth in a polite smile. Her face was all sharp angles and planes, but her brown eyes were kind. Next to her stood a young man in police blues.
“Are you here about Fernand?” I asked.
“Yes,” she said. “We’d like to ask you and your guests a few more questions.”
“John mentioned there’d been a change in the status of the case,” I said. A gust of wind blew a flurry of ice crystals at us, and I invited them in. “Any word back yet on the doll or the fake blood?” I asked as I closed the door behind them.
“The lab is working on that,” Penney said. “We’ll let you know as soon as we hear anything.”
“Thank you,” I said.
“Now. I understand Frederick Johnson and Irene LaChaise are both staying at the inn.” When I nodded, she asked, “Are they here this morning?”
“Right this way,” I said, leading them to the dining room.
As we walked into the room, Frederick looked up first. There was a flash of surprise, then relief. Either he was a very good actor, I thought, or he was innocent. I looked at Irene, who was facing away from the door. She turned and looked; like Frederick, the first expression was surprise, but there was another emotion that flickered across her face so fast I almost missed it.
It was fear.
“Good morning, everyone,” Detective Penney said. “I’m sorry to disturb your breakfast, but there’s been a change in status in the case of Fernand LaChaise’s death, and we’d like to ask you a few questions.”
“What do you mean?” Irene voice was shrill.
“We are considering it a homicide,” the detective said.
Both Frederick and Irene looked shocked.
“I’ll be talking to you one at a time. Do you have a room we can use?” the policewoman asked me.
“Of course,” I said. “You can take one of the guest rooms.”
“We’ll also be needing fingerprints,” she said, nodding toward her partner, who was eyeing the buffet table.
“No problem. Can I get you a cup of coffee?” I offered, and they both accepted. “You’re welcome to help yourselves to breakfast, as well,” I added.
“Thank you,” Detective Penney said, “I think we may take you up on that; we didn’t get a chance to stop for breakfast.” She hesitated before continuing. “I’ll also have to talk to you and your niece. We’ll need fingerprints, too.”
My heart contracted, but I smiled. “I’ll let her know,” I said.
“Actually I’d prefer if you didn’t,” she said.
“I understand,” I said, feeling sick, and retreated to the front desk to get the key to one of the guest rooms. I gave it to her a minute later, telling her where the Beach Rose was located. “I have to leave by 9:30,” I told her. “I have an appointment on the mainland.”
“I’m sure it won’t take that long,” she told me with a sympathetic smile that did nothing to ease my nervousness. I retreated to the kitchen, where John was pouring himself a cup of coffee.
“Good morning,” he said, a smile making his eyes crinkle in the way that made my heart melt.
“Detective Penney is here,” I told him in a low voice. “She wants fingerprints—and she wants to talk with Gwen.”
He read my concern in my face. “It’ll be fine, Natalie,” he said, coming over to give me a hug. As I let him wrap his arms around me, I looked over his shoulder and saw my future mother-in-law watching us with a look of sadness in her eyes.
“I hope you’re right,” I said, averting my eyes from the look on Catherine’s face. “I hope you’re right.”
_____
Detective Penney had just begun questioning Gwen when John and I fired up the van and headed for the pier. Despite multiple scrubbings, my fingertips were still black with ink. I’d told them about Frederick’s and my visit to Fernand’s house; I only hoped they’d believe me. I was thankful Gwen hadn’t gone upstairs; they might suspect her, but they would find no trace of her beyond the downstairs of Fernand’s house. When I told Detective Penney that it was Gwen who insisted he was murdered, she simply wrote it down and asked me another question—which was not encouraging, despite John’s assurances that my niece would be okay.
“So, who do you think killed him?” I asked John as we crested the hill behind the inn.
“Frederick stood to benefit from his death,” he said.
“As did Gwen.”
“True, but we know it wasn’t her. His sister may have believed she was in the will, too,” he said.
“She’s been on the island in the past few months,” I told him.
“How do you know?”
“I found a mail boat ticket in her room.”
He shot me a sideways glance. “Natalie …”
“It was on the dresser,” I said. “I didn’t open any drawers or anything.”
He didn’t look convinced, but let it drop as he parked the van near the pier and opened the door. I zipped up my coat and followed him down to the pier, grabbing the hand he held out to me. In my other hand, I clutched the envelope with all of my mortgage paperwork in it. I said a small prayer that we’d find a solution to the problem today—or at least something to give me peace of mind.
The mail boat arrived just as we reached the dock, and George McLeod smiled as he hustled us aboard. “A bit of chop this morning; hope you don’t get seasick too easy!” he said. I lurched to the side as the boat shifted under me; George, on the other hand, looked as if he were standing on dry land.
“Not too many people this morning!” I said; we were the only ones on the boat.
“Slows down a lot in the winter,” he said as he handed off the mail bag to Tania, who had followed us down the pier.
“My aunt wants you to call her,” she told me when she spotted me, giving me a big, lip-glossed smile. Like her aunt, she was a magnet for the island’s men.
“Tell her I’ll stop by later,” I said. “Lots to catch up on.”
“That’s why she wants you to call her!” Tania said, retreating up the wheelhouse with the bag.
George cast off the ropes, and John and I hurried to the seats closest to the front, which were the most sheltered from the wind. The mail boat captain took his place behind the wheel of the boat a moment later, propelling the boat forward over the waves.
Even with the cold, the exhilaration of being on the water filled my heart. I reached for John’s hand and squeezed it, breathing in the heady aroma of salt and fish and snow and fuel.
“How’s your niece holding up?” George asked as the boat bobbed up and down, cutting a frothy wake behind it.
“As well as can be expected,” I said.
“Heard they’re saying it’s murder now,” he said. “Saw the police launch at the dock.”
“Looks like it,” I said. I thought again of Irene and the ticket on her dresser. “George, do you know what Fernand’s sister looks like?”
“Don’t know,” he said.
“She was on the boat a couple of days ago,” I said. “About my height, slender, blue eyes like Fernand.”
“Short red hair?” he asked.
“That’s the one,” I said. “Have you seen her before?”
“Not in a few weeks,” he said.
I glanced at John, who raised his eyebrows. “When was she here last?”
“Just before Thanksgiving,” he said. “Didn’t talk much. I tried to engage her in conversation, you know, but she seemed like the quiet type.”
“How long was she here?”
“I dropped her off on the ten o’ clock, and picked her up in time for lunch.”
“I don’t imagine she mentioned why she was here.”
“Nope,” he said, steering the boat slightly to the left.
“Had she been here before?”
“Might have been, in the summer, but we get lots of folks then, so I wouldn’t necessarily remember.”
“She wasn’t here the night of the party, was she?”
“You mean the night Fernand died?” he asked.
“Exactly.” I shivered, remembering Fernand, and John put his arm around me. I leaned into him as George answered.
“I don’t remember seeing her, but there were a lot of folks over from the mainland that night. Do you think she might be mixed up in her brother’s murder?”
“I wish I knew,” I said gloomily.
“Did Fernand ever find out who was sending him all those notes?” George asked.
“You know about that?”
“Ayuh.” He nodded. “Fernand told me to keep an eye out as I made my rounds.”
“For what?” I asked.
“Said someone in a skiff kept idling out near his house.”
I thought of the footprints John and I had seen in the snow, leading to and from the water.
“Did you ever see anyone?” John asked, leaning forward.
“I spotted the skiff a time or two,” he said, “but only after dark.”
“So you don’t know who it was,” I said.
“No, but I can see why Fernand didn’t like it. Apparently whoever it was came ashore a couple of times at night, was peeking through the windows.”
“Did Fernand say who he thought it might be?”
George rearranged his cap and shook his head. “Never breathed a word. I asked him once, but he wouldn’t tell me.”
“I wonder why not,” John mused, and we both looked back toward the island—and Fernand’s house, which was rapidly disappearing into the distance.
_____
“I’m afraid you’re not the only one he defrauded, Ms. Barnes,” Marina Zapp said as she pushed a stack of paperwork toward me. The tall attorney wore jeans and a casual blazer, but I knew she had been one of Boston’s top legal minds before she decided to move to Maine. “He made off with millions.”
“And he’s disappeared completely,” I said.
“Skipped town,” she said, shaking her head. “Probably in the Cayman Islands by now.”
So much for Colorado. I slumped in my chair, feeling as if she had just punched me.
“What can we do about it?” John asked, his voice calm and composed. Just hearing his voice steadied me.
“I called the mortgage company; the bad news is, they’ve accelerated the loan payments so that the entire balance is due.”
My stomach dropped to the vicinity of my ankles. “I thought it was only $15,000.”
“No longer,” Marina said, with a grimace. “The good news is, I can probably talk them down, given the circumstances.”
“What about the funds the new company sent?”
“They’ll have to go after Forester to get them,” she said.
“So I’m not responsible for that?”
“The funds were never in your account.”
That was some consolation. “What’s our next step?” John asked, leaning forward.
“We’ll probably have to pay the fees,” she said, “and we may not get back the money you’ve paid over the last several months. I can’t make any promises, but I think if you can handle the $15,000, you’ll probably be okay.”
Relief flooded me, followed by a second wave of panic. Where was I going to come up with that kind of money?
John didn’t hesitate. “I’ve got it covered,” he said.
I turned to look at him. “Are you sure?” I asked, warmth flooding my heart.
“Absolutely,” he said, and reached over to squeeze my hand. He turned to the attorney. “When will you know what the mortgage company says?”
“I’ll call this afternoon,” she said. “It’s a good thing you got in touch with me when you did; you’re not the only one going through this—and not everyone will be as fortunate.”
“You mean they’ll be foreclosed on?”
She grimaced. “I’m doing what I can, but it’s a mess.”
We stepped out of her office feeling as if a weight had been lifted from our shoulders—not completely, but at least in part. Zelda Chu was in the waiting room, looking pale and drawn. “Hi, Zelda,” I said. “I heard about your offer to Gwen. Thank you so much for supporting her.”
She gave a quick nod, but said nothing. What was she doing here? I wondered.
“We didn’t see you on the mail boat this morning,” John said.
“I came over earlier,” she said. “I had to visit with a gallery owner.”
“Ms. Chu?” Marina said from the doorway behind us.
We said our goodbyes, and Zelda entered the room we had just left, looking as if she was going to the executioner.
“Do you think she got caught by Forester, too?” I asked as we stepped out of the small converted house into the crisp December air. I’d barely noticed the Christmas lights and slender icicles festooning the shop fronts when we arrived; now that I knew Marina thought we would keep the inn, I felt like the world was sparkling.
“I don’t know, but I’m sure Charlene will find out,” John said.
“What if she did, and she can’t be Gwen’s mentor?” I asked.
“We’ll deal with that if and when it comes,” he said.
I snuggled into him as we walked down the street, thankful for his warm presence. A small tree glowed in an upstairs window, and I thought of the inn. “We still haven’t gotten a Christmas tree,” I said.
“Or lunch,” he pointed out. “My treat.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “You just agreed to pony up 15K to bail me out.”
“In a few months, it’ll all be coming from the same account,” he said, leaning down to kiss the top of my head. “What would you say to some pizza?”
“I’d say that sounds terrific,” I said. As much as I loved to cook, I’d never mastered the kind of chewy crust I loved—and Rosalie’s did a great job of it. Together we started toward the pizza place, which was one of the few restaurants open in Bar Harbor during December.
“What are we going to do about the carriage house?” I asked as we turned onto Cottage Street.
“I hadn’t thought about it,” he said. “I’ve enjoyed living there, but it might make more sense to rent it out. And it might be more comfortable for you to stay in the inn.”
“We’ve got room in the inn for the books,” I said. “But do you want to keep your own space?”
“I have my workshop,” he said. “If we rent it out, we can pay down the mortgage faster.”
“It’s worth thinking about,” I said as we arrived at Rosalie’s. He opened the door for me, and my stomach rumbled as I entered the garlic-scented restaurant.
“Would you rent it out for the whole summer, or by the week?”
“We should talk to a real estate agent,” he said. We ordered a large sausage and mushroom pizza and sat in a booth by the window, enjoying the bustle. “We still need to pick out a ring for you, too,” he said.
“I have a ring,” I said.
“It’s not real, though.” John reached for my hands. “I’m so sorry about that.”
“It’s not your fault,” I said.
“Still.” He grimaced. “I’ve asked my mother about it twice, and she refuses to discuss it.”
“Why?” I asked, taking a sip of my Diet Coke.
“There’s something she’s not telling me,” he said, a furrow forming between his sandy brows. “And it’s about something more than the ring.”
“Do you think she’s ill?”
“She looks healthy enough,” he said. “But it’s hard to tell.” He sighed. “I’ll ask her about it again tonight. Too bad she doesn’t drink …
it might help loosen her up a bit.”
The pizza arrived at that moment, steaming and fragrant, and we forgot about our cares and dug in. It was the best meal I’d had in weeks.
&nbs
p; _____
I was still feeling a warm glow when we stepped off the mail boat almost two hours later. The glow dissipated immediately when Charlene rushed up to us, her face pale.
“What’s wrong?” I asked.
“It’s Gwen,” she said. “Somebody attacked her.”
NINETEEN
“WHERE IS SHE?” JOHN asked.
“They flew her to the hospital on the mainland,” Charlene said. “She was unconscious.”
“Is she going to be okay? Who was it?” The words tumbled out of my mouth. Gwen. Attacked. My heart squeezed in my chest. “Where was she?”
“Munger found her in the studio,” Charlene said, the wind whipping her words away. “I don’t know what happened, but it was a head injury of some sort.” She almost had to yell to be heard. “Adam went with her to the mainland.”
“We have to go back,” I said, feeling my knees turn to water. I turned to wave down George McLeod, but he had already pulled away from the dock. “What now? The next boat isn’t for three hours!”
“I’ll take you in the skiff,” John said, his voice firm.
“But the waves …” I looked at the white caps. John’s skiff was no match for some of the waves we’d just crossed.
“We’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ve been sailing for twenty years; I know what I’m doing. Let’s move out of the wind for a moment,” he said, shepherding us off the dock to the side of the building where it was still windy, but not strong enough to blow us over. He turned to Charlene. “Were the police notified?”
“They were still at the inn,” my friend told him. “They came over immediately.”
“When we get back, I’ll see what I can find out from the detective.”
“I have to call my sister and tell her,” I said, feeling racked with guilt. If only I’d kept a better eye on Gwen …
“Do you know the phone number?” Charlene asked.
I nodded.
“Let’s go to the store. It’s closer than the inn.”
“You go with Charlene. I’ll get the skiff and meet you back here,” John said. He squeezed my gloved hand and headed to the van, while I went with Charlene to her pickup truck.
Brush with Death Page 18
