Curses, Boiled Again!

by Shari Randall

  He thought one of us had poisoned the rolls in order to drive him out of business.

  He’d looked right at me. My loss was your gain.

  I dove one more time and then splashed up on the beach, the cold sand giving way beneath my feet.

  My teeth chattered. Courting hypothermia by swimming this early in the season was nuts. “Stupid girl,” I berated myself as I threw on my sweats and walking boot and ran back to the van. I cranked the heat. After a few minutes I stopped shivering and headed home.

  As I drove past the turn for Fox Point, I passed Edwards Inlet, a public beach at the entrance to Fox Point’s causeway. A gleam of red drew my eye to a fancy sports car parked under a light pole.

  Chick Costa’s red sports car.

  I slammed on the brakes and pulled to the side of the road. What was he doing here? Wasn’t he going back to his shack in Chatham?

  I tapped the steering wheel. Why on earth was Chick Costa hanging out at night at Edwards Inlet? Had he gone for a nighttime swim, too? The thought almost made me put the van in drive. I didn’t relish the thought of seeing that blowhard in board shorts. But still, my curiosity got the better of me. I turned off the engine.

  Skirting the chain-link fence, I crept in the shadows at the edges of the parking lot, hoping my black sweats would help hide me. Chick’s car was parked by the path to the beach. Another car was parked next to it. A Subaru wagon. Everyone in New England drove a Subaru wagon. I hurried closer and shined the flashlight on my phone on the license plate. KAHUNA2.

  KAHUNA2? Kahuna one would be Ernie Moss. Number two: Megan Moss? Was she here with Chick? Voices carried from the beach. A man’s voice. A woman’s voice. Megan and Chick?

  I scurried away from the cars, looking for a place to hide. The voices grew louder.

  There was a Dumpster by the side of the bathhouse. Crouching low, I ducked behind it. I peeked around the rusty metal wall, trying to ignore the smell, praying that they didn’t need to throw away any trash from their midnight picnic. Quiet little mouse Megan Moss meeting Chick Costa? Talk about opposites. But then I remembered the roses. Was Megan Moss having an affair with Chick Costa?

  A slim woman passed through the curtain of gray haze from the light pole, her arms hugging her waist. The breeze whipped her hair around her face and carried the sound of her panting breath. No, she was sobbing. She moved slowly, as if each step were an effort.

  A broad-chested man followed, stabbing the air with his finger. Chick’s voice carried clearly. “You know it worked out anyway. What do you stay with that loser for? Don’t you see? He’s going to jail, Megan, and he’ll take you with him.”

  Megan Moss!

  “Chick, I told you I wasn’t doing it. And I didn’t do it. I wouldn’t do anything to hurt Ernie. Ever.” Megan gasped for breath. She leaned on the hood of the red car, shoulders shaking. “Why did you come back? You ruined my life!” She swung toward him, battering his chest with her fists.

  My knees shook. This was no tryst.

  “Listen. Megan.” Chick grabbed her wrists. Megan collapsed, her body hanging limp from his hands. Chick dragged her slack body onto the hood of his car. Megan didn’t struggle, just lay there, crying, then slid to the asphalt.

  He leaned forward and whispered in her ear. Her weeping turned into a sharp keening sound that clawed in my own chest. I covered my ears, but I couldn’t look away.

  She struck at him again. She missed, but Chick raised his arm. I tensed. If he struck her, I was ready to spring.

  Chick whirled, then turned back to her, his chest heaving. “Shut up! I’m the only one who can help you,” Chick shouted. “The only one who knows.”

  Megan sat up. “I’ve shed enough tears over you, Chick.” Using the bumper, she pushed herself upright. She took a shuddering breath. “Just tell me where he is.”

  “Where he is”? Did she mean Ernie?

  Chick threw up his hands and stomped to his car door.

  “I didn’t come back for anything halfway, Megan. It’s all or nothing. Got that? Call me when you’re ready to see the light.”

  He got in his car, revved the engine, and pulled out, inches from where Megan stood. He slammed his brakes at the entrance to let a car pass. Megan scrambled into her car and the engine turned over.

  I felt sick. What I’d witnessed was so intense and private. Cruel.

  Megan Moss’s car screeched across the asphalt, just missing Chick’s car as she swerved from the parking lot. Chick’s car turned on to the road, cutting off a car coming across the causeway from Fox Point. Car horns blared and engines roared as he sped toward Mystic Bay.

  The red brake lights of the car following Chick burned into the distance. I hurried to the van. What was going on between Megan and Chick?

  As I put the key in the ignition, I realized that I’d parked directly beneath a streetlight.

  Chapter 21

  The next morning I woke to the sound of laughter. Aunt Gully’s and a deep, rich chuckle rose from downstairs. A man in the kitchen at six o’clock?

  I threw on my kimono (compliments of Verity) and tightened the silky red belt. My body ached with tension. Sleep had eluded me as I replayed the confrontation between Chick Costa and Megan Moss.

  Lorel’s bedroom door was closed. I must have slept some. I hadn’t heard her come home.

  I tiptoed down the polished wooden stairs, skipping the third step from the bottom that would betray my presence with a loud noise like a shot.

  I peeked into the kitchen.

  A dark-haired man sat across from Aunt Gully at the kitchen table, his broad back to me. Aunt Gully looked at him over the rim of her teacup. Her expression was … flirty?

  She glanced up. “Oh, good morning, Allie. Good thing you’re decent. We have company.”

  The man turned in his seat. Leo Rodriguez.

  “Good morning.” Leo stood. “Sorry to intrude, but I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d see if your aunt was available. She was in the garden and was kind enough to invite me in.”

  “Oh.” Conversation isn’t my strong suit in the morning. Plus I was flabbergasted. Aunt Gully just let Leo in? Leo’s vibrant male energy filled the small room: his broad shoulders, his wide smile, and his strong hands made Aunt Gully’s teacup look like a toy. And wow, was he handsome. Before I could stop myself, my hand flew up to smooth my hair.

  “What. Well.” I slid into my chair.

  “Leo brought doughnuts.” Aunt Gully offered me the box.

  Leo took his seat. Aunt Gully had served him my usual breakfast, scrambled eggs made with cream and fresh marjoram and thyme, plus she’d added some strawberries cut into a fan shape for garnish. Aunt Gully had totally lost her mind.

  “Beware a man bearing doughnuts.” Leo winked at Aunt Gully. Aunt Gully giggled.

  “I heard what happened with Ernie Moss,” Leo continued. My eyes went to Aunt Gully but she was smiling, unconcerned. “Kudos. You pointed the police in the right direction. You could’ve just let them believe Ernie’s a suspect.”

  Did Leo know about Ernie’s visit last night? Aunt Gully’s smile didn’t waver. My shoulders relaxed. That wasn’t going to be a topic of conversation.

  “Is this an interview? Because I don’t give interviews before breakfast.” I helped myself to a cinnamon sugar doughnut and took a bite. Heavenly.

  “If we’re eating, it’s technically not before breakfast anymore. Right, Mrs. Fontana?” Leo’s teeth gleamed like a toothpaste model’s.

  Aunt Gully’s cheeks pinked. Good grief. Either she had it bad for Leo Rodriguez—and who could blame her because actually he was awfully good-looking—or she was in matchmaking mode. Ugh.

  “You’ll have to excuse me; I have to do my PT.” I stood and hooked another doughnut, this one chocolate frosted with sprinkles. “Thanks for the doughnuts.”

  Lorel and I passed on the stairs. On the rare occasion she forgot pajamas, she’d raid Dad’s sweatshirt collection.

  “That doughnut
looks good.” Lorel yawned and pulled an old Bruins sweatshirt over her mussed hair. For a second, I considered telling her that Leo was in the kitchen.

  “Yep.” I hurried upstairs, stifling a laugh.

  After my floor barre and a shower, I went downstairs. Lorel sat at the kitchen table, tapping on her phone, an untouched yogurt in front of her. She’d changed into a navy shirtdress, looking cool and collected as usual.

  Aunt Gully hummed and packed her tote bag.

  I waited but no explosion came. “Good visit with Leo?”

  “Yes, nice interview with Aunt Gully,” Lorel said. “We’re lucky he fit us in since he’s in town to cover Contessa Wells’s funeral.”

  “I’ll go over this afternoon to pay my respects,” Aunt Gully said.

  Lorel didn’t look up from her phone. “Leo’s planning a segment about how we’re coping after the tragic events at the food fest. He’s going to do a stand-up at the Lazy Mermaid and have a lobster roll.”

  “To prove it’s not poisoned?” Despite his charm offensive, I didn’t trust Leo Rodriguez.

  “Such a nice young man.” Aunt Gully wiped down her already immaculate pink Formica countertop. “I met him by the lilac bushes this morning. He told me they were his mother’s favorites.”

  That clinched it. “Aren’t the lilacs in the backyard?” I put my hands on my hips. “What was he doing in the backyard?”

  Aunt Gully straightened the dishtowel on the oven door, avoiding my gaze. “Admiring the lilacs, Allie. He didn’t want to just knock on the door at this early hour, so he waited to hear if I was up. He was lured to the lilacs by their beauty.”

  I folded my arms.

  Aunt Gully started digging in her tote bag. “You know, he’s really very nice. Very nice.”

  Nothing was going to shake Aunt Gully’s opinion. “Off to the Mermaid.” I picked up the keys. “Are you coming down later, Lorel? Oh, that’s right, you’ll be there for the ‘stand-up.’” While I’m picking lobster.

  “Ready, Aunt Gully?” I noticed the receiver of Aunt Gully’s old phone was still on Uncle Rocco’s recliner.

  I hung it back up. It shrilled immediately. “Lorel, could you get that? We’ve got to go.”

  Just as I started backing out, a Mystic Bay Police SUV pulled in behind me, boxing me in the driveway.

  “Jeez!” I slammed the brakes. “Not again.”

  “God bless America!” Aunt Gully said. “I don’t have time for all these social calls. I’ve got a lobster shack to open.”

  I turned off the engine and we got out.

  Emerson Brooks, Mystic Bay’s chief of police, heaved his stocky frame from the SUV. He settled his hat on his gray buzz cut and hitched up his belt as he walked around the vehicle.

  “Good morning, Mrs. Fontana, Ms. Larkin,” he said.

  Aunt Gully’s eyebrows flew up. The chief’s wife was a friend. He’d coached Lorel’s softball team. He was also Verity’s uncle and a regular at the lobster shack. He usually called her Gully.

  “Good morning, Emerson,” she said.

  The chief’s eyes shifted to the SUV. “This is Detective Rosato.” A woman stepped from the tall vehicle as she slid her sunglasses into her breast pocket, the movement efficient. She wore her brown hair slicked back into a bun, a dark pantsuit over a crisp white button-down shirt, and sensible low-heeled pumps. She gave us the tiniest of nods, her small dark eyes shifting from me to Aunt Gully.

  Chief Brooks slid his finger under his collar. “From the state police.”

  Mystic Bay, and many towns in the state, were too small to have expensive, forensic investigative units. For more serious crimes, they called on the state to send officers with specialized expertise.

  Serious crime. Like poisonings.

  Like murder.

  The woman in black didn’t move or speak.

  “But we have to open the Mermaid,” I said.

  “Please. It won’t take long.” Chief Brooks threw a look at Detective Rosato.

  “All right.” Aunt Gully met my eye. “Hector and Hilda will get things started.”

  Chief Brooks walked with us along the path to the front door. Detective Rosato followed right behind us, a bit too close. Just as Aunt Gully reached for the door, Lorel jerked it open.

  “Hilda called.” Lorel blinked. “Coach Brooks?”

  “Hilda?” Aunt Gully asked. “What did she want? Is everything okay?”

  Lorel looked from Chief Brooks to Detective Rosato. “Hilda said the police were at the Mermaid.”

  Chapter 22

  Suddenly the dining room of Gull’s Nest looked unfamiliar, as if I’d never seen it before. We took seats at the round oak table, gathering for the most uncomfortable dinner party ever.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Hilda.

  POLICE HERE.

  Normally at this time Aunt Gully would be hanging up the flag at the Mermaid. Blowing her kiss to Uncle Rocco. Singing to her lobsters. The comfortable vibe of a typical day had been yanked out from under us. What were the police doing here and at the Mermaid?

  “Emerson, is everything okay?” Aunt Gully asked.

  “Everything’s fine.” Chief Brooks smiled a weirdly big smile.

  “Allie, dear, will you put on the tea, please? Or would either of you prefer coffee?”

  “Nothing, thank you, Mrs. Fontana.” Detective Rosato’s voice was pleasant, calm, and colorless, like the robot voice that answers the phone at the DMV. Your call is important to us.

  “No, thanks.” Chief Brooks looked like he wanted something stronger than coffee.

  The phone shrilled. “Excuse me, I’ll get it,” Lorel said.

  “Just leave it off the hook again,” I said.

  Lorel returned moments later. “The Hartford TV station,” she said in a low voice.

  Detective Rosato aligned a small leather notebook and a gold pen on the table. As she reached into her pocket, I noticed a bulge under her jacket. My heart rate kicked up a notch. I’d read enough crime novels to know what that was.

  Of course the police want to talk to Aunt Gully; they have to question everyone. She’s innocent of any wrongdoing. It wasn’t her lobster roll that sickened the judges.

  And killed Contessa Wells.

  “What’s going on?” My normally cool sister’s voice cracked.

  Chief Brooks threw a sideways glance to Detective Rosato. “We’re, ah, talking to everyone who’s involved in the, er, terrible events at the food festival.”

  Detective Rosato observed Chief Brooks as if he were an experiment she was sure would go wrong. Her dark eyes were steady, her expression bland, her body motionless. I’d never met someone who made me feel so uncomfortable by doing absolutely nothing. How old was she? Maybe her late thirties? Her skin was so smooth it was hard to tell.

  After a few minutes of Chief Brooks’s meandering conversation, Detective Rosato broke in and fired questions at Aunt Gully. “Mrs. Fontana, do you know Rick and Rio Lopez?”

  “I haven’t really met Rick,” Aunt Gully said. “Well, I guess I did. If you watch their show, you know they come into the restaurant in disguise. Rio grew up here in Mystic Bay but I haven’t spoken to her in years.”

  “How long have you known Ernest Moss?”

  “Oh, ages. His older brother was in my class at Mystic Bay Elementary.”

  “Megan Moss?”

  Aunt Gully paused. “Well, her family’s from Mystic Bay, but I think the first time I met her was when she was a teen and we volunteered at the Ladies’ Guild.”

  “Paul Pond?”

  “We met Saturday at the festival,” Aunt Gully shifted in her seat.

  “Charles Costa?”

  “Chick? His family summered here when he was a teen, but I don’t think I ever met him then. Same as Paul, we met at the food festival.”

  “Contessa Wells?”

  “Her family owns a big house on the hill but I never met her. Different circles. She left for Hollywood before I was born.”
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br />   Chief Brooks kept running his finger under the collar of his shirt, uncomfortable and out of his depth while Robo Detective shot questions at Aunt Gully. A tiny line appeared on Aunt Gully’s normally tranquil forehead, worry percolating under her normally cheerful demeanor.

  I squeezed her hand and she squeezed mine back. I felt her strength. Aunt Gully was worried, but she wasn’t beaten.

  Detective Rosato shot a look at Chief Brooks that said, That’s how you do it.

  “We need to search your house and the shack,” she said.

  Aunt Gully blinked. “Today?”

  Detective Rosato said, “Do we have your permission?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose so.”

  Detective Rosato stepped into the kitchen. Her voice was a low murmur as she made a call. She returned, clicking off her phone.

  Lorel raised her hand. “Wait a minute—”

  “We have a warrant, Lorel,” Chief Brooks said quietly.

  I frowned. “Shouldn’t I, we, be there at the Mermaid?”

  “Not necessary,” Detective Rosato said.

  “What else do you want to know, Emerson?” Aunt Gully said. I shared a glance with Lorel. The peppery way Aunt Gully said “Emerson” showed she hadn’t lost her fighting spirit.

  Chief Brooks swallowed. “Perhaps you can tell us a little bit, uh, about the events of the morning—”

  Detective Rosato leaned forward. “Tell us what you did the morning of the food festival. Start when you arrived.”

  Aunt Gully surprised me by offering a concise summary in a steady voice. She was the only person sitting at the table who seemed comfortable. Well, maybe Detective Rosato was comfortable. Chief Brooks was smiling his weird smile but sweating as if he’d just finished running the Mystic Bay Five Miler.

  “I understand you were the last to leave the food preparation area.” Detective Rosato’s dark eyes glittered.

  Lorel stiffened. I practically choked. I remembered running into the church to see where Aunt Gully was. I tried to keep my breath steady, but in my mind I could see Aunt Gully running down the church hallway, a couple of minutes behind the other contestants.