Curses, Boiled Again!

by Shari Randall

The Lazy Mermaid dock was a bit wider than most, but still, that was a hair-raising thought. “Maybe Chick drove his own car behind it and nudged Ernie’s car into the water,” I said. That would account for the dents on Chick’s and Ernie’s cars.

  “Sounds like Chick had a very busy night,” Aunt Gully said.

  Our little group sat quietly, the carriage clock on the mantel ticking next to Uncle Rocco’s photograph.

  “Megan.” I took a deep breath. “What is Aldersgate in Chatham?”

  Lorel shot me a look of horror.

  Megan sighed. “A community services agency. They”—she looked at her chapped hands—“specialize in adoptions.”

  “And who’s Brian Lukeman?” I said. “That name was on an envelope from Aldersgate in Chick’s car.”

  “Brian Lukeman.” Megan said the name so softly it was almost a breath. Then she burst into tears. Aunt Gully and Lucia hugged her from both sides. Lorel handed her tissues. After a few moments Megan’s tears subsided. “I’ve been waiting for years to say that name. I’m not sure but I think maybe Brian Lukeman is my son.”

  “Your son?” Lucia gasped. Aunt Gully squeezed Megan’s thin shoulders. Verity grabbed a handful of popcorn.

  I handed Megan another tissue.

  “Thank you.” Megan wiped her eyes. “And Chick’s,” Megan whispered. “Years ago, being pregnant and unmarried was a big deal. Not like today. My parents were very strict; they would’ve disowned me if they’d known.”

  At my incredulous look she said, “No, really. And I.” Her hand went to her abdomen. “I loved the baby. Chick told me he’d help. My parents thought we were a match made in heaven but they didn’t know about the baby. I didn’t know anything then. I just knew I was … in trouble.”

  Lucia murmured and patted Megan’s hand.

  “Chick took me to Chatham to meet his family. That’s what we told my parents. They thought I was going away for the summer to work at a camp. I gave birth at his home. This mansion, right on the water.” Tears striped Megan’s cheeks.

  “They had maids in black dresses with white frilly aprons.” She sighed. “The doctor took the baby away. Told me it would be placed with a fine family. I signed some papers. Their chauffeur drove me back home.”

  Megan took a choked breath. “Never saw Chick or his family again. Seems I wasn’t the right sort for their son.

  “Then I met Ernie. He was a rock. We married but couldn’t get pregnant. We tried fertility treatments, but Ernie couldn’t have children. And I searched my heart. I realized I didn’t want to have children. I wanted the child I gave up. I just wanted to make sure he was okay.

  “There are different laws in different places, but here and by Chick’s home, after a child turns twenty-one, adoption records are open and searchable. I got in touch with Aldersgate. They told me they had no records with my name. No record of my giving birth. Chick’s family had erased me.

  “I got in touch with Chick last August. Chick told me the adoptive family, the Smiths”—Verity snorted—“had moved out of state and they’d lost touch.”

  “But Chick’s name,” Lorel said. “They’d know his name.”

  “Then when the competition was announced, Chick had a proposal for me.” Megan’s lips trembled.

  “Oh my God. He used your child as leverage. He said if you threw the competition he’d tell you where to find your son,” I said.

  Megan’s eyes brimmed. She nodded.

  “But you didn’t.” Aunt Gully sounded sure.

  Would Megan have been so desperate to find her child that she’d poison four people? The YUM footage replayed in my mind. I was pretty sure Megan, like Chick, hadn’t gone near Kahuna’s completed lobster rolls after they were plated. The cloche had gone down on ordinary, regular Kahuna’s Godlobster rolls. The poisoning must’ve happened when the cloche-covered rolls were in the kitchen, during that window of time when Aunt Gully returned for her apron. The volunteer that Aunt Gully’d seen. That person was the key.

  “Of course not.” Megan’s voice strengthened. “That would be crazy. The only person I wanted to kill was Chick. A few months ago he broke up with”—she waved the tissue—“oh, wife number four, I think it was. He decided he wanted me back. Ha. His first love. Letters. Calls. Flowers. He had to win, you see. Had to beat Ernie. I didn’t matter a bit years ago. I don’t matter now.”

  “Did he ask you to use poison?” I said.

  Megan shook her head. “No, he just said to make sure the rolls, as he put it, stank.”

  “Megan, has Detective Rosato questioned you yet? Have you told her this?” Lorel asked.

  “I spoke with the police, but I didn’t tell them any of this. But Ernie spoke to the police tonight. He was too exhausted to say much besides Chick’s name. Now I know I have to tell the truth. I want to tell the truth. I’m meeting the police in the morning. I’d better go.”

  Megan embraced me. “Allie, I never could’ve gotten that out of Chick. Now that I have a name, maybe I can find my son.”

  * * *

  After Lucia and Megan left and Aunt Gully and Lorel went to bed, Verity and I slid into our sleeping bags. After Megan’s real-life drama, we were too excited to watch The Gypsy’s Daughter.

  “Know what this means?” Verity said. “That Chick Costa’s the killer.”

  “I’d like to see Chick fry.” I plumped my pillow. “But why poison? Why not just use ghost peppers? Or too much salt?”

  “What was he doing with that lobster libber stuff?” Verity finished the last bit of wine in her glass.

  “Think like Chick,” I said. “You think your old girlfriend’s going to agree to poison her husband’s lobster rolls because you dated her years ago and had a child with her. A child you hid from her. But in his Chick way, he’s going to be nice, because he’s decided that he wants his old first love back. He’s going to pin the poisoning on the mythical lobster libbers.”

  “Hmm. That’s good.”

  “That’s one theory.” I curled up in my sleeping bag. “Or the conspiracy against YUM.”

  “A conspiracy against the YUM Network?” Verity said. “Who on earth buys that?”

  “It kind of makes sense,” I mused. “All those judges getting sick, somebody dying at an event they sponsor.”

  “And who’d do that? Another network?” Verity said. “YUM’s wonderful. You’d have to be a total weirdo to want to hurt them.”

  “Agreed. And look what happened. They make the whole thing go away by just not doing the show,” I said slowly. “Maybe it was an accident, killing Contessa. Maybe Chick just wanted to make people think it was food poisoning … or maybe he didn’t even do it.”

  “Let’s look at this systematically,” Verity said, counting off on her fingers. “Okay, what if you had it in for one of the judges?”

  I shook my head. “Then Chick’s out. I don’t think he knew any of them.”

  “We know Ernie fought with the mayor over the plan for widening Pearl Street,” Verity pressed. “Would somebody kill over that? And would you take out four judges if you really only wanted to kill the mayor?”

  “Bliss Packer thought so.” I remembered Bliss twisting her beautiful pearl necklace. “But it’s so extreme. Ernie has a violent temper, but he doesn’t seem the type to brood and plan revenge. Someone planned this. They had to get the monkshood for one. And it made Kahuna’s look bad. I don’t think Ernie’d make his own business look bad just to increase parking and access for that very same business.

  “Though Bliss hated Ernie. And she could pay someone to do her dirty work. But that would mean poisoning her own husband to make someone else look bad.” Would Bliss do that?

  Verity sighed. “Okay. Could someone have been after Rick and Rio? That spa they’re building. Maybe somebody wanted to stop it.”

  I yawned. “The Happy Farmer people? They had a booth at the food fest. But I think Hilda’s right. The spa’s a win for them. And I can’t think of anyone with a grudge against Rick and R
io. Well, maybe one of the restaurants that Rick gave a bad review to?”

  “What about Contessa Wells? Who wanted to kill her?” Verity’s voice was soft in the darkened living room.

  “Well, she had a pretty bad reputation at Broadway by the Bay.” I stretched my arms over my head. “Got some people fired over the years. Made lots of people unhappy, stressed, embarrassed. But that’s par for the course in theater. I don’t know if anybody hated her enough to poison three other people to try to get to her.” I rolled over. “Her sister hated her.” That was certain.

  “Agreed. But she’s nuts,” Verity said.

  “And did you see those locks on the doors at the Wells House?” I shivered.

  “Maybe she got Susan to help,” Verity said.

  We both burst out laughing.

  “Well, we know Susan has a black shirt. She wore it to the burial.” Verity yawned again.

  Aunt Gully’s lace curtains rippled at the open windows. The sound of the waves filled the room, as if the ocean were breathing alongside us.

  “We’re back to Chick,” I said. “What if the killer was hired? Chick has plenty of money. He could have paid somebody to poison the rolls. He was angry about Megan shooting him down and refusing to throw the contest. He’s a competitive maniac. He was going to make Kahuna’s look bad, really bad. Didn’t the news say it was food poisoning at first?”

  Verity’s voice trailed. “Oh, I’m too tired to talk about murder any more.”

  “Yes. As long as Aunt Gully isn’t in jail and I’m not in jail, I’m going to get some sleep.”

  The sound of Verity’s breathing soon filled the dark room, but my mind raced. The black shirt. Aunt Gully saw somebody with a black shirt come out of the kitchen. Maybe a woman, maybe not. She’s sure the person was slight, with a ball cap. Volunteer badge.

  I tossed in my sleeping bag, replaying over and over images from the last few days. Who poisoned the judges? Who killed Contessa Wells?

  As I listened to the buoy ring off Seal Rock, I knew I wanted to view Cousin Frank’s security tape again.

  Chapter 39

  The next morning, the first order of business was scrubbing the lobster shed. Verity, Hilda, and I got down on our hands and knees and scrubbed Ernie Moss’s blood from the rough wooden floors. The smell of the bleach we used made me feel like I’d pass out.

  Lorel, of course, wasn’t scrubbing on her hands and knees but was with Aunt Gully, negotiating our reopening with the police. Since Ernie was improving and it wasn’t a murder scene, we were allowed to get back to business, but our parking lot would be closed off to create a safety perimeter while the recovery operation for the Sadie Mae and Ernie Moss’s car proceeded. Our lobstermen would meet Hector at the town dock and he’d ferry the lobsters back to the Mermaid in Aunt Gully’s van.

  The insurance company arranged for Micasset Marine to raise Ernie Moss’s car and the Sadie Mae. I’d seen Micasset’s teamwork raise a sunken yacht off the riverbed after Hurricane Sandy. The huge equipment would draw a crowd. Lorel and Aunt Gully wanted to reopen the shack in time to catch the action.

  Lorel rolled her eyes when I asked Aunt Gully about going with Verity to Juliet Wells’s house.

  “Of course,” Aunt Gully said as she chopped onions for her clam chowder. “When you’re done, come back for lunch. I’ll like to see some of those clothes. Lorel can help with the lobster while you’re gone.”

  The thought of Lorel picking lobster made me smile.

  “Hope life returns to normal soon.” Lorel sighed.

  Verity and I went back to her apartment so she could change. Today she chose an outfit more appropriate for hauling boxes of clothes: cigarette pants and a white silk shell topped with a striped blazer that nipped in at the waist.

  In deference to Verity, I popped a slim navy blue sweater over my Lazy Mermaid T-shirt. She pulled a wide black belt off a rack and handed it to me with a red and blue patterned Pucci scarf.

  “Nice!” she exclaimed.

  The only thing ruining the sophisticated effect was my booted foot.

  “I can’t wait to get this off.” I nodded toward a pair of canvas espadrilles that tied with ankle ribbons. “Dibs on those when my ankle’s better.”

  “They’re yours.” Verity tucked an envelope into her purse. “Oh, Allie, a buy like this is a dream come true.”

  As we drove to the Wells House, life in the town seemed to have returned to its usual rhythm. Tourists strolled the coffee shops and headed to the waterfront to take in the views. Shopkeepers set out signs advertising specials. Cars jockeyed for parking places near the green.

  Sunlight sparkling on the bay lifted my spirits. Aunt Gully was free. The police didn’t seem interested in me, at least at the moment. Megan Moss had hope of finding her lost child.

  Contessa Wells had died and a killer was on the loose, but it felt like the whole food festival disaster was falling behind us.

  At the Wells House, we hurried to the door and Verity pushed the bell.

  “Won’t Susan be happy to see us?” she said.

  I stifled a laugh as the door opened.

  A slim Latina woman in a starched white nurse’s uniform answered. “May I help you?”

  “Hello. Where’s Susan?” I said.

  The woman’s forehead wrinkled. “Susan?”

  “Miss Wells’s nurse,” I said.

  “We’re here to see Miss Wells. She invited us,” Verity said.

  “Oh,” the nurse said. “I’m sorry, the funeral was very hard on Miss Wells. She’s resting and can’t be disturbed.”

  Verity and I shared a look. Resting? Did that mean sedated?

  “She asked me to come today. I have an appointment.” Verity’s hands were gripped together in a praying gesture. “Please.”

  “Perhaps she’ll contact you tomorrow.” The door started to close.

  “Or could I see her later this afternoon?” Verity said.

  The woman sighed. “Perhaps.”

  “What happened to Susan?” I repeated.

  The woman shrugged. “The nurse who was here before? She was with a different nursing company.” She pointed to the logo on her blouse. Harbor at Home Nursing. “We just took over the contract.”

  My heart beat faster. Something I had heard … the nursing care changed every couple of weeks. Who told me that?

  “Good-bye.” The woman closed the door.

  Verity, mouth open, didn’t move as the door shut firmly inches from her nose. On the other side of the door a bolt drove it home.

  “That’s strange,” I said.

  Verity pointed at the glossy black door. “I’m not letting this woman stand between me and the buy of the century.”

  I pulled her away. “I have another idea.”

  “What’s your idea?”

  “Let’s find Susan.” I pulled out my phone.

  “How? We don’t even know her last name. You think she’d help us get in?”

  “I think Susan would do things to help Susan. We just have to make it clear that we can do something for her. She wore a sweatshirt with the name of her company.” I closed my eyes, trying to remember. “Home or Heart something.” I swiped on my phone, searching for home nursing care companies. “Yes!” I pressed call.

  “Heart’s Ease Homecare,” a woman’s voice said warmly.

  “Hi. My name’s Allie Larkin.”

  Verity shook her head wildly, whispering, “Mary Smith, Mary Smith.”

  I waved her off. “A very nice nurse named Susan was working for Miss Wells in Mystic Bay. Miss Wells asked me to bring Susan a gift. I was wondering if I could have Susan’s address.”

  Verity high-fived me.

  “We can’t give out employees’ information. But if you’d like to drop the gift here, I’ll make sure she gets it. She’s supposed to stop by the office this morning.”

  It would have to do. “Could you give me your address, please?”

  * * *

  We drove to the of
fices of Heart’s Ease Homecare, which was located in a sooty brick building near the railroad tracks in Bridgeton. Pots of pansies struggled to brighten the entryway.

  “Now what?” Verity jutted her chin at a package store across the street. “Do we buy a bottle of vodka and leave it for Susan? And hope she gives us a call?”

  “No. We wait until she comes to get her gift.”

  “Well, I’m going to need sustenance.”

  The only signs of life on the street were the package store and a gas station with a Dunkin’ Donuts inside. We bought a half-dozen doughnuts and some coffee, then plunked ourselves in the front seat to wait.

  Four doughnuts later, Susan’s car wheezed into the parking lot.

  “Stay calm. We don’t want to spook her,” I said.

  “Susan!” Verity jumped from the car. I shook my head and hurried across the parking lot.

  Susan slammed her car door. “You two. I should’ve known. So there’s no gift?”

  I slid a twenty-dollar bill into her hand. “Listen, we just want to know something.”

  Susan tucked the money in her bag, then shook a cigarette from a package and lit up. “What d’you want to know? I can’t tell you about her health. That’s privileged information.” Susan patted her purse.

  I looked at Verity. I didn’t have any more cash on hand. “All I’ve got is doughnuts.”

  Susan laughed, setting off a coughing fit. When she finished choking, she said. “You two. Better than TV.”

  “Did you take Miss Wells to a town hall meeting?” I asked.

  “Yes.”

  “Um, did anything unusual happen there?” I pressed.

  “Aside from her waving a stick and putting a curse on them all?”

  Susan’s good humor wasn’t going to last long.

  “Why do Miss Wells’s nurses change every couple of weeks?” I said. “Isn’t it better if a patient has consistent care?”

  Susan glanced at the office window, then back at me. “You ever stayed in the hospital?”

  “I had my tonsils out when I was eight,” I said.

  Verity shook her head.

  Susan dragged on the cigarette, her eyes narrow.

  “Everyone’s supposed to make sure information gets passed on. Sometimes it does.” She blew out smoke. “Most times it doesn’t. Your Miss Wells had different nurses booked every couple of weeks. She has very interesting delusions. When she does, she gets worked up. Like yesterday when the police lady visited.”