by Lea Wait
“You’re making it sound so simple. It’s complicated,” said Gram. “I’m on the cormorants’ side, but I wish we didn’t have to choose between them and economic development. I’m hoping Bentley will find land he can build on more easily. Land that wouldn’t interfere with nesting grounds.”
“I can’t believe the Chamber of Commerce would support selling King’s Island. And attracting more multimillionaires? That’s happened in other towns along the coast. Mainers have been taxed out of homes their families owned for generations. Working waterfront has been turned into private waterfront. Lobstermen and fishermen don’t have access to the waters they’ve always used. I’d hate to see that happening here in Haven Harbor.”
Gram shook her head. “You’re right. But it’s true our town could use more jobs. And new people mean real estate sales and construction contracts, and businesses like Sarah’s antiques shop and Ted Lawrence’s gallery benefit when people furnish those homes. It could help Mainely Needlepoint, too, Angie. You’re in business now. You have to face the realities of Maine commerce.”
“I’m trying to put Mainely Needlepoint on-line; make its products accessible throughout the country, twelve months of the year.”
“Which would be great, if it works. You could even hire more needlepointers. But not every business can expand using the Internet.”
The problem was more complicated than I’d anticipated. “We need to let people know about the great cormorants. We need to stand up and say their environment is important. If we let seabirds—or any other part of what makes people want to move to the coast of Maine—die out, that won’t be good for the economy, either. We can’t make the issue as simple as ‘birds versus commerce.’”
“You should be on the Chamber of Commerce, Angel. You’ve lived away, and you see the situation clearer than folks here who think of it as ‘us versus them.’”
“Or in this case, us versus the cormorants,” I said. “I could talk to Ed Campbell about the Chamber’s position.”
“You could try. Who knows? You might win him over.”
“I’ll talk to Jed Fitch, too,” I said, pacing Gram’s kitchen floor. “Maybe he could convince the Bentleys to consider other properties.”
Juno jumped onto Gram’s lap. “Those men are pretty determined. They’ve been in Haven Harbor for years. They’re convinced they know what’s best for the town.”
“Which side are you on?”
“I love cormorants. But Tom’s convinced the Bentleys should be able to buy King’s Island. Do I have to choose between the Needlepointers and my husband?”
I shook my head. “I don’t know. I hope not.”
“Go home and check on your Trixi. Make sure she’s all right and has enough food. I’ll talk to Tom about your plans.”
“I’m going to go ahead and talk to Ed Campbell and Jed Fitch. What harm could it do?”
“You might not end up the most popular person in town, Angie. You need to take it a little slow if you’re planning to settle here.” Gram’s expression was serious. “Which I hope you do. But it won’t help you, or Mainely Needlepoint, if you alienate people.”
“I hope we’re on the same side, Gram.”
“I hope so, too, Angie. But life isn’t always as simple as it seems. And small-town politics isn’t pretty.”
Chapter 32
“In youth improve your tender mind
Let virtue be with knowledge join’d
Pursue the paths of truth and love
And you’ll arrive to bliss above.”
—Stitched by six-year-old Sarah Kidder Haskell in 1811, Boston, Massachusetts, in satin and cross-stitch with a strawberry border and three alphabets.
Trixi was fine. I refilled her food and water dishes, cleaned her litter pan, and sat her on my lap as I made phone calls.
Sarah was excited about the Save the Cormorants campaign. “I’ll ask Ted about the logo tonight,” she said. “I was going to visit Dave, but he’ll understand if I don’t see him until tomorrow.”
I left a message with Pete telling him about Jesse’s new will and who Jesse’s lawyer was.
Then I called Patrick. “How’s Bette doing?”
“Frisky and fine,” he said. “Glad you called. I’ve been thinking about those cormorants. Maybe we could convince Uncle Gerry to buy another island. He happened to see that one, but he didn’t know about the seabird nesting issue.”
“If you could do that, it would be great,” I said. “The Audubon people are putting together a film clip on why protected nesting sites for endangered and threatened species are critical. And I just left a meeting with several Mainely Needlepointers who want to campaign to save the island for the birds.”
“I said we might be able to convince Uncle Gerry,” said Patrick. “I’ll need your help. He won’t understand why I’ve decided to become an environmentalist overnight, especially since he hasn’t been doing much but talking about that island and going out to see it.”
“He went to see it again?”
“He’s been sleeping on his boat, so I don’t know exactly when, but he’s mentioned cruising around, trying to figure out the best place for the house he’s planning.”
“Does he know Jesse’s dead?”
Patrick hesitated. “Now he does. Pete Lambert came to Aurora this morning to talk to Simon.”
“How’s Simon reacting?”
“Mom said he didn’t seem grief-stricken. Uncle Gerry said Jesse’s death should simplify the sale: Simon can sign off on the island himself. He doesn’t have to convince Jesse to sell.”
“I heard Jesse made out a new will earlier this week.”
“Changing his beneficiary?”
“I don’t know,” I admitted. “I’m guessing so. He was upset about your uncle’s trying to buy King’s Island. It would make sense if he’d left his half of the island to someone else, not to Simon.”
“Uncle Gerry hasn’t heard anything about that,” Patrick said. “He said Jed Fitch told him now the purchase would be a done deal.”
“Maybe it is,” I said. “I don’t know much about wills.”
Ruth had said it took six months to probate. Didn’t that mean the property couldn’t be inherited by anyone for six months? I wasn’t a lawyer. But I suspected Gerry Bentley had access to plenty of legal advice.
My phone vibrated. “Patrick, I have to go. I have another call coming in. If you hear anything more, let me know.”
The caller ID read HAVEN HARBOR POLICE DEPARTMENT.
“Pete?”
“It’s me. Since you’ve been involved in this since the beginning, I wanted to tell you we just got the report from the medical examiner. Jesse was murdered. He wasn’t hit on the head once—he was hit four or five times. Probably with a stone. King’s Island is covered with them, of course. And they’d be easy to dispose of.”
“In the ocean.”
“Exactly. So now we have a murder investigation. I’ve kept Ethan Trask informed along the way, but now he’s officially assigned to the case. We’d like to interview you. Then we’ll talk with Dave at the hospital. You two may have been the last two people to see Jesse, before the murderer.”
Ethan, my old high school crush, was now a homicide detective with the Maine State Troopers. He’d worked on Mama’s case, and on several other murders I’d gotten entangled with since I’d been back in Haven Harbor. A good man. But given his job, I hated having a reason to see him again.
“I’ll come right over,” I said, lifting Trixi off my lap and putting her on the floor.
“And don’t tell anyone else about this yet,” said Pete. “If whoever killed Jesse is still in town, we don’t want to tip him—or her—off right away that we’re investigating.”
“Got it.”
I felt guilty at leaving Trixi alone again. I added a little food to her dish (for a creature so small she didn’t seem to have any trouble emptying it) and picked up my car keys.
I knew the way to the Haven Harbor
Police Department all too well.
Pete and Ethan were both waiting for me.
“Sorry to have to ask you to come in,” said Ethan. “I know you’ve already talked with Pete.”
“I was with him when he and Joe found Jesse’s body,” I said quietly.
“I know. But I need you to tell us all you know about Jesse.”
“I saw Jesse for the first time last Monday morning,” I began. “He was rowing into the town wharf. Arvin Trask and your brother Rob were about to go out for the morning. They told me Jesse was called The Solitary. That he lived out on King’s Island by himself.”
“Before that you’d never seen him.”
I shook my head. “No. I’ll admit, I was curious about him, and I followed him. I saw him go into the post office. Later I went back to the post office to buy stamps. Pax told me the man I’d seen earlier’s name was Jesse Lockhart. After that I went to see Dave Percy, and Jesse was coming out of Dave’s house. He didn’t stop, and we didn’t talk.”
“But you asked Dave about him,” said Pete.
“I did. But all Dave would say was they were friends, and that Jesse preferred to live alone on the island.”
“And when did you next see Jesse Lockhart?”
“Tuesday night. Ruth Hopkins and I were having dinner at Dave’s house, and Jesse came in.”
“Was he expected?”
“No. He was looking for Dave. He said Jed Fitch had been out on King’s Island, telling him someone rich wanted to buy it.”
“Jesse was upset about that?” Ethan checked his recorder.
“Angry. He’d told Jed he wouldn’t sell.”
“And?”
“After dinner Dave took Ruth home. Jesse was going to spend the night at Dave’s, so I stayed to talk with him. He told me he and his cousin Simon owned the island, but Simon hadn’t been there in years. He said he and Dave met in a veteran’s hospital in Massachusetts, and he’d lived with Dave when he first came to Haven Harbor. One day he’d seen boys throwing stones at the cormorants on King’s Island and decided to live there. To protect them.” I paused. “He felt violated that Jed had come to the island uninvited and told him he’d have to sell.”
“That’s what he said? He’d ‘have to sell’?” asked Pete.
“Not in those words,” I corrected myself. “But yes, that’s how I think he felt. Then Dave came back and suggested Jesse see a lawyer. I don’t know what they talked about after that. I went home.”
“And when did you see him next?”
“Thursday. I’d heard from Patrick West that his uncle Gerry—Gerry Bentley—had paid for Jesse’s cousin Simon to come to Maine. I was worried Jesse would be pressured to sell. He hadn’t looked as though he’d react well to that, so I told Dave. Dave suggested we go out to King’s Island and warn Jesse that his cousin was coming.” I looked from one of the men to the other. “Jesse doesn’t—didn’t—have a telephone. The only way to get in touch with him was to go to the island.”
“Dave was Jesse’s friend. But you’d just met him. Why did you go, too?”
“I’d been the one who’d heard about Simon’s flying in. And on Tuesday night I’d gotten Jesse to talk a little.”
Pete nodded. “So?”
“Dave borrowed his neighbor’s boat, the Sweet Life, and we went out there. We were bringing the boat into shore when Jesse shot two arrows toward us. One missed the boat. One hit Dave.” I looked at the two men. “You both know that.”
“But we need to make sure we haven’t missed anything along the way,” said Pete. “Ethan hadn’t heard the story directly from you.”
I continued. “Jesse came down to the shore immediately. He was contrite when he saw Dave was bleeding. He said he’d been confused. Since Jed Fitch had been there, he’d been afraid of someone else coming to the island to disrupt his life, and his birds. He’d panicked when he’d seen two people in the boat.”
“Did you tell him about his cousin?”
“We did. Then I had to get Dave back to Haven Harbor, get him medical attention.”
“And did you see Jesse after that?” Pete asked.
“Not until I went out to the island again Friday with you and Joe. And you found his body.” I could still see Jesse’s pale body lying awkwardly on the ground, soaked with rain. I shuddered, remembering.
Ethan was taking notes. “You said you’d heard from Patrick West that Simon Lockhart was coming to town. How did you happen to be talking with Patrick?”
“Last Monday I stopped in to welcome Patrick and his mother back to Haven Harbor. Gerry Bentley and his wife were there. Patrick introduced us. Bentley is Patrick’s uncle.”
“You didn’t know Bentley’s connection to King’s Island then.”
“Not for sure. Reverend Tom had said someone rich was interested in local real estate. When I was at the Wests’ I figured it must be the Bentleys. But I didn’t know they were thinking about buying King’s Island. And I hadn’t met Jesse then.”
Pete didn’t look at me. He looked at his notes. “So you heard about the possible sale of King’s Island from Reverend Tom, who’d heard about it from Jed Fitch.”
“At the Chamber of Commerce meeting. Yes.”
“And from Jesse himself.”
“Yes.”
“And from Gerry Bentley himself.”
“Not from Bentley directly,” I corrected. “Patrick West told me.”
“Who else knew about this possible deal?”
“My grandmother. Ed Campbell, and whoever else was at the Chamber of Commerce meeting with Tom and Jed Fitch. Everyone at the Wests’ house. Dave Percy, of course. Ruth Hopkins—she was at Dave’s when Jesse joined us for dinner.”
“No one else?”
“Not that I know of.”
“You’ve been involved in murder investigations before, Angie,” said Ethan. He didn’t need to remind me. “You know we have to check out every possibility. Jesse Lockhart lived out on that island for a little over two years without making any trouble for anyone but the coast guard and marine patrol.”
“So I’ve heard.”
“As far as we know he didn’t have contact with anyone in town except for those guys, Dave Percy, and Pax Henry at the post office.”
“He might have known other people. He told me he had to discourage people from coming to the island during nesting season,” I said. “He’d posted signs, but people ignored them. He said that was why he had the bow and arrows: to discourage guests.”
“Not even a gun, like a normal guy,” Ethan said, almost to himself.
“Dave told me Jesse’d had a tough time while he was serving in the army. Jesse himself told me he hated guns. He didn’t even like sharp noises or fireworks. And gunshots would disturb the great cormorants.”
Pete looked at Ethan. “Sounds like PTSD.”
“Possible. My wife says some of the soldiers she’s serving with in Afghanistan make her nervous; they’re paranoid or defensive. Shoot before checking.”
“But Jesse felt bad about shooting Dave,” I put in. “And he didn’t have his bow with him when we found him Friday morning.”
“Did the medical examiner figure out when Jesse was killed?” I asked. “Dave and I left him late Thursday morning.”
Ethan and Pete looked at each other. “No harm in telling you,” said Ethan. “You’re in the clear. Jesse was killed between three o’clock and nine o’clock Thursday. After you left the island.”
“The crime scene guys took the bow back with them to Augusta to check for fingerprints. Someone could have taken the bow from him and put it back in his house so it’d look as though he didn’t have a weapon,” added Pete.
I frowned. “That doesn’t make sense. If he’d had a weapon, then killing him might be self-defense.”
“It could be,” Pete agreed. “But most killers don’t think through their defense at the time of the crime. Especially if it’s a crime of the moment. Jesse wasn’t killed with a weapon brought to the isla
nd. Premeditation seems off the table. It’s a puzzle. Can you think of anything else that would help us figure out who killed him?”
I shook my head. Then I remembered. “I left you a message this morning. Dave suggested to Jesse he see a lawyer. He made out a new will on Wednesday before he went back to the island.”
“A will that would . . . ?” asked Ethan.
“I don’t know. He was afraid Simon would want to sell King’s Island. I’m guessing he didn’t leave his half of the island to his cousin.”
“But you don’t know?”
“Not for sure,” I said. “But the lawyer Dave suggested to him was Aaron Irving. You’re the police. You could find out. From what Patrick told me, Gerry Bentley was willing to pay a lot of money for King’s Island. And Reverend Tom told me there were people in town who wanted the Bentleys to move here; they’d bring jobs and cash into Haven Harbor. I suspect Jesse was killed because Gerry Bentley wanted to buy King’s Island.”
Chapter 33
“How blest the maid whom circling years improve
Her god the object of her purest love
Whose youthful hours successive on they glide
The book the needle and the pen divide.”
—Twelve-year-old Melancia Bowker from Fitzwilliam, New Hampshire, stitched this on linen in 1817. The verse and two alphabets and a pastoral scene of a girl holding flowers next to a basket of flowers are surrounded by an elaborate floral border. Melancia studied at the Ipswich Female Seminary with Mary Lyon (the founder of Mount Holyoke) and taught before her marriage. Her husband died three months after their wedding, Melancia returned to teaching, and then married again. Unusually for the period, all five of her children graduated from college.
I’d been told not to spread the word, but I had to tell someone. Who did I trust most? I had no doubt. “I just talked to Pete and Ethan at the police station. Jesse was murdered.”
Through the line I could hear Gram take in a deep breath. “Have they talked to Dave yet?”
