by Barbara Ross
Flynn closed the ladder. “Got to take this upstairs. There’s a bulb out in the overhead light in room six. Do we have a deal? Is there anything you’re not telling me?”
“Last night I saw a diamond ring on the table in front of Bower’s body,” I told him.
Flynn nodded. I had the sense it wasn’t new information. “You told the lieutenant about it.”
“Yes, but I’m not sure he believed me. Chris didn’t see it and it wasn’t there when Lieutenant Binder arrived. As far as I know, it’s still missing.”
Flynn put his arm through the ladder and hefted it onto his shoulder. “The lieutenant usually believes you.” He fixed me with a penetrating stare, the kind that would have intimidated me a few short months before. “Is that it?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t going to tell him the other thing I knew about the diamond ring yet. Not until I was sure.
Flynn and the ladder disappeared inside. The screen door opened again and Vee Snugg stood there, elegant as always in hose and high heels, her crisply ironed cotton dress protected by an equally crisply ironed white bib apron.
“I thought I heard your voice, Julia. Wonderful timing. I’ve been teaching Genevieve to bake my ginger scones and they’re fresh out of the oven. Let’s have some tea.”
* * *
I sat at the Snugg sisters’ wooden kitchen table with its familiar nicks and scratches, dinged by the preparation of thousands of meals. Vee had already set out placemats, china teacups, and small plates ringed with a delicate design of pink roses. A plate of ginger scones, smelling of sugar and spice, sat in the center. Genevieve was in the far corner of the room, talking in a low voice on her cell phone.
Vee poured the tea as her sister Fee bustled into the room, followed as always by her Scottish terrier. Mackie had arrived in the household over the fall and was a good deal livelier and less well behaved than his immediate predecessor. It must be hard for a dog to live in a B&B, a place that not only tolerated, but welcomed complete strangers every day. How was the poor thing to sort out who was invited and who was a threat? He sniffed around my workboots and the hems of my jeans. “Mackie, enough!” Fee commanded.
Genevieve finished her conversation and sat with us. Her alabaster skin was even paler than usual, her eyes deeply circled.
“Are you all right, my dear?” Fee placed a plump hand on top of Genevieve’s. “I’m sure your employer’s death has been quite a shock.”
“They’re saying it’s something he ate.” Genevieve’s brown eyes opened wide. “What if it was something I made that killed him?”
“There, there,” Vee said. “I’m sure it wasn’t.”
“But I left his food, his lunch and his dinner, all plated and ready to be served. What else could it have been?”
I’d seen the dinner. Cold lobster surrounding the lobster body that clutched the ring. Caviar in a silver bowl sitting in ice. Salmon, toast points, and cold asparagus. Strawberries dipped in chocolate. Very elegant. It didn’t look like it had been touched. “What did you leave for Geoffrey’s lunch?” I asked.
“A curried chicken salad he particularly liked. It’s made with celery and water chestnuts, so it has a real crunch to it. And a loaf of crusty bread. Mr. Bower loved good bread.”
“Has Maria Consuelo turned up? She’s Genevieve’s cabinmate,” I explained to Fee and Vee. “The police couldn’t reach her last night.”
“I just got off the phone with Rick, the steward,” Genevieve answered. “She didn’t return to the ship this morning. I’m so worried about her. She’s young. Only nineteen. I should have looked out for her. Made sure she had something to do yesterday. I should have talked the other crew members into taking her with them.” Genevieve’s teacup was still full. Her scone sat on the plate, untasted. “Maybe I should have brought her here.”
“I don’t think Tom would have liked that,” Fee said softly.
Genevieve’s eyes brimmed with tears. “I was only thinking of myself, my weekend. I should’ve realized. . . she’s a teenager.”
“Genevieve.” I said her name more sharply than I meant to. “You are not responsible for her. If anyone, it should have been Rick, her boss, who looked out for her.”
“If anything has happened to her—”
“Maybe nothing has. Maybe she was perfectly capable of looking after herself and is late returning to the boat.”
“You’re right. I’m letting my imagination run away with me.” She fell silent. A tear leaked out of her eye and snaked down her cheek. She brushed it away with her palm.
Vee took a last sip from her cup. “I’m so sorry this has happened to you, Genevieve.”
“Thank you,” Genevieve replied. “It’s wonderful being here at the Snuggles where you take such good care of me. And to have Tom here with me too. I just feel . . .” She hesitated, cradling her head in her hands. “I feel I should be over at Blount’s, with my crew family.”
A look passed between Fee and Vee, around Genevieve’s bowed head. “You haven’t been with them all that long,” Fee finally said. “Only a few months.” I understood she wasn’t trying to diminish Genevieve’s ties to the crew. She was trying to build up Flynn. He’d been in Genevieve’s life a lot longer than the workers on the Garbo.
“You were the newest of the crew,” I pointed out. I too was on Team Flynn.
Genevieve pulled her head up. “The captain joined the same time I did. We picked him up in Sardinia as well.”
“Two new crew members? Seems like a lot of turnover. Was Mr. Bower difficult to work for?” I asked.
“He was a sweetheart. Easy to please, grateful. All he asked was that wherever we were, the food be fresh and local. Emil, Doug, and Rick have been with Mr. Bower forever, but the rest of us were new. Ian and Maria Consuelo joined a few months before I did. Turnover isn’t unusual on yachts. It’s an isolated life. Lots of people think it would be a fun way to live, but after a year or two on board they get homesick and go back to working on dry land. The captains are about the only ones who can’t do that. There’s no equivalent job for them.”
“So there’s less change among captains?”
“Yes and no. They’re ambitious like everyone else. There’s always a more beautiful boat, a more prestigious owner. In the Garbo’s case, though, I understand Mr. Bower let the previous captain go. With the refit coming up, he wanted someone new.”
I finished my tea and the last delicious bite of my scone. It contained tiny chunks of candied ginger that made my tongue tingle. “Thank you so much,” I said to the sisters. “I have to get going.”
“The clambake opens in five days,” Fee sang out. “I can’t wait for Family Day.”
“You’re all coming,” I said. “Genevieve, you too, if you’re still in town. Can you walk me out?”
Once the kitchen door had swung closed behind us, I leaned toward her. “Did Geoffrey ask you to put anything in the lobster’s claw when you plated the salads?”
“Lobster’s claw? He was specific that he wanted lobster, with a body for decoration, like a centerpiece, but he didn’t say anything about the lobster’s claw.”
“Did you think he wanted everyone off the Garbo because he was going to ask Wyatt to marry him?”
“What? No!” She grinned, the first smile I’d seen from her since she’d been summoned back to Blount’s the night before. “I assumed, we all assumed, Mr. Bower was planning a seduction.”
“A seduction?” We were at the front screen door. I turned to her.
“Ms. Jayne had her own cabin. She didn’t stay in Mr. Bower’s quarters. The general gossip around the Garbo was that last night was to be the night.”
Chapter 13
“Quentin asked me to help Wyatt out with this investigation,” I told Livvie and Sonny.
We were in the tiny clambake kitchen on Morrow Island. Livvie moved around the cramped space with a sure familiarity, pulling out the big pots used for the clam chowder, the baking pans used for the blueberry grunt dess
ert, and the saucepans used to melt butter for the lobster. Everything had to be scrubbed. I wiped the pantry shelves, getting them ready for the flour, sugar, crackers, and paper goods that would be stored there. Sonny washed down the commercial refrigerator and freezer. Baby Jack slept in a swing in the doorway.
We danced around, each one trying not to get in the others’ way. It was hard to believe Livvie and three additional cooks put out food for two hundred people in the cramped space.
“What does that mean?” The big pot Livvie bent over amplified her voice with a tinny echo.
“It means he thinks Wyatt’s gonna be suspect number one,” Sonny answered.
Livvie looked at me, and I nodded. “Yes, that certainly seems possible.”
Sonny grunted. “Seems to me it will be hard for you to help her, given you don’t like her.”
“I never said I didn’t like her.”
“This is why you’re a lousy poker player.” Sonny crossed his arms over his big chest. “You’re easier to read than a book.”
I stepped away from the shelves and stood upright. “Really? What have I ever said about her?”
“It’s not what you say, it’s what you do,” Livvie answered. “Mom says whenever Wyatt’s around, you’re wound up so tight Mom’s afraid you’re going to explode. What did she ever do to you?”
I rinsed my sponge out in the deep sink and didn’t answer.
Sonny took off to do some work around the island. Jack woke up and gently complained from his swing. I picked him up. He was a solid, muscular little dude, able to hold his head up from day one, and now sitting up and rolling over with ease. I jiggled him in my arms. I’d missed this early time with Page, when I’d been off in Manhattan. I was savoring it with Jack.
Livvie pulled her head out of the oven and adjusted her rubber gloves. “You know you have to help Wyatt, right?” she said. “Julia, it’s Quentin.”
I grunted an acknowledgment and changed the subject. “Tell me what you know about Vanessa. And her mother, Emmy. What’s her deal?”
From across the little room, Livvie raised an eyebrow at me. “Why do you ask?”
“Just interested.”
“I don’t know a lot. Now that Page is in fifth grade, I know less about her friendships than I did back in the days of playdates.” Livvie stuck her head back in the oven, so I had to strain to hear. She’d only taken charge of the kitchen the previous year. Before that, she’d worked at our ticket kiosk on the pier in order to stay in the harbor, to be on hand in case Page needed her. But the fire at Windsholme and related tragedies had caused a lot of changes. Sonny had taken over as our bake master, Livvie helmed the kitchen, and they had moved for the summer to the little house next to the dock. They would move out for this season shortly after school ended on Monday. My mother objected. She thought Jack was too small to live a boat ride from town and doctors, but Livvie was determined. Mom, after all, had spent every summer on the island until my dad had died, including the summers when Livvie and I were infants.
“All I can tell you is they moved here this winter into a trailer on Emmy’s grandmother’s property. But then you saw it, when you drove Vanessa home this morning. When Vanessa started school after the Christmas break, she and Page took to each other right away. She’s different than Page’s other friends from the swim team. Those two are closer somehow.”
“And Emmy works at Crowley’s.”
“As many hours as she can. I don’t think she was able to find anything over the winter when Crowley’s was closed. I took Vanessa back to the trailer a few cold nights and wanted to turn around and take her back home with me. It was freezing in that place. It has heat, but I think Emmy kept it real low to save money and the windows leaked so much cold air the curtains were blowing.”
Livvie finished in the oven, stood up, and closed its door with a satisfied thunk. “You noticed the green eyes.”
“Yes.”
“If you’re worried about what they mean, ask Chris.”
“Just like that? Do I say, ‘Chris, I notice this kid has the same coloring as you. Anything you’d like to tell me?’”
Livvie laughed. “I’m sure you can do better than that. But yes, more or less. Ask him directly. That’s what grown-up couples do.”
It was my turn to laugh. I still couldn’t get over how life had turned us upside down. My baby sister, the rebel, the wild one, was now the person who gave me the wisest advice. “I’m not that worried. Chris and Emmy seem to barely know each other.”
“Ask him.”
Jack wiggled and whined in my arms. “He must be wet,” Livvie said.
I scooped up his diaper bag. “I’ll take care of it.”
I put Jack’s changing pad on the counter in the gift shop and laid him down. Keeping one hand on his tummy to hold him steady, I fished in the bag for diapers and wipes. I smiled down at Jack and he smiled back at me. He was still bald, with only the tiniest wisps of blond hair. Page had been a surprise, conceived while Livvie was a senior in high school, before her parents were married or even engaged. But the worst thing that had happened in our little family to that point turned out to be the best thing, as baby Page kept us together as a family in the year of my father’s illness and after his death. Jack, on the other hand, had been longed for and looked for, arriving ten years after his sister, and five years after Livvie had miscarried. I’d gotten pretty good at the diapering, something I never mastered when Page was an infant.
As I worked, my mind traveled back to prep school and to Wyatt and her friends.
The two weeks before the luncheon for Ms. Davis were a frenzy of planning and activities. The girls often met in our room checking things off our to-do list. First, Wyatt invited Ms. Davis. We held our collective breath until we agreed on a date when she was free and her husband, who coached soccer and was often tied up on Saturdays, could babysit. Then Lainey made the reservation at the inn, the most elegant eating establishment in town. It was an old boutique hotel that accommodated tourists in foliage season and the parents of the wealthiest students when they came for parents’ weekends and graduations. Those important details out of the way, the conversation turned to what we would talk about and what we would wear.
During the discussions of appropriate luncheon topics, I tried to steer the conversation toward the literary. The girls were polite, adding questions about her favorite books as a child and current best sellers to the list. We also added politics and travel. We all wanted to appear grown up, worthy of her conversation. Lainey insisted on a discussion about fashion. It was a nonstarter in my opinion. Ms. Davis had dressed all fall in sweater sets over simple A-line wool skirts, but I wasn’t willing to argue too hard and the topic was approved by the group.
When it came to what to wear, I had some considerations the others did not. Though the clothes I’d brought to school were perfectly fine, some gifts from my parents and family, some bought with the tips I earned at the clambake, none of them had labels of the type the other girls were discussing. Alone in my room, I tried on every dress I owned and finally settled on a long-sleeved navy blue one, which I hoped was generic enough not to draw attention or comment. Then there was the cost of a meal. My parents had given me an allowance and I still had some summer money, but I didn’t have a credit card tied to a parental account like the other girls. I spent many anxious minutes scanning the inn’s menu online, doing math in my head figuring how much cash I would need to bring to cover my meal, my contribution to Ms. Davis’s meal, and the tip.
Despite that, I was happy to be included. At home, in elementary and middle school, I’d always felt like an outsider. My parents’ strange marriage between a townie and a summer person left me in neither one camp nor the other. I hadn’t expected to be accepted in prep school, much less by a group like Wyatt’s.
“JULE-YA! Let’s go!” Sonny stuck his head in the gift shop. “Livvie’s nearly done. Time for us to head back.”
Sonny took Jack from me and carried hi
m away toward the Boston Whaler. Livvie and I stood on the lawn, looking up at Windsholme. The sun was low enough in the western sky that it glinted off the remaining windows.
“We didn’t finish our meeting last night,” I said.
Livvie didn’t waver. “Mom wants to rebuild, Julia. I don’t see what there is to discuss.”
I thought about Geoffrey Bower and the protesters. “Do you think that’s the right thing to do, to fix up an extravagant mansion no one will ever live in, at least not full time, when Vanessa and her mother can’t even heat their trailer in the winter?”
Livvie made no reply, so I continued. “Vanessa is worried if we tear down Windsholme, the ghost of Randy Brownly won’t know where to find the ghost of Lenora Bailey.”
“Then rebuild it we must,” Livvie replied.
Chapter 14
We split up as soon as we got to town. Livvie and her family walked back to Mom’s house so they could pick up her minivan. I headed across the footbridge toward Blount’s. I called Wyatt as I walked, so she was waiting for me in the lobby.
“Thank you for coming. Quentin said he’d asked you to help me.” Wyatt’s shoulders were slumped, her brown hair dull and uncombed. The glamorous, vigorous Wyatt Jayne I’d encountered on Morrow Island two days before had been erased.
I led her out to the hotel patio. It was the end of the day, the cocktail hour. I asked the hostess for a table on the edge of the space, as far from the crowd at the outdoor bar as I could get us, and ordered two glasses of white wine. “I know Lieutenant Binder pretty well and Quentin thought I could be helpful,” I explained when we were finally alone.
“Thank you!” Wyatt shocked me by throwing her arms around my neck and hugging me tight.
I disengaged, sitting back to look into her eyes. “I didn’t tell him yes.” Tears came to her eyes again, threatening to spill over. She looked so forlorn. I felt terrible. “I didn’t tell him no either. There are a couple of things I need you to be honest about before I put my reputation with these guys on the line.”
She nodded her understanding. “Ask me anything.”
