“What do you mean?” he asked, looking puzzled.
“Gerald is dead.”
Frank took a step backward. “What? He can’t be.”
“I’m afraid he is,” I confirmed.
“I don’t understand,” Frank said.
“He’s been murdered,” Audrey spat. “So you don’t have to worry about it any more.”
With that, she stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Frank and me to look at each other.
“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”
“A whiskey on the rocks might be a better choice, but it’s a bit early,” he said, and sat down at the nearest table. “Have the police been notified?”
“They’re out at the site now,” I said.
“The wreck site?”
“That’s where he was found,” I said.
He looked out the window. “Where’s the Lorelei?”
“Gone,” I said.
Frank swore, and I disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve the coffee pot. When I returned a few minutes later, Molly and Carl were there too, looking stunned.
“When did this happen?” Carl asked. “And how?”
“I don’t know,” Frank said, turning to me. “Do you?”
“It happened late last night,” I said. “That’s all I know. The police are investigating.”
“Who found him?” Molly asked.
I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Eleazer White.”
It could have been my imagination, but all three looked relieved.
_____
I had just finished clearing the last of the breakfast things and was wiping down counters when the phone rang. It was Charlene; I was surprised, frankly, that she had waited so long to get in touch. “How come you didn’t call?” she demanded when I answered.
“I didn’t want to call you at three in the morning, and I’ve been doing breakfast service since seven.”
“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I heard from Tania when I got to the store this morning.”
“Next time I’ll call,” I promised, feeling very tired. And it was no wonder; I hadn’t slept since answering the phone at three.
“So, give me the scoop! I heard it was that Iliad bigshot, and that somebody strangled him on his own boat.”
“Not exactly,” I said, and glanced over my shoulder to be sure I was alone. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise not to say a word to anyone.”
“Scout’s honor,” she said.
“You’re not a scout.”
“You know what I mean, Natalie. I promise, mum’s the word.”
“It was Gerald McIntire—you’re right about that. Eli found him floating out by the wreck,” I said in a low voice. “He was stabbed.”
“With what?”
“I don’t know,” I said.
“And Eli found him at three in the morning, and called John?”
“Apparently so.”
“What was he doing out there in the middle of the night?” she asked. “Unless …”
I bit my lip. If Charlene, John, and I had all come to that conclusion about our dear friend, then what would the police think?
“He says he was just guarding the wreck site,” I said.
“Sounds fishy to me.”
I sighed. “I know.”
“What do the police say?”
“John came back at six; they’re taking the body to the morgue for an autopsy, and they’ve been looking for the boat ever since.”
“What boat?”
“The Lorelei. It’s gone missing.” I glanced out the window at the satiny surface of the water. Was the Lorelei under those shiny waves somewhere?
“Not a good night for Iliad, was it? I hope they had insurance.”
“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “The Lorelei must be worth a lot of money. I wonder who would get the payout if that boat went down?”
“Worth asking,” Charlene said. “Assuming it was insured, that is. It’s worth asking anyone who might have a motive, really. I can’t stand the thought of Eli going to jail for the rest of his life …”
“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said.
“I’m not,” she said. “I’m just being prepared.”
“Like a good scout,” I said, automatically.
“Exactly. Hang on a sec, Nat …” I could hear a murmur of voices in the background, and Charlene telling someone she’d be right there. “Gotta go. Half the island just walked in for a mug-up. I’ll see what the gossip is and call you later.”
“Got it.”
“You know, there’s one good thing about this,” she said.
“What?”
“At least everyone will be talking about something other than the bake-off.”
I groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”
“Always looking for the silver lining,” she said. “Anyway, gotta run. If you hear anything on your end, let me know—day or night!”
“Aye aye, captain.”
Despite Charlene’s reminder, I finished wiping down the counters in a slightly cheerier mood. I was hoping the police wouldn’t arrest Eli. But if they did, I knew Charlene would have the entire island leaping to his defense.
_____
John was on the phone when I knocked on his door twenty minutes later; he waved me in, and I perched on the edge of his oatmeal-colored couch and listened as he finished the conversation. From the GPS coordinates being batted back and forth, I knew he was getting an update on the search for the Lorelei.
“Have they found anything?” I asked when he hung up a moment later.
“Some debris out by Deadman’s Shoal,” he said, “but nothing identifiable—at least not yet.”
“The other crew members could probably ID anything they found,” I said.
“I’m sure they’ll ask them,” he said.
“I’m surprised no one’s been by the inn to question anyone yet.” Unfortunately, I was more than familiar with post-murder procedure on Cranberry Island.
“They’ve been talking with Eli all morning,” John said. “They’re out at his house right now.”
I suddenly realized I hadn’t called Eli’s wife, Claudette. She was strong and stoic, but I was sure she was shaken up—particularly with the police at her house. “I need to swing by their house this morning,” I said. “But I don’t understand; why aren’t they questioning Gerald’s coworkers—or even Carl? He attacked Gerald last night,” I said.
“You need to tell them about it,” he said. “I’ll make sure they interview you.”
“They’ve got to look beyond Eli,” I said. “Charlene brought up another good point; if the boat was insured, who is the beneficiary, now that Gerald is out of the way?”
He gave me a wry smile. “You and Charlene are good at thinking of ulterior motives, aren’t you?”
I sighed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been overly impressed with law enforcement’s ability to see beyond the easiest solution.”
“Hey,” John protested.
“Present company excluded, of course,” I said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I think I’ll head over to Claudette’s and Eli’s now—I’ve got some time before lunch.”
“Send my love, will you?”
“Of course,” I said. “If you’re lucky, she’ll send you some pie.”
“Maybe all the excitement will mean she hasn’t had a chance to bake,” he said.
“Let’s hope so,” I said. “Keep me posted, okay?”
“Always,” he said, with a look that made my insides do a delightful little flip.
_____
I pulled my coat tight around me as I walked down the end of the road to Claudette and Eli’s; the wind had freshened since last night, and a flood of gray clouds had extinguished the sun. Muffin and Pudge, the goats Claudette raised for their soft wool, were happily munching on a bed of roses, a block down the road from Claudette’s; they had evidently managed
to drag the tire she kept them chained to within range of Ingrid Sorenson’s prize Souvenir de la Malmaisons. I hauled the tire back to the meadow, but by the time I made it to Eli and Claudette’s, they were already tugging it across the road. I made a mental note to stop by Ingrid’s and ask about her son Evan; something told me he might somehow be involved with the disappearing Lorelei.
There were no cars outside Claudette and Eli’s house; either the police had arrived on foot, or had already left. Eleazer’s jumble of bleached hulls and burnt-out motors dotted the long grass behind the small, wood house; his workshop had a desolate look to it. I hesitated a moment before knocking.
No one answered. A gust of wind pushed against me and set the two rockers on the porch into motion, and I knocked again. This time, I heard movement behind the door, and a moment later the knob turned, and as the door opened, the familiar faint smell of fried sausage and wet wool wafted out. Claudette’s solid figure stood framed in the doorway, her broad shoulders slumped, her face leached of color. “They took him,” Claudette said.
“What?”
“They found the cutlass that killed that man. It was Eli’s, and his fingerprints were on it.” She recited it as if by memory, with no feeling. She must be in shock.
My stomach dropped. “The antique cutlass?” I already knew the answer, but still dreaded to hear it.
She nodded, confirming my worst fear. “He keeps it over the fireplace. Polishes it every week—convinced it’s Davey Blue’s heirloom.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But it’s not there now. They found it.”
“Where?”
“Near the pier, in a bunch of brambles.”
That didn’t make sense at all. “He wouldn’t just leave that cutlass in a bush!” I said.
“I know,” she said, her voice hollow.
“Did he have it with him all day yesterday?”
“I don’t know,” she said, putting her head in her hands. “I know he had it in the morning, because he was going to talk to the archaeologists about it. I don’t know if he had it all day, though. He was back a couple of times, and he could have put it back. I didn’t think to look. If only I had …” she moaned a little bit, wracked with grief.
“If you didn’t see him with it, there’s no way to know if he took it with him. And were your doors locked?”
“Never needed to lock them,” she said, looking up at me. “It’s a small island.”
“So if he left it here, anyone could have snuck in and taken it. It was common knowledge on the island where he kept the sword.”
“That’s true, I guess.”
“Did you tell the police that your doors were unlocked—and that Eli kept the cutlass over the fireplace?”
“I didn’t think it would matter,” she said. “They’re convinced he killed that man.” She let out a convulsive sob. “I wish they’d never found that ship, Natalie.” She reached out and gripped my hand; hers were dry and cold. “I’m afraid it’ll be the death of him.”
“It’s early days, Claudette,” I said, squeezing her hand comfortingly. “Does he have a lawyer?”
“Of course not,” she said. “Not much call for one on Cranberry Island.”
“Well, then, that’s the first order of business. Let me talk to Tom Lockhart, see if he knows anyone on the mainland,” I said. “Don’t worry—I’m sure we’ll get all this sorted out,” I said in a bright voice that sounded false even to me. “Why don’t you come to my place today? I could use some company.”
She glanced back. “Well, there are the cats …”
“Just toss some food in the bowl and come with me. They’ll keep for a few hours.”
“And I’ve got a sweater to finish …”
“You can do it at my place,” I said. “Come along with me.”
She wavered. “Maybe it would be best to get out for a bit,” she said. “Clear my head.”
“Absolutely it will,” I said. “Gather your knitting things and let’s go!”
The goats were back at Ingrid’s roses as we walked up the road together a few minutes later, Claudette hunched over, a big bag of wool slung over one shoulder. She didn’t even look up when I pointed out Muffin and Pudge. I thought I saw the curtains of Ingrid’s house twitch as we passed, though.
I’d definitely have to drop by her place later.
_____
It wasn’t until late that afternoon that the police finally arrived at the Gray Whale Inn. I had just laid several cod fillets in a pan of milk to poach—I was making Cranberry Island Cod Cakes for supper—when the bell rang.
“I’m not sure who’s here,” I told the two officers. “I think McIntire’s coworkers are here, but the university folks have been out at the site all day.” Probably making hay while the sun shone, I thought. Who knew how long Iliad would be out of the picture? “They’re probably quite relieved to have the site to themselves,” I said, attempting to drop a hint.
Neither responded, and I wrote down the names and room numbers of the guests, trying to think of a way to convince them the murderer wasn’t already in a jail cell. “Have you found the Lorelei yet?” I asked.
The detective shook her head. “Still looking,” she said.
“I’ll bet when you find it, you’ll find out who the murderer really was,” I said.
“Do you know something about it?” she asked sharply.
“I know that Eleazer White would never have discarded an antique cutlass in a shrub,” I said.
“People do strange things in the heat of passion,” she said.
“I’m just saying there were lots of folks who didn’t like Gerald McIntire. You know he’s had a long history with the university archaeologist, Carl Morgenstern? I was out there yesterday, and he had murder in his eyes—and last night he attacked Gerald in my dining room.”
“Did I, now?”
I whirled around; behind me stood Carl, who had evidently just come back in. Molly stood beside him, eyeing me with anger and reproach.
“Mr. Morgenstern, I presume?” the detective said smoothly.
“Indeed,” he said, still giving me a hard look. “I don’t care for slander, Ms. Barnes.”
“I’m sorry, but it’s a murder investigation,” I said, feeling my face burn. “I was telling them what I saw.”
“We appreciate your assistance, Ms. Barnes,” the detective said briskly, dismissing me. “If we need more of your observations, we’ll let you know. In the meantime, is there a place we can go to ask these two folks some questions?”
“You can use the dining room,” I said, feeling chastened. I installed them at a table by the window and returned to the kitchen to make a pot of tea. Claudette was sitting by the window, knitting something large and brown.
“Who’s here?” she asked, the needles pausing.
“The police,” I said. “They’re questioning the archaeologists.”
She sat up a little straighter. “That’s good, isn’t it?”
“I hope so,” I said, but as I filled the teakettle, I realized I wasn’t feeling very hopeful at all. The police already had someone with means, motive, and opportunity. Why look further?
I tossed a tea bag into a teapot and sat down across from Claudette, who had resumed knitting mechanically. Her fingers moved at lightning speed, but her eyes were glazed, unfocused. “Tell me again what happened last night,” I said.
She sighed, and the needles slowed slightly. “Well, all this started yesterday, after he went out to the site with you. I’ve never seen him so angry. He stayed home long enough for a bite to eat, but then he was gone—out to find Tom Lockhart, I think. He talked about going to see the archaeologists about the cutlass, but I don’t know if he ever did it. I think after what happened yesterday, he seemed worried mainly about the wreck site.”
“Why did he want to see Tom?” I asked, leaning back in my chair.
“For advice, I think.” She finished a row and transferred the needles between her hands. It looked like she was working
on one side of a sweater, but it was hard to tell. “He wanted to stop Iliad from taking over the site.”
“How long was he gone?”
“Almost the whole day. He stopped in for dinner, but hardly touched a bite.” I knew it wasn’t because of Claudette’s cooking; her pastries might be terrible, but she made some of the best chowder I’d ever eaten. “He ate maybe three bites of stew, and was out the door again. I told him to let things be, to sleep on it at least, but he was angrier than I’ve ever seen him.” She lowered her needles; the brown wool was slack in her lap. “And now look what he’s gone and done …”
“He’s innocent until proven guilty,” I reminded her. “And there were lots of other people who didn’t like Gerald McIntire. He had a long list of enemies.”
She looked up at me. “Really?”
“Trust me. One of the archaeologists threatened to strangle him over dinner last night,” I said. “I’ll make sure the investigators don’t overlook that fact.”
The tension in her doughy features loosened a bit, and I saw a bit of something like hope in her eyes. She picked up her knitting and continued with her row.
“Now. What we need to know is, what did he do with the cutlass?” I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping that Eli hadn’t left the house with it last night.
Claudette gave me a sharp look. “What about it?”
“Are you absolutely sure he took it with him that night?”
“I just don’t remember,” she said.
“But it’s possible, isn’t it?”
“He was certainly home,” she said. “And he usually left it above the mantel.”
“But you don’t recall exactly,” I confirmed.
She shook her head sadly.
It was still worth considering, though. If Eli left the cutlass at home when he went out to see Tom, then anyone else could have come and gotten it. “Did you tell the police he came home—and may have left the cutlass?”
“They didn’t ask,” she said ruefully.
“You can still tell them,” I said. “When I head out, I’ll let them know you’ve got something to add.”
“Thank you, Natalie,” she said. “Since this happened, I … I just haven’t thought clearly.” She paused. “Wait—I did see it. Because he was polishing it something fierce. I remember him putting it back up there.”
Berried to the Hilt Page 6
