A Fowl Feast

by Lyndsey Cole

  After walking until The Fishy Dish was out of sight, she decided she’d better turn around before any toes fell off. When she used her fingers to make an extra loud whistle, she only had to wait for a minute before Patches and Nellie returned. “Time for lunch?” she asked the dogs.

  Nellie woofed and Patches gazed at her with his sad brown eyes. The poor beagle didn’t need much except a constant companion.

  With the wind at her back, Hannah made good time as she looked ahead. A figure approached. It was unusual for her to bump into anyone at this time of year so she was curious to find out who it was.

  As the distance decreased between them, Hannah recognized the confidant gait of The Stranger. His denim jacket hung open. Hannah decided his blood must run on the warm side.

  “Your private investigator told me I’d find you on the beach.”

  Face to face, Hannah could study his features. The scar from his ear to just below his lip attracted her attention when he first showed up in The Fishy Dish, but now she noticed another distinctive feature. When he talked, his teeth barely opened, forcing his lips to form his words. “My private investigator?”

  The Stranger snorted. “I’m humoring her since I’ve asked her to help me.”

  Hannah continued walking and The Stranger turned around, falling into pace with her. She waited for more explanation.

  “I think you and I have something in common, Ms. Holiday.”

  The way he said her name made every nerve rise to high alert. “And you are?”

  “I was wondering how long before you’d ask. Nate Allen.”

  “Well, Mr. Allen, I don’t know what you think we have in common unless it’s walking on a deserted beach.”

  “That’s exactly what I meant.”

  “You seldom answer the question directly, do you?”

  “Ask me anything or, better yet, let me tell you what you’re dying to know.”

  Hannah looked at Nate Allen, The Stranger, now with a name. “You’re a mind reader, too?”

  “I’ve had plenty of time to study people and understand body language. Ms. Holiday, can I call you Hannah?”

  Hannah shrugged.

  “You don’t like me but you can’t put your finger on why. My arriving in town, at your snack bar, has you trying to figure out my agenda.”

  They walked farther in silence. Nellie and Patches had slowed down and were walking alongside Hannah. She had to admit that Nate Allen had her attention with his comments. His perception was unnerving.

  Nate continued. “You’re wondering if I killed Al Hines.”

  Hannah felt all her muscles tense. Why was he telling her all this? “What I find strange, Mr. Allen, is that you are linking yourself to Al’s murder.”

  He grabbed her arm.

  Hannah screamed and swung her free arm down on his forearm to break the hold but it only made him laugh. His grip tightened.

  “Prison toughened me beyond my wildest dreams. If I was planning to hurt you, you wouldn’t have a chance. That isn’t my intention, though, as long as you help me.” He released her arm.

  “I can’t help you.”

  “I disagree, Ms. Hannah Holiday. You and your boyfriend know how to find something that I want. No, that’s not accurate. I’m certain that you can help me find a lot of money, money that will save my life.”

  Hannah stared into Nate’s eyes. They were dark and cold. Lifeless. They sent her a dangerous unspoken message—help me or you might need to fear what I’m capable of.

  Nate released Hannah’s arm. “There is something else we have in common. You can read my thoughts as perfectly as I read yours.”

  Hannah stood in front of The Fishy Dish and watched Nate walk in his slow, measured gait to his car. His license plate, CHASEU, mocked her after he turned his car around and headed toward the exit.

  Without stating it explicitly, Hannah had no doubt that the money Nate wanted was the money that Al and Rochelle had argued about. That was as clear as the blue sky overhead, but Hannah had no idea where to find it.

  Ten

  Cal’s truck turned into the parking lot just as Nate’s sedan left. Hannah could see Cal’s head swivel to get a better look at the car and the driver before he pulled all the way in and parked.

  “Who was that?

  “That’s the guy looking for the money.”

  “The murderer?” Cal’s eyes widened.

  “I’m not sure about that but, for some reason, he thinks you and I know how to help him find the money.”

  Cal looked back toward where the sedan had just been. Only a dust cloud still remained. “He’s crazy.”

  “I don’t think he is. He was dead serious.”

  Cal put his arm around Hannah’s shoulders which was comforting but she knew he couldn’t protect her from Nate, just as Hannah couldn’t protect Cal, either. But she didn’t say any of that. Instead she said, “I have to finish the pie for tonight. The dinner is still on, right?”

  “The dinner is still on. And Rochelle said I could stay in the barn apartment until I can go back to my boat, or for as long as I want. She practically kissed me on both cheeks when I said I’d clean the stalls.”

  “I suppose that’s good news. You’ll be closer to the people who might know how to find the money, if it’s even still around.” Hannah gazed out over the ocean with thoughts that worried her to her core. What if there never was any money or what if it’s gone? What then?

  Cal opened Hannah’s cottage door, letting her enter first. Meg stood at the kitchen counter, busy rolling the pie crust between waxed paper. “It’s about time you got back. I’m ready for the filling and not one apple is even peeled yet.” She looked at Hannah and put down her rolling pin. “What happened in the twenty minutes you’ve been walking on the beach? With those wrinkles on your forehead, something has you filled with worry.”

  “The Stranger? Nate Allen—”

  Meg put her hands up. “Don’t tell me he’s the murderer. I was starting to like his quiet, mysterious flair. You know, tall, dark, kind of handsome, and the scar to add that dash of mystery.”

  “Something happened ten years ago which brought him here just before Al Hines was murdered,” Hannah said. “You tell me if he’s the murderer.”

  “But does it make sense that if this guy, Nate Allen, is the murderer, he’d stick around?” Meg asked. “I know I wouldn’t. I’d be halfway across the country, headed for Mexico, by now.”

  “He’d stick around if he’s looking for the money,” Hannah said. “We’re dealing with a stranger, a murder, and missing money. What links it all together?”

  Meg whipped out her smart phone. “We also have a name now. Let’s see exactly what our Mr. Stranger was up to ten years ago.”

  While Meg punched in search information, Hannah got out her bag of locally grown Honeycrisp apples and her peeler. She sat at the counter and concentrated on peeling each apple in one long unbroken peel. When she had a dozen apples peeled, she halved, then quartered them, cut out the core, and sliced them into quarter-inch slices. The raspberries were already thawed on the counter, ready to mix in.

  Cal reached over and stole a couple of the apple slices. “These Honeycrisps are my favorite—not too tart and not too sweet. Just right.”

  “And they hold up well when cooked. Take all you want, I’ll peel another apple.” Hannah was happy to be doing something mindless as she waited for Meg’s results.

  She didn’t have to wait for long.

  “I found something.” Meg looked at Hannah before looking back at her phone. She read, “Man arrested for break-in the day before Thanksgiving.” Meg added, “This article is from ten years ago.” She continued reading, “Nate Allen, thirty-seven years old, was arrested at the home of Aaron Masoney. Both men had to be taken to the hospital with non-life-threatening injuries. Mr. Masoney, sixty-five, was knocked unconscious during the robbery and suffered a concussion. Mr. Allen appears to have fallen while trying to escape and suffered a facial lacera
tion. His pockets were stuffed with stolen jewelry. Mr. Masoney determined that nothing else was missing. The police are looking for an accomplice.” Meg looked up. “And this follow-up article says, ‘Mr. Allen was found guilty of a violent felony and sentenced to ten years in prison.’”

  “But Mr. Masoney said nothing else was stolen. What about the money that Nate is after now?” Hannah asked.

  Cal paced in Hannah’s kitchen. “Maybe Mr. Masoney didn’t want the police to know about the money. That would make sense if he got it from some illegal scheme.” Cal shrugged. “And, if that’s the case, it sounds to me that your stranger, Nate Allen, had a partner that got away with the money. A partner that got away without doing any jail time, too. Now, Nate is out of jail and he’s back to get even.”

  “So you think he did kill Al because Al was his accomplice?” Hannah asked.

  “That would be my guess. If my theory is right,” Cal said.

  Hannah put her hands on the counter and shook her head. “Something doesn’t fit together. If Nate killed Al without getting the money, he killed his best chance at finding it. If Nate killed Al and got the money, he wouldn’t be hanging around. And he wouldn’t be telling me I need to find the money for him.” Hannah dumped the raspberries in with the apples. “No, I don’t think he killed Al. Maybe he wanted to but someone got to him first. Someone else who knows where the money is and is hoping Nate doesn’t know she knows.”

  “She?” Meg asked.

  “I’m thinking Rochelle Lowe. Right, Cal? We heard Al tell Rochelle he needed the money to get out of town before he came back. I think it’s safe to speculate that the he who Al referred to was Nate Allen. He is back and he wants the money just like Al predicted.”

  “I have to agree with you, Hannah,” Meg said. “Or else it’s an awfully big coincidence. One thing that doesn’t make sense in the article, though, is that it said the police were looking for an accomplice. Why, if the victim said nothing else was stolen?”

  Cal offered a possible theory. “Nate Allen may have sent the police in that direction if what we have come up with now is true. Maybe he told the police he had a partner, hoping that if he cooperated, he’d get a lighter sentence. But they never found anyone.”

  Meg added the apple raspberry mixture to the pie shells and topped each mound with a lattice crust. She brushed the design with an egg wash and slid the two pies into Hannah’s oven.

  Hannah walked to her door. “Meg, send those two articles to me. I’m going to the office to print them out. I want to keep that information handy.”

  Cal walked out with Hannah. “I need to get back to the barn to move some furniture in or else I’ll be sleeping on the floor. Want me to come back to pick you up around five for dinner?”

  “That’s perfect. I’ll be ready.”

  Hannah pushed her office door open and was surprised to find Samantha sitting at her desk. She figured Samantha would avoid her after meddling with renting a cottage when, technically, they were closed for the season. “I can’t believe you invited that guy to stay here. What were you thinking?”

  Samantha stood. Her face broke into a satisfied grin. “Don’t be ridiculous, Hannah. The cottages are all ready and you know you’ve made exceptions in the past.”

  “That’s not the point. This guy gives me the creeps.”

  “More reason to put him where we can keep an eye on his comings and goings.”

  That was a good point, Hannah admitted to herself, even if she wasn’t ready to concede it to Samantha.

  “Besides, I got some interesting information from him while we chatted at the picnic table before you, Cal, and Meg showed up.” Her grin widened.

  Hannah sighed. “All right, I’m listening.”

  “He admitted that he came to town to track down Al Hines but someone beat him to it.”

  “And you believed him?” That sounded like the biggest crock of lies Hannah had ever heard. “Why do you know he didn’t find Al Hines and kill him?”

  “Because he wanted him alive.” Samantha paused. “He said Al owed him five hundred thousand dollars. How would he get that money with Al dead? He certainly didn’t have it stuffed in his pockets.”

  Hannah closed her mouth once she realize it was about to hit the floor. “Say what?”

  “I know. You heard right—that’s five with five zeroes—a lot of money.” Samantha sat back down and crossed her arms over her chest. She tilted her chin up. “He even told me that the plan ten years ago was that they, Nate and Al, would split the money but Nate wasn’t interested in that deal anymore.”

  Hannah shook her head. “Why did he tell you all this?”

  “He needs help. He wants me to help him find the person who gave Al an alibi the night that their whole robbery went bad.”

  An alibi. That was the missing piece from Cal’s logical theory. The article said the police were looking for an accomplice but that person, apparently Al Hines, had an alibi. It must have been a good one. “But if Nate didn’t kill Al, who did?”

  Samantha leaned her elbows on the desk. “The person that gave the alibi? With Al out of the way, he wouldn’t be able to lead Nate to that person’s door.”

  “And you agreed to help him? That’s even crazier than letting him stay in one of my cottages.”

  “I said I’d think about it. He said if I didn’t help he’d find someone else.”

  Hannah’s skin prickled. Was she the someone else? Why did he think she knew how to find the money?

  “One more thing he told me,” Samantha added. “He knows who killed Al.”

  Eleven

  Cal, as promised, returned to Hannah’s cottage at five. He wore charcoal gray slacks and vest with a light gray and white striped shirt. No tie.

  Hannah wasn’t ready. Ever since her conversation with Samantha, she couldn’t stop trying to piece the information together into something that led somewhere. And not to her and Cal.

  “Smells fantastic in here.” Cal sniffed the air as soon as he entered. “Are you sure you want to give that pie away?”

  “We have to bring something and I already told Rochelle I’d bring Great Aunt Caroline’s apple raspberry pie. Do you have a better plan?”

  He slouched onto Hannah’s couch. “I didn’t bake anything, if that’s what you’re wondering. We could bring a bottle of wine instead.”

  “Let’s bring the pie. It will be an ice breaker to talk about the Thanksgiving that Great Aunt Caroline brought the dessert to ten years ago.” Hannah placed the pie in a wicker pie carrier. “I didn’t tell you this before, Cal. Nate Allen followed me on the beach earlier today and he seems to think we know how to find the money he’s looking for. If we don’t help him, I’m not sure what he’ll do.”

  Cal stood. His eyes blazed. “Did he threaten you?”

  “Sort of.”

  Cal slammed his hand on the pillow next to where he sat. Nellie barked and ran to the door. Patches howled. “This is all my fault but I don’t know why. Yet.”

  “Nate told Samantha he didn’t kill Al but he knows who did.”

  “And she believed him? Samantha just likes a good investigation. She’ll believe anything to get in the middle of all the drama.”

  “True, but it could be the truth. That’s what I’ve been pacing back and forth trying to figure out. Al was killed on your boat. If Nate isn’t the killer, that means two people who don’t belong at the marina were there—the murderer and Nate, who claims to know who the murderer is. Someone had to see something.”

  “I’ve asked around. The marina’s pretty quiet at this time of year. Most boats are out of the water and wrapped for the winter. So far, no one has admitted to seeing anything or anyone out of the ordinary.”

  “Okay, then it comes back to figuring out who else would want Al dead, and that leads me to Rochelle. Every time.”

  “Why Rochelle?” Cal asked.

  “Well, think back to the argument we heard between Al and Rochelle. Al told her that she and Mack
were in up to their eyeballs when they agreed to help. How did they help? Did they hide the money? And there’s something else,” Hannah said, now that she was on a roll. “If Al was Nate’s partner, who gave Al an alibi? Nate told Samantha that Al worked with him during the robbery, but this,” she shoved the articles she’d printed earlier into Cal’s hand, “said the police looked but never found an accomplice.”

  Cal skimmed the articles. “You think that Rochelle helped Al somehow?”

  Hannah nodded. “And Mack, apparently. And, don’t forget the time frame we’re talking about. These articles are from ten years ago, the day before Thanksgiving. Remember I told you that Great Aunt Caroline wrote notes about her apple raspberry pie and the Thanksgiving dinner at the Lowes’? The dinner was the day after the robbery, according to this article.” She opened the old cookbook to the pie recipe. “Here, read it for yourself.”

  Cal’s eyes flicked quickly down the margin of the recipe. “Something was odd back then, but it doesn’t mean Rochelle and Mack were connected to the robbery.”

  “I agree, but if you strip away the last ten years—read Caroline’s note about a secret and connect it to Rochelle’s argument with Al wanting her to give him the money—I don’t think it’s a stretch to think she hid the money for Al. And maybe provided his alibi, too.”

  Cal rubbed his chin. “I see where you’re going with all this. With Al out of the way, Rochelle and Mack get to keep the money and, if they are extremely lucky, Nate doesn’t connect any dots between Al, Rochelle, and Mack.”

  “I see one problem with this theory. If Nate knows who murdered Al like he said, and if Rochelle is the murderer like we think, wouldn’t he go to Rochelle next, thinking she would know where the money was?”

  “Good point. It doesn’t mean Rochelle isn’t the murderer though, because Nate could be lying about knowing who the murderer is. I think, what makes the most sense, is that Nate confronted Al but Al convinced him he didn’t have the money. Nate killed Al but now he has to flush someone out of the woodwork to get information to find the money.”