15 Minutes of Flame

by Christin Brecher

  After taking a few more turns, we found ourselves in the space I remembered. I now walked carefully, searching with each step for a clue left behind by someone else who had used the path. I was looking behind a bush I thought looked unnaturally crushed when Andy made a discovery.

  “Look at this,” he said.

  I was surprised to notice various piles of Marlboro cigarette butts. Andy pulled out evidence bags and collected a few.

  “This should get us started,” he said.

  “Strange, right?” I said. “Do any of our suspects smoke?”

  “Not that I know of,” he said, “but I’ll find out.”

  Andy continued on down the path, beyond where I had stopped. This time, it was I who followed him. We walked about another twenty yards, through a footpath that was not expertly cleared but definitely had been made into enough of a pathway that our steps were easy. Behind us, we could not see the well. I knew no one could see us either.

  Finally, the path opened to a marshy field. It ended at the harbor.

  “Did you see any boats when you were here?” said Andy, looking across the water.

  “I wasn’t here,” I said, wishing I could be of more assistance. “Do you think someone could have taken a boat here, knocked the tree over, killed Solder, and retreated?”

  Andy tilted his head. His eyes were still on the horizon.

  “But who?” he said. “And wouldn’t that person have been afraid that Leigh would see the whole thing?”

  “That broken walkie-talkie might have saved her life.”

  “Weird about the cigarette butts,” he said, and headed back down the path.

  Our return to camp was faster. At this point, we’d made enough of a dent in the trees that we didn’t get lost. When we reentered the area around the well, Andy walked directly to the chief. I could see my cousins Ted and Docker had rejoined them. I was curious to know what they had to say about the fallen tree, but I was even more focused on taking advantage of the opportunity to check out Robert Solder, whose body was still in the area. The medical examiner had rolled the body over, onto a cloth sheet, and had moved it a short distance. An officer was taking photos of the ground under the body, while the ME was examining the back of the corpse.

  “Start a search for a blunt object,” the examiner said to his assistant.

  I could see why he’d issued the order. On the side of Solder’s head was a gash I hadn’t noticed before. I looked at the stone well. I could imagine that if I hit my head against it, I’d get a noticeable wound too. The ME, however, seemed to think he might have been hit by an object.

  “What are you saying, dude?” I heard my cousin Ted say.

  “Kyle Nolan might be a lot of things, but I don’t like where you’re going with this,” said Docker with an equally animated outburst to the otherwise business-as-usual vibe that had taken over the crime scene as the professionals went to work. Kyle Nolan, I remembered, was the gardener who had helped my cousins clear the well.

  The men were standing beside the tree that had fallen so suddenly across Leigh’s path. I sidled up next to the meeting, before anyone remembered to send me back to the house. Immediately, I saw that neither a deer nor any other animal had had a part in the tree’s collapse. The fall was no random accident. The trunk was cleanly cut about three-quarters of the way through. The rest of the trunk was torn, as if someone had pushed it over. It would have taken strength to do the last bit by hand, but these trees were about as thick as Robert Solder’s neck. It wasn’t impossible.

  “They think one of us sabotaged the tree so that it would fall over,” Docker said to me.

  “No, they don’t,” I said. “They just have to follow all leads. Right, Andy?”

  But Andy was on his walkie-talkie, sending a message up to the house to find the axe that Kyle Nolan had borrowed yesterday.

  As I had instructed Leigh to do not long ago, I closed my eyes and tried to remember watching the tree fall. Our attention had been on Flo who had suggested lunch, so we had not seen the tree moving at first. When we had heard the noise, however, we had all turned. I remembered seeing the tree swaying and groaning.

  I had assumed that the tree had fallen by itself and that one of our group had taken advantage of that opportunity to murder Solder. With the discovery of my pathway and the suspiciously cut tree, however, it now seemed possible that the swaying might have been the result of someone pushing the tree over for its final fall, one timed to coincide with the ascent of the forensics team.

  I opened my eyes.

  “The batteries,” I said to Andy.

  “What about them?” he said.

  “The killer might have tried to get Leigh out of the way by swapping in bad batteries.”

  “I’ll get fingerprints on the batteries,” he said. “Good work. Let’s head back to the house.”

  He took a step, but I remained still. There was a neat row of evidence bags on a tarp beside the well. I noticed that the bags included Nancy’s bonnet and her canvas bag, but no map.

  “Still looking for the map?” said Andy. “Solder said he’d bring it up, but he didn’t have it on him.”

  “That seems important to me,” I said. “Bellows said it would be worth a lot in today’s market. Perhaps someone was willing to kill him for the map.”

  “No one had a map when I searched them,” said Andy. “And no one has found it in the area.”

  “But it doesn’t make sense for him to have left it down in the well,” I said.

  “Solder only discovered that map today,” said Andy. “Given the clues that this murder was premeditated, I doubt the map has anything to do with motive.”

  “But if the map is missing, I don’t think this murder was planned,” I said. “I can’t explain the tree, but I think this murder might have to do with Nancy Holland and Patience Cooper’s story, and the map Nancy left behind.”

  “Thank you for your suggestion,” said Andy, walking me toward the path back to Old Holly’s house before the chief complained about the fact that I was still there. “And I’m sure I don’t have to tell you, but you are not to spread rumors about where the map is or isn’t.”

  “I’m just happy I don’t have to remind you of that fact,” I said. “It’s in our best interest to keep quiet about its disappearance.”

  “I’m sure it didn’t disappear,” said Andy.

  We stopped at the table where I saw the walkie-talkies. I knew Andy had work to do.

  “What are you going to do with Fontbutter and Bellows?” I said.

  “We don’t have enough evidence to arrest anyone at this point,” said Andy. “Of course, no one is to leave the island. Including you.”

  I looked at him, about to share a good laugh, but he wasn’t laughing.

  “OK,” I said, and headed back up to the house.

  “Bye, Stell,” Docker called out as I left.

  “Keep an eye on the police,” I called out to him over my shoulder.

  “Will do!”

  I entered Old Holly’s house, this time through the kitchen door instead of the main one. I wasn’t sure what to say or do with my suspects right now. I knew none of them would hand me the map if they had it, but I wanted to think about its disappearance a bit more.

  “What’re you doing, snooping around my stuff?” I heard Old Holly say to an officer inside the living room.

  I peeked through the kitchen door, knowing that the search for an axe was now underway.

  Old Holly was standing by his television, grabbing for his clicker, which the officer was using to lower the volume.

  “I’ll have to ask you to step away, sir,” said the officer.

  I closed the door and headed up the back stairs to find someplace to think.

  Reaching the second-floor landing, I looked through a couple of doors that led to musty old rooms. Unlike the Morton house, which had some charm in spite of its neglect over time, Old Holly’s house had a sadness to it I couldn’t shake. It looked to me like O
ld Holly had left a wet towel one place, a plate of spaghetti in another spot, and then forgotten about them. I wondered if Fontbutter’s call last night, suggesting a show featuring his family’s story, had been an opportunity for escape for Old Holly. I could see why he might not be able to handle anything standing in its way, including Solder’s lack of charisma, which might have jeopardized the show’s success.

  When I saw a latch in the ceiling that connected to the house’s widow’s walk, I took advantage of the opportunity to slip away from the second-floor rooms. It was easy to pull down and open the ladder. In a moment, I was up the stairs and on the roof porch that overlooked Old Holly’s land.

  I sat comfortably in the center of the small deck, away from the commotion below. From here, I had a solid view of the property and the harbor leading to town. I could see more than ever how buried the well had been before my cousins and Kyle had cleared a path. It was interesting to me that Old Holly had been so clear about where the guys would find it. Although the well had been almost buried by nature, he had certainly known exactly where it was. My cousins and Kyle Nolan had done a great job of clearing what they could in the time that they had had.

  Below, I saw my cousins steaming with anger about the discovery that the tree had been tampered with ahead of the excavation today. The search continued for the axe, but no one seemed able to find it.

  Was the break in the tree a strange coincidence or part of a plan to kill Robert Solder? This point seemed to be the difference between a premeditated murder and one of impulse. The police were sure the crime had been premeditated, but I decided to keep an open mind. I knew, however, that this piece of the puzzle needed to be solved sooner than later. It was the key to understanding motive and means.

  I decided to visit Kyle Nolan, the gardener, to learn more.

  Chapter 12

  Kyle and Clemmie Nolan live out by the airport. I didn’t know Kyle, but I was friendly with Clemmie, who works at The Bean. Our acquaintance began one day when my best friend, Emily Gardner, and I were paying for our coffees. Somehow, Em and I had gotten into a conversation about a bench on Main Street that has the names of beloved Nantucketers inscribed on it. We promised each other that whoever kicked the bucket first, we’d find a way to dedicate a bench to the other. Unbeknown to us, Clemmie was working her first day there, and she was listening.

  “You silly girls,” she had said with warm exasperation.

  Clemmie is about our age, but she looks even younger. Even though her hair was covered in a net while at work, I remembered admiring its pale blue color, which popped against her dark skin and high cheekbones.

  “What are you waiting for?” she had said when we looked at her questioningly. “If you drag your heels like that, the old folks will have snatched up your bench by the time you need it. Mark your territory, women.”

  You can see why I liked her. After we left, I think I had promised Emily that I’d do the research on how to put a plaque on a bench, but we hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about it yet, aside from debating what the plaque should say.

  Of course, I never imagined that I’d ever be curious about whether Clemmie’s husband had somehow had a hand in killing a man, but Kyle didn’t have the same warm reputation as his wife. Kyle Nolan had grown up on Nantucket, his parents having arrived from the Caribbean before he was born, whereas Clemmie arrived here from Florida after high school to live with her aunt. While Clemmie took to Nantucket’s life immediately, Kyle always seemed to be a fish out of water, so to speak. Even as an adult with a successful gardening company, the man was known to have a temper, although I’d never seen it myself.

  When I pulled up to the house, I realized immediately that the police had already reached the Nolans before me. Kyle was out front. My window was up, but I didn’t need to hear Kyle’s words to get the gist. A vein on his neck had become so large with anger I could see it from across the street.

  I was about to leave—I mean, timing is everything—but then the screen door of the Nolans’ house opened, and Clemmie came running out. She headed right to my car.

  I opened my window. Clemmie is of average height; her figure is a healthy plus size, and she rocks it. Right now, she was wearing a form-fitting T-shirt and curvy jeans. She wore no makeup, opting instead for five sparkling studs up each ear, framed by pale blue tresses.

  “Hi, Clemmie,” I said. “You OK?”

  “Hell, no, I’m not OK,” she said.

  The sunshine I always associated with her had been replaced with a cloud that rivaled the day’s fog.

  “Do you know anything about why the police are hassling Kyle?”

  I turned off the car and got out. Behind Clemmie, their dog barked.

  “Quiet, Buster,” said Clemmie.

  I was impressed. Buster not only stopped barking, but he settled by Kyle’s feet.

  “Ma’am,” said the officer, a man I knew by sight but not by name. “Please get back into your car. You are intruding on a police matter.”

  “She’s intruding on nothing,” said Clemmie with a ferocity that could equal Kyle’s.

  “My wife has a social engagement,” said Kyle, backing up his wife. “You have a problem with that? If so, I’ll have Clemmie come right here to stand by my side. If you think I’m mad, get ready for my lady.”

  “Come on,” said Clemmie, heading down the road, away from the men. “Kyle thinks the cop is here because he’s been double-parking in town all month. He saw on TV that if you don’t give the policeman a chance to tell you your offense, then they can’t press charges. I think he’s confusing that with getting a subpoena. Me? I don’t think they send an officer over for things like parking spaces. And it seems an odd coincidence that you chose right now for our first social engagement outside of The Bean. Do you know what’s up?”

  “Kyle did a job for my cousins, Ted and Docker,” I said. “A man was murdered this morning on the site where they worked. Before he was killed, a tree fell in front of him. When the police checked the tree, they found that it had been axed just enough in advance that someone could have pushed it over while we were there.”

  Clemmie stopped in her tracks.

  “Kyle wasn’t killing anyone this morning by pushing a tree on them. I’ve been with him all day.”

  I looked back at Kyle, who still hadn’t let the policeman get a word in.

  “Kyle likes a good fight,” said Clemmie, as if reading my mind. “This is like a day at the beach for him. He’s gentle as a lamb with me, though. As good a husband as there is.”

  Kyle began to pace around his porch, lecturing the policeman about the problems with piping plovers, a bird that has had protection issues on the island. The policeman crossed his arms but nodded in agreement.

  “He would have been a good lawyer,” said Clemmie. “Or politician. Instead, he’s my crazy husband, who picked a few fights in his younger days and decided to embrace the role. He says it has its perks. He gets to cut in line at the movies, people let him have a parking space. You should see how good our service is when we dine out.”

  “But does he know that the police are here about murder?” I said. “This isn’t a misdemeanor they’re checking up on.”

  “He hasn’t stopped talking since that officer arrived, so no. But I’m not worried. And nor should he be. He has an alibi. He was here, and I was here with him.”

  “Can anyone else vouch for you guys?”

  “Sure,” she said. “Buster and Kyle were playing fetch out front, and half the neighbors were complaining about Buster’s barking. I was just bringing them both a snack when the police arrived. Who died, by the way?”

  “Has Kyle ever mentioned the name Robert Solder?” I said.

  Clemmie shook her head.

  “Does he live on the island?” she said.

  “No,” I said. “He was here working on an anthropological excavation of a skeleton from the early eighteen-hundreds.”

  “The one they found at Halloween Haunts?” sh
e said. “Or the one in the well?”

  “Both.”

  “Maybe Solder dug up the past, and it came back to haunt him.”

  “That’s what I think.”

  We both shook our heads and watched Kyle turn and face his house, his back to the officer, who was beginning to look impatient.

  “I hate to ask this, but the police probably will at some point,” I said. “Do you think someone might have hired Kyle to give the tree an extra chop? To make it vulnerable?”

  “I doubt that,” she said. “For a few reasons. One, he wasn’t too happy, to begin with, that he was clearing out wetlands. Even the smallest bit of human intervention upsets the balance of nature on this island. Everyone’s slicing their tiny bit back, and there’s repercussions, you know?”

  “I do know,” I said. It’s a topic of great debate on Nantucket.

  “Second,” she said, “Kyle’s the kind to pick his own fights, but he wouldn’t help someone else make trouble in this world. I know that man. Trust me. He’d look down on that kind of behavior.”

  Behind us, Kyle began to sing the national anthem.

  “And third, look at that man. You think he had a hand in murder?” she said, shaking her head at his antics. “I’d better go bail Kyle out of this. He’s going to feel really stupid.”

  “Need help?” I said.

  Clemmie looked at my Beetle.

  “You date the reporter, right?” she said.

  “Peter Bailey.”

  “Hang around,” she said. “Let Kyle give him a few quotes so you have his side for the record. In case this blows up.”

  “Deal,” I said.

  Clemmie walked over to Kyle, and I walked to my car, where I called Peter.

  “Where’ve you been?” I said.

  “Right now I’m at the gas station getting a new tire,” he said. “I’ve had quite a day.”

  I smiled and let him talk, although I knew I had his day beat.

  “First, Brenda Worthington showed up at the Morton house after you left,” he said. “Apparently you had tea planned for this morning?”