Four Seasons of Mystery

by Karen MacInerney

  I stole a glance at my friend. "John tells me there have been some thefts around the island lately."

  "Yeah. The fundraiser for Marge."

  "You didn't tell me?"

  "Sorry," she said. "I figured John knew."

  "Any idea what's going on?"

  "I know there are a few families down on their luck this year," she said. "Terri Bischoff's catch has been way down; she’s thinking they might have to move off-island. And Anna lives on her pension and was making noise about the fundraiser just the other day."

  "You told me she had a thing for Frank Duggin. Do you think she's just jealous?"

  "That's my guess. Frank offered to have Marge come live with him to cut costs last week. He is completely head-over- heels for her; I think he was hoping her financial situation would work to his advantage."

  "That's never a good foundation for a relationship," I said.

  "I know. Marge did the right thing and said no, but Anna got wind of it, and boy, was she angry. She came in for coffee, Metamucil, and a pack of Kit Kat bars yesterday, and was complaining about Marge--loudly--to anyone who would listen. Lazy, bad-tempered... you name it, she said it."

  "I guess I thought that about Marge too once," I said. Marge had gone through a rough patch several years ago, when she was married to an abusive husband. "But I know better now. Still... do you think she's bitter enough to scuttle the fundraiser?"

  "Somebody's messing with it," Charlene said with a shrug, then walked over and took a deep whiff of the contents of the pot. "What magic are you making?"

  "Hot chocolate," I said.

  "This isn't the kind I make out of a package," she said.

  "No," I agreed. "It may involve some bourbon. Social

  lubricant and all."

  "Either that or it'll be like throwing gasoline on a fire," she pointed out. "We'll find out, right? Who all is here, anyway?"

  "Bridget and her husband Glen. And Adam's parents, Margaret and James. My cousin Robert is in town, too."

  "You mentioned him," she said. "He moved to Bangor recently, right?"

  "He did," I confirmed. Gwen's in there holding court, with John to back her up; Adam should be here any moment."

  "Small group," my friend observed.

  "Adam and Gwen are both only children," I said. "Besides, Gwen wanted to keep it intimate."

  "Only children, eh? No wonder their parents think no one's good enough," Charlene said with a grimace.

  As she spoke, headlights appeared at the top of the drive. "I'll bet that's Adam," I said.

  "Does he know what he's walking into?" Charlene asked.

  "We'll find out soon enough!" I said cheerily and tasted the hot chocolate. "Oh, that's good," I said. I gave it another stir, added some bourbon, then poured the chocolate into a big pitcher and put it on a tray with some mugs, then retrieved the vanilla whipped cream I'd made earlier from the fridge. I’d just added another splash of bourbon when Adam appeared at the kitchen door.

  "Perfect timing," I told him. "We were just about to have hot chocolate and cookies."

  "Did everyone make it here?" he asked, stamping the snow off his boots one last time and unwinding a red-and- white-striped scarf from around his neck.

  "They did," I said, not wanting to spook him by letting him know they appeared to be drawing the battle lines already. As he took off his jacket, revealing a fisherman's sweater much like John's, only in oatmeal, I turned to my friend, who was adding a few more gingerbread men to the tray of cookies I'd laid out. "Charlene, will you grab the cookies? We'll all go in together."

  "Strength in numbers," she murmured, and Adam held the swinging door for us as we filed out of the kitchen and into the dining room. I could already hear animated voices from the parlor beyond.

  "Adam majored in business,” Margaret was announcing as I walked in. "His professor wanted him to submit some of his work to the New Yorker."

  "Gwen majored in art," Bridget riposted. "She's so talent- ed... she got a full scholarship for her work last year..."

  "Hot chocolate and cookies, anyone?" I asked, interrupting my sister.

  "Those look amazing," Gwen said. Adam was beside her; I noticed they were holding hands so tightly their knuckles were white.

  "I added a bit of bourbon for an extra warm-up. Who’s up for a 'special' hot chocolate?"

  "Me!" Adam and Gwen responded in unison. "You should try it, Mom," Gwen said.

  "So, should you," Adam said, directing the comment at his own mother.

  "I really shouldn't..."

  "It's the holiday season," I said. "Everyone in?"

  When the assembled party nodded, I set down the tray and got to work. "This is my best friend Charlene," I said as I poured a healthy slug into each mug.

  "Good to meet you," Adam's father said, standing up as Charlene extended a hand; a moment later, his wife, Margaret, introduced herself. Bridget already knew her, of course, but my brother-in-law hadn't met her yet. Nor, I realized, had my cousin, who was staring at Charlene and looked a bit as if he'd been knocked between the eyes with a two-by-four.

  "This is my cousin Robert," I supplied for him, since he seemed incapable of speech. "I told you about him, Charlene; he just moved to Bangor a few months ago."

  "So good to meet you," she said.

  "Please... sit down," he said, gesturing to an empty spot on the sofa next to him.

  "Thanks," she said, blushing and reaching up to adjust her hair. I bit back a smile as I poured the last of the hot chocolate into the mugs and then added a dollop of whipped cream to each. As I passed the mugs out, Charlene and Robert hardly noticed me; they were deep in conversation, completely oblivious to the plate of cookies or to the continuing sparring going on between the two sets of parents. Instead of focusing on their children, they were both trying to prove the superiority of their respective offspring. I glanced out the window, where the snow was already starting to accumulate. I had a wedding to prepare for, and it looked like I was going to spend the next 48 hours trying to keep Gwen and Adam's mothers from challenging each other to a duel.

  "So," Bridget said. "What was Adam's major?"

  "Business," Margaret said proudly. "He's not using it at the moment, but he could. I guess Gwen just decided to launch out on her own before finishing school, eh?"

  Gwen colored, her lips a thin line.

  “She finished. It just took her a few extra years,” Bridget said, "but she got seduced. I'm not sure if it was your son or this island, but all of our plans kind of got derailed."

  That, it seemed, was the final straw. Gwen stood up and glared at both of them. "Look," she said. Adam reached for her hand and squeezed it, looking equally piqued. "I've tried to be polite, but this has got to stop."

  "What?" Adam's mother said, blinking.

  "This... comparing us like we're prize horses. Adam and I are adults. We've chosen each other. And if this continues..."

  A furrow appeared in Bridget’s forehead. "Gwen, honey... what?"

  "Maybe we shouldn’t be getting married this weekend," she said. "Now if you'll excuse me, I've got things to do." She stood up, brushed off her skirt, and marched to the door to the kitchen with a flustered Adam in her wake.

  I took a sip of my hot chocolate, which was so thick it was almost custardy, but with a lovely warm kick, and glanced at John. So much for a peaceful holiday season and a magical wedding.

  A stunned silence had fallen over the room. Before anyone could break it, the phone rang. I jumped up to answer it, thankful for any excuse to leave the parlor. When I got to the kitchen, there was no sign of Gwen or Adam; I was guessing they'd gone upstairs to Gwen's room to talk.

  "Good evening, Gray Whale Inn," I said as I picked up the phone, my eye on the staircase.

  "Natalie, is that you?" It was my good friend Eleazer White. He and his wife, Claudette, were islanders through and through; I was thankful that they'd accepted me as one of their own. Now, though, I could hear distress in his voice.


  "Eli? What's wrong?"

  "Claudette is just beside herself," he said.

  "What? Why? Is she okay?"

  "You know all those things she collected and took down to the church for Marge's fundraiser?"

  "Yes," I said. I had a bad feeling about this.

  "It's all gone," he said.

  "What?"

  "Every last bit. I was trying to fix Frank Duggin's motor-- he was over here yesterday, and it's still leakin' gasoline all over creation--while Claudie went down to start organizing things into baskets. She just called to say somebody stole them."

  I sighed. Who on earth would intentionally torch a fundraiser dedicated to one of the islanders? "I'll send John down," I said. "Where should I tell him to go?"

  "Claudette's down at the church."

  "Got it," I said, thinking maybe John could use some company. Besides, anything to get me out of range of extended family was a welcome distraction. I had just hung up the phone, wondering what else could go wrong, when the power went out, shrouding the inn in darkness.

  "Tough crowd," John said as we hurried out to the van a few minutes later. I'd distributed candles and flashlights; with the exception of Charlene and my cousin, all the other guests had dispersed to their own corners, doubtless to continue their complaining in private. Our heat wasn't electric, thankfully, so the place would be warm, but I hadn't gotten around to picking up a generator yet, so our lighting options were limited. Was the whole island blacked out? I wondered. And would the power come on in time for the wedding?

  Assuming there was a wedding, that was.

  "It's kind of a relief to be in the van," John said. "Do you think Gwen was serious about calling the wedding off?"

  "I don't know," I said. "I don't think she's not going to marry Adam. It's just whether she's going to do it when her family's here, I think."

  "They were pretty poorly behaved," John said.

  "You think? I'm disappointed in Bridget; I thought she'd come to terms with things."

  "I think Margaret's dissing her daughter has rekindled some of that. I can't say I blame her."

  I sighed as John put the van into drive and headed up the rapidly whitening driveway. Fortunately, neither John nor I had had any of the spiked hot chocolate, so we were good to drive. I just hoped the two families didn't burn down the inn while we were gone.

  "At least Gwen and Adam have some things in common."

  "What do you mean?'

  "Two Tiger Moms," I said as we crested the hill on our way to the church; the snow was falling so quickly that the wipers could barely keep up. We couldn't stay at the church long unless we wanted to walk home, I thought. Although it might be preferable to bunk at the church. Certainly less stressful. "No wonder Gwen and Adam both moved to an island only accessible by boat."

  John squinted through the snow on the windshield. "Unfortunately, it looks they're probably going to be snowed in with them for a while."

  "They can go back to Adam's place," I pointed out. "We're the ones who may be stuck with them."

  "Thanks for reminding me," he said glumly. "On the plus side," he said, brightening a bit, "Charlene and Robert seemed to hit it off."

  "That's true," I said as we pulled into the church parking lot next to Claudette's beaten-up station wagon. The church was dark, as was the rest of the island; the power outage must have covered the whole community. The headlights illuminated the little church; the snow on the roof and the pine trees made it look like something from a Currier and Ives painting. "I wish I knew Robert better. We haven't seen each other in twenty years."

  "If they do get along, at least he's in Bangor, not Port- land," John pointed out.

  "Let's not put the cart before the horse," I suggested. "She's just recovering from the last break-up, and I have no idea what kind of man Robert turned into, although he was very nice as a boy."

  "True," he said. "I guess I'm just a romantic."

  "A romantic deputy," I said, and reached over to squeeze his gloved hand. "Speaking of deputing, what do you think is going on with these fundraiser thefts?" I asked.

  "Either someone's desperate for money, or someone doesn't like Marge, is my guess."

  "Who are you thinking?" I asked.

  "Well, Marge took a few jobs from Bertha Matheson this past summer, I hear," John said. "So Bertha’s one possibility." "Huh. Charlene told me Frank Duggin has a crush on Marge, too," I said.

  John blinked. "Really Frank?"

  "He writes her poetry. Brings her flowers."

  "Hidden depths, that one. I've heard him wax rhapsodic over an upgraded motor, but I thought his lady love was his lobster boat."

  "Apparently his lady love has had some mechanical issues lately, leaving him stranded at the store. That's when he fell for Marge."

  "Really."

  "Really. And what's more, it's a love triangle."

  John stared at me, openmouthed. "No."

  "Yes. Charlene told me Anna is livid with Marge. She wants Frank for herself."

  "She does?" John said, sounding puzzled. "But he smells like a bait shop."

  "No accounting for taste," I said. "Maybe she's grown up around that smell so much that she doesn't notice it. And as Charlene has pointed out repeatedly, now that you and Adam are spoken for, the pickings on Cranberry Island are rather slim."

  "Maybe," John said, not sounding convinced. "You think Anna would be vindictive enough to steal a bunch of toys over that?"

  I shrugged. "All's fair in love and war, right?"

  He sighed. "Well, let's go find out what Claudette has to say."

  Together, we hurried from the van to the church door; John held it for me while I nipped inside, along with a flurry of snowflakes, and then followed me.

  Our flashlights illuminated the sanctuary of the little church, which was decorated for Christmas with greenery and red ribbons adorning the pews and altar. I took a deep breath, enjoying the scent of pine and furniture polish and candle wax and a little bit of dust; it was familiar and comforting and would have felt deeply satisfying had it not been for Claudette's anxious voice echoing off the walls.

  "Natalie? John? Is that you?"

  "It's us," I confirmed.

  "Thank goodness you're here," she said, appearing with a lantern in hand. Claudette's solid frame was swathed in a chunky wool sweater, a broomstick skirt, and boots. "I just can't believe this is happening."

  "When did you discover that things were missing?" John asked.

  "Just a half hour ago," she told me. "I came up to sort things out before the storm got worse, and when I opened the door to the bride's room... well, you'll see."

  We followed her down the aisle to a door to the right of the altar, and then into the bride's room, a small room that doubled as a dressing room and a storage area.

  "Look!" she said, pointing to a long, empty table. "It's all gone."

  "All the donations?" John asked.

  Claudette nodded, almost in tears. "Every one of them. I've kept the door locked, but when I got here today, it was open."

  "When was that?" John asked.

  "Just when I called," she said. "They were all here this morning! And I've heard whoever it was stole things from a few other places, too." Her shoulders sagged. "I just can't believe it. We're all supposed to be working together here!"

  "Maybe it was someone in need?" I suggested.

  "Whoever it was sloppy," John said, squatting down and looking at the table. "There's something like grease on the side of the table. Was this here before?"

  "No," Claudette said, peering at the smear of what looked like dirty engine grease.

  "There are footprints, too," I said, pointing at the wood floor. "Or what used to be, before the snow melted."

  "It was recent, then," John said. "The water hasn't evaporated."

  "Not much of a clue, though. No footprints, really. Just melted snow."

  "Could be anyone," Claudette said glumly.

  "We'll do our best to f
igure it out," John said semi-comfortingly. "And if not, never fear; we'll take care of Marge."

  "It just isn't neighborly," she said. "I don't understand it." "We'll take care of it," I said soothingly, glancing at

  John and hoping we weren't making promises we couldn't keep.

  "So, who do you think it was?" I asked John as we hurried back to the van a few minutes later.

  "I don't know," he said. "I'd say someone who's hit hard times, but what are they going to do with a bunch of toys?"

  "It's almost like someone has it in for Marge," I said. "Maybe it's Anna."

  "You suggested that before. You really think she'd try to kill the fundraiser because she's jealous?"

  "Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned," I said. "Maybe we should stop by and visit?"

  "We'd better do it before the snow gets too bad," he said. "She lives up on Seal Point Road, doesn't she?"

  "She does," I confirmed, and a few minutes later, we pulled up outside a tiny two-story house. Candlelight flick- ered in the windows, and snow was already starting to drift across the small porch.

  "At least she's home," John said. As we got out of the van, John walked over to the beaten-up golf cart in the driveway. There were no tracks; it didn't appear to have moved all day. Nor, I confirmed with a sweep of the flashlight, were there any tracks off the front porch or along the sides of the house."

  Anna answered the door almost immediately. She was a small, neat-looking woman with tortoise-shell glasses; tonight, she was bundled up in a jacket and mittens. "Can I help you?" she asked.

  "John and Natalie from the Gray Whale Inn; I know we've met a few times before," John said. "Can we come in for a minute?"

  "Of course," she said. "It's a bit chilly in here; the wind keeps shooting down the chimney and filling the place with smoke. I keep meaning to get that looked at," she said as she closed the door behind us. "Come and sit down, please," she said, leading us to a plaid couch in her small living room. "Can I get you anything?"

  "No thanks," I said.

  "Likewise," John said. "As for your fireplace, 'll take a look when the weather clears," he offered. "But in the meantime... can I ask you a few questions?"