Murder Most Maine

by Karen MacInerney

  “I keep looking for that gorgeous man who’s supposed to be leading us,” my friend said, her blue eyes scouring the area for signs of the trainer. “Shouldn’t he be here by now?”

  Charlene wasn’t the only one who had noticed his absence. “Where’s our leader?” asked Bethany, looking up at what I knew to be Dirk’s window. “He didn’t even come down to give us our supplements this morning.”

  “I don’t know,” said Vanessa, a small furrow appearing in her otherwise flawless brow. “He said he might go for an early run this morning. I’m sure he’ll be back soon, but “I’ll go knock on his door again. Maybe he’s in the shower. But if he’s not here by ten after, I promise we’ll go on our own. After all, we have an excellent guide with us.” Her sleek hair shone as she nodded toward John, who was standing on the front doorstep. His shoulders straightened slightly, and he smiled.

  “I told you she was trouble,” Charlene murmured.

  When Dirk didn’t show up by 9:10, Vanessa started up the hill at a light jog, with the rest of us puffing behind her like ducklings. Although she was interminably perky, her smile was a bit dimmer than usual, and I noticed her shooting frequent glances back toward the inn.

  Despite the cool breeze off the water behind us—and despite the fact that Vanessa, once resigned to her trainer’s absence, stepped right back into motivational mode and kept exhorting us to “pick up the pace” and “really work those glutes,” it was a beautiful morning to be out attempting to jog. (By the time we got halfway up the hill, most of us were purple, so Vanessa bowed to the inevitable and slowed to a brisk walk.) The pine trees filled the air with their fresh scent, which I got ample lungfuls of, since I was gasping for breath. As we crested the hill, another robin swooped over the road in front of us.

  “First robin I’ve seen since the fall,” Charlene said. “Spring really must be here to stay.”

  “It’s about time,” I said. As exciting as winter had been for me, with the novelties of snow and icicles, I was glad to kiss it goodbye. We started down the other side of the hill a few minutes later, panting, and got our first view of the lighthouse in the distance. A shiver ran down my back as I remembered the light I’d seen the night before.

  “Did they already get the new lamp installed?” I asked, pointing at the lighthouse.

  “Not that I know of,” she said.

  “We saw it last night,” I said, finally catching my breath. “At dinnertime: it flashed about a half a dozen times.”

  She shrugged. “Maybe I’m wrong.”

  “Do you think it has anything to do with the legend?” I asked.

  “Oh, the omen thing? It hasn’t happened while I’ve been here, and lord knows we’ve seen more than our share of tragedies.” She fell silent for a moment, and I knew she was thinking of Richard McLaughlin, the rector she had dated briefly—and who had been murdered just last fall.

  “By the way,” I said, hoping to get her mind off those not-so-distant memories, “any word on the skeleton?”

  She sucked in her breath. “Didn’t I tell you?”

  “No. You were too busy mooning about Dirk.”

  “I wasn’t mooning,” she said, pushing a lock of hair out of her eyes. “I was admiring. Or bemoaning his absence.”

  “Whatever,” I said. “What did they find out?”

  “The results came back yesterday—or at least that’s what Matilda said.” Matilda Jenkins was the island’s historian, and had spearheaded the conservation effort. “Apparently the skeleton belonged to a man, and they think he’s been there for about a hundred and fifty years,” Charlene continued. “They said they could estimate the time period from the buckles on his shoes.”

  “No wonder the population’s so small on this island,” I joked. “The murder rate appears to be well above average.”

  “Actually, they do think he was murdered,” Charlene said.

  “Why?”

  “I’m not sure yet—Matilda didn’t tell me the details. I’m not sure she knows yet.”

  A shiver passed through me when I thought of the bones that had lain hidden in secret for all those years. “Do they think it was the lighthouse keeper?”

  She shrugged. “The timing’s right, so it’s a good guess, but there’s no way to know. It may just be another unsolved mystery. On the other hand, it should help the tourist trade; nothing like a good ghost story to draw visitors.” Vanessa’s throaty laugh reached us—she was shoulder-to-shoulder with my neighbor—and Charlene nudged me. “We’d better get up there,” she said.

  Personally, I wasn’t sure my presence was going to make any difference; for starters, in my bulky, shapeless jacket, the whole comparison thing wasn’t exactly in my favor, and I didn’t think my turning up was going to do much to quell John’s evident attraction to Vanessa anyway. But Charlene urged me forward, and a minute later she and I were trotting along right behind the slender retreat leader and my flannel-clad boyfriend.

  “Hi, Natalie,” John said when he saw me, flashing me a white-toothed grin that made my heart melt. “Great morning to be out, isn’t it?”

  “It is,” I agreed. Particularly now that we were headed downhill, and no longer jogging.

  “How far is the lighthouse?” asked Cat, who was sandwiched between her sorority sisters behind me.

  “Another twenty minutes,” John said.

  “Will there be snacks when we get there?”

  “Don’t worry, I’ve got you covered.” Vanessa patted her smart little backpack, which I knew was filled with energy bars that looked and tasted like sawdust mixed with miniscule chocolate chips.

  We spent much of that remaining time listening to John and Vanessa catch up on old times, with Charlene interjecting what she knew of longtime island residents.

  “So Murray Selfridge made it big, I hear,” Vanessa said.

  “He’s been trying to do the same for the island,” John said, referring to Selfridge’s repeated attempts to push developments through the board of selectmen.

  “It looks like he hasn’t been successful so far,” Vanessa said. “The island hasn’t changed a bit.”

  “Not yet—and a lot of it’s due to Tom Lockhart.”

  “Why is that?” Vanessa asked.

  “He’s a pretty big deal around here,” Charlene said. “He stepped into his father’s shoes as head of the lobster co-op, and he’s also chair of the board of selectmen.”

  “It doesn’t surprise me,” Vanessa said, smiling. “He was always charismatic. It was good to see him again …” There was an odd look in her almond-shaped eyes as she spoke. Had she seen him more than once yesterday? I wondered.

  “What about you?” John asked her. “Last I heard you were engaged to some real estate mogul in New Jersey.”

  “Didn’t work out,” she said quickly. “He was already married to his business. But tell me about everybody else. What happened to Eric Hoyle?”

  As John and Charlene filled Vanessa in on the rest of the gossip—some of which was interesting, but much of which I already knew—I glanced behind me to see what everyone else was up to. Bethany was looking distraught, doubtless at the absence of her love object, and the three sorority sisters appeared to be taking their own little trip down memory lane. Megan was walking stolidly alongside Greg; Carissa trailed them, looking miserable. Once I glimpsed her slipping something into her mouth—it looked like a mini Snickers bar—and again I felt that stab of pity. The reporter was at the rear of the line, alone.

  Elizabeth had put away her notebook, but was snapping pictures with a little digital camera. I couldn’t blame her; with the fresh green leaves springing up on the sides of the road, and the dark trees finally free of their blanket of snow, the scenery was breathtaking.

  As we approached the lighthouse, I could see the construction equipment from the renovation clustered at the end of the trail. The area around the lighthouse was ringed by a construction fence, and the previously narrow, rarely traveled path had widened considerabl
y with all the traffic. I thought again about Vanessa’s late-night outing; had she and either Tom or John come back last night to revisit their old haunts?

  Stop being ridiculous, I told myself. John didn’t even have a car.

  “Watch out for rocks!” Vanessa said in a cheery voice as she started down the path. John followed her, and I fell in behind him, Charlene trailing me.

  “All this effort, and Dirk didn’t even show up,” Charlene muttered. “I’m sweating for nothing.”

  “What’s that?” It was Elizabeth, from somewhere behind me. She was pointing to something that looked like a speed bump on the trail. I craned to look over John’s shoulder; whatever it was was blue, with a flash of white.

  “I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe it’s something the workers left behind.”

  We had only taken a few more steps when Vanessa screamed.

  “Oh my God,” Charlene breathed beside me as Vanessa stumbled up the path and dropped to her knees beside an inert form.

  “What is it?” asked Boots from behind us.

  I stared at the still form Vanessa was bending over. I recognized the thatch of blond hair.

  “I think it’s Dirk,” I said, feeling sick.

  “Vanessa,” John called, following her up the path. He pressed two fingers to Dirk’s neck, checking for a pulse. Then he turned to Vanessa, pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. He’s gone; there’s nothing else you can do for him.”

  “No,” she wailed. “No, no, no.” Her voice was hollow with despair. “Dirk! Answer me!”

  “Vanessa, please move away from him,” John said quietly, in his deputy voice. “We have to call the detectives so they can find out what happened here.”

  “But he can’t be dead!” she sobbed. “He was alive just last night!”

  “I know,” John said, and pulled her in to his chest. One hand cradled her dark head and the other stroked her slim back. Charlene shot me a glance.

  As Vanessa wept in John’s arms, I glanced at the inert form on the path. Dirk’s sightless blue eyes stared at the matching sky. After a moment, my own eyes flicked to the lighthouse behind him. Had last night’s light been an omen after all?

  “Natalie.” John’s voice was calm. “Please go to the nearest house and call the police. Then take everyone back to the inn.”

  “Sure,” I said, glancing back at the group. Bethany looked stricken; tears coursed down her pale cheeks. A stray thought flitted through my mind. What was she going to do now that the center of her universe was gone?

  Boots, Sarah, and Cat were murmuring among themselves, shaking their heads at the tragedy, but watching with the avid interest of rubberneckers passing an accident. Megan had taken the opportunity to grip Greg’s arm, and he was patting her hand absently while Megan’s daughter, Carissa, stared slack-jawed at the dead trainer, a trace of something that looked like chocolate visible on her pale lower lip. Elizabeth quietly snapped shots of the body with her digital camera, then tucked the camera away and pulled out her notebook. To her, I realized, this was a benefit. A murder made for a much better story than a bunch of people trying to lose weight.

  I turned back to where Vanessa was still clutching John and weeping.

  “I’ll take the group back to the inn,” I said. “But what about Vanessa?”

  He touched her chin gently and tilted up her tear-stained face. “Vanessa,” he said. “I think you should go back with Natalie. She’s going to call the police.”

  “But … I can’t leave him!” she wailed.

  “Sweetheart, you need to. Think of the retreat. You’ve got to keep it together.”

  Sweetheart? I could feel my jaw tighten.

  “You’re right,” she said, straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath. A moment later she wiped the tears from her face and faced the group. “Okay, everyone. We should probably head back to the inn so we can …” Her face crumpled, and she burst into tears again.

  “Come with me,” I said, more shortly than I meant to. As I held my hand out, John helped her stumble across the trail toward me. I looked at him. “I’ll send Charlene to the store to call the police while I take your sweetheart back to the inn,” I said.

  His green eyes flickered briefly. Then he said, “Fine. I’ll stay here with the body until the police arrive.”

  “Right.” I took Vanessa’s skinny arm. “Charlene, will you head down to the store and call the police?”

  “Sure,” she said, her blue eyes glued to the trainer’s body. As were everyone else’s. After the initial gasp of shock, it had been eerily silent, except for the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, and the occasional mournful call of a gull. “Let’s head back to the inn,” I called to the retreat participants, who shuffled back down the path, away from the lighthouse—and from Dirk.

  Vanessa kept looking over her shoulder as we followed the group back to the road. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she whimpered. I squeezed her thin arm and said nothing.

  ___

  “What do you think happened to him?” Elizabeth asked as we sat in the inn’s dining room forty minutes later. Once we got back, I’d brewed Vanessa a cup of chamomile tea; she’d taken it and retreated to her room, probably in part to avoid Elizabeth, who kept peppering her with questions. Bethany had disappeared as well, after traipsing back to the inn looking like the love of her life had just died. Which, in a way, I guess, he had. Despite my anger over John’s behavior toward Vanessa, I was more than a little concerned for both of them.

  I took a sip of my sugarless hot chocolate, wishing I’d spiked it with brandy—I could use a little fortification right about now. I had broken down and snagged a small stack of gingersnaps, figuring since I’d just seen a dead body and heard my so-called boyfriend use a term of endearment to address his ex-girlfriend, it was completely warranted. Sweetheart, he’d called her. I knew I should be more upset about Dirk’s untimely demise, but right now I was feeling numbed by what had passed between John and Vanessa.

  “I don’t know what happened,” Megan said from her chair by the window. She had managed to lower the zipper of her sweatshirt so that it exposed a good inch of cleavage, I noticed. Her daughter had disappeared—probably, like me, to find solace in something sweet—but Greg hadn’t; he was seated just inches away from her. “I didn’t see any blood.”

  “Me neither,” said Boots.

  “I didn’t look that closely,” said Cat. She shuddered. “Maybe he had a heart attack or something.”

  “What I want to know is, what was he doing out there?” asked Sarah. “I mean, we have like six exercise sessions scheduled a day.”

  “He is … was … pretty fit,” Cat said, swinging a heavy leg. “Maybe he was one of those exercise addicts, and it finally caught up with him.”

  “The big question is, what does this do for the rest of the retreat?” Sarah complained, crossing her arms over her ample stomach. The sun gleamed on her pale, gray-blond hair. “Now that the trainer’s gone, do we get our money back?” And I thought I was crass for being upset about John and Vanessa.

  “I’m more worried that there may be a murderer on the loose,” Megan said, inching closer to Greg. The wedding band on her left hand glinted in the light from the window, and I found myself wondering what Carissa thought of this new coziness between her mother and the portly man in sweats.

  “We don’t know he was murdered,” I reminded them. “Like Cat said, it could have been a heart attack or something.”

  “If he was murdered, that will probably change the slant of your article,” Boots said to Elizabeth.

  She gave us an enigmatic smile and said, “Perhaps.”

  There was a knock at the front door, and all of us jumped. A moment later, Charlene joined us.

  “Who’s manning the shop?” I asked.

  “Tania’s taking over for me. I wanted to come and help out.”

  “Marge is doing the rooms for me,” I said, “but I need to start on lunch. Why don’
t you keep me company?” I asked.

  “Sure,” she said.

  “If anybody needs anything,” I said to the group in the dining room, “I’ll be in the kitchen. Just knock.”

  When we were safely behind the kitchen door, I fixed Charlene a cup of hot chocolate and pulled a package of cod fillets from the refrigerator. I hadn’t had the heart to cook the fish John had caught, and had ended up tucking it into the freezer. “Okay,” I said, turning to my friend. “What’s the scoop?”

  Charlene sighed and toyed with her spoon. “I haven’t heard anything yet, but I know the police are on their way. What a waste, though. Another gorgeous man, dead.” She looked up at me. “Do you think I’m jinxed?”

  “Of course not,” I said. “You thought he was attractive, but it wasn’t like you were dating or anything.”

  “Actually,” she said, “I asked him to come over for dinner some night this week, and he agreed, so technically that may not be true.”

  “But you hadn’t actually gone on a date yet,” I pointed out as I minced some ginger and garlic.

  “True.”

  “Did you hear anything about how he died?” I asked as I added orange juice and a touch of brown sugar to the aromatic mixture. I could already taste the teriyaki marinade in my head; it would be light on oil, but heavy on flavor.

  “They’re still working on that,” she said. “Tania’s supposed to call me if she hears anything down at the store. And I’m hoping John will tell us.”

  “I’m not sure I’m speaking to John,” I said as I pulled a bottle of sesame oil from the pantry.

  Charlene winced. “That sweetheart thing was a pretty big slip.”