A Zen For Murder

by Leighann Dobbs

  “It’s lovely to see you folks.” She winked at them, then bent closer to the table, which didn’t really bring her much closer considering her normal posture was at almost a ninety degree angle. She lowered her voice to just above a whisper. “How is the investigation going? Are you guys trying to clear Norma?”

  Claire nodded. “Have you heard anything?”

  Velma looked around to make sure no one was listening, then she shook her head. “I’m afraid not. Zambuco's in the dining room and he's pretty close-mouthed about the case.”

  Claire sighed. Had Zambuco coincidentally stopped in for lunch, or was Dom right in thinking the detective had been following them? Either way, the last thing she needed was Zambuco wandering over and interrupting them.

  “Anyway, would you like to order?” Velma asked. “We’re having a special on the haddock sandwiches today, but there’s no Jonah crab soup because Ben didn’t bring us any crabs today like he usually does.”

  Claire caught Dom’s eye over their menus.

  “Did you say Ben brings you live crabs?” Dom asked.

  “Oh yes, every other day.” Velma’s snow-white bun bobbed up and down on her head as she nodded, then her face creased with concern. “But he hasn’t been here in three days now.”

  “And he gets them from the island?” Dom persisted.

  “Yes, there’s only one spot you can get them here, you know.”

  “We know.”

  Velma stared at them expectantly and it took Claire a few minutes to realize she was waiting for their order. Claire’s mind was too busy considering the ramifications of what she’d just heard.

  “I’ll take the house salad with oil and vinegar.” Claire handed her menu over to Velma before she changed her mind and veered off track of her healthy eating regimen.

  “And I’ll have the meatball sandwich.” Dom handed his menu over, too.

  “Be back in a jiff.” Velma turned on her heel and scurried off.

  “This does not look good at all.” Dom patted down his eyebrows while he stared out into the ocean.

  “I know, but lots of people could go to that section of the island. The crab shells in the footprint don’t mean much on their own … Oh, that reminds me.” Claire dug in her pocket for her cell phone. Lifting it up, she squinted at the display, wishing she’d brought her half-moon reading glasses. “These damn things are so hard to read in the light. Oh, there’s three bars. Now let me send that text to Robby. We can’t make any rash conclusions until we know the shoe size.”

  Claire sent the text, then looked back up to find Dom still staring out at the ocean. He was clearly deep in thought. Hopefully, not about how he was going to prove Ben was the killer.

  “I think you are right,” he said.

  “Of course I am,” Claire said. “About what?”

  “The footprint. Something is wrong about it.”

  “That’s what I thin—“

  Claire was interrupted by the chirping of her phone. A text from Robby was on the screen. “The shoe size is twelve … I don’t know what size Ben takes. It was too smudged to see much of the tread. Oh, and he said the time of death was eight twenty-five.”

  Dom nodded, but kept silent while the waitress slid their plates onto the table. He lifted the top piece of bread to inspect the meatballs, then nodded his satisfaction when he saw they were lightly covered in sauce—just the way he liked them. "We need to find out who wears a size twelve shoe. The time of death can be very helpful."

  Claire nodded as she worked on spearing a piece of lettuce, tomato and cucumber on her fork. She had it raised halfway to her lips when she sensed someone at her left elbow.

  "So, you two are at it again." Zambuco stood next to the table, glaring down at them.

  Claire gave him her most innocent look. "At what, Detective Zambuco?"

  "You know what I'm talking about." Zambuco tapped his finger on the table. "You need to stop pestering Robby about things pertaining to the case … like shoe sizes and time of death."

  “Did you say time of death?”

  Claire jumped at the voice coming from her right. Mae Biddeford sat one table over.

  When had she come in?

  Claire hadn’t even noticed her. And now, here she was, her chair pushed back from her table and almost halfway to Claire and Dom’s.

  Claire glanced uneasily at Dom and Zambuco. She didn’t really want the whole restaurant to be listening to the details of their investigation.

  "I don't need you butting in, too. The case details are supposed to be kept inside the department." Zambuco gave Claire a pointed look and her heart pinched. She hoped she hadn't gotten Robby into trouble. She knew his confidence in doing his job as a cop was already pretty low and she didn't want to make him feel even worse.

  "I'm not butting in," Mae said indignantly. "I might have information that is pertinent to the case. But if you're not interested …"

  Mae turned and scooted her chair a half-inch back toward her own table.

  "What kind of information?" Zambuco bellowed.

  Mae turned back around, then scooted her chair even closer than it was before. She was practically sitting at their table now. She tilted her head back and looked up at Zambuco, who towered over them.

  “As you know, I bring a few jars of my jams over to the hospice house on Wednesdays as a donation.” She paused, apparently waiting for them to make some sort of recognition of her generosity.

  “That’s so nice of you.” Claire tried not to roll her eyes at Dom.

  “Yes. Well, anyway, when I was signing in yesterday, I happened to notice that Norma had signed in before me. I always glance at the list … not that I’m nosy or anything, but one can hardly help looking at the other names when one signs in.”

  Dom leaned forward with interest. “And what time did she sign in?”

  “Eight-fifteen,” Mae said to Dom, then glanced back up at Zambuco. "So, you see, depending on the time of death, Norma might have a solid alibi."

  Zambuco's eyes sparked with interest. “And she hadn’t signed out?”

  “No, she was still there. I peeked into Anna’s room and saw her,” Mae said. “The two of them had their heads bent together and were discussing something. It seemed important. Anna looked a little upset, so I didn’t interrupt them.”

  Claire felt a ripple of hope. “So, Norma couldn’t possibly have killed Zoila.”

  Mae's brows rose, and she brushed an imaginary piece of lint from her shoulder. "Well, I wouldn't know that, because I'm not privy to police information and I don't know the time of death."

  “But if she had a solid alibi, why wouldn’t she just tell the police?” Dom asked. “It would be so easy to verify.”

  Zambuco frowned down at Mae. "Are you sure about this? She didn't mention it."

  "Sure as I'm sitting here. And there was another strange thing I noticed when I was there,” Mae said eagerly.

  “What’s that? Another person on the list with an alibi?” Zambuco asked.

  “Well, it wasn’t so much anyone that was on the sign-in list, it was someone who was missing from the list.”

  “Missing? I don’t understand.”

  “Well, there’s someone who is always on there every Wednesday. Signs in two lines above me … and yesterday, that name wasn’t there.”

  “Well, who is it?” Claire asked impatiently, her stomach sinking as she feared she already knew the answer.

  “Ben Campbell.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Claire flew down the steps of the Gull View Inn behind Zambuco.

  “I hope you’re not going to do what I think you’re going to do,” she yelled at his back.

  “I thought you’d be happy. I’m going to let Norma Hopper out,” he shouted over his shoulder.

  “I am happy about that. But you can’t be serious about suspecting Ben Campbell.”

  Zambuco whirled on her, causing her to pull up short. He scowled down at her, his gray eyebrows puckering over
beady, black eyes. “Why not?”

  “I just know he couldn’t have done it.”

  “Listen. I know about your psych degree. I know you’re well respected in the field, but I also know that you’re friends with Ben. I think your friendship is clouding your judgment, and right now I need to follow the evidence.”

  Claire’s brow furrowed. She wondered what, exactly, Zambuco had for evidence. “What evidence?”

  Zambuco held up his large hand, ticking off the items on his cigar-like fingers. “Ben was seen riding away from Zoila’s in an agitated state. Norma is covering for someone, and everyone knows Ben is like a son to her. The footprint near the body had Jonah crab shells and I just found out I can't get my favorite crab soup here because Ben hasn't delivered the crabs, so I know he frequents the spot that has those crabs. Ben was seen fleeing the zen garden the morning of Zoila’s murder. Ben didn’t show up at the hospice center to visit his mother that morning and, according to what a little birdie told me, no one has seen him since.”

  Claire’s stomach sank. How did Zambuco know all that? Maybe he had been following them and questioning the same people, or maybe he was a competent detective in his own right. Either way, it didn’t matter. He had a point. There was a lot of evidence against Ben.

  “If that’s not enough evidence to satisfy you, I don’t know what to tell you.” Zambuco turned and strode toward his car. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I have a new suspect to search for.”

  Claire slapped her arms against her sides in frustration as Zambuco slammed the car door and sped off. She felt someone beside her and turned to see Dom. “We can’t let him arrest Ben.”

  “He probably won’t be able to find him,” Dom said wryly.

  “What do we do now?”

  “Well, if you’re done with your lunch, I think we need to go find Ben and talk to him before Zambuco does. I’m not convinced he is the killer, either, and I’m not sure Zambuco will question him properly, given Ben’s handicap.”

  Claire signed. “Great idea. You have any idea where we can find him?”

  “No. But we should start where we always start. At his home.”

  “At Anna and Ben’s place? I’m sure Sarah and Shane already looked there.”

  “Right, but with our trained eyes, we may be able to pick out a clue they missed.”

  Claire nodded. Dom was right. They had to start somewhere and it might as well be Ben’s house.

  ***

  Anna and Ben lived in a small, but meticulously cared for, home. Anna had updated the old cottage with vinyl shingles and new windows. Claire hadn’t been there since Anna had been moved to the hospice facility on the mainland, but she was glad to see that Ben had kept it up. He’d even kept the plants in Anna’s extensive garden trimmed.

  Claire felt a pang of sadness as she looked over the garden. She’d heard from Norma that Ben probably wouldn’t be able to keep up the payments on the house once Anna died and she hated to think of how losing the only home he’d ever known so soon after losing his mother would affect him.

  Then again, if Zambuco had his way, Ben had bigger problems ahead of him. Claire brushed past the smooth winterberry holly plant and remembered how Porch Cat had brought a leaf to her patio.

  Had the cat been trying to tell her something?

  No, that was too crazy. She was starting to grasp at straws—best to stick to the clues at hand.

  A trio of colorful pansies in clay pots stood on the front steps and Dom stuck his finger into one of the pots. “This dirt is moist. Someone has been here within the last thirty hours.”

  Claire nodded. She knew plants in pots dried out quickly and there had been no rain.

  “Maybe Ben has been here the whole time. Hiding out in his house,” she suggested.

  “Why would he hide in the house if he wasn’t guilty of something?”

  Good question. Claire considered it, then thought of an answer. “Maybe something scared him enough to make him hide.”

  Dom rapped loudly on the door. “Ben! Are you in there? We just want to talk.”

  No answer.

  Claire looked in the window beside the door. She couldn’t detect any movement. “Ben, it’s Claire. We can help you.”

  No answer.

  “He may have been here earlier, but I don’t think he’s here now,” Dom said as he peered in one of the windows. “It doesn’t look like he left in a hurry. Everything is in its place.”

  Claire looked in beside him, craning her neck to see as far to each side as she could.

  “Yeah, you’d think there would be some sort of mess if he left in a hurry. I wonder where he could be.” Her heart clenched at the thought of Ben out there alone somewhere. The thought of him lonely and scared made her feel even worse as she looked at the pictures of a happy Ben, his shock of blond hair swooped over his forehead, the wide smile he always seemed to wear accentuating the dimple on his chin. “Look at how happy he is in the pictures. He was like that all the time, but now …”

  Dom squinted at the pictures and made a funny sound.

  “What?” Claire asked.

  Dom had that nagging feeling of something important in the back of his mind but he just couldn’t pull it up. In his younger days, that never would have happened … but now that he was near seventy, he found it happening more and more. “Oh, nothing. I just had a familiar feeling is all.”

  “You mean like deja vu?”

  “Sort of, but it’s not anything that will help us find a clue.”

  “That’s too bad, because I feel like there has to be something here that will help us figure this whole thing out. We just need to take the time to find it.”

  “Too bad time just ran out.” Dom nodded in the direction of the road and Claire turned, her stomach swooping as she saw the Mooseamuck Island police car pull in with Robby at the wheel and Zambuco riding shotgun. Zambuco folded himself out of the passenger seat and walked over to them.

  “Well, fancy meeting you two here.” Zambuco looked around the yard, then frowned down at Claire. “I thought I told you to stop butting in.”

  “We were just looking for Ben.” Claire fisted her hands on her hips.

  Robby shot her a warning glance over the hood of the car and Claire relaxed a little. No sense in getting into it with Zambuco. She knew by the look on Robby’s face that she was pushing her luck.

  “Did you find him?” Zambuco asked.

  “No.”

  “Yeah. I doubt he’s here.” Zambuco walked over to the side of the house and looked into the back yard. “I have a warrant that gives me permission to search the premises. I’m going to start in the tool shed because breaking into the house is messy.”

  He jerked his head toward Robby and they all marched toward the back of the house. Robby and Zambuco snapped on white latex gloves. Claire felt her nerves prickling as they walked past Anna’s prize rose bushes, then the empty space where she usually planted her vegetable garden and finally stopping at the shed with its row of tiger lilies lining the front, their tall stalks waiting for summer buds to bloom.

  The shed door squealed as Robby slid it open and they all looked in. It was crammed full of gardening gear and various outdoor supplies. A snowblower sat in one corner, a giant wheelbarrow beside it.

  “Let’s go in, Skinner.” Zambuco looked back over his shoulder at Claire and Dom. “You two stay out here. And don’t touch anything.”

  Robby stepped in and Zambuco went in after him, tripping over the threshold and stepping on a shovel, then turning and stumbling over a pile of rakes that were leaning against the wall.

  Dom watched him fumble with the rakes, amazed at how many kinds of rakes it takes to run a garden. There were old, rusty rakes, newer rakes with plastic tines, rakes with wooden handles, metal handles and even one with a fancy gold and maroon handle.

  Zambuco reached in and pulled out one particular rake with a long, wooden handle and sharp metal tines at the end. He held up the tines and Dom’s eyes wid
ened as he noticed the rusty-colored stains on them—they were looking at Zoila’s murder weapon.

  Zambuco’s face was grim as he came out of the shed, the rake held out away from his body in his glove-clad hand. “I guess we need to step up our search for Ben Campbell. He’s no longer just a person of interest … he’s now a murder suspect.”

  Chapter Twenty

  Zambuco left in a hurry, sending Claire and Dom on their way with a warning not to interfere in the search for Ben. Since neither of them had any idea where to start looking, they’d decided to split up and take a break until an idea presented itself.

  Claire thought Norma might know where Ben was, but she was nowhere to be found, either.

  Was Norma out looking for Ben?

  Claire wanted to be looking, too, but it was late afternoon and her brain was getting foggy. The turn of events had stunned her and she needed a large cup of green tea to clear her thinking.

  She stood at the sink overlooking her garden and the Atlantic Ocean beyond. The view from her spot on the hill was breathtaking, but Claire couldn’t enjoy it. Ben’s freedom was at stake and she just knew there was some other explanation for the rake being in his shed.

  She set the teapot on the stove, grabbed some flax seed oil from the fridge, then took out a bottle of apple cider vinegar and two shot glasses from the cupboard. She poured apple cider vinegar into one glass and flax seed oil into the other.

  Picking up the apple cider vinegar glass, she threw her head back and tossed the vile, caustic liquid down her throat. Coughing and sputtering, she reached for the flax seed oil to chase it with. It was noxious, but helped smooth out the acidity of the vinegar.

  The healthy concoction left a nasty taste in her mouth, and Claire knew just what could fix it. Dark chocolate. Now, if she could just remember where she’d hidden it.

  She rummaged through several drawers, her chest tightening as she came up empty. It was disturbing that she couldn’t remember where she’d hidden them. Forty years ago, her mind was like a steel trap. Now? Not so much. Good thing she was diligent about her health regimen. She intended to remain healthy and active well into her nineties. Hopefully, that would help her mind stay healthy and active, too.