"I can," I said. Word traveled fast, to say the least.
"And now all I can think about is Tania," she said, glancing down at her phone, which was dark. "I still haven't heard from her. What if the same thing happens to her?"
The thought had crossed my mind, too, but I didn't share that with Charlene. "I'm sure we'll find her," I reassured her, wishing I felt as sure as I sounded. "With Mandy, there weren't any leads; she just disappeared. It's different with Tania. We know she was seeing someone."
"Yeah, but we don't know who," she said. "Maybe he used a fake name! Maybe he lured her somewhere and did horrible things to her..."
"Don't jump to conclusions. It hasn't been long; I'm sure we'll find her," I told Charlene, reaching out to touch her shoulder.
"I just hope she's alive when we do," she said, and a shiver passed through me at her words.
The rest of the day was quiet and somber—if you exclude the number of phone calls I got fishing for information. I handled dinner myself, as John was busy working with the police on the body—and on trying to track down Tania.
"Horrible news today," Max said when I went out to serve dinner.
The multimillionaire and his entourage were over by the window, going over the new data the research vessel had found, and were evidently completely unfazed by their first view of the underwater graveyard—and of the unexpected body of what was likely to be an innocent young woman.
"I know," I agreed. "She's got family here; it must be a shock."
Max and Ellie were somber and full of questions. "We heard about the body you found," Ellie told me as I put a plate of sole meunière down in front of her. "That's dreadful; it sounds like she was from the island."
"And no one knows what happened," Max chimed in.
"No, they don't," I said. John had told me the mainland police had sent a launch out to the site; I wasn't sure how they were going to deal with a crime scene that was twenty years old and several hundred feet underwater, but fortunately that wasn't my issue to deal with. I did wonder if Eli had stopped by the Hoyles' yet. And if I should swing by with something to comfort them. "It's very sad," I continued. "And now, to top it all off, my friend's niece is missing."
"Oh, no," Max said. "How old is she?"
"She's twenty," I said.
"Almost the same age as my daughters," Max said, shivering. "What happened?"
I told her about the empty cottage, and the shadowy boyfriend nobody had met. "The police are looking for her, but Charlene hasn't heard anything since she vanished. We're trying to stay optimistic."
"But today's discovery's got to be hard," Max said. "Is there anything we can do to help?"
"I wish there were," I said, "but unless you're able to find out who a boyfriend named Dan is, good luck."
"Dan? That's specific."
"I know, right? All we know is that he lives on Mount Desert Island."
"I wish we had access to her phone records," Max said. "Are the police looking into it?"
"I'll ask John," I said.
"Your handsome husband?" she asked.
"Yes," I confirmed. "He's the island deputy, and is pushing the mainland police to search for Tania."
"Did you get a chance to look at her mail?"
"We did a quick search, but didn't turn anything up. It might be worth going back and looking."
"If you need a second pair of eyes…" Max offered.
"Or a third," Ellie chimed in.
"Thanks," I said. "I'll talk to Charlene and let you know."
There was still no word from Tania by the time we closed everything up that night.
"What a day," my husband said as I put up the last clean bowl. "Still nothing from Tania?"
"Not that I've heard. Are they checking her phone records?" I asked John as he refilled the cats' food.
"They are," he said. "I'm hoping we have some answers by tomorrow."
I double-checked to make sure I had everything I needed for tomorrow's breakfast and asked the question that had been plaguing me all day. "Do you think she's going to be okay?"
He grimaced as he sealed up the bag of cat food. "The longer she's gone, the less likely it is, I'm afraid. I just don't know."
"Maybe the phone records will give us at least a lead," I said. "Charlene's had such a bad week; first Tania goes missing, and then she finds out her old friend was murdered twenty years ago. Your friend, too, I hear."
"I knew her," John said. "But I wouldn't say we were friends."
"No?" I asked.
"We just kind of hung out together by default. All of us did... Tom, Charlene, and a couple of other summer people teenagers. The group kind of changed from year to year. Mandy's parents were on the mainland, but she came over to stay with Emmeline in the summer for a few weeks." He sighed. "The nice thing about the island was that it felt safe; from the time we were little, we could all just roam, and our parents wouldn't have to worry about us.."
"Were there any other disappearances around the same time?"
"No," he said, shaking his head. "Hers was the first and last for a long time, thank goodness."
"How do you investigate something like that?" I asked.
"Well, you talk to the people she was close to at the time, for starters," he said.
"That would include you."
"And Tom Lockhart, and Charlene," John pointed out.
"You won't be suspects, will you?"
"I don't know, Natalie," he said. "So you know, though, Mandy and I did go out briefly, the summer before she disappeared."
"What happened?" I asked, glad he was telling me.
"We weren't a good fit. I broke it off at the end of the summer."
"That must have been awkward."
"It was," he admitted, "but we just didn't talk about it."
"Wow," I said. "All this history I didn't know."
"Yeah," he said.
"And she didn't show up on unsolved cases or anything? It just got dropped?"
"Her parents searched for years. Put up missing-person posters, followed leads, got her on a milk carton... but the trail ran cold. And now we know why."
"Did you talk to Emmeline?"
"I did," he said. "She kind of guessed it, after all this time, but really knowing..." he shook his head. "It's hard."
"It is," I said. "I think I'm going to go back over to her place with Charlene tomorrow. See if we can turn something else up. Have the police been there?"
"Not yet," he said. "I think they're hoping the phone records will give them a lead."
"I hope they do," I said.
And soon.
It was a restless night, filled with dreams of sunken anchors and long hair floating deep in the ocean and Tania's voice, staticky and distant, like a long-distance connection that kept breaking up. I woke up once in the middle of the night, thinking I heard someone crying out. I sat up straight; Biscuit and Smudge were both curled into the crook behind John's knees, and John was still sound asleep.
I glanced at the clock—it was 2:33—and waited a few minutes to see if I heard anything else, but there was nothing but the sound of the waves against the shore. After a long while, I lay back and tried to drift off again, still thinking of that dream of Tania, and hoping she hadn't met the same fate as Mandy.
I must have nodded off eventually, because the next time I looked at the clock it was 7:30, and the sun was already flooding the windows with clean, clear morning light. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt, thankful to leave last night's dark dreams behind, and headed downstairs, leaving John and the cats snuggled up in bed.
This morning I was making a strata and a batch of muffins for my gluten- and sugar-loving guests, and a frittata for the rest of them. I hadn't seen much of Brandon since the discovery; he and his team had been back and forth from the research vessel and talking excitedly about next steps. As I cracked eggs into a bowl, I wondered about what drove his fascination with the sunken U-Boat. And about his time in Maine.
I had just finished layering bread, cheese, ham and egg and was about to tuck the strata into the oven when there was a light tap on the swinging door to the dining room, and Max peeked through.
"Hey," I said.
"Sorry to bother you," she said, "but I can't get my coffee maker to work. Mind if I beg a cup from you?"
"Come on in!" I said. "There's an almost-full pot on the counter; I just made it a few minutes ago. You're welcome to keep me company if you like. I'm just getting breakfast together."
"Oh, can I?" she asked. "Ellie is still sound asleep, and I could use the company. I kept thinking about that missing girl last night, and my own two girls, and everything else going on in my life."
"I didn't sleep well either," I told her as I put the strata in the oven and reached for the flour canister for the batch of cranberry-walnut muffins I was making to go with the strata, along with a fruit salad. "Where are your two girls?"
"They're both in college," Max told me as she poured herself a cup of coffee and added a lump of sugar.
"Half and half is in the fridge," I informed her.
"Thanks," she said, and reached for the fridge door. "At first, I kept wanting to check on them all the time—you know, call and make sure they made it home, and find out what their schedules were—but I had to learn to trust that they'd be okay. And then I hear about something like this..."
"Are they at the same college?" I asked as she stirred her coffee.
"No," she said, and glanced at my mug. "Want a refill?"
"I'd love one," I said. "With a splash of half and half and a touch of sugar, please," I added as I measured out flour and reached for the baking powder.
"No problem," she said, topping up my coffee, giving it a stir, and setting it down next to the bowl. She walked over to the kitchen table and sat down, taking a sip of her coffee before continuing. "They're twins, but they went completely different directions; one's an electrical engineering major, and the other's a linguistics/poli sci double major. The engineer is at Rensselaer Polytechnic, and the linguistics/poli sci major is at the University of Maine."
"Identical, or fraternal?"
"Fraternal," she said. "Although shouldn't it be sororital or something? I always thought that was silly, since they're girls."
"I'd never thought about that," I said. "How are they handling all the changes?"
"One of them seems okay with it, all things considered. The other... I think she's mad at me. And I don't know what to do about it." Her shoulders slumped. "My husband and I tried for a long time, but things just weren't working. We both still love the kids, and we're both still dedicated parents, but all the change... I know it's hard on them."
"That sounds really difficult," I said as I plopped butter into a bowl and put it in the microwave. "It's still so fresh, too. I'm sure time will help."
"I hope so," she said with a sigh. "But more than that, I hope Charlene finds her niece soon."
"So do I," I said as I pulled the bowl out of the microwave and added orange juice.
Max took another sip of her coffee. "Can I ask you an unrelated question?"
"Shoot."
"You suggested I buy a bookstore of my own. Were you serious?"
I looked up from cracking eggs into another bowl and smiled at Max. "I was," I said. "I'd do the numbers, of course, and make sure it's viable... but if it's what you love to do, then why not?"
"You didn't have any experience with a B&B before you started this place?"
"No," I said, remembering the first time I saw the building I now called home, and how different Cranberry Island was from my longtime home in Austin, Texas. "It just felt... right," I said. "And it really was a gamble. I had no family, no friends... I'd never even been to Maine before. But my soul said 'yes.'"
"And you're glad you listened?"
I thought of John, and Gwen, and my mother-in-law, all of whom had joined me here as family... not to mention Charlene, and Eli, and all the other dear friends I'd made since moving here. I was a part of the island now, and it was a part of me. "I can't imagine what my life would be if I hadn't," I said truthfully.
"Huh," she said, taking another sip of coffee and looking out the window with a faraway look on her face. "Unless Ellie's wrong about Loretta's shop in Snug Harbor—and I hope she is, and Loretta's okay—I have no idea where to even begin. You just walked into this place. All I have is an idea."
"The place will come," I told her as I finished whisking the eggs together with the orange juice and butter, then stirred it into the dry ingredients. "Just stay open to it. If it's meant to be... you'll find it."
Max turned to me. "You think?"
"I do," I said. As the words left my mouth, there was a hammering sound from behind her.
I looked up to see Catherine outside the window of the back door, looking pale and frantic.
I ran to the door and unlocked it. "What's wrong?"
"There's... there's... a body," she gasped. "Next to the carriage house."
6
"Who is it?" I asked, my heart in my throat. Could it be Tania?
"It's a man," Catherine said.
"Thank God it's not Tania, then," Max said, echoing my thoughts.
"No... but I don't know who it is. He's facedown by the apple trees. Someone stuck a knife in him." She shuddered.
"Show me," I said.
"It's right next to the carriage house," she said, her face pale against her pink workout jacket; she must have been going for a morning run when she found him. "I don't want to look at him again, though."
"You don't have to," I said. "Why don't you go wake John up, and I'll see if I can identify the body."
"Can I come?" Max asked as Catherine headed for the stairs to our rooms above the kitchen.
"Sure," I said. "I could use a little moral support."
I slipped on the shoes I kept by the back door and headed out to the back deck. It was a beautiful morning, the air crisp and clear, the water an impossible blue, the apple trees heavy with red fruit. I steeled myself for what I'd find beneath them.
Together Max and I hurried down the path to the carriage house. "Two bodies in two days. Does this happen often?" she asked.
"More often than I'd like," I admitted. As I spoke, I caught a glimpse of legs in the emerald green grass. "There he is," I said as we slowed down, being careful not to get too close; it was, after all, a crime scene.
"Do you recognize him?" she asked when the full body was in view. As Catherine said, it was a man, and his face was turned toward us, half-covered by leaves. I could make out his five-o-clock shadow, and the receding hairline of a man in middle age. He had a look of surprise on his face, and as Catherine had said, what looked like a kitchen knife protruded from his back. The fabric of his shirt was stained dark red.
"I think I do," I said. "It's Steve Batterly. He does odd jobs for some of the wealthy folks who come for the summer. He lives on the other side of the island, though; I can't think why he's here."
"There's something in his hand," Max said, craning to look. "A piece of paper, it looks like."
I took a step to the right, trying to make out what was on it. "It's a handwritten note. Something something opportunity, maybe?"
"Not much of an opportunity," Max said. "Do you think someone lured him here so they could kill him?"
"That's my guess," I said. "The question is, who?"
"And why?" Max added, her face grim.
As she spoke, John and Catherine hurried up behind us.
"It's Steve Batterly," I informed him.
"What is he doing here?" John asked, echoing my own thoughts.
"There's a note in his hand with something about an opportunity on it. I'm guessing someone lured him here and then killed him."
"Stabbed him in the back, no less. Looks like a kitchen knife; nothing special."
"The kind of thing you could buy at any store," I said. "It would be so much easier if it was a monogrammed pen knife."
Catherine stood a little ways away, looking toward the water; she was still pale, and her hand was at her throat, her arm wrapped tight around her body. "I can't believe this happened right outside where I was sleeping. What if it was me? I go out by myself all the time. What if someone was just a serial killer, waiting for the first victim? What if they were still there when I went out for my run?"
"I don't think this was random," John assured her. "I think someone lured him here intentionally. But I'll join you on your morning runs for a while, until we get this figured out."
"Thank you," she said, shooting him a look of relief and gratitude.
"Why stab him?" Max asked, considering the body. A few golden apple tree leaves had settled on his body.
"Quieter than a gun," John said. "Did you hear anything last night?"
"No," Catherine said, "but I've been using a CPAP machine the last year or so, and it's so noisy I don't hear much."
"I heard something," I said. "Around 2:30 this morning. I thought I must have dreamed it, so I went back to sleep."
"What did you hear?"
"Kind of a scream," I said, realizing I'd probably heard Steve crying out as the knife went into his back.
"That will help with time of death, potentially. I've called the mainland police," he said. "I'm guessing we'll be hearing from Gertrude of the Daily Mail at any moment now."
"One of these days I'm going to ask her to write something nice about the inn," I said. Gertrude was not my favorite reporter, to say the least; I sometimes thought the Gray Whale Inn survived despite her.
"Good luck with that," John said. "That woman's got it in for us."
I wasn't sure he was right, but I had to admit it sure seemed so.
"I guess even in paradise, there's trouble," Max said.
"There is," I said. "But we always pull through." I looked at John, who was looking handsome even in his plaid pajama pants and green waffle-weave Henley, his sandy hair tousled.
"We do," he concurred, and reached for my hand.
Anchored Inn Page 6
