Anchored Inn

by Karen MacInerney

  "Oh, Lorraine," I said. "I'll be right over."

  "What's wrong?" Charlene asked as I hung up the phone.

  "The police arrested Tom for killing Steve," I said.

  "They didn't waste any time at all, did they? Why?"

  I told her what Lorraine had told me.

  "That makes no sense at all!" she said. "Tom barely had anything to do with Steve!"

  "They've known each other a long time... maybe it had something to do with an old grudge?" I had another thought. "Were Tom and Mandy ever an item?"

  Charlene shook her head. "Not that I know of. Oh... you're thinking maybe Tom thought Steve killed Mandy?"

  "Or that the police think that," I said.

  "Tom would never do anything like that," Charlene said. "And there's no way he'd do anything to jeopardize your inn."

  "I'm not saying he did," I said. "I'm just trying to understand why he was arrested."

  "Poor Lorraine," Charlene said.

  "I know."

  "Whoever killed Steve, it wasn't Tom. We've got to figure out who did it."

  I sighed. Tania missing, Tom arrested, an old disappearance that turned out to be murder... it was shaping up to be one heck of a bad week.

  Charlene, Max and Ellie headed off to Tania's without me; I was going to head to Claudette and Eli's to check on Lorraine. As Charlene pulled out of the driveway, I pulled an emergency loaf of banana bread out of the freezer. John came in as I was searching for my sneakers, and when I told him the news, he was as shocked as I was.

  "They arrested Tom without telling me?"

  "Did you have any idea they would?"

  "I know there were initials on the note in Steve's hand," he said. "T.L. But I had no idea they were making an arrest."

  "Speaking of notes; what idiot would sign a note with his or her initials, kill someone, and then leave the note in his hand?"

  "It seems crazy, I know, but people do dumb things when adrenaline gets involved. And if they can confirm the knife came from the Lockharts' house..."

  "Even if it did, that doesn't prove anything. Everyone on this island leaves their doors unlocked," I countered.

  "I know that, but all the evidence points to Tom, and they're so short-staffed I'm afraid they're not inclined to look further. As far as they're concerned, I get the feeling it's an open-and-shut case."

  "What's the motive?"

  "Someone told them they saw them arguing the other day. The theory is that Steve was blackmailing Tom, and Tom was trying to tempt him with dirt on Brandon so that he could kill him off."

  "Wonderful," I said. "Where did they come up with this theory?"

  "Tom told him to stay out of his business or he'd be sorry, evidently."

  "I heard that, too. Charlene said he threatened him in front of the whole island the other day. Someone must have told the police. What do you know about Steve?" I asked.

  "I just know he does odd jobs around the island, and has lived in the house he inherited from his grandparents for the last twenty years. He drives a nice car, though, and has an expensive boat."

  "Family money?"

  "Maybe," he said, shrugging. "Maybe it's because he doesn't have any housing costs."

  "Maybe," I said. "Or maybe he was picking up extra money by blackmailing people. After all, didn't that note offer some dirt on Brandon?"

  "How do you know that?" John asked. "You didn't touch anything, did you?"

  "Of course not! I could see it in his hand," I said. "I didn't see the initials at the bottom, though." I thought about it for a moment. "I know he worked as a handyman... who did he work for?"

  "He works for the Karstadts and the Jamesons, mainly," he said. "He also does a lot of odd jobs for Murray."

  "The one time he was here I found him snooping in the office," I commented. "What if he used his access to people's houses as an opportunity to find incriminating evidence, then used it against them?"

  "Why should they still keep him around and pay him, then?"

  "If the alternative was exposure, they might."

  "And the blackmail money would be a good source of extra income," John admitted. "Plus, doing odd jobs, it would explain his income."

  "If he took the hush-hush payments under the table, it would be tax-free, too. Any way to get our hands on his tax returns?"

  "Not legally," John said.

  I cocked an eyebrow.

  "No," he said flatly.

  "Even if the front door is open?"

  "No," he repeated.

  I sighed. "If he was blackmailing people, we've got to find out who. If we can at least establish motives for other people, then maybe we can help defend Tom, if not get him off the hook."

  "You're convinced he's innocent?" John asked.

  I gave him a look. "Are you?"

  "I hope he is," he said, in a tone of voice that made me wonder.

  "What exactly would he be blackmailing Tom for? Lorraine knows about the affair he had some years back."

  "I don't know," he said. "What if that wasn't the only one he had?"

  "You think?" I asked.

  He sighed. "I saw him with a woman I didn't recognize over in Northeast Harbor the other day. She was attractive, and they seemed... well, intimate."

  "Oh, no," I groaned. "Poor Lorraine."

  "I don't know if there's anything to it," John said quickly. "But it made me wonder."

  "I hope there's nothing to it," I said, feeling sick to my stomach. "I'm headed over to see Lorraine now. Apparently the police are going over the house with a fine-tooth comb, so Lorraine and the kids are camping out at Claudette and Eli's place. I'm just going to bring some banana bread."

  "Don't mention what I saw on the mainland," John asked.

  "Of course not," I said. "I'm just going to comfort her."

  "What's the dinner plan tonight, by the way?"

  "Brandon and his entourage don't know if they’re here for dinner yet; I told them I need to know by four. I presume Max and Ellie are eating at the inn."

  "I like them," John said.

  "I do, too. Max has been a big help to Charlene. Let me know what the police find out on that location, by the way, will you? And the sooner, the better; I have a bad feeling about whoever Tania's with."

  "Me too," John said. I gave him a quick kiss, then headed to the van.

  Lorraine looked like she'd had all the blood drained out of her when I arrived at Claudette and Eli's. Claudette, thankfully, was looking more like her old stolid self; the treatments seemed to be working. She'd set Lorraine up with a cup of tea and a scone, and the kids were in the back yard with Eli, clambering in and out of the boats he kept there while he supervised.

  Charlene and I settled ourselves across from Lorraine as Claudette took the banana bread to the kitchen to slice and put out on a plate.

  "I'm so sorry about this," I said. "I just told John; he didn't even know."

  "I don't understand why!" she said, hugging herself and rocking back and forth. "Tom had nothing to do with Steve. He never liked him, anyway."

  "So you have no idea of any way they were connected?"

  "Oh, Steve was always trying to wheedle money out of people. Threatened to turn Adam in for fishing extra traps if he didn't give him a few lobsters a week. Unfortunately for Steve, Adam fishes by the book; there wasn't any truth to it."

  "Anyone else he went after?"

  "Not that I know of," she said, "but anyone who was regular on the island knew to steer clear of him. The only people who would hire him were summer people; everyone else knew better."

  "Murray Selfridge hired him."

  "That's true," Lorraine acknowledged. "I don't know why. And I'm not sure how you'd blackmail Murray; he's not married, and doesn't have any family I know of."

  "Maybe something illegal?" I suggested. "Anyway, I know Steve worked for Murray and a few of the wealthy summer families, but who else did he do jobs for?"

  "I saw him coming down the drive from the Jamesons' the ot
her day," Lorraine said, "but to be honest, I didn't pay him much attention. He was just someone to avoid, as far as I was concerned."

  "Did he have any relationships that you know of?"

  "Why are you asking me all these questions?" she asked, hugging a pillow. "Do you think you can figure out who did it?"

  "I can try," I said. "I'm open to any and all ideas."

  "If you can, I'll be forever grateful," Lorraine said, glancing out the window to where her children were pretending to row a skiff. "I can't imagine them growing up without their dad."

  "I'll do my best," I said.

  Lorraine took a sip of her tea, but ignored the scones—and the banana bread Claudette placed on the table between us. As Claudette poured tea for Charlene and me, she nodded toward the moist, dark bread. "This is Emmeline's recipe, isn't it?" Claudette asked.

  "It is," I said. "Not sugar-free, though."

  "Times like this, that stuff doesn't matter," Claudette said, settling into her chair and retrieving a giant skein of gray yarn and some enormous knitting needles. She looked at Charlene as her needles began to clack. "I hear Tania's missing; I'm so sorry to hear it."

  "She is," Charlene said.

  "Any word?"

  "We've got a new lead," Charlene said, "but we're waiting for the police to see if they can find out where she might have been last."

  "An Instagram post," I supplied.

  "A what?" Claudette asked.

  "I know," I said. "It's a social media platform. I'm learning, too."

  "Well, whatever it is, I hope it pans out. She's a good egg."

  "Can I use your rest room?" Charlene asked as she set down her tea cup.

  "Of course; down the hall to the left," Claudette advised her.

  "By the way, have you talked to Emmeline yet?" I asked.

  "I have," Claudette said. "It's a shock, after all these years, but I think she's known. In a way, it's good to have some closure."

  "Do they have any ideas who it might have been?"

  "No," Claudette said. "All she said was that she was going out with some friends. And then she never came back."

  This was the first I'd heard of friends. "Did she say which friends?"

  "No," Claudette said. "But most of those folks are still on the island." Like John, I thought. And Tom.

  Lorraine didn't miss that, either. "Next thing you know they'll be accusing Tom of killing Mandy."

  "What?" I asked; all of our heads swiveled to Lorraine.

  "Why would they do that?" Charlene asked.

  "It seems Tom dated her before she disappeared. Of course, he went out with every other woman on the island, too," she said bitterly, "so that's not a huge surprise."

  "Was he one of the friends she was supposed to go out with that night, do you know?"

  Lorraine shook her head. "I have no idea. He's never talked about her, or what happened to her. Even when they found the killick and her necklace, he didn't say anything. I only know they dated because Emmeline told me once."

  "I'll tell John to talk to Emmeline about the night Mandy disappeared," I said. "Maybe she'll know more. I'm sure she wants to know what happened to her niece."

  "It's been a crappy week," Lorraine said, and sank back into the couch.

  "We'll do everything we can to help," I promised, but I kept thinking of what John had said.

  Was Tom innocent?

  Or had he done the unspeakable, and killed Steve Batterly right outside the inn?

  9

  It was afternoon by the time I made it back to the inn. The police had cleared the area next to the carriage house, and Catherine was sitting at the kitchen table with a mug of tea, looking worried.

  "Any word on Tania?" she asked as I walked into the kitchen.

  "Some leads, but nothing concrete, at least not yet," I said as I closed the kitchen door behind me. "How are you doing?"

  "I'm not too good, to be honest," she said. "That man was murdered practically on my doorstep."

  "You know it was Steve, right?"

  "I do. And I hear they arrested Tom Lockhart for it." A shudder passed through her thin body. "I can't imagine Tom doing something like that, even though I never liked Steve."

  "Did you know him?" I asked.

  "He did odd jobs around Murray's place, but always gave me this kind of knowing look. I never cared for him, but Murray said he did good work and wouldn't get rid of him."

  "Interesting," I said, pulling up a chair across from her. "I was wondering if Steve might have been blackmailing—or trying to blackmail—islanders. Do you have any idea if Murray might have kept him around because he had some secrets he didn't want getting out?"

  Catherine pursed her lips and looked to the side, thinking. "Murray was very sweet to me—at least until the end—but I always got the impression he was a pretty ruthless person when it came to business. Money trumped just about everything else. But I'm not sure he'd care if anyone knew about it."

  "If he'd done something illegal, though, and Steve found out about it. Do you think Murray might bend the rules a bit if he needed to?"

  "Oh, I'm sure he would," Catherine said. "But he'd always have a way to show he'd used a loophole, at least from what I can see. It's possible, though. He didn't tell me everything about his business dealings."

  "Who else did Steve work for, that you know of? I know he was with the Jameson and Karstadt families. Anyone else?"

  "Why?" she asked.

  I sighed. "They arrested Tom Lockhart for murder today."

  She set down her mug, hard. "What?"

  “I know," I said. "I can't believe it, either. I'm trying to figure out who might have wanted to kill Steve Batterly."

  "So you think Murray might have... well... killed him?"

  "I don't know," I said. "I hope not, but..."

  "He's still angry at me," she said. "That would explain doing it next to my cottage; he'd know it would upset me."

  "But is he capable of murder?" I asked.

  "I wish I could say I knew he wasn't," Catherine said, a sad look on her fine-boned face. She took another sip of her tea and looked out to where she'd found Steve's body that morning. "But who can say for sure?"

  "Is there any way you could talk to him?" I asked.

  Her face turned stony. "I haven't talked with him in three months."

  "I know," I said. "I can go talk to him... I shouldn't have asked."

  She took a mechanical sip from her mug, then put it down again. "No," she told me. "I'll do it. It's been a long time coming, anyway."

  "You're not going to ask him outright, are you?" I asked.

  "Of course not!" she said. "I'll just come by to offer him sympathy for the loss of his handyman. But first, I'm going to get cleaned up."

  She was already impeccably dressed, as usual, in slacks and a cashmere twinset, but I just smiled. "Want company?" I asked on a whim.

  "Actually," she said, "I could use moral support. Do you have maybe some cookies we can bring as a condolence gift? It seems rather odd, since it was just his handyman, but still... I need an excuse for showing up."

  "I've got a dozen sugar cookies left in the freezer," I said, reflecting that my freezer trove was going to need refilling after today.

  "If you'll plate them, I'll go get ready," she told me. "The rooms are done, by the way. I found something kind of odd in one of them, though... I didn't know if I should say anything."

  "What is it?"

  "They're gone all day, right?" she asked. When I confirmed it, she said, "Come look."

  I followed her out of the kitchen, through the dining area and the parlor, once again feeling that sense of satisfaction at what I'd created. I really did hope Max found a bookstore to call her own... and made it her own.

  Brandon's room was on the second floor, at the end of the hall. Catherine unlocked the door; a moment later we were in the inn's biggest and most luxurious suite, the Crow's Nest.

  There was no sign of occupation, except for the cha
rgers on the desk; not a single personal item graced any of the surfaces. Even the big bathroom was sterile, except for a small, neatly zipped toiletries kit on the countertop.

  "How did you find anything at all in here?" I asked.

  "It was on the floor," she said. "I found it when I was making the bed." She bent down and retrieved a photo—she hadn't moved it, apparently—and handed it to me.

  It was an old photo, with a bent corner and that reddish tinge that older pictures get, but the building in the background was immediately recognizable: it was Charlene's store. And in front of it was a gaggle of teenagers, most of whom looked familiar.

  "That's Charlene," I said, pointing to a stunning, long-haired younger version of my friend, dressed in a halter top and shorts.

  "And John," Catherine said, pointing out my handsome now-husband, looking impossibly young in jeans and a faded green T-shirt, his sandy hair glinting in the sun.

  "Is that Tom Lockhart?" I asked, pointing to a lanky boy in running shorts and a hoodie. His arm was slung around the shoulders of a young woman I didn't recognize.

  "It is," she said. "And that's Mandy," she informed me, pointing at the red-haired girl. I could see something glinting just above her sternum; no doubt the necklace we'd found next to the sunken U-boat. My heart twisted... the young woman in the picture, full of life, had no idea how short her days were to be.

  "Who are these other people, though?" I asked.

  "That's Steve Batterly," she said, pointing to a surly-looking dark-haired boy on the other side of Mandy. He looked... disgruntled, somehow. While the other faces were bright with smiles, his mouth turned down, and his eyebrows were knitted together.

  "He didn't change much, did he?" I asked, then pointed to three other faces: one girl, and two boys. "Who are these folks?"

  "I don't recognize them," she said. "Maybe Charlene will know."

  "And this person?" I asked. In the back, there was a half-visible face; whoever it was wore a ball cap with a sports logo on it.

  "I don't know," she said.

  "Why does he have this?" I asked.