Anchored Inn

by Karen MacInerney

  I headed for the stairs, turning at the doorway; Adam was gently stroking the hair from Gwen’s forehead. She murmured something I couldn't make out as I closed the door behind me.

  "Any luck?" I asked Catherine, who was sitting at the kitchen table with a glass of water.

  "She's in Bangor today," she said, "but will make the trip tomorrow if we need her."

  "Not ideal, but it's something," I said.

  "How is she?"

  "Dehydrated. Weak. I'm worried about her," I said as I pulled a container of broth from the freezer. "She hasn't eaten in three days and she's not keeping liquids down. If she can't keep down a cup of broth, Adam's going to take her to the mainland in his skiff this afternoon."

  "I think that's a good call," Catherine said.

  "I'm not sure she agrees with you, but I do," I told her as I ran hot water over the outside of the plastic container until I could loosen the block of frozen broth. I dumped it into a glass bowl and popped it into the microwave, then sat down across from Catherine.

  "I hope she'll be okay. Think it's flu?"

  "If so, she's the only one on the island who's got it, at least that I know of. Whatever it is, I hope she clears it quickly."

  "Me too." I hoped whatever was ailing Gwen would pass soon; I knew Adam would be by her side the whole time. I was still worried about Tania, too. I hadn't heard anything from Charlene, and I still didn't know if the police were chasing down the Instagram lead. The not-knowing was hard.

  "I've been thinking about what you said about Murray," Catherine told me, staring at the ice in her glass. "You may be right. I've spent my whole life not saying what I think or asking for what I need. It may be time to practice some direct communication for a change."

  "I'll be curious to see what he says," I told her.

  "Me too." She looked up at me. "Should I call him?"

  "You could," I said. "Tell him you'd like to talk."

  "What if he doesn't want to?"

  I shrugged. "Well, then, at least you tried."

  She took a sip of water and set the glass down on the table. "I'll think about it," she said.

  "Good," I told her. "Clarity helps." As I spoke, the microwave dinged. I removed the bowl of broth, putting it on a tray with a glass of water, a napkin and a spoon, and carried it upstairs.

  "Hope she keeps it down," Catherine said. "Give her a kiss from me."

  "I will," I promised.

  Adam and Gwen were conversing in low tones as I walked in; he was holding her hand in his and looking at her intently. Biscuit and Smudge had both taken advantage of the opportunity for a daytime nap, and were tucked in next to her; Smudge purred loudly and looked up at me with half-closed eyes, the picture of feline contentment. As I set the tray down on the table by her bed, Adam turned and thanked me.

  "My pleasure," I said, hoping Gwen would reach for the mug, but her eyes remained fixed on Adam. She gave him a slight nod as I turned back toward the door.

  "You heard about Tom?" he asked as I was about to leave the room.

  "I did," I said, pausing at the doorway and turning around. "Do you know anything about it?"

  "I don't know anything about... the way Steve died, or how," he said, "but I do know that he was a jerk."

  12

  "What do you mean?" I asked. When he didn't answer, I said, "You know something, don't you? And you feel bad about telling me."

  "It's just something I overheard," he said. "I don't like jumping to conclusions, or causing trouble where there doesn't need to be, but with Tom arrested..."

  "Tell me," I said.

  "You know how there's a trail behind my cottage?”

  "I do," I said.

  "Well, I was coming back from the co-op along the trail the day you found that young girl's remains next to the U-Boat. I was just about to get to the fork when I overheard some voices.” He ran a hand through his thick mop of hair, and his mouth turned down into a frown. "I stopped—I don't know why, but there was something about the voices that made me not want them to know I was there." He paused, looking torn in the dim light.

  Gwen squeezed his hand, and in a faint voice, said, "Go on, sweetheart."

  "Right. Okay. Well... It was two men. One of them was Steve... I'm almost sure of it. He always had that slight lisp on the s that's very recognizable. The other one I didn't recognize, but there was a bit of a Boston twang to it. At least I think so. Anyway... Steve said something about that night on the Barbary, and how now things were a little different. The other man, the one with a Boston accent, said it was ancient history and nobody would believe him anyway, and that there wasn't any proof. And then he called him a blood-sucking leech who had gotten enough already, and that he wasn't paying another dime. Steve said to the Boston guy that he had until the next morning to decide. The Boston guy started yelling, but then I shifted my weight to adjust my backpack and a stick broke under my boot, and it got quiet. I heard footsteps heading both directions, moving fast, like they didn't want to be seen or heard. I didn't run into either of them the rest of the way home.”

  "The Barbary," I said. "That sounds like it could be the name of a boat."

  "I thought that, too, but I don't know of any vessel with that name around here," Adam said. "I guess I could go talk to the Harbor Master and see if there's any record of a Barbary."

  I thought of Mandy's disappearance; Steve was on the island at the time it happened. It was kind of a wild connection to make, but was it possible that Steve knew what happened to Mandy and was blackmailing someone to stay quiet about it? Somebody had tied her to the killick and sunk her. I just hoped she was gone before they put her in the water, I thought with a shudder. "I'd start by checking the times around when Mandy disappeared."

  "That was exactly my thought," Adam said solemnly. "The only 'ancient history' turning up the last few days is Mandy's remains. But I do know that whoever Steve was talking to, it wasn't Tom. If we can find out what that conversation was about, and who Steve was talking to, they might drop the charges against him."

  "Unfortunately, I think we're going to have to come up with more than that," I said. "Apparently he dated Mandy way back when. The police are short-staffed, John told me, and they're thinking he might be involved in both deaths. It would be a quick resolution to both cases for them, so we're definitely going to need more than a conversation you overheard to convince them to look into it more."

  "Like an actual suspect, and a concrete motive?" He grimaced.

  "Like that," I said. "On the plus side, if you're right and there's blackmail involved, then that would certainly qualify, so at least we have a potential lead. If Steve did know what happened to Mandy, and the person responsible for her death was on the island when she disappeared and is still here now, then it narrows things down."

  "It does," Gwen agreed in her faint voice. I thought again of the photo Catherine had found under Brandon's bed. Why had he had it? And was one of the people in it Mandy's killer?

  I thought again of Brandon, who had spent summers on the island off to himself. Had he been responsible for what happened to her? He didn't exactly have a Boston accent, but it was definitely Northeastern. And he had been here when Mandy went missing.

  But if he was responsible for killing a young woman and sinking her body, why hire a research vessel to scan the coast of Maine?

  Maybe he wasn't the killer, I thought. Maybe he thought he knew what had happened and was looking for proof? No, I decided; that would be looking for a needle in a haystack. Finding the body was a total fluke; it was one thing to look for a submarine, another to look for the remains of someone who disappeared twenty years ago.

  Still, if he had killed Mandy all those years ago, wouldn't it make sense that he'd want nothing to do with scanning the ocean floor near where he'd disposed of a body?

  There was something here I was missing, I decided.

  I just wish I knew what.

  "Aunt Nat?"

  "What? Oh," I said, bringing
my mind back to the dark room with my sick niece and her worried husband. "Sorry. Just woolgathering. Did you try the broth yet, by the way?"

  She grimaced and propped herself up on the pillows. Adam picked up the mug of broth and raised it to her lips. She took a few sips, then held up a hand. "I can't do more. Let me see if I can keep that down."

  "Do you want an audiobook to listen to, to distract you?" I suggested.

  "Thanks, but it won't make a difference. I've tried everything... ginger ale, peppermint tea, Tums, Saltine crackers... nothing seems to work."

  "We'll get you sorted out," Adam said. "I promise."

  "Thanks, baby," she said in a quiet voice.

  "I'll leave you two," I said, "but if Brandon turns up, I may call you so you can say hello to him. See if his was the voice you heard."

  "If I can recognize it," he said. "Was he here on the island when Mandy disappeared?"

  "He was, under another name," I said.

  "How do you know?" Gwen asked, and I told her about our trip to Murray's.

  "Weird," Gwen said. "Why change your name?"

  "I have no idea, but I hope to find out," I said. It was on my list of things to Google.

  "I hope Catherine talks to Murray," my niece fretted. "She's lonely. I can't stand Murray, but he did seem to make her happy."

  "We'll see."

  "Any word on Tania?" Gwen asked.

  "Not yet, but we have some social media leads the detectives are checking out."

  "She said something about big news the other day when I saw her at the store," Gwen said. "She was very secretive about it... said her Aunt Charlene would be just blown away."

  "What kind of big news?"

  "I don't know, but she was awfully excited. Said her aunt would be super proud of her."

  "Do you have her number?"

  "I do," Gwen confirmed.

  "Have you tried texting her?"

  "No, but I will. Are you thinking maybe she'd be more likely to respond to someone who wasn't Charlene?"

  "Exactly," I said. "Now drink that broth, Missy. I'll let you get some rest."

  "Thanks," she said. "And don't worry; I'm sure it's just a stomach bug."

  "You've had it for a month," Adam said. "That's a little long for a stomach bug."

  "Oh, it's fine. I gained a little weight last winter anyway; maybe this is just my body's way of shedding it."

  If Gwen had gained weight, I was a pink narwhal, but I kept my mouth shut; my niece had never been anything but slender, but there was no point in contradicting her. "Keep me posted," I told them, and then headed down to the kitchen.

  Catherine was gone, and there wasn't much else I could do right now, so I pulled a canister of flour out of the cabinet and flipped through my recipe binder until I found something I had the ingredients for. I settled on a fudgy Bundt cake—it would use up the last of the cocoa and sour cream I'd brought back from the mainland last week—and set to work assembling it.

  Once I gathered the ingredients together for the cake, I flipped open my laptop and typed in Brandon's name.

  A number of articles came up, including a few of the ones I'd seen in Murray's manila folder. Brilliant but reclusive entrepreneur with all kinds of interests and plans. Made his fortune early, and now spent his time hunting down shipwrecks and trying to design a self-driving car.

  As I warmed leftover coffee, butter, and cocoa on the stove, I scanned article after article, but most of them focused on his business career. I wanted to know about what came earlier—how he ended up on the island, whether he still had any personal connections, and why he'd changed his name. When the butter was melted, I whisked the contents of the pot and put them aside to cool, then typed in Brendan Marksburg and hit SEARCH.

  The third entry that came up was a hit; it came from the Daily Mail. It was dated July, one year before Mandy disappeared.

  SUMMER VISITOR SUSPECTED OF ARSON.

  No wonder Brandon changed his name, I thought as I began reading. Apparently Brendan had been identified as potentially responsible for the burning of three empty buildings, two on Cranberry Island and one in Northeast Harbor, in the space of six weeks. He told the police he was "interested in observing the way and rate at which fire spread," but did not admit to setting the fires. I couldn't tell if he had been convicted, but further research showed that he changed his name two years later, at twenty. It was a good thing for him his dalliance with fire had occurred before the digital age, I thought, or there would be no escaping the ashes of his past, so to speak, but he seemed somehow to have pulled it off.

  I thought about the conversation Adam had overheard as I whisked the dry ingredients into a bowl, then added the cooled chocolate mixture. Was Steve threatening to blackmail Brendan over his history of arson, and not the murder of Mandy? It was possible. I Googled "arson" and "Marksburg" and discovered that he hadn't been convicted because of a lack of evidence.

  Still, I reflected as I whisked eggs into a mixture of sour cream and vanilla, then incorporated it into the chocolatey batter. How had this not turned up in any of the articles written about him? I was sure it wasn't something he wanted in the news.

  John walked in as I had finished pouring the batter into my Bundt pan and was about to slide it into the oven. Once the cake had baked and cooled, I'd make the frosting—a decadent mix of chocolate and cream—and drizzle it over the top.

  "Hey, you," he said, coming up and giving me a quick kiss. "What just went into the oven? It looks like it's going to be amazing."

  "Fudge Bundt cake," I answered, then brought him up to date on Gwen.

  "The cake sounds amazing, but I don't like what's going on with Gwen," he said. "I'm glad Adam's staying with her; it sounds like she needs to be looked at, though."

  "Any word on Tania?" I asked.

  "They found where that Instagram photo was taken," he said.

  "Really? Are they going out to find her?"

  "It was right near the University of Maine campus in Orono," he said. "Do you know if she has any friends there?"

  "Not that I know of, but Charlene might know more than I do," I said. "Anything else turn up?"

  "Afraid not," he said. "She's not been posting anything since then."

  "Shoot," I said. "On the plus side, at least we know she's recently been near a university, and not out at some deserted camp by a lake in the middle of the Maine woods."

  "I guess there's that," he said, "but I'd still be happier knowing where she is."

  "You and me and Charlene," I said. I grabbed my phone and called my friend, but she didn't pick up. I left her a message relaying what John had told me and told her to call me.

  "Who's here for dinner tonight?" John asked when I hung up.

  "Unless I hear otherwise from Rebecca, I think it's just us, along with Max and Ellie."

  "I've enjoyed meeting them," he said. "I hope their stay hasn't been ruined by everything that happens."

  "Everyone else's week has," I said. "And Max was helpful with the social media thing tracking down Tania. She's got two teenaged daughters of her own, so she's got some insight."

  There was a long silence. John leaned up against the wall near me and studied my face as I cleaned up a bit of stray flour from the counter. "Do you regret not having children?" he asked suddenly.

  I put down the sponge I was using. "Whoa," I said. "Where did that come from?"

  "I was just thinking about how Gwen is like a daughter to you, but you never had the chance to have a daughter of your own. Do you regret it? Do you still want one?"

  I thought about the question for a moment. I had wanted children for a while, in my early thirties, but at the time I was not at all with the right man. And by the time I found the right man, I was so wrapped up with my life at the inn and on the island and Gwen that those longings had been subsumed by other projects.

  Were they still there? I took a deep breath and closed my eyes, searching my feelings.

  "I don't know," I said truth
fully after a long pause. "I love my life the way it is. Gwen is like a daughter to me, and you and I are so busy with the inn and our other pursuits it would be hard to have the time to devote to a child." I looked at him, studying his green eyes. "Do you want one?"

  "I thought so, for a while," he said. "But now... I just don't know. I really love the life we've created, and I don't want to upset the balance we've achieved. Plus, you're right; don't tell your sister, but Gwen really is like a daughter to me."

  "It's probably too late for me to have a kid anyway," I said, "so this conversation is most likely academic."

  "I'm sure we could if we wanted to," John reassured me. "But we really have to want to. It's a big decision."

  "Do you want kids?" I asked again.

  "I am honestly fine either way," he told me, and I could see by the steadiness of his eyes that he was telling me the truth. "But I want to be sure you make the decision that's right for you."

  "I'll think about it," I said. "Thank you so much for asking, though."

  "Of course," he said. "Always."

  He pulled me into a big, woodsy-smelling hug, and I felt myself relax as I pressed the side of my face into his flannel-clad chest. Hugging him always made me feel safe.

  As he released me, I heard footsteps on the stairs; it was Adam.

  "Did Gwen manage to drink the broth?" I asked.

  "Half of it," he said. "And it hasn't come back up yet; she fell asleep, or I would have made her drink more. Should we take her over to the mainland tonight, do you think?"

  "Let's let her sleep a bit and see if we can get her to drink some more," I suggested. "Did you take her pulse again?"

  "It's a little better, but it's still high."

  "Catherine's friend said she can do a house call tomorrow, which means Gwen could skip the boat ride." I turned to John. "What do you think?"

  "If she can drink and keep it down tonight, maybe," he said, "but I'm concerned. She's got a lot of ground to make up."

  "I'll make sure she does it," Adam promised, then returned up the stairs to Gwen's bedside.

  "He really does love her," I said after he'd disappeared.