"I heard you dated him a long time ago," one woman said.
"No," I said pleasantly. "I'd never met him before last night."
"Wasn't he going to kick you out of your store?" someone else asked as he walked over to the register with a copy of the Farmer's Almanac.
"Not exactly," I said, and then, to change the subject, "What kind of cookie would you like?"
Bethany turned up just after two, evidently the only resident of Snug Harbor unaware of what had happened behind Seaside Cottage Books. The early sun was slanting through the windows, making the polished wood floors glow; I'd opened the windows, and a cool breeze filtered through the shop, smelling of the sea.
"How are sales going today?" she asked as she breezed through the front door.
"Good," I said, "but did you hear what happened?"
"No," she said. "What's up?"
By the time I finished telling her, her face had gone from happy to sad to determined.
"There's no way we're going to let this shop go down," she announced with the optimism of youth. "And there's no way you killed Cal Parker." She glanced at me. "Not that I'd blame you if you did. In fact, it was kind of a public service."
"Still."
"I know, I know," she said.
"You know this town inside and out," I told her. "Sylvia Berland from the Salty Dog came by earlier; Denise thinks she's worried her husband Jared may be responsible. From what I hear, Cal was making life difficult for a lot of folks in Snug Harbor."
"You're not wrong," she said.
"We need to make a list of all the people he's ticked off."
"We could probably fill one of those blank books," she said, pointing to the display of journals I'd set up close to the register. "It's a testament to the power of money that he got elected, frankly."
"Well, then," I said, reaching for a pad of legal paper and a pen. "Let's get started. Who's first?"
Bethany grabbed a duster and began running it over the tops of the books on the shelves as she considered my question; there was still a good bit of dust from some of the renovations we'd done. "His ex-wife, of course," she led off with as she swept the duster over, perhaps appropriately, the romance section, going back to retrieve a feather that had fallen onto a buxom young lady's barely satin-clad bosom. I was looking forward to finding out who in Snug Harbor was a romance devotee; you could find out a lot about a person based on the books they chose.
"What do you know about his ex-wife, Gretchen?" I asked, watching as she moved on to the science fiction and fantasy section.
"She lives just outside of town; they divorced two years ago when she found him with one of the administrative assistants in the copy room. Unfortunately, he'd talked her into signing a pre-nup, so she's been working as a waitress at the Chart House and cursing his name ever since."
"She was here yesterday, wasn't she?" I asked. "I talked to her... she told me her ex was in cahoots with Scooter."
Bethany nodded. "Hair in a French twist, wore a pink dress, shot daggers out of her eyes at her ex for the five minutes they were in the store together."
"So she stays on the list," I said, circling her name. "Who else?"
"Well, there's the councilwoman he unseated, of course."
"I met her last night, too," I said. "Meryl Ferguson."
"That's the one," she said. "If looks could kill, Cal would have been dead at least twice over before he left the shop."
"I got the impression she had an ax to grind, to say the least. So that's two possibilities," I said, feeling slightly brighter. "He wasn't the most popular guy in town, was he?"
"No," she said.
"What else do you know about him?"
"I think he's got a string of ex-girlfriends, but nobody I know personally. Oh... and he's also been causing trouble for the Chinese restaurant on the corner of Cottage and Garden Streets. They were trying to get a liquor license, and he's taken that opportunity to find all kinds of violations."
"Why was he going after them?"
"Well, rumor has it one of his companies bought two other buildings on that block, and they've got a five-year lease they're only two years into, from what I hear."
"So if they went out..."
"He would have been able to upgrade the space and rent it out for more money. Or go high and do condos."
"Very quaint," I said dryly. "Isn't that a conflict of interest, though?"
"Who was going to go after him?" she asked. "The restaurant is in violation of some of the more archaic codes, evidently, and there's no proof that his plans were to turn the whole block into something profitable for him."
"That's the pits," I said, thinking again that it was hard to believe such language would come from a young woman almost half my age. She spoke like an English professor. In fact, she spoke more eloquently and precisely than many English professors I'd met.
"Exactly," she said.
"Why was he after the bar, then? Is that to make money?"
"Oh, no," she said. "He thought his ex-wife cheated on him with Jared."
"So he was trying to shut him down?"
"That's the word on the street," she said. Bethany grinned at me. "All kinds of intrigue in town, isn't there?"
"On the plus side, at least I'm not the only suspect in Snug Harbor."
"No," she said. "But he was found dead behind your store. And you did agree to talk to him later."
"And it was my doorstop embedded in his head."
She shrugged. "There is that."
I sighed. "Does he have any family?"
"His parents passed some time back; he picked up their business. He has a brother, though."
"Is he involved with the business, too?"
"Nope. He never went to college; he just wanted to be a fisherman."
"Not even a stake?"
"From what I hear, the whole business went to Cal."
"Huh," I said, enjoying the breeze filtering through the windows as I rearranged the Maine section. "Money seems to be a bit of a problem in families. Maybe it's a good thing I don't have an inheritance coming my way."
"That's one way to look at it," she said. "I can tell you, there's no love lost there. Josiah campaigned against his brother in the election."
"Wow. Really?"
"Spent weeks handing out leaflets talking about what a selfish jerk his brother was. It didn't work, of course." She shook her head. "I guess blood isn't always thicker than water."
"No kidding," I said. As I turned a book on the history of Snug Harbor face out, on a whim, I took it down and flipped through it, glancing at the pictures of the town before electricity and cars. I recognized several of the big cottages down on the shore, the trees that were now enormous mere saplings.
"Who lives in these now?" I asked, showing them to Bethany.
"Cal Parker does... or did, anyway... for starters," she said. "Although a lot of them have been turned into inns. If you can find the Windswept house, that's his."
I flipped through until I found the page. "This one?" I asked, pointing to a picture of a massive, gorgeous Tudor-style house with a sprawling lawn.
"That's the one," she said. "Has a gorgeous view of the harbor and about nine thousand bedrooms."
"Only nine thousand?" I asked, grinning. "And his brother lives where?"
"In a shack not too far from the gas station."
"Wow," I said, looking at the enormous home in the picture. Had Cal Parker's parents really disowned one son in favor of the other? If so, why? I wondered.
And could that have something to do with why Cal died?
"So Cal is really invested in Snug Harbor."
"He is."
"What I don't get is, if he had a successful business, why would he want to be a selectman?"
"Men like Cal Parker are all about power," she told me, her young face solemn. As she spoke she ran her duster over the windowsill, which was decorated with Mason jars of blue and green sea glass that glowed in the sunlight. "He wants to put
his stamp on Snug Harbor. I guess he figures the best way to do that is to control the reins of government."
"That makes sense, I suppose."
"Honestly? I think selectman was just his first step. He poured more money into his campaign than Snug Harbor has ever seen."
"It worked, apparently," I said. I put my hand on the wall; it had likely stood here for more than a hundred years. "With him gone, though, maybe they'll lay off on the code stuff?"
"Maybe," she said. "We've got to vote in a replacement, so at least we've got some time."
"Do you really think Scooter Dempsey wants to raze this place and put something huge and ugly here?"
"I guarantee it," she said, pointing her duster at me. "He and Cal Parker were thick as thieves. They've partnered on multiple ventures."
"Great," I said, with that sick feeling again. If Agatha was right, and there was in fact a second will, it looked like divorce might not be the worst thing I had to deal with that year.
10
At six, I decided to leave Bethany, who was doing her history homework behind the register, in charge. I retrieved Winston from his fluffy bed clipped a leash to his collar, and grabbed my travel mug with the last remains of coffee in it.
"We're going to go for a walk before it gets dark and maybe grab something to eat," I told Bethany. "Do you need me to pick anything up for you?"
"I'm good," she said. "Enjoy yourself; you could use a break after today."
"Call me if you need me, okay?" It was still bright outside, but the summer sun was dipping down toward the hills inland, giving everything a magical golden glow.
I couldn't bear going down to the beach at the moment—at least not behind the house—so I headed out to the sidewalk in front of the shop, heading down toward the town pier and Windswept, the house Cal lived in until his death.
I strolled past summer vacationers, families wearing windbreakers against the cooling air and licking ice cream cones as they ambled in and out of the souvenir shops. A whiff of balsam reached my nose as I passed Snug Harbor Gifts, which had always been my favorite store for locally made souvenirs, including balsam fir sachets in bright prints that I planned to load up on and tuck into my dresser drawers… once I had time, that was. And money. The Abigail Todd was about to head out for its sunset sail, the vacation-goers filing up the gangway to the four-masted sailing ship. Many of them, I noticed, were still in short sleeves and shorts; I hoped they had warmer gear in their purses and backpacks, or they might find their cruise a little chilly.
The two cannons that had been placed on a grassy knoll in earlier, more dangerous times to protect the harbor were now jungle gyms and photo op locations for families; I could hear the "orders" of two girls pretending to aim for the Abigail Todd as I walked past them toward the shoreline path, which was just above the beach and backed the massive "cottages" I'd seen pictured in the book of Snug Harbor's history.
The bustle of town was soon left behind, and the beauty of the Gulf of Maine stretched out below me as I stepped onto the well-kept path. Beach roses grew in tufts along the path, their winey scent perfuming the salt air, and below me, folks clambered over the occasional boulder or strolled down by the water's edge, searching for treasures left by the tide.
My attention, though, was not on the sea glass gems the tide washed up, but the massive homes perched above the shore path. Although many of them had burned in a fire almost a hundred years ago, and several more had been torn down over the years, several still stood in commanding positions over the Shore Path. I passed an enormous red brick compound, followed by a beautiful shingle-style home that reminded me of Seaside Cottage Books, only on an extremely powerful dose of steroids, and then reached Windswept, the large Tudor home owned by the late Cal Parker. Whereas the other homes had landscaping that allowed at least a peek into the grounds, Windswept was hidden by a fence and a large hedge to keep the hoi polloi from peeking in on the councilman's private life. I slowed my gait as I came to the house, pausing at the wooden gate and stepping back a bit, trying to glimpse the house. All I could see, though, was the slate roof and the mullioned windows of the top floor. Even if I hadn't seen pictures in the book at the store, it was obvious that the house was huge; it had enough rooms to house an entire village, not just one person. I caught a whiff of fresh-cut grass mingling with the scent of roses and salt air as I cased the hedge, stooping over and trying to look through the dense leaves without looking like a peeping Tom. Thank goodness for Winston, who was moving slowly beside me, sniffing the edge of the path intently, looking for the perfect place to do his business.
As I squinted and tried to see through the leaves, I heard voices from the other side of the greenery.
The first was a man's. "Do you really think the woman who owned the bookstore did him in?"
"No," replied a woman. "I'll bet whoever did it was much closer to home. A lot more people with a lot more reason to bash in his skull than some outsider who just moved to town.”
"Maybe," the man said, but he didn't sound convinced. "What do you think will happen now?"
"I don't know," the woman said ominously, "but I'm going to start looking for another job. I hear Saltaire is looking for maid staff." I looked down at Winston, who had found just the place to water the hedge and was now pulling at the leash, hoping for a chance to chase a sea gull who had landed not far up the path. I shook my head at him and willed him not to bark, but I could already hear the growl starting in his chest. "Shhh!" I whispered, straining to hear the voices beyond the hedge.
"Do you think Josiah killed him?" the man suggested.
"Could be. No love lost between those two."
"I'm glad he wasn’t my brother."
"Me too. You'd think he'd have been nicer to family, wouldn't you? Anyway, it could be Josiah, but I wouldn't rule the girlfriend out. They had a big argument about getting hitched the other night." I perked up my ears even more.
"He wasn't going for it?" the man asked.
"Nope. She told him to go to hell, and good for her. I was dusting the hallway outside the master bedroom when they got into it—I'd just brought them some of that French champagne he likes—so I heard everything. She said if he didn't put a ring on it after all this time, she was going to leave and tell everyone about what he was doing down on Cottage Street."
"What was he doing? What was she talking about, do you think?"
"I don't know, but he didn't like it."
"I'll bet. Did he go after her?" The voices were moving away; I hurried up the shore path further, straining to hear.
"I don't know if he laid a hand on her, but I'll tell you, the tone of his voice made my hair curl. If it wasn't already curly, that is. He said she should remember who she was talking to, and what she had to lose. Real cold like."
"That sounds bad."
"It was. She shut up in a hurry, especially when he said something about a video."
"He always covered his tracks. You don't cross Mr. Parker," the man said in a knowing voice.
"Well, someone did," the woman pointed out. "And I kind of hope they get away with it." Before I could hear more, Winston yanked on the leash and started barking in full cry at the sea gull, who just looked at him placidly. As I scooped him up, the voices drifted away, back toward the house. I bent down and tried to peek through the hedge, curious to identify the speakers, but the dark leaves were too dense; I couldn't see who it was.
Who was the woman they were talking about? I wondered as I put Winston down and let him lead me toward the sea gull, who lazily took wing when Winston was three feet away, leaving him disappointed as always.
I watched the sea gull soaring above, wishing I had its view of Windswept. What exactly had the mystery woman had on Cal Parker?
And had whatever he had on her been enough to make her bash his brains out on the beach behind my shop?
11
I finished walking the shoreline trail, thinking about the conversation I'd heard and checking my Fitbit
to see my progress—I had gotten it not long ago and was trying hard to get my steps in and eliminate some of the excess fluffiness that had collected around my waist since the divorce. I'd been so anxious leading up to the mediation that I practically stopped eating, allowing me, for a brief six weeks, to fit into clothes I hadn't worn since my twenties. As soon as things were resolved, however, my body had clamored for all the fudgy goodness it hadn't wanted the previous six months. Before long, between my caramel latte addiction and my brownie-baking habit, all of the pounds that had melted away prior to the big day had returned. And some of them brought friends.
I followed one of the side streets back into town, trying to get a glimpse of Windswept from the front. The fence along the back turned into a wall in the front, though; even the gate for entering cars was made of solid wood, and unless I wanted to stop and peer through the slats, there was no way to see in. But as I walked by, there was a whirring noise, and the gate slid open behind me.
As I watched, a low, sleek, forest-green Jaguar purred out of the gate, a woman with black hair and enormous, expensive-looking sunglasses at the wheel. Her diamond pendant earring twinkled in the sun as she turned left, intent on her destination, not noticing me at all.
I took the opportunity to backtrack a few steps and peek into the compound as the gate shut. I could see the enormous Tudor facade, set off by a lawn that was beautifully landscaped with roses and trailing ivy, and two cars. One, right in front of the house, was a gorgeous, wood-sided antique car. The other, an ancient Honda whose body was half rust, squatted in a gravel drive that led to what looked like a carriage house half-tucked behind the mansion, and probably close to the servant's entrance. I thought I saw a glimpse of a woman with dark hair in one of the upstairs windows before the gates nicked shut.
I looked down at Winston, who was impatient with my stops and starts and anxious to move on and check out more of the olfactory landscape. "Sorry, buddy," I murmured, and we walked on toward town, following the direction the woman had gone.
A Killer Ending Page 7
