A Crabby Killer (7 page)

C
laire sat
in the uncomfortable passenger seat of Dom’s Smart Car, her lips pressed tightly together thinking of Mae Biddeford. She’d known Mae her whole life. Sure, Mae could be abrasive at times, but Claire doubted the woman—who tirelessly collected money for the local church fund, handed out meals at the homeless shelter, and fostered dozens of cats and dogs while they awaited their forever home—was a killer.

“I’m sure Mae couldn’t have done it.” Claire watched the town whiz by, the buildings replaced by tall pines and oaks as they drove away from the cove to the center of the island and the Biddeford farm.

“I hate to think it could be her,” Dom said. “But we can’t ignore the evidence and motive.”

“Evidence? What evidence?”

“I’m not sure exactly what Zambuco has. Maybe something in those pictures of the crime scene Robby had in his hand.”

“What did you make of those? It just looked like a lot of footprints to me,” Claire said.

“There were footprints, but there was also one peculiarity.”

“Oh?”

“There must have been something there on the ground when we were walking around the pot, before we discovered the body. In the photos there was an oddly shaped area that was devoid of footprints. But I saw our footprints all around it.”

Leave it to Dom to pick up on a subtle clue like that. Claire suddenly was glad she’d teamed up with him. She would have missed that, but Dom was very good at putting together the physical evidence.

“So, we stepped on top of the item and that’s why it’s shape was imprinted in the dirt cleanly with no footprints over it,” she mused. “What was it?”

Dom shrugged. “I have no idea. It looked like a crab claw holding something misshapen. Maybe some kind of sign or something. Does that ring a bell?”

Claire dredged through her memory banks. This being Crab Cove, there were plenty of signs and logos that featured crab claws. She didn’t remember one holding something misshapen, though. “No. But the police must have it, so maybe we can find out.”

“That’s just the thing, I don’t think they do have it. If they did, they would have taken a picture of the item, not just its impression.”

Claire twisted in her seat and frowned at Dom. “That can’t be right because if our footprints were around it, that means it was there when we found the body. And if the police didn’t take it, where did it go?”

Dom’s sideways glance told her all she needed to know. There was only one answer—one of
them
had taken it.

“Mae couldn’t have taken it. She wasn’t there,” Claire said.

“I know, but who
did
take it. Do you remember anyone picking something up?”

Claire shook her head. “If someone did, you would think they would have handed it over once they realized it was a crime scene. But maybe they just thought it was trash and tossed it out.”

“I didn’t see anyone toss anything out,” Dom said.

“Well, I hardly think any one of the people on the committee killed him and then took it as evidence. I mean, neither you nor I did it, so that leaves Tom, Norma and Jane.”

“Yeah, you’re right. None of it makes sense. Maybe whatever it was has nothing to do with the murder.”

“The killer could have picked it up before we got there,” Claire suggested. “Or in between us discovering the body and the police coming.”

“I don’t think so. The object must have been there when we were inspecting the area, otherwise there would be footprints inside it. The footprints were only
outside
it. It would have been very odd if we all missed stepping on that one patch of dirt,” Dom said. “And I don’t remember anyone else going in after we found the body. We held them back until the police came.”

Claire twisted her lips. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense. Bob Cleary wasn’t there, and he has a compelling motive and doesn’t have an alibi. But let’s not forget the stranger who threatened Blunt. He seems like a good bet to me, but I didn’t notice a blond stranger that morning.

“It could also have been the mysterious woman Velma saw Naughton meeting with.”

Claire wondered who the mystery woman was and hoped it was a stranger since their only female suspect was Mae. Her mind flashed to the argument she’d seen between Blunt and Mae and a pang of guilt stabbed through her. Dom and she were partners now and she
should
tell him, but she didn’t want to make things look worse for Mae. Better to wait until they got something concrete to cross Mae off the suspect list.

“Well, I'm sure Mae didn’t do it. I don’t know why Zambuco is fixated on her when there are more interesting suspects. I’m sure Mae will be able to clear herself from suspicion when we talk to her,” Claire said.

Dom turned down the dirt road that led to the Biddeford farm and slowed to a crawl.

Claire perched anxiously on her seat. She was in a hurry to get to Mae and prove her innocence before Zambuco did something stupid. “You can go thirty-five on this road.”

“I know, but the dirt kicks up and I don’t want to get my car dirty. I just washed it this morning.”

Claire rolled her eyes. Dom was a little OCD when it came to his car, among other things. “You wash it every day.”

Honk!

Claire looked in the side-view mirror to see a plume of dirt coming up behind them. She adjusted the mirror and recognized Norma in the beige golf cart she used to run about town. By the pace at which she was gaining on them, she must have had the pedal pushed to the floor.

“Get out’ta the way!” Norma made motions with her hand as if she intended to pass them, but Dom was already turning down the long driveway to the Biddeford farm.

“What’s she in such a hurry for?” Dom asked as Norma sped past them on the dirt road, honking and waving.

“You know Norma. She has only one speed—impatient. She’s probably going to Tom Landry’s for goat cheese. It’s her favorite.” Claire could practically taste the tangy raw cheese that she also bought from Tom’s farm. She remembered she was running low. “I need to stop there, myself.”

The Biddeford farmhouse was a big, white, three-story with a peaked roof and a wide porch that ran along three sides. A two-level red barn sat across the driveway from the house and an old German Shepherd lounged lazily in the half open doorway of the barn. He lifted his head and sniffed the air as Claire and Dom got out of the car.

“Hey, Shep.” Claire squatted beside the dog, scratching behind his ear. Shep phantom-scratched with his back leg and looked at her adoringly with his golden-brown eyes.

“Claire! What are you doing here?” Mae appeared on the porch wearing a white apron with small double cherries stamped all over it. The middle of the apron was stained bright red and Claire figured the stain was either raspberry or strawberry jam. Apparently, the health inspector had not shut Mae down as Blunt had hoped.

Claire stood and scuffed the dirt with her shoe. Dom moved away so the dry dirt wouldn’t soil him. “We stopped by to talk to you about Blunt.”

Mae’s face hardened. “What about him?”

“Zambuco seems to think you would have motive to want him dead and we wanted to come out and see if we could help you,” Dom said.

“We know you're innocent and we figure we have the experience to help you set Zambuco straight,” Claire added.

Mae crossed her arms over her chest. “Why? What did Zambuco say to you?”

“We didn’t actually talk to Zambuco, but Robby said Blunt tried to get the health inspector after you.”

“That’s right. The dirty so-and-so. He tried to set me up. Claimed he found goat hair in my jam.” Mae’s voice rose an indignant octave. “I guess he figured if my kitchen got shut down, I’d be out of business and willing to sell the farm to him.”

“Did he pay the health inspector off or something?” Claire asked.

Mae shook her head. “No. He planted the hair and then I guess he probably planned to sabotage me somehow when the inspector was here, but Blunt never showed up and I passed the inspection.”

“When was that?”

“Morning before yesterday, when Blunt was … well, you know.”

Dom frowned at Mae. “You knew Blunt was planning to sabotage you?”

“Well, of course. I know there’s no hairs in my jam. How would a goat hair even get in there? And my kitchen is spotless, so I’m sure he planned to slip something in there that morning when I wasn’t looking. Somehow, he finagled an invitation to be in on the inspection.”

Claire glanced toward Tom Landry’s farm. There would be plenty of goat hair over there, but how would it get into Mae’s kitchen? Was Blunt planning on using the goat hair against Tom, too? “Did you tell this to Zambuco?”

“Darn tootin’ I did,” Mae said proudly.

Claire’s stomach pinched. No wonder Zambuco thought Mae was the killer. She’d even given him a reason to suspect her. Which, to Claire, proved more than anything that Mae didn’t do it. If she
was
the killer, she certainly wouldn’t have indicated to the police that she would have benefitted from making sure Blunt didn’t show up for that inspection.

“That’s why Zambuco has you high on the suspect list,” Dom said.

Mae’s face wrinkled in confusion. “Well, I don’t see why Zambuco would suspect
me
because Blunt plays dirty.”

“You told him you suspected Blunt was going to sabotage your kitchen for the inspection, right? Getting Blunt out of the way before the inspection would cause the inspection to go better for you. See why he would suspect you?”

Mae’s mouth formed a small ‘O’. “Gee, I didn’t think of it that way.”

“Is that why you were late to the Crab Festival meeting that morning?” Claire asked.

Mae nodded. “Yes. The inspector was coming earlier that morning. I would’ve made it to the meeting on time, except Blunt never showed for the inspection. The inspector waited a good half-hour for him, too.”

“I suppose you were at home in bed asleep earlier that morning,” Claire said.

Mae scowled at her. “Of course. Where else would I be? But I wasn’t asleep. I was scouring the kitchen for the inspector. And it must have worked, because I passed with flying colors.”

“So you can still make your jams.” Claire’s thoughts of Mae’s jams turned to thoughts of the brown twine that had been wrapped around Blunt’s neck. “Why didn’t you say something about the inspection or that you knew who the victim was and even had an appointment with him that morning when we found Blunt at the Crab Festival?”

A crimson stain crept across Mae’s cheeks. She looked down at her white tennis shoes. “I was embarrassed. I mean, I’m practically famous for my jams. I did win the
Crabby
last year, so how would it look if the cleanliness of my kitchen was brought into question?”

Dom’s bushy brows mashed together. “The
Crabby
?”

Mae’s blush deepened. “Yes, it’s quite prestigious. Each year, it's awarded to one islander for excellence in their field. We’ve been doing it for about five years and I won last year.”

Claire thought about her kitchen cupboard stuffed full of excess jars of Mae’s jam. The truth was, her jams were quite tasty but she gave them out so frequently that most of the islanders had so many extra jars they’d be bequeathing them to relatives in their wills for generations to come. Claire remembered how proud Mae had been to win the odd trophy, which was a giant two-and-a-half foot tall monstrosity made out of silver-colored metal in the shape of a crab holding a silhouette of Mooseamuck Island.

“I can see you are quite proud of the award and your jams.” Dom studied Mae as if he was trying to decide whether she was proud enough to kill someone over it.

Claire thought about Mae’s new design with the brown twine. She couldn’t really blame Dom for looking at her that way, but she also couldn’t picture the senior citizen getting out of bed in the wee hours of the morning, sneaking down to the pier and strangling Blunt.

Claire looked out over Mae’s farm. The strawberries were planted in neat rows in front of almost an acre of blueberry and raspberry bushes. Pear trees dotted the sides of the field and even the backyard of the farm, where white linen sheets flapped in the breeze on a clothesline strung between two massive oak trees. A pair of goldfinches twittered around a bird feeder filled with thistle.

Beyond the rows of strawberries, a cloud of dust rose in the air along the road that led to Tom’s farm.

“Anyway, surely Zambuco can’t be serious about thinking I killed Blunt,” Mae said. “He was a nasty piece of work, and I’m sure there are other people that wanted him dead more than I did.”

The cloud of dust drew closer. Claire squinted into the distance just as a golf cart emerged from the dust. It was Norma, driving exceedingly fast, even for her. She started honking the cart’s high-pitched horn and waving her cane in the air.

The commotion caught Dom and Mae’s attention and they all stared as the cart careened into Mae’s driveway, screeching to a stop in front of them. Norma’s face was tight with anxiety and she swished her cane in the air like a sword.

“Hurry up and get in! Zambuco’s at Tom’s and I think he’s fixing to arrest him!”

C
laire’s tailbone
slammed against the thinly cushioned rear seat of the golf cart as it sped toward Tom Landry’s farm. Her mouth was dry from the dust that whipped up around the tires and swirled into her face. For once, she wished that Dom was driving, but Norma had insisted and somehow Dom had commandeered the front seat, leaving her and Mae riding backwards in the rear.

In Tom’s field, she could see Zambuco, Robby and Tom standing near a log post fence. Norma whipped the cart in that direction and Claire’s knuckles turned white as she grasped onto the metal safety bar to keep from being flung off. She reached out and grabbed the back of Mae’s apron to keep her from sliding out. The cart screeched to a halt and the four of them jumped off.

Zambuco scowled at them. “What are you people doing here?”

“We’re here to help Tom,” Claire said. “What’s going on?”

Zambuco pointed to a hole in the ground. “Your friend here had a motive to want Blunt dead. We heard he was in Duffy’s the night Blunt was killed. We came up to ask a few questions and caught him burying the murder weapon.”

Claire looked into the empty hole, her stomach sinking. Tom
did
have a motive. Blunt was trying to take his farm. And Emile had mentioned that Tom was in the bar that night. Tom had also been at the scene of the crime that morning with the Crab Festival committee. Claire remembered him dropping his clipboard. Had he dropped it on purpose so he could pick up a piece of evidence he'd left behind the night before?

“The murder weapon? What do you mean?” Norma demanded. "I thought Blunt was strangled."

"Bludgeoned
and
strangled," Zambuco said. "Technically, the strangling did him in."

Claire’s eyes flicked up to Tom’s face. She didn’t see the face of a killer. She saw the face of a very scared and worried man. Tom’s body language and demeanor was not like that of any murderer she’d caught so far. She was sure Tom wasn’t the one. But if he wasn’t, then why was he burying the murder weapon? Maybe what he was burying wasn’t the murder weapon and this was all a mistake.

“We don’t know if he did it alone. He might be in cahoots with your friend here.” Zambuco nodded toward Mae.

“Well … well … well … I …” Mae huffed.

Norma snorted. “In cahoots? Why, the two of them have hardly said a nice word to each other in over seventy years. I doubt they’d combine forces now to kill somebody. And where is this supposed murder weapon, anyway?”

“It’s not actually the whole murder weapon,” Robby chimed in. “It’s just part of it.”

He held up a plastic bag that had a thick metal piece inside. It was silver in color and, if Claire wasn’t mistaken, that dark stain on the jagged edge was blood. But was it Blunt’s blood?

Robby turned the bag around to show the other side and something niggled in Claire’s brain. The piece looked like the same shape of the imprint that had been found in the dirt by the crime scene—the crab claw holding something jagged. Claire now recognized what that jagged something was. It was part of the outline of Mooseamuck Island.

“What the heck is that?” Norma asked.

Mae gasped, and her wide eyes never left the bag as she said, “It’s a
Crabby
. I have one right at my house.”

Z
ambuco wanted
to see Mae's
Crabby,
so they all headed over to Mae’s house.

As they were getting out of their various cars and golf carts, a shiny, new Volvo pulled in. Claire was surprised to see Jane step out and hurry over.

Claire’s eyes flicked from her friend to the car. For the past fifteen years, Jane had driven an old station wagon with wood-grained sides. It must have finally given out, but this new car seemed expensive for Jane’s modest salary. It wasn’t a Mercedes, or a BMW, but it
was
brand new. Then again, what did Claire know? Maybe Jane had been saving up, knowing that her wagon was on its last legs.

“What’s this? Is the whole town going to show up now?” Zambuco’s voice complained even though his face seemed to indicate he was happy to see Jane. “Do you people have some sort of a telepathic grapevine?”

“No,” Jane said. “I happened to be driving to Tom’s farm for some goat’s milk and I noticed the commotion here. Naturally, I pulled in to see what was going on.”

“New car?” Claire asked.

Jane waved her hand at the car dismissively. “My old clunker finally died and I had to get something. So what
is
going on?”

“We caught Mr. Landry here with part of the murder weapon. And then Ms. Biddeford claims she’s got the rest of it,” Zambuco said.

“I didn’t say I had the
rest
of it,” Mae corrected him. “I said I have
one like it
. The trophy that piece came from. But mine is intact. It’s not the murder weapon.”

Jane looked confused. “I don’t understand. What was Tom doing with the murder weapon?”

Zambuco fidgeted impatiently. “Isn’t it obvious? He’s the murderer.”

Jane scowled at Zambuco and Claire saw something pass across his face that reminded her of a child who had been reprimanded. Did he actually care what Jane thought?

Jane fisted her hands on her hips. “Now, listen here Frank. I’ve known Tom Landry all my life and he is no murderer. I don’t know what other evidence you have, but I’m quite certain it’s not enough to arrest him.”

“That may be,” Zambuco said. “If he
is
innocent, he will be proven as such. Right now, I need to follow this lead.” He turned to Mae. “Now, Ms. Biddeford, let’s see this
Crabby
that you claim to have.”

“He was killed with a
Crabby
?” Jane’s eyes went wide. “But there’s only five of those.”

Robby held up the plastic bag. “Four-and-a-half now because one of them is missing this piece.”

“If there are only five of them, that should make tracking down where it came from easy, but for now I’d like to see the one that Ms. Biddeford claims is in her possession.” Zambuco waved his thick hands towards Mae’s house. “Would you be so kind as to show us where it is?”

Mae led them up on the porch, through the squeaky screen door with its layers of green paint and into her raspberry-scented kitchen. The farmhouse kitchen had never been renovated other than the new stainless steel appliances Mae had purchased two years ago. Even though most of the kitchen was over a hundred years old, it wasn’t shabby or dilapidated. Like most frugal New Englanders, the Biddefords had kept everything in tip-top shape.

The pine cabinets were painted a pale, cheery yellow. The butcherblock countertops showed signs of loving use, but still glowed a honey brown. The original copper sink, polished in some spots and green with patina in others, shined under the double windows that overlooked the peach trees in the back. White, sheer curtains sucked in and out against the screen in the breeze from the open window.

Even though everything in the kitchen was old, it was neat as a pin and could have been featured in a decorator’s magazine highlighting the new trend toward time-worn primitive antiques.

On the counter sat a line of small, clear mason jars, red and white checked print lids and the incriminating brown twine all cut into small sections.

Zambuco zeroed in on the twine. “Where did you get this?”

“Bob Cleary gave it to me,” Mae said. “I wanted something that reflected the history of Crab Cove to put on my new jam jar designs. And what better than fishing twine? The fishermen use it for their nets.”

Zambuco raised a thick brow at Robby. He stared at the twine a little bit more, then whirled around toward Mae. “So, where is this
Crabby
trophy?”

Mae gestured toward a small door at the other end of the kitchen.

“I put it in the basement. I don’t have it on display. I mean, I know I make a killer jam, but I don’t like to put on airs by showing off the trophy.”

“I’ll go down with her,” Zambuco said to Robby, “to make sure she doesn’t pull anything funny. You stay here with the suspect.” Zambuco pierced Tom with a glare just in case there was any question as to who he meant by ‘suspect’.

Mae disappeared through the small door and Zambuco followed, scuffing his head on the top when he forgot to duck. “Ouch.”

Claire stifled a laugh.

They sat around the kitchen in uncomfortable silence while they listened to the sounds of rummaging coming from below. Tom pulled one of the red Naugahyde chairs out from the chrome and Formica table and sunk into it. He picked a candy out of his pocket, the cellophane crinkling as he unwrapped it. Just before he popped it into his mouth, Claire recognized it as one of the caramel root beer acorns. Everyone seemed to be eating those. Maybe she should try one. She doubted she would like it and couldn't help but wonder if it was any coincidence that two of their potential suspects ate the same unusual candy. Probably not, she decided, but still filed the information away for later use.

Robby leaned against the counter, the evidence bag dangling from his hand. Norma thumped her cane on the floor impatiently. Dom busied himself by arranging the jam jars in a perfect line, bending down so his eyes were even with the counter to make sure there was an equal amount of space between each jar and that they were all equidistant from the edge.

Finally, Mae came through the door, the giant trophy clutched in her hands triumphantly.

“See, mine’s not broken. I told you I’m not the killer.” She set the trophy down on the kitchen counter and plopped into a seat at the table next to Tom.

Zambuco emerged from the doorway, this time taking care to bend down so as not to hit his head.

“So, it wasn’t Mae’s trophy.” Zambuco turned to Tom. “Then it must have been yours.”

Norma nudged Zambuco with her cane. “Guess again, Sherlock. Tom doesn’t have a
Crabby
.”

“Really? Then how did he end up with that?” Zambuco pointed to the piece of metal in the plastic bag which Robby was now comparing to the top of Mae’s
Crabby
. It was a perfect match, proving that what Tom had been burying
was
the top of one of the island’s prestigious trophies.

Tom sighed. “I saw it that morning when we found the body in the crab boil pot. At first, I thought it was just a piece of trash, then I recognized that it was part of the
Crabby
. I knew Mae had one and I knew Blunt had been threatening her and … well … I just picked it up. I don’t think Mae killed him, but I didn’t want her to get into trouble if the police found it and suspected the worst.”

Mae’s eyes got all soft and gooey. Her hand slowly crept across the table and brushed against Tom’s. “Thanks, Tom.”

“But you have a motive,” Zambuco persisted. “I heard Blunt wanted your land, too.”

“That’s right. He did want my farm and I think he was getting ready to pull a fast one. He was supposed to meet with the dairy inspector at my farm around three the day before, but he turned up late. The inspector couldn’t wait so he left before Blunt showed. I don’t know what Blunt had in mind, but the inspector gave me the okay, so it turned out all right for me. I never did find out why Blunt was late, but he was really mad the inspector didn’t wait for him.”

“He was late because of me,” Mae mumbled, suddenly taking an interest in smoothing the wrinkles on the embroidered napkin that was in front of her on the table.

Tom’s brows tugged together. “What do you mean that he was late because of you?”

“I overheard him talking to the dairy inspector that morning. I think he planned to put something in your goat milk to get you in trouble. Just like he was planning to sabotage my kitchen. He’d already planted goat hair in one of my jam jars and reported me to the health inspector. Anyway, I couldn’t let him get away with it, so I just happened to intercept him on the way to your farm. I had to break a whole tote bag full of my jams to keep him. Then I had to yell and fight with him. I guess it worked if it made him miss the inspection.” Mae glanced shyly at Tom.

Tom turned in his chair to face Mae and slid his hand over hers. “You did that for me?”

Mae nodded. “We can’t have someone like him taking our family farms, can we?”

“No, siree. My grandaddy farmed this land by hand.”

“Mine, too.”

“I heard they tilled the soil together and helped each other build that stone wall that separates our properties.”

“They used teamwork.” Mae’s wistful smile turned into a frown. “And then they got into that feud.”

“What was that about anyway?” Tom asked.

Mae shrugged. “Darned if I know.”

Mae peered up at Tom from under her lashes. “Maybe we should bury the hatchet?”

Tom’s face broke into a grin. “I think that’s a great idea.”

“Enough of this lovey-dovey stuff,” Zambuco broke in. “You two are still suspects. Where were you that night?”

“I was at home, alone,” Mae said.

“I was at Duffy's bar, keeping my eye on Blunt because I knew he was up to no good. I was hoping to get something on him, but no luck. I went home at midnight and went to bed. Alone.”

“So neither one of you has an alibi. You were both at the scene of the crime the next morning. One of you was seen trying to dispose of one of the murder weapons.” Zambuco pointed to the plastic evidence bag, then turned and picked up a piece of the twine, letting it slide through his sausage fingers. “And one of you has the other murder weapon right in her kitchen.”

Norma smacked Zambuco’s wrist with her cane and he jerked his hand back, his thick brows hooding dark, beady eyes that scowled at Norma.

“That’s preposterous,” Norma said. “That little piece you saw Tom trying to dispose of couldn’t hurt a fly and anyone can get that twine from the fishing boats down at the dock.”

“That’s actually not true,” Mae grimaced. “You can’t get it in a long strand from the boats because it’s netted. Bob had some for his net repair and he gave me a little of it, but he doesn’t keep that on the boat.”

“Mae’s right. The twine is not that easy to come by,” Robby said. “We checked.”

“But the fishermen have it, and Blunt was also going to open a business that threatened their livelihood,” Claire pointed out, then felt a pang of guilt. She’d just pointed the finger at Bob Cleary and she didn’t want it to be him. But if she had to choose between him and Mae or Tom, she’d pick Mae and Tom every time.