By Familiar Means (27 page)

“Anna's going to paint some murals for us,” Miranda told him. “At least . . . she is when we get things back on track.”

“Don't worry, Miranda,” Rich said firmly. “With the defense committee you've got set up in there, I'm sure you guys will have Jake out in no time and everything will be right back to normal.”

He spoke these last words firmly, like he was trying to reassure somebody. Except I couldn't tell if it was Miranda, or us, or himself. I looked to Val for a hint, but she was too busy making sure Rich didn't make any sudden moves.

“I'm sorry about all this, Miranda.” Rich shook his head. “I really am. You shouldn't have to be in trouble because Jimmy . . . well, was what he was. You'll let Jake know I stopped by, all right? I don't want him to think there's still bad blood between us.”

“There isn't any bad blood between us, Rich.” Miranda squeezed his good hand gently.

There sure was something unsaid between the two of them, though. I could feel it pressing against me as strongly as I'd felt any Vibe in my life. But there was absolutely no way I could ask about it. Heck, I couldn't even ask any of the questions I'd come here with, like what meeting had Miranda been at when Jake got arrested and why was she afraid she'd betrayed him?

“Well, we need to pull together, right?” Rich said earnestly. “This isn't just about us. This is about the community.”

“Exactly. And don't worry, I know . . .”

Whatever Miranda was about to say was cut off by her cell ringing. She yanked the phone out of her back pocket and hit the button.

“Enoch? Is there news? Oh, fantastic! Everyone!” Miranda brandished the cell toward the living room. “The judge has set bail! Jake's getting out!”

Cheers and applause went up from the crowd of activists. Miranda was immediately surrounded by people asking questions and getting ready to pass the hat to raise the bail money.

“Well, that's great,” said Rich. “Maybe now they'll finally figure out who really is responsible for this mess.”

“Let's hope so,” I said. “But somehow I don't think Blanchard's going to give up so easily.”

“Him? Give up?” Rich snorted. “Not gonna happen. Especially not when . . .”

Val pounced. “When what, Rich? Something we should know about? Maybe when your mother's been talking to her friends on the city council again?”

Rich's response was to check his watch. “Oops. Wow. It's late and I've got to get back to work. Very nice to meet you, Miss Britton. I'm sure I'll see you around. Mrs. McDermott.” He nodded stiffly toward Val and trotted down the porch steps to the black Mercedes that was parked across the sidewalk.

Val watched his retreat the way a German shepherd watches the mailman.

“Val?” I shook her shoulder. “Ground control to Valerie? What the heck was that all about?”

“Rich Hilde's a hypocrite; that's what it was about,” she snapped. “Every time his family does something or wants something, he's always the one coming around smiling and charming and making it all okay, no matter what they've done or who they've done in.”

“And you know this because . . . ?” I prompted.

“When I got set to open the B and B, there was all kinds of delays getting the permits, especially the liquor license.
I almost had to give up. Then I found out from a friend of mine at the clerk's office that Gretchen Hilde was leaning on them to hold things up. Not that I'd suspected anything, because Rich was always around, smiling and asking how things were going, offering helpful suggestions, and being charming.” She bit the word off. “I only found out later that his mother and sister were working the whole time to try to kill a little bit of competition. As if one more bed-and-breakfast in this town would mean anything to a monster like the Harbor's Rest.”

Except, according to what Frank said, Gretchen and the Harbor's Rest might have a whole lot of reasons to care about competition.

She had to fight tooth and nail for everything she has.
Grandma's words trickled back into my mind. If we were right, Kelly and Christine weren't planning just a little bit of competition with Dreame Royale. They were setting up a major challenge. If Mrs. Hilde was willing to lean on the city clerk over a B and B, what would she be willing to do about a new hotel?

“Why didn't you say something before?” I asked.

“I didn't realize the Hildes were actively sticking their fingers into the works. But if Rich is out with the charm offensive, that changes everything.”

29

There wasn't much chance to talk after that. The gathering started planning how to change the scheduled protest into a welcome-home party. Then Roger showed up with a tray of hummus and gluten-free pita bread and took Val away for some baby-related shopping. I stayed and chatted and ate and tried to maneuver myself through the crowd so I could actually talk to Chuck.

Sometime between spreading hummus on pita and explaining to a tiny woman in a flowing yellow dress how I knew Jake and Miranda, Chuck quietly disappeared. I tried to make myself believe it was nothing personal, but I had a tough time believing myself.

I finally made my own excuses and my own exit. I climbed into the Jeep and pulled out my phone to check my messages. There weren't any. I tried calling Grandma B.B., but she didn't pick up. I tried calling Frank, and the result was the same. I rubbed my forehead and thought about how it was only noon and there was a whole day ahead where I needed to be out and doing. Talking to people. Researching. Sleuthing.

Making sure it wasn't my friends who were guilty of murder. Proving to myself that I wasn't making a huge mistake in trusting the Luces and that there were lots of reasons Miranda could be talking to Rich Hilde and that it was perfectly reasonable for her not to want Chuck to talk to the police. I'd come to that exact same conclusion, hadn't I?

With all this ringing around my head, I did what anybody would do. I put the Jeep in gear and started driving, right out of town to Hampton Beach.

*   *   *

This late in the year, the beach was fairly deserted. Nobody was out on the water except one very determined guy on his boogie board. The sands were almost as empty. There was just me, a family flying a rainbow-striped kite, and a couple out walking their golden Lab. I sat down and wrapped my arms around my knees. The fierce wind whipped around my head, and I breathed the salty air deeply as I stared at the gray breakers. I willed all that fresh, cold air to clear the clutter out of my brain and my conscience. I wished I had someone to talk to. I wished there was somebody I
could
talk to. But everybody I could say anything too was either busy or mad at me or missing in action.

Well, almost.

“Meow?” Alistair, who hadn't been there before, was rubbing against my elbow. I took this to be the feline equivalent of
penny for your thoughts
.

“What have I done, Alistair?” I said. The wind whipped a few locks of hair in front of my eyes. “Frank's mad at me. Kenisha thinks I'm hiding things from the police. Which would be really unfair, except I am hiding things from the police. I can't concentrate on making a living because I'm trying to solve a murder, and I may be trusting all the wrong people.”

“Meow!”

“Of course I don't mean you. But I don't know if I can handle this, Alistair.” I folded my arms on my knees and rested my chin on them. “Maybe I have just gone too far.”

Footsteps thudded against the hard-packed sand. A lean man in black running shorts and a bright green T-shirt thudded past. He stopped short, turned and doubled back.

That's when I saw it was the younger Sean McNally.

“Anna! Thought that was you.” Sean crouched down so we were more or less eye level. He was breathing hard, and despite how chilly it was, there was a sheen of perspiration on his forehead.

“Sean! What are you doing out here?”

“Day off,” he told me. “The weather was so great, I thought I'd get a run in. Mind if I sit down?”

“It's a free beach.” I gestured to the sand.

Sean folded his long legs and settled next to me. “Hello, big guy.” He scratched Alistair's ears, completely unfazed by seeing the cat with me. Alistair graciously permitted this familiarity.

“Everything okay?” he asked.

“That's what I'm trying to figure out.”

Sean nodded, but he didn't push further. There are people who have a restful presence. Sean McNally was like that. He just sat beside me, looking out at the waves and catching his breath. I guess being a professional bartender, he'd learned when to talk and when to just keep quiet and leave someone to her own thoughts.

The problem was I didn't much like my own thoughts right now.

“They arrested Jake,” I told him.

“I know,” he said. “I heard he made bail, though, so that's something.”

When it came to the speed of spreading news, the Internet had nothing on the small-town grapevine. “He didn't do it.”

“I know that, too. Jake's old-school. Believes in nonviolent resistance. If he really had a problem with Jimmy, he'd just sit on his doorstep, probably with six or eight friends.”

“And sing ‘Kumbaya.'”

“Oh, he'd definitely sing ‘Kumbaya.' I've heard him do it. It's better when he's had a couple beers. Miranda plays a mean banjo accompaniment.”

I completely believed that. “Why am I doing this, Sean?”

“What?” he asked. “Sitting on a beach with a bartender and a cat?”

“Merow,” muttered Alistair.

My mouth twitched. Not that I was close to smiling. Now was definitely not a smiling time. “Getting involved in other people's problems again. My grandmother's stuck in it, too, and all my friends. And it's all my fault.”

Sean scratched his bearded chin thoughtfully. “Let's try that last part again. How did it get to be your fault?”

“Because I'm the one who could have walked away and didn't. I'm the one who . . . decided to maybe not say something I should have. So I'm dragging them all in with me.”

“Wow. That's one heck of a superpower you've got there, Anna. I had no idea.”

I glowered at him. “That's sarcasm, isn't it? You're being sarcastic at me.”

“Nah. Just a small splash of irony.” He smiled. “Listen, I don't know your grandmother that well yet, but I know Val and I know Julia. If they're in this thing, whatever it is, it's because it's where they've decided they want to be.” He cocked his head toward me. “Maybe you need to decide that, too.”

“Maybe I do. Maybe I have. Maybe I'm just . . . scared.”

“That's normal. Change is scary. So is getting involved. Involved means attached and attached means if it doesn't work, more people than you get hurt.”

“So, what do I do?”

“Either don't get involved or make sure when you do, it does work.”

“Wow. Words of wisdom. You'd make a great bartender.”

“Nah. I'm allergic to corn nuts.”

“Seriously?”

“Seriously. It's something in the seasoning. I swell up like a balloon.”

“Well, I promise never to feed you corn nuts.”

“Thank you.”

There was a pause. We both watched the waves for a while. The wind whipped my hair in front of my eyes again. I pushed it down.

“My friends think you want to take me out.”

Sean nodded, clearly giving this statement some careful consideration. “What do you think?”

“I don't know.”

He smiled. “Fair enough.”

“What do you think?”

Sean watched the ocean for a while. The guy on the boogie board wiped out and surfaced a moment later, shaking water out of his hair. “I think I'm going to plead the Fifth,” said Sean. “For now.”

“It's not nice to keep someone in suspense.”

His smile turned positively mischievous. I had the sudden, terrible urge to stick my tongue out at him. Not that what I did was a whole lot better.

“Why me?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Not sure yet, but I'm pretty confident we'll figure it out.” Good grief, it was like he could make his eyes twinkle on command.

“I've always had terrible luck with guys,” I tried.

“Bet none of the others were charming Irish bartenders.”

He had me there. “My life's a little messed up right now, and it's looking like if I stay in town, that's going to become a permanent condition.”

“You're helping friends,” he said. “Sounds like the good kind of messed up to me.”

“You're not going to be talked out of this, are you?”

He shook his head slowly.

“I'm not saying yes,” I warned him.

“Are you saying no?”

I sucked in a deep breath. “No. I'm not. It's just . . . things really are complicated.”

“Well then.” He got up, dusted himself off, and held out his hand. I took it and let him pull me up. “We'll just have to see if we can make them simpler. Hey, I hear there's this
swell party happening over at Northeast Java this evening. I was going to head over and drop off a bottle of that new moonshine Dad found. Would you like to come?”

“I would, but I promised . . .” I stopped. I stared. Not at Sean, exactly, but at the idea that was blossoming inside me. “Sean, is your dad working at the hotel today?”

“I think so. Why?”

“Because I need him to get me in to talk to Kelly Pierce.” Yes, Grandma was talking to Gretchen, and hopefully that would land me an invitation to the archives, but I still needed to talk to the food and beverages manager who liked her midnight omelet with extra cheese, and it might be better if her employers didn't know. It would have been best if I could have arranged something away from the hotel, but I'd wasted enough time this day. The clock was very much ticking.

Sean cocked his head at me. “Should I ask why you need to talk to Kelly?”

“Ummm . . . no.”

“Okay,” he said. “But there is one thing I am going to ask.”

I felt the blood drain from my cheeks. “What's that?”

“Where'd your cat go?”