Clammed Up (14 page)

I stayed through the graveside service and went to the reception at Tony’s parents’ house. Michaela was largely left alone while Tony and his family played host. Tony’s mom served a fussy tea with little sandwiches and cakes, which seemed incongruous given Ray and Tony’s high school friends, the fishermen and ironworkers who made up most of the guests.

I sat with Michaela on the deck of the neat ranch house, wondering where Lynn was. Once again, her maid of honor was AWOL when Michaela needed support.

I didn’t intend to talk to Michaela about our interrupted conversation of the day before. The funeral had been tough enough for her. So I was surprised that she was the one who brought it up.

“I want to apologize for the way I acted yesterday when we talked about Ray,” Michaela said.

“It’s nothing,” I said and meant it. If anything, I should have been the one to apologize for asking if she’d had an inappropriate relationship with the best man in her wedding party.

“No. I was rude. Overwrought. I’m just so emotional . . . with all that’s happened.” Michaela spread her gorgeous, long fingers on her knees. “I want to talk about my relationship with Ray. He’s dead. Nothing I say will hurt him.” Her nails dug into the dark fabric of her skirt. “Before you can understand about Ray, there are some things I need to tell you that you don’t know about me.”

She paused for so long I wondered if she would go on. But she did. “I started drinking in college, just the normal way normal people do. Except, I didn’t know then, I’m not normal. I partied pretty hard, but so did everyone around me. After college, a whole bunch of us moved to Brooklyn, where we made more friends and kept going out. Every night I got drunk and every morning I woke up feeling terrible, but it was my life and I didn’t question it.” She looked into my eyes, making sure I was getting it.

Nothing I heard surprised me. Most people drank too much in college and some people continued drinking hard into their twenties. That’s where I’d first met Michaela years ago, in clubs around Manhattan.

She took a deep breath and went on. “What I didn’t notice was, the gang was breaking up. The others started having careers instead of jobs and didn’t go out during the week. They had serious relationships and got married and by then they were only going out on holidays and special occasions. But not me. I was still getting drunk every night and working at the same stupid retail job I found when I first went to the city. I’d had dreams of working in the fashion business, but got totally sidetracked.

“I went to the same neighborhood dive, drank my dinner, and stayed out way too late every night. The bar was a comfortable place where ‘everybody knew my name.’ But one night, I had a moment of clarity. I looked around and realized who ‘everybody’ was. People who were alone, working in dead-end jobs, if they worked at all, with no friends or sign of any life outside that barroom. I saw a woman about ten years older, who’d been drinking across the bar from me for two years, and it was like looking at my future self. The smudged makeup, the unsteady hands. It was terrifying.

“I left the bar and found a meeting. AA. It’s been a huge struggle, but I haven’t had a drink in three years. That’s where I met Ray. It was his first meeting, too.” Michaela smiled at the memory. “I know it’s supposed to be anonymous, and that’s why I didn’t tell you yesterday when we talked. But actually, Ray was quite open about what he’d been through.

“We were drawn to each other immediately. Ray made me laugh. After I’d been sober a year, Ray introduced me to Tony, and that was it. Love at first sight. Since I’d gotten sober, I’d changed jobs . . . from clerk to assistant buyer, something with a future, and I was working my way up in my company. At last, I was ready for a serious relationship. Tony and I have been together ever since that first date.” Michaela’s features softened, warmed by the memory of meeting Tony for the first time.

“Ray and Tony got more and more successful. Ray was the salesman, in charge of persuading the property owners to sell them the land, and then marketing the resorts to upscale buyers. Tony’s the numbers guy and also oversees the planning and construction. Ray had been a college drinker like me, a little wild even as a kid, as you heard today. And then, as an adult, his job reinforced his tendencies. He was always wining and dining people. So it was hard for him to stop drinking. He had a much harder time of it than I did. There were lapses, some ugly scenes. He was a belligerent drunk. People judged him.”

Certainly Lynn, the maid of honor, had. How many times and in how many ways had she said to Michaela, “Forget him. He’s not worth it.”

“But I saw how hard Ray tried,” Michaela said. “Before that night in Crowley’s, he hadn’t had a drink in a year. I was shocked by his behavior. It was like someone had flipped a switch and brought back the old, crazy, drunk Ray. I was desperately worried about him. Not just because he’d fallen off the wagon, which was bad enough, but also because his years of drinking caused health issues. Drinking could kill him.”

The blood in Chris’s cab and down the front of Ray’s shirt.
“Is that what you and Ray fought about at Crowley’s? His drinking?”

“Yes. I begged him to stop.”

“And why you called him on his cell after you’d gone back to the Snuggles?”

“Yes. I saw where his behavior was headed. I wanted to help.”

“You left the Snuggles to meet him? Where did you go?” I felt bad for pressing her, but she’d initiated the conversation.

“Nowhere. We walked along Main Street and talked.”

“You were gone from the Snuggles Inn for at least a couple hours. It’s hard to believe you and Ray just walked along Main Street all that time. It’s four blocks long.”

“I don’t know what to tell you, Julia. We found a bench outside the hardware store and talked. The last time I saw Ray, he was alive, slightly more sober and headed back to his hotel. I wish I could help. I want Ray’s killer arrested, too.”

We sat quietly for a moment. Michaela stared through the picture window into the living room. I followed her gaze. Lynn stood with Tony and his parents, deep in conversation.

“She was Tony’s college girlfriend.” Michaela answered the question I hadn’t asked. “She’s had trouble adjusting to the idea of me. And trouble letting Tony go, though they hadn’t been a couple for years by the time I came along. Tony was a big jock on campus when they dated, but I don’t think Lynn ever imagined he’d make so much money. He’s the one that got away.”

“But why—?”

Michaela smiled. “When you give up drinking, you give up your drinking companions. I’m still building new friendships. Lynn is important to Tony. Besides, as they say, keep your friends close—”

“And your enemies closer,” I finished.

Michaela laughed. “Honestly, I’m fine with her. I really am.” She sat back in her deck chair, her posture relaxed.

She was through talking about Ray, but I still had something I needed to know. “That night, when you went to meet Ray, did you run into Tony?”

“Tony? No. He was at the Bellevue.”

“No, Michaela, he wasn’t. His bed there wasn’t slept in. Lynn called him from the Snuggles and asked him to meet her.”

Michaela’s brown eyes flashed beneath her thick lashes. “What are you implying?” She said it so loudly, the few other people on the deck turned to stare at us. It was the same quick mood change I’d seen in her the last time we’d talked, the fiery temper buried down deep.

“I’m not implying anything. I assumed Tony and Lynn went out looking for you.”

“Where did you hear this? Who told you these lies?” Michaela shouted.

Through the picture window I saw people in the house turn their heads. Tony’s mother stared at us, openmouthed.

I remembered, much too late, the old adage about killing the messenger. “Michaela—”

“I think you should go,” she commanded.

“I’m sorry,” I said, and I really was. I slunk off the deck and walked to my car, wishing I could make myself invisible.

Back in Busman’s Harbor, I put my mother’s car in her garage and went along to Gus’s. It was late in the afternoon. I hadn’t eaten anything at Tony’s house. I hadn’t expected to be leaving so soon.

When I walked through Gus’s door, I couldn’t help glancing at our booth to see if Chris was there. It was Wednesday, not one of our days and not even lunchtime, so it was a completely unreasonable hope. I realized how much I’d depended on him the last few months. I’d thought Michaela was the one who needed a friend. After she’d dismissed me so abruptly, I realized that maybe I needed one, too.

I wandered to the counter and sat down. The place was almost empty, not unusual for that time of day. I ordered a burger and fries. Gus turned to work the grill.

“Well look who’s here.” Quentin Tupper III stood beside me. I’d been so absorbed in my own misery, I hadn’t heard him come in. He sat down on the stool next to me. He wore a rumpled blue button-down shirt, khaki shorts, and leather boat shoes, a very different uniform than the few other men in the restaurant. He looked like he’d gotten off one of the yachts in the harbor, come to gawk at the locals.

“You gave me a newspaper,” I said rather stupidly. Last night, I’d searched in vain for him on the Internet and here he was in the flesh.

“I was leaving town. You seemed like you wanted it.”

Yeah, right.
He found out where I lived and came over to deliver a used newspaper that he could have far more easily thrown away because I seemed like I wanted it?

“There were two pages with corners turned down,” I said. “The page with Tony and Michaela’s wedding announcement and the page with the article about Tony and Ray’s business. Like you were calling them to my attention.”

He nodded, affirming it had been deliberate.

“Why?”

“I thought you should know.”

“You thought I should know?” He was irritating me.

“I thought you should know about what Wilson and Poitras were really up to. Their plans for your island.”

Gus put the burger down in front of me. The fries were still cooking. Gus didn’t believe all the items you ordered had to arrive simultaneously.

“Why didn’t you just give me the newspaper while we were here? Or for that matter, just tell me Ray and Tony were in the business of building resorts on private islands?”

Tupper shifted on his counter stool. “You didn’t tell me your last name. I didn’t know who you were until after you left. Then Gus told me. Don’t thank me, by the way.”

Gus had his back to us as he pulled the potatoes from the fryer. I was never quite sure how much he picked up of the conversations that went on around him while he was working. He didn’t suffer fools gladly, and I bet he blocked out most of it. About eighty percent of what he’d overhear would drive him crazy. But I thought I saw him stop for just a second and snap his head to the side very slightly, as if trying to dislodge water from his ear.

“Thank you for what?” I asked Quentin. “For your cryptic messages I might never have found?”

“Suit yourself. Like I said. I just thought you should know. ” Tupper placed his order with Gus and toddled off toward a booth.

“Bull crackers,” Gus said as soon as Tupper was out of earshot. “I never told him who you were. Couldn’t have. He left before you did, remember? And don’t let him fool you with that disinterested party routine. He owns that horrible glass monstrosity out on Westclaw Point, right across from your island.”

I hadn’t heard from Lieutenant Binder all day, so I stopped at the police station. He was in the same conference room where he’d been the day before and was surrounded, if possible, by even more people, paper, and equipment. Once again, he asked everyone to leave when I entered. On his way out, Jamie raised his eyebrows at me in what I took to be a warning not to get into trouble.

“I’ve come by to see if we can open tomorrow,” I said to Binder. “The porch is down and the town will give us permission to reopen. It’s all perfectly safe.”

Two vertical lines formed over the bridge of his ski-slope nose. “Safe. That’s a curious word to use for a place that’s been the scene of a murder and an arson fire. It was arson, by the way. We found chemical traces of accelerant on the porch, both the decking and rails.”

I wasn’t as surprised to hear it as he thought I’d be. Etienne and the building inspector had thought the same.

“You see how this changes things,” Binder said. “We originally thought Wilson’s body was left in your mansion to hurt or scare the bride. But it looks a lot more like this might have something to do with your family or your business. Any ideas?”

Something was going on. Tony Poitras and Ray Wilson developed resorts on islands. Quentin Tupper was playing some kind of game with me. There’d been that strange scene with Marie Halsey and Ray’s mother at the funeral. I didn’t understand any of it. I’d been dead wrong in my hypothesis about Tony being jealous of Ray.

I didn’t want to make a fool of myself in front of Binder so I answered straightforwardly, keeping my vague suspicions to myself. “The business doesn’t owe any money except to the bank. We haven’t fired anyone recently. And I never met Ray Wilson while he was alive. So I don’t see a connection.”

“Maybe you never did, but Etienne Martineau met Wilson. He’s admitted it.”

“I know. He told me. Wilson was planning some silly prank on Tony, the groom.”

“Is that what Mr. Martineau told you? I’m afraid it’s not true. Ray Wilson approached Martineau about buying your island.”

What?
“That’s ridiculous! He never did. I’m sure if he had, Etienne would have told me. Besides, Etienne doesn’t own the island. It’s not his to sell.”

Binder put up a hand. “I hear you, but that’s what Martineau told us. I recommend you talk directly to him about it.”

My head felt swimmy and Binder sounded like he was far away. Why in the world would Etienne have kept that from me? I pulled myself together enough to ask, “So can we open tomorrow or not?”

“Now that the arson results are in, I want to do one more search of the island with my team. Tomorrow. Then we’ll see where we stand.”

We’d been closed Sunday, open for one glorious day on Monday, closed again yesterday and today. Three days lost. Now he was telling me we were certain to be closed again tomorrow. Four of the five down days in the business plan gone. I tried one more time. “I’m not sure you understand how urgent it is that we open. Our financial situation is—”

“Ms. Snowden, believe me. I understand your situation quite well. For one thing, Officer Dawes reminds me every day. For another, I’ve spent plenty of time investigating your finances.” He smiled. “If you had any insurance on that old mansion, I’d be looking at you for the arson fire.”

Was that a joke? It was a hell of a time for him to develop a sense of humor. I didn’t know whether to laugh or freak out. “I want to be on the island tomorrow when you search it,” I said with as much force as I could muster.

“Thanks,” he said. “I’m sure that will be helpful.”

I left police headquarters and fast-walked down to the town dock. Our little ticket kiosk was locked up tight with a sad sign in the window indicating the clambakes were canceled until further notice. I let myself in and raised Etienne on the radio, telling him we needed to talk immediately. He agreed to come in from the island right away.

When he arrived, we sat on a bench overlooking the harbor. The cocktail hour cruises had left, so it was quiet, if not completely private. I could tell Etienne was anxious. It was unlike me to order him around. He was my father’s best friend and knew more about the clambake than I did. I wondered if he’d guessed what I wanted to talk to him about.

“I’ve just come from seeing Lieutenant Binder,” I began. “He tells me Ray Wilson approached you about buying our island.”

Etienne stared at his boot-clad feet.

“Etienne, what’s the deal? Why would Ray approach you in the first place? And why didn’t you tell me?”

“I didn’t tell you, because I didn’t think it mattered. It was talk, not a real offer. I could tell he was feeling me out. I figured if he had a real offer, he would present it to you and your mother. I thought he was just trying to get an idea of what kind of offer your family might look on with favor.”

Etienne’s Québécois accent was more pronounced when he was stressed, but what he was saying made sense. I’d worked with a lot of great salesmen during my time in venture capital and they all made sure the “influencers” were on their side before they approached the “decision-makers.” Certainly, Etienne was the first person I would have consulted if someone approached me about buying Morrow Island. My mother, who actually owned it, would have relied on him, too. On him and on me, if she could even face the emotional trauma of selling Morrow.

“Did he mention a figure?” I almost hated to ask.

“Six million dollars.”

Wow.
That would be enough to pay off the bank, save my mother’s house in the harbor, provide her a tidy sum to live on, with money left over to send Page to boarding school when the time came. Livvie and Sonny could invest in a business, and I could do . . . whatever I wanted.

Etienne took my hands in his huge, calloused ones. “I did not encourage these conversations to hurt you, Julia. I believe in you. I believe you will be able to save the clambake. But what if you can’t? I thought I would keep the offer warm for you. Keep the channels of communication open. For your mother. Especially after Sonny turned Wilson down flat.”

Wait
. Sonny did what?