Murder On the Rocks (14 page)

“I see your point,” Charlene said. “Maybe I should call.”

“Thanks, but I really don’t think it would make any difference. I did find out something else about Katz today, though.”

“What?”

“I think he was blackmailing some of the islanders. Or trying to.

Charlene stopped dabbing at her mascara. “You’re kidding me. Who?”

“I’ll let you know when I’m sure.” What Claudette had told me today was between her and me. I wasn’t going to divulge that information to anyone, even Charlene. I changed the subject. “So, what did you find out about Barbara?”

Charlene sighed and resumed dabbing at her face. “Not much. Apparently she’s spending most of her time at the Somesville library doing `research, but she wouldn’t tell me anything more about it.”

“Did you find out anything about what she meant by `alternate tactics’?”

Charlene was glum. “Not a word. I must be losing my touch. Barbara sure can pack it away, can’t she? She ate a two-pound lob” ster, half a dozen rolls and two huge slices of pie.”

I know. It’s not fair, is it? Gwen’s the same way.” I unveiled the bread dough and popped the pale loaf into the oven. “Where’s that chowder, by the way?”

“I think I left it in the truck.” She rose to get her raincoat again, but I was already at the door.

“I’ll get it. You were nice enough to bring me my groceriesand the chowder. Besides, you just got yourself cleaned up” She sank down into her chair as I slipped back out into the rain.

When I returned with the Tupperware container, Charlene was looking around the kitchen. “By the way, where is your niece?”

“Out painting, I presume. She’s off with her sketchbook and easel whenever she gets the chance”

Charlene’s lips curved into a smile. “Have you seen her work?”

“No, I haven’t. I’ve been meaning to head over to Fernand’s, but I haven’t had the chance. Why?”

“It’s pouring out there. Do you really think Gwen’s outside painting right now?”

I glanced out the window at the sheeting rain. The last time I had seen her, Gwen was wearing a light sundress, and her raincoat still hung on the peg by the door. “I see your point.” I looked at Charlene, who was still smirking. “So, where is she?”

Charlene examined her pink nails. “The way I hear it, she’s been spending a good bit of time with Adam Thrackton”

“The kid who threw all his books off the pier and decided to become a lobsterman?”

“Yup. Apparently Gwen’s been spending a lot of time out on his boat.” She bent down to examine a miniscule snag on a pinky nail. “Do you have a file?”

“No, I don’t. So, is she going out with this guy?”

“Well, he’s not hauling too many traps lately, the way I hear it.”

I looked out at the whitecaps on the water. “You don’t think she’s out with him in this weather, do you?”

“I think he’ll take care of her. They all say he’s a natural on a boat.”

I groaned. “How am I going to tell my sister about this?” I narrowed my eyes at Charlene. “Are you absolutely sure?”

“Trust me” Charlene rubbed at her nail for a moment, then looked up at me. “At least he has a degree from an Ivy League school.”

“Had,” I said. “Didn’t he pitch that into the drink as well?”

“Well, yeah.”

As if on cue, the kitchen door banged open. My niece appeared in the doorway with her mass of brown hair plastered to her pink cheeks, wearing a heavy orange rain jacket and a starryeyed smile.

“HOW’S THE PAINTING GOING?” I asked.

Gwen pushed a strand of wet hair away from her face. “The painting? Oh, great-really great.” Charlene gave me a nasty look; I ignored it.

“I’m looking forward to seeing your work. I’ve got to get over to Fernand’s someday soon to take a look at it.”

“That’d be cool.” She peeled off the orange raincoat. “Mind if I run upstairs and change? I’m drenched.”

“If you’re hungry, I’ve got bread in the oven, and Charlene brought over some chowder.”

“Sounds good,” she said, kicking off her mud-covered sandals and heading for the stairs. As she disappeared, Charlene cocked an eyebrow at me.

“So, you think that glow comes from art?”

“I concede the point. As usual, I’m the last to know.”

Charlene pointed at the orange raincoat dripping on the hook next to the door. “At least he’s enough of a gentleman to lend her his coat. He can’t be all bad”

“Unfortunately, I don’t think her mother will see it that way.” I grimaced. “I never dreamed I’d see her in a fisherman’s jacket.”

“She’s nineteen. She can’t be under her mother’s thumb forever. Didn’t you have a few flings when you were young? Or were you always this averse to anything romantic?”

“Of course,” I said. “It’s just that I’m responsible for her . .

“Responsible for giving her a place to live and feeding her and making sure she doesn’t do herself bodily harm. She’s getting her work done here, isn’t she?”

“I suppose so.”

“So let her deal with her mother. Stay out of it.” Clearly she didn’t know Bridget very well, but I just nodded and said nothing. I got up and peeked into the oven; the bread was close to being done, so I popped the chowder into the microwave. As I turned around, a knock sounded at the kitchen door, and three very wet policemen crowded into the kitchen. Grimes hung close to the door, a sour look on his face.

“You guys are soaked!” I said. “Do you need towels?”

“No, we’re just going to head back to the launch,” the darkhaired forensics investigator told me. “We’re done for today.”

“Did you have any luck outside?”

The plump redhead grimaced. “Some of the vines were torn away from the trellis, and the wood was broken in a few places, but if there were any footprints or fingerprints, they got washed away in the rain. I’m sorry.”

My heart sank. On the plus side, they did seem to believe that someone had climbed the trellis. Grimes stood sullenly, his wet uniform dripping on my pine floor. His hand strayed to his pocket, and then retreated. Reaching for a cigarette.

“Do you need a ride back to the town dock?” Charlene asked, trying to puff up her flattened hair.

“No, thanks. We called the launch-if you don’t mind, we’re going to board at your dock.”

“Be my guest. Are you sure you don’t want a cup of tea to warm you up?”

They declined, and filed out the doorway. Grimes hung back to deliver a parting shot. “I’ll be back to take prints tomorrow,” he said, then shut the door behind him with a bang.

Charlene looked at me. “Prints?”

“I know. Not good.”

“Well, at least the other two policemen were nice,” she said. “The guy with the glasses was kind of cute.”

“It’s just the investigating officer I’ve got a problem with.”

Charlene and I were on our second bowls of chowder when Gwen swept down the stairs in her fluffy blue bathrobe. She tore off a big hunk of bread and began filling a bowl with steaming chowder. I spooned up some more of the creamy soup and waited until she sat down at the table before I asked the question.

“Did Adam lend you that jacket?”

Gwen froze with her spoon in midair. “How did you know?”

“I’m best friends with Charlene, remember?” Gwen blushed. Charlene leaned forward and patted her hand.

“Adam’s a fine boy, sweetheart. You don’t need to hide him from us.”

“Are you going to tell your mother about him?” I persisted.

Gwen shifted in her chair. “I don’t really think he’s mother’s type,” she said in a faint voice.

I sighed. “Gwen, I’m responsible for you this summer. From what Charlene tells me, Adam is a good person. I’m afraid your mother’s going to be less than thrilled, though. I’m not going to call her and report your every movement, but if she asks me if you’re seeing anyone, I’ll have to tell her.”

Gwen toyed with her spoon and stared at the table. “I know.”

“Good lord, Nat, lighten up!” Charlene paused between bites of chowder to wag her spoon at me. “You’d think Gwen was dating a convicted murderer” She gave me a funny look. “Sorry. Bad choice of words.” She licked her spoon. “But Gwen’s a young woman now, not a child. She can choose who she wants to see.” “

I know,” I said. “I just don’t want to get in the middle of things.”

“Then don’t.”

Gwen shot Charlene an appreciative look and took a tentative taste of chowder. “This is really good.” She was right. Charlene’s chowder was a masterpiece of potatoes and clams cloaked in a velvety sauce. I scooped up a little with a crust of bread and made a mental note to get the recipe.

Charlene smiled proudly. “New England style. None of that tomato-y Manhattan stuff.” She dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “At any rate, sweetheart, how is Adam doing? Is he involved in the gear war?”

I was baffled, but Gwen seemed to know just what she was talking about. “I don’t think he’s cutting any traps himself,” she said, “but he’s all for taking measures to protect our traditional fishing grounds.” I looked up from my bowl. Our traditional fish ing grounds? She’d been on Cranberry island a sum total of six weeks.

“What gear war?” I asked. Charlene and Gwen gave me a pitying look. “You do know that some mainlanders have been moving in on Cranberry Island’s fishing grounds?” I nodded. “Well,” Charlene continued, “somebody’s been cutting buoys loose from the traps. You know, the red and green buoys that keep popping up like bad pennies? They belong to mainlanders. The lobster co-op has been moving them back over the line into mainland territory, but whoever’s fishing them keeps moving them back onto Cranberry Island’s turf. So someone started cutting their gear. It’s been the talk of the island,” she said. “That and what happened to Bernard Katz, of course.”

She turned to Gwen. “So, how’s the haul been?”

“A lot of shorts, and Adam says he’s been changing a lot of water.”

“Changing water?” I asked.

“That’s what they call it when the traps come up empty,” Gwen said in an authoritative voice. “But Adam says the hauls don’t really start picking up until the beginning of July, so he’s not worried.” I raised my eyebrows. In less than two months, my California niece had started talking like a Maine lobsterman.

“What are shorts?”

“Lobsters that are two small to keep. Conservation measures.”

“Ah.” Clearly I had a lot to learn about lobstering. “Gwen, have you done any painting since you’ve been here?”

Gwen’s face lit up. “Oh, yeah, Aunt Nat-I did a great watercolor of the Gray Whale the other day. I sketched it while I was out on the boat.”

“I could use one of those for a new brochure,” I said.

Gwen’s eyes sparkled. “Really? You’d use it on your brochure? I could do a series, you know.”

“Well, the next printing is a ways away,” I said, not wanting her to get too excited-I hadn’t even seen one of her sketches, after all-“but it’s a definite possibility.” If there was a second printing.

Gwen beamed at me. “Thanks, Aunt Nat. That’d be great in my portfolio.” She started buttering her bread and I turned back to Charlene.

“Gertrude Pickens called me again this afternoon.”

Charlene spoke through a mouthful of clam and potato. “What did you tell her this time? I can hardly wait to read about it in tomorrow’s paper.”

“I didn’t tell her anything. She left a message; I didn’t call her back.”

“She’ll still make you sound like an ax murderer.”

I stared at the fat raindrops dashing themselves against the kitchen window. “I wonder how he did die? It might help to know that.”

“Help what?” Charlene sounded skeptical.

“Well, if Grimes isn’t going to investigate, I figure someone should.”

“Planning on adding a little breaking and entering to your dossier? Grimes would like that.” Charlene took another bite of chowder before she continued. “What I want to know is, how are you planning on getting into the police station unnoticed? Particularly since you’re not supposed to leave the island.”

“I’m not planning on breaking or entering anything,” I said, wondering if going through Stanley Katz’s desk qualified as breaking or entering. “Maybe John knows.”

“I know he likes you, but I don’t think he’s allowed to share that information with you. He probably doesn’t know anything, anyway.” She licked a bit of chowder off her spoon. “Grimes seems like the type who would keep that sort of information close to his chest.”

“He was there when they lifted Katz out, and saw something that made him think Katz was murdered. Even if he didn’t see the autopsy report, he could at least give me something to go on.” “

I don’t know,” Charlene said. “Grimes may not be the best investigator in the world, but I don’t think you should go trying to get yourself into more trouble than you’re already in.”

I couldn’t keep the frustration out of my voice. “So I should just sit back and let Grimes convict me of murder?”

“Calm down, calm down. All I’m saying is, there are other ways to go about things. Let me ask around, see if anyone saw anything that night. Besides, you were telling me earlier you had a good lead.”

“What lead?” Gwen asked.

“Your aunt thinks Bernard Katz was blackmailing some islanders.”

Gwen wiped the last of the chowder from her bowl with a crust of bread. “Maybe that’s why Ingrid changed her vote.” The thought had occurred to me, too, but I said nothing.

“Good point,” Charlene said. “But who else would he blackmail? I’d say your Aunt Nat would be a good candidate, but she’s too much of a goody-two-shoes” She narrowed her blue eyes at me; without mascara, they seemed strangely naked. “Unless there’s some deep dark past you’ve been hiding from us.”

I laughed. “Not unless I have a second personality I’m not aware of.” I wondered if Katz had considered trying to blackmail me. I’d find out soon enough if he’d tried; copies of the investigative reports should be here any day.

“What makes you think he was blackmailing people?” Gwen asked.

“I can’t talk about it right now, but I’ll know more soon,” I said. “Please don’t say anything to anyone about it yet, though. I want to be sure.”

Charlene smiled wryly. “Your aunt is considering going into private investigation as a sideline.”

“She’s just kidding,” I said as Gwen looked at me questioningly.