Murder On the Rocks (18 page)

“A career in boats?” Charlene studied my face, which I tried to keep blank. “Nat, what did you tell her?”

“Nothing, really. She kind of leapt to conclusions.”

“What kind of conclusions?”

Now Charlene’s blue laser beams were directed at me. I shifted on my stool. “Well, she seems to think he’s a shipping magnate or something.”

Charlene’s eyebrows shot up. “A shipping magnate? What exactly did you say to her?”

I blushed. “Weren’t you the one who told me to stay out of it?”

“I said stay out of it, not jump in with both feet and make it worse.” She shook her head at me and groaned. “I hope Gwen will be able to handle it better than you. What’d she say about all of the goings-on here on the island?”

“It didn’t come up.” An image of my sister’s black hair and sharp chin floated in front of my mind’s eye. I was very glad she and I lived on opposite coasts.

“It didn’t come up? You’ve got to be kidding me.” She rolled her eyes. “Well, maybe Gwen will make less of a hash of it than you did. Although how she could do worse, I don’t know.” She reached for another cookie and bit into it delicately, careful not to mar her bright pink lipstick.

“So,” I said, changing the subject, “where’s today’s paper?”

Charlene reached back and grabbed it from the counter behind her. “Read it and weep” I unfolded the front page and spread it out on the counter next to my tea. The headline blared DEVELOPER MURDERED ON CRANBERRY ISLAND in what looked like sixty-point type.

My stomach turned over as I scanned the article. Charlene was right; the article went into Katz’s pavement plan for the Gray Whale Inn in some detail, and my connection with Save Our Terns received multiple mentions. I was described by islanders (unnamed) as “kind of stand-offish” and “a bit odd.” The inn didn’t come off sounding any better.

I folded it up and shoved it aside. “She’s really even-handed about the coverage, isn’t she?”

Charlene chuckled. “Anything to sell papers. On the plus side, I hear Grimes has been interrogating people other than you for a change”

“I wondered where he was going when he wasn’t at the inn.”

“He’s been making the rounds,” Charlene said. “He was out to Eleazer and Claudette’s, and I hear he’s talked to Tom Lockhart, ” too. Word is, he even made it out to Cliffside.”

I hope Tom told him about the flashlight.” I took a sip of tea. “I wonder if he’s really looking for other suspects, or if he’s just trying to tighten the noose around my neck.”

Charlene gave me an encouraging smile. “I think it’s a good sign, Nat”

“Maybe you’re right. At any rate, at least he’s not smoking up my inn anymore.”

The rain had started again when I walked across Charlene’s front porch to my bike. I hadn’t taken the newspaper with me-no use torturing myself with it at home.

I glanced at the sky, and decided today was not the day to ride out to Fernand’s. The clouds had deepened to dark gray, and ominous black thunderheads were rolling in from the sea. I pedaled toward the inn as fast as I safely could, giving the brakes a compulsive squeeze every few minutes.

At the top of the big hill, a short gray body skittered across the road. One of Claudette’s goats had gotten loose again. I debated going back to tell her, or even trying to collar this one, but Claudette’s goats had a reputation for being ornery with everyone except Claudette. I slowed the bike, thinking of turning back, but when the rain started coming down even harder, I decided to call her from home. I didn’t envy her chasing them down in the rain. As the goat-was it Muffin, or Pudge?-disappeared into the bushes, I realized with a flash what it was about my visit to Claudette’s that had struck me as not quite right.

Water was gushing off the roof when I ran in through the kitchen door. The one message on the machine was from Gertrude Pickens, and once again I deleted it halfway through. My eyes drifted to the black water beyond the sheeting rain, and a shiver of apprehension ran through me. I hoped Gwen was not out in the storm.

Charlene might think Gwen was old enough to date without oversight, but I didn’t feel comfortable with the amount of time she was spending with Adam. Guilt pricked at me as I realized I hadn’t even met him. But would it matter if I had? Gwen had reached the age of majority, and I wasn’t her mother. As the roses outside the window swayed wildly in the wind, their blowsy blossoms shredded by the onslaught of raindrops, I resolved to have a long conversation with Gwen when she came in this evening. I would also invite Adam over to dinner soon so that I could meet him myself.

Thunder rumbled ominously as I checked the guest rooms; everything was neatly tucked in, the floors shone, and the towels had been restocked, so Gwen must have stopped in long enough to clean up. Only Ogden was in his room; he opened his door just a crack and told me everything was “satisfactory.” I was sitting down with a cookbook planning tomorrow’s breakfast when John knocked at the door. He’d evidently come from his workshop; a few wood shavings clung to his sandy hair, and his pine-colored shirt was speckled with sawdust. Despite the dusting of wood scraps, he still looked as if he had just stepped out of an L. L. Bean catalog.

“Everything okay?” I asked as the door closed behind him. The warm smell of freshly sawed wood filled the kitchen, and I noticed a fleck of blue paint on his cheek.

“Yeah,” he said, fixing me with those mesmerizing green eyes, “everything’s fine. I’ve been meaning to ask you something, though.”

My heart rate picked up. Did he want to know if I’d snooped in Bernard Katz’s room that night? Had he found out I’d been poking around at Cliffside?

“What?”

He ran his hand through his hair, dislodging a few pine shavings. “Would you be interested in coming over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Dinner?” I laughed, relieved and more thrilled than I liked to admit. “I’d love to. That’d be wonderful.”

He smiled, looking relieved himself.

“Can I bring anything?”

“No. You cook all the time. Let me take care of it-you deserve a night off.”

“Not even dessert?”

“Nope” He smiled a slow, dazzling smile, his teeth bright white against his brown skin. “I’ve got it all under control.” My mind flashed to the kitchen mishap of the previous night as I smiled back.

“By the way,” he said, “I got the glass for the dining room window today, but it doesn’t look like I’ll be able to install it until tomorrow.”

“Thanks a million for picking it up. I don’t know how I could have gotten it taken care of without you.” My happiness faded slightly as I remembered why I wouldn’t have been able to pick up the glass myself; I was a suspect in a murder case, and wasn’t allowed off the island. Although now that I had my own boat … “Tell me how much it was, and I’ll pay you back” I fixed him with a stern look. “And that includes labor, mister”

“Consider coming to dinner tomorrow payment in full.”

I laughed. “Somehow that doesn’t seem quite fair.”

As the door closed behind him, a smile spread across my face, and I resisted the urge to do a little jig. I had a date with John! I was tempted to call Charlene, but decided instead to tell her about it afterward. I glanced at the phone and realized I had forgotten to call Claudette. I hurried over to lift the handset. No dial tone. The storm must have knocked the line down. I hung up, slid into a kitchen chair, and picked up a cookbook. Claudette would figure out that her goats were gone soon enough; there was nothing more I could do.

As I leafed through recipes, the front door slammed. I poked my nose through the kitchen door, but it was only the Bittles, just back from Spurrell’s Lobster Pound. They left their giant striped umbrellas next to the door and bid me good night, and a few minutes later, Barbara came in, the door blowing shut behind her with a bang. As the guests returned to their rooms, I flipped through a stack of cookbooks and decided on a recipe for blueberry tea bread with a sweet lemon glaze. After double-checking to make sure all the ingredients were in the fridge or the pantry, I decided to whip it up after dinner. It would be great with an egg dish and some sausage or bacon and a little fresh fruit. With that decided, I turned my attention to dinner.

I put a pot of water on for spaghetti and pulled a bag of meatballs out of the freezer. One nice thing about cooking for Gwen was that she wasn’t a picky eater. As the frozen meatballs tumbled out onto a cookie sheet, I glanced at the clock-it was coming up on six-and wondered again when she’d be home. The rain was still pouring down, and the thunder and lightning had increased in intensity.

The lights flickered as a particularly loud crack of thunder sounded overhead, and for the first time, I felt a twinge of unease. Gwen was usually home by now. Maybe she was just waiting for a ride, or waiting for the rain to let up to walk home. Surely she wouldn’t be out on a boat with Adam in this storm. I glanced out at the dark, icy water, which had whipped itself into a frenzy and was lashing itself against the rocks. There were no boats out, or at least none that I could see.

Gwen didn’t show up for dinner. I picked at my spaghetti and meatballs for a half hour, but my stomach was twisted into knots, so I shoved my plate into the fridge. My eyes scanned the dark water outside as I rinsed the pots, wondering who to call to find out about my niece. I set the last pot in the dish dryer and picked up the phone to call Charlene, realizing the flaw in my plan as soon as the handset touched my ear. The phone was still dead. As I stood trying to decide what to do next, thunder cracked again. The lights flickered twice and went out.

I fumbled through the kitchen drawers for a flashlight, then dug out my box of emergency candles and matches. Then I did the rounds of the rooms, delivering candles and matches to Ogden, Barbara, and the Bittles and hoping that the inn wouldn’t burn down before the night was through.

After reassuring everyone that the lights would doubtless be back on soon, I returned to the kitchen and lit a candle of my own, then sat down at the kitchen table. There was no getting around it; I was worried about Gwen. Normally, I’d cook to keep my hands and mind busy, but with the power out, the oven wasn’t available. The water that earlier today had been glassy now looked black as night, and Eleazer’s words came back to me: “That water’s so cold you wouldn’t last more than fifteen minutes.” The last time I saw her, Gwen was dressed for a beach party, not a wild night at sea.

Don’t be stupid, I told myself. She’s probably holed up at Adam’s house, waiting for the storm to blow over. Still, I knew I wouldn’t sleep until I was sure she was safe and on land. As I stared out the window into the night, my eyes searching for the green and red lights of a boat, I understood why the houses of fishermen all looked out to sea.

I sat peering anxiously out into the darkness when a car engine rumbled down the drive. A surge of relief passed through me; Gwen had found a ride home.

A minute later Charlene burst through the doorway. “You’ve got to come down to the store” Her face was ashen. “The whole fleet’s back, but Adam didn’t make it in. He’s still out there somewhere, and Gwen’s with him.”

“Is ANYBODY OUT LOOKING for them?” I asked as we bumped up the road toward the co-op. Charlene had told me that all of the island’s lobstermen were there, huddled around the radio and waiting for news.

“Coast Guard’s out looking,” she said, “but I’m not sure if anyone else has headed out. It’s pretty rough out there” As she spoke, a vein of lightning lit up the sky, followed by a crack that sounded as if the earth were splitting in two. As the rain pounded on the truck’s rusted metal roof, I was thankful that Charlene’s pickup was one of the few island cars in full possession of all its doors and windows. Judging from the mildewy smell emanating from the worn seats, though, it still wasn’t completely watertight. My mind flitted to Adam’s boat; did Gwen have a dry place to ride out the storm?

“Someone must have some idea where they are. Hasn’t he radioed in?”

“The problem,” Charlene continued, “is that no one can get them on the radio.”

My stomach turned over. “My God,” I whispered. “Do you mean they might have gone down?”

Charlene’s pink lips were a thin line. “Don’t go jumping to conclusions. It could mean lots of things. Radio broken, generator down. Who knows?” She spoke lightly, but her expression was grim in the greenish light from the dashboard. “The thing is, with no communications, the Coast Guard doesn’t know where to look. It’s like finding a needle in a haystack.” Another flash put her worried features in sharp relief, and we both flinched at the boom that followed it.

“Watch out for goats,” I cautioned her as we rounded a curve.

“They’re on the loose again?” I was comforted by the trace of the old Charlene in her exasperated voice. “What do they do, eat through their chains?”

The pine trees, lovely in the daylight, were menacing in the glare of the headlights. I was relieved when they fell away and were replaced by the warm glow of porch lights and windows.

“You’ve got power?” I asked.

“Lights, but no phone. I figured we’d stop by the co-op and find out what’s going on, then wait it out at the store.”

“Why at the store?”

“There’s nothing to eat at the co-op, unless you like salted herring.”

“You’ve got a radio at the store?”

“How else do you think I keep on top of things?” Charlene asked as we pulled in next to a worn clapboard building on the pier.

The waves roared against the rough planks as we dashed into the small wooden building. The smell of fish and wet wood and sweat enveloped me as I closed the door behind me. The only light in the building came from a single lightbulb dangling from the middle of the ceiling. The walls were covered in peeling buoys, mildewed ropes, and an assortment of fishing gear. Benches and rickety chairs had been pulled up in a rough circle around the radio, and seated on them was a motley crew of fishermen, some still in their foul weather gear. Eleazer was stationed right next to the radio, and rose to his feet and tipped his cap when he saw me. His weatherbeaten features sagged, and there was no trace of the gnomish grin I’d seen that afternoon.