The Maine Mutiny (22 page)

“I hope you’re right. This morning’s headlines gave me the shivers.”

“For good reason,” I said. “It’s disturbing to think that someone among us is capable of killing another person.”

“I would never have believed it of Spencer Durkee. Why, I’ve known him since I was a kid. Anna was just devastated at the news.”

“It’s very sad,” I said. “But it does seem out of character for him, don’t you think?”

“It just shows that you never really know someone. He seems like nothing more than a harmless old geezer, and look what he goes and does. You of all people should be happy he’s in custody, Jessica.”

I’d been hoping Mary would defend Spencer, would weigh the character of the man she’d known for years against the accusation against him. I was disappointed, but I understood why she quickly accepted the idea—false, in my estimation—that he was guilty. No matter how heinous, a crime solved is much less threatening than one in which the perpetrator is still at large. The arrest of Spencer Durkee for Henry Pettie’s murder gave the town a sense of security, of closure. It allowed them to put the incident behind them. That Henry Pettie had not been liked only added to the speed with which his murder could be forgotten. The town was content to forget him and concentrate on the coming festival.

“What are the lobstermen going to do for a broker now that Henry Pettie is gone?” I asked.

“I heard that Linc called into another broker he knows to fill in temporarily,” Mary said.

“Where did you hear that?”

“Audrey Williams told me. You can ask her about it when she gets here.”

“Do you think the men will start up their own co-op now?”

“Who knows what they’ll do? Men are so unpredictable. Evan had been e-mailing with a fellow over in South Bristol to find out how they set up theirs, but when he tried to tell his father about it, Levi wouldn’t even listen to him. Now Evan’s in a snit. He’s even arguing with Abigail.” Mary gazed out the window. “I swear, the pair of them are the most cussed men I ever met.”

“They don’t strike me that way,” I said, reaching for a second cookie.

“You all right, Jessica?”

“Yes,” I said. “Why do you ask?”

“You look a little pale under that tan.”

“No, I’m fine,” I said.

“Good. Now, what were we talking about?”

“Cussed men,” I said. “You said Evan and Levi were cussed, and I said they didn’t strike me that way.”

“Well, they are now. Levi’s become a fussy old woman of a sudden. Take last night. He—Oh, look, here come the others.”

The kitchen door opened and Audrey Williams bustled in with a tote bag in one arm and a quilt in the other. Her eyebrows rose when she saw me, but she said nothing. Behind her came Elsie Fricket in her white plastic cervical collar, which dug into my chest when she gave me a fast hug. The third lady in the group wasn’t familiar to me.

“Jessica, you know Audrey and Elsie,” Mary said. “This is Sandy Bower. She just came on the committee.”

“Hello,” I said. “I think we’ve seen each other at Loretta’s beauty shop.”

“That’s right,” Sandy said. “Of course, I know who you are, with all your famous books and all.” She placed her hand on my arm and said somberly, “I am so sorry about what you’ve just been through. How horrible.”

“Thank you.”

“I always meant to say hello at the beauty parlor but didn’t want to disturb you. You know, maybe you were deep in thought plotting your next books.”

“I’m afraid that’s never the case when I’m under the dryer,” I said pleasantly.

“Sandy is Ike Bower’s wife,” Audrey put in. “You must’ve met her husband when you went boatin’ with ours.”

“That’s right,” I said.

“Don’t imagine you’ll want to do that again anytime soon,” Audrey said, folding the quilt and leaving it on the counter. “Matilda Watson will be right along,” she added. “She asked me to bring her craft project because she had to pick up an ad from Charles Department Store.”

“Is she still chasing David for an ad?” Elsie asked. “That nephew of mine better get a pair of roller skates if he wants to get away from her.”

“Speaking of nephews, my sister-in-law’s boy just got apprenticed to a carpenter down east,” Audrey said, settling herself at the table.

“He gave up fishing?”

“Warn’t no good to start out, as I hear it.”

“Don’t blame him with the price of lobsters these days,” Sandy said, putting a shopping bag down on the counter. “It’s hard to make a living.”

Elsie asked the question that was on the tip of my tongue: “Will we have enough lobsters to serve everyone this weekend?”

“Looks like it,” Audrey said. “Linc said Nudd’s pound is full, and whatever they catch between now and the festival will be gravy. They can hold them till the prices rise if the crowds are small.”

“A week ago Henry Pettie indicated there weren’t enough lobsters,” I said. “Did the numbers change so fast?”

The room grew quiet. After a long pause, Mary said, “He must’ve exaggerated.”

“More likely lied, you mean,” Sandy said.

“Let’s not speak poorly of the dead,” Audrey said.

There was another awkward silence broken by Sandy. “I brought some blueberry muffins,” she said brightly. “I hope you ladies don’t mind.”

“Why would we mind?” I asked.

“You would if you were as tired of blueberries as I am. If any of you ladies want some, come get ’em.”

“Why’d you pick ’em if you don’t like blueberries?” Audrey asked.

“If I don’t, the birds’ll get ’em. Ike would kill me. We’ve got a whole line of bushes. I’ve been makin’ blueberry pancakes, blueberry preserves, blueberry cobbler. Look at this; my fingers are blue.” She held up her hands to display stained fingertips.

“Are you selling some of that at the festival?”

“As much as I can get rid of.”

“Your leftovers are welcome here,” Mary said.

“Why don’t you just freeze them?” Audrey asked. “That’s what I’d do.”

“There’s no more room in the freezer. Every piece of Tupperware I own is in there, filled with berries.”

“Well, I don’t have any bushes, and I’m happy to eat your muffins,” Elsie Fricket said. “Mary, hand me a platter and I’ll put these out.”

The women helped Mary set the table, putting out the plates, cups, and saucers she took out of her cupboard, and filling the sugar bowl and the creamer. From her seat at the table Audrey rearranged the place settings.

We’d just sat down when Matilda Watson knocked on the door and walked in. “Howdy, ladies. Sorry I’m late. Audrey, where’d you put my comforter?”

“You walked right past it. It’s on the counter by the door.”

Matilda retrieved her quilt and took a chair next to me. She spread the fabric over her lap and fussed with one corner.

“If you’re planning to enter that in the crafts show this Saturday, you’d better hurry up and finish it,” Elsie said.

“Why do you think I brought it here?” Matilda said, smoothing out the top of the multicolored patchwork. “There’s only a little left to do anyway.”

“It’s very pretty, Matilda,” Sandy said. “How long did it take you to make it?”

“Must be at least a year,” Elsie said. “Didn’t I see you working on this same project for the silent auction for the rectory last Christmas?”

“You did not,” Matilda said. “I started this after Easter. A pattern like this is very complicated and involves a lot of delicate work. Not everyone has the skills and patience for it. But I do.”

“You’re slow at sewing, is what you mean,” Elsie said.

“She finished it long ago,” Mary said with a twinkle. “She just brought it to show it off.”

“I did not!”

But it didn’t look to me as if there was anything left to sew. I thought Mary may have pegged her right.

“I can’t believe the festival is coming up so soon,” Sandy said. “Are we ready?”

“We are if it doesn’t rain,” Mary said, angling her head so she could peek out her window at the sky. “Forecast is iffy.”

“We can move the craft fair into the high school gym if necessary,” Elsie said. “Your men can help set it up. They’re not lobstering on Saturday, are they?”

“No. They’re on one of the floats in the parade,” Sandy said.

“Think positive, ladies,” Matilda said. “The weather is going to be fine. All our jobs are done. Oh, I almost forgot. Mary, you and I still have to work on the children’s art exhibit.”

“No need to bother yourself with that, Matilda,” Mary replied. “Jessica and I sorted the pictures before you came. We’re going to take them into town this afternoon.”

“Leave it to you to arrive after the work is done,” Elsie said.

“Well, I was doing work of my own,” Matilda said.

“And were you successful?” Elsie asked.

“I was,” Matilda said, patting her pocket. “I always get my man.”

“ ’Cept in real life,” Elsie said, winking at me.

“It’s not like you got anything to brag over. That husband of yours is no bargain.”

“Maybe not, but he keeps my feet warm in the winter, and he can reach the top shelf of the pantry.”

“That’s about all Ike’s good for, lately,” Sandy said. “He’s been some ugly since the boat was stove in. But it’s gotten worse. Stormed out of the house night before last. Wouldn’t tell me where he was going. Yesterday I thought he was goin’ to wallop our big one when he sassed him. Had to step between ’em. Never had to do that before.”

“Levi, too,” Mary said. “Anna and I came home the other evening from watching the pageant rehearsal, and Levi was cleaning the kitchen, said Anna tracked in dirt on her sneakers. She’s always leaving them in the middle of the kitchen floor, just kicks ’em off as she’s coming through the door. He says he’s like to come near to killin’ himself trippin’ over them. Says he spent a fortune putting in a new kitchen and the kids are ruining it.”

“Linc was broodish last night, too,” Audrey said. “He’s been very difficult lately.”

“Maybe they’re in mourning for Pettie,” Elsie put in.

“Can’t be,” Mary said. “We only found out about Pettie this morning, from the newspaper. We didn’t know last night.”

“I thought the men didn’t like Pettie,” I said.

“They didn’t,” Sandy said, darting a look at Audrey.

“Linc got along with him,” Audrey said. “Mebbe that’s what’s buggin’ him.”

“I just don’t understand men at all,” Mary said. “I always thought Anna was Levi’s favorite, even chided him about it. I’ve been harping on her to put her things away for months, and he’s said nothing. Now he’s the disciplinarian. I don’t know if I like it or not.”

A spirited discussion of their respective children ensued until I took advantage of a momentary break in the conversation to suggest we get down to library business, and the lobster festival that was now breathing down our necks. A half hour later we had ticked off the items on our agenda, and I announced I was leaving. “I’ll take these pictures with me,” I said to Mary. “I’m heading downtown anyway.”

“Not so fast,” Mary said. “You’re lookin’ a little peaked. Besides, you can’t manage all of them without a car. Take these.” She pulled off a dozen from the pile of children’s art. “Audrey and I will do the rest.”

I bade my farewells and was about to leave through the kitchen door when I turned and asked, “Is Spencer Durkee as much of an alcoholic as everyone says he is?”

Sandy laughed. “He certainly is, Jessica. Ike says he don’t know how the man’s stomach lining has lasted long as it has, with all the wine he consumes. Ask Gordon down at the liquor store. He joked once—and maybe he wasn’t jokin’—that Spencer covered his rent every month.”

“How sad,” I said. “He’s so nice.”

“Just because he’s a drunk doesn’t make him a bad person,” Audrey said jokingly.

“If he killed Pettie,” Mary said, “he most definitely is a bad person.” She held the door open for me. “Thanks for all your help, Jessica. Much appreciated. You take care of yourself now.”

The door closed behind me, but not before I heard Audrey say, “She doesn’t look so bad. What were you fussin’ about?”

I started to walk toward the center of town but didn’t get very far. The trials of the day on Spencer’s sinking boat were now catching up with me, and I felt woozy and agitated at the same time. My back, legs, and shoulders ached, and a headache had come on while I’d been sitting in Mary’s kitchen. It wasn’t as though I hadn’t expected a delayed reaction. Strain and stress on the body and mind often take a day or two to fully develop, and it was certainly true in this case. I sank down onto a low brick wall in front of a house along the road leading into town and drew deep breaths, looking up at the clouds. The sky was overcast and did not bode well for Saturday’s event. But the weather wasn’t the cause of my mood, which had grown darker since my triumphant return, despite my protestations that I was fine.

Thankful as I was that I’d come through that miserable business relatively unscathed, and everlastingly grateful to the citizens of Cabot Cove who had expressed concern for my welfare—my letter to the
Gazette
expanded on those sentiments—I was at the same time unexpectedly impatient to put the incident behind me and resume my normal life. The deluge of calls and the interviews by the authorities served only to rake over the cinders an experience I would just as soon forget. What was it about this particular episode that left a sharper mark that so many others had not? It wasn’t just the murder that disturbed me—heaven knows I’d been exposed to murder before, and my life had been threatened a few times as well.

I focused on my breathing and tried to relax the tightness in my muscles. Memories and emotions surged through me, each swamping the last like waves on the beach as I tried to analyze why I felt so shaken by this latest scare. Perhaps it was the series of shocks piled one upon the other that had finally overwhelmed my psyche. Finding myself alone at sea, then not quite alone with the discovery of a murder victim. Desperately trying to signal for help and failing. Then struggling to save a corpse when the only security I’d had—Spencer’s boat beneath my feet—began to give way and sink below the surface of the sea. The iciness of the water as I hung helpless, prey to the elements and the potential violence of creatures hunting for their next meal. I’d been lucky, yes, that the terrifying fins that approached me belonged to a gentle species, not a voracious shark. But the contemplation of that possibility alone was sufficient to strike terror into my heart, more than any gun that had ever been aimed at my head. The despair that had seized me when I thought my rescuer was flying away was a feeling I never want to repeat. It was perhaps the only time in my life I’d given up, given in to hopelessness.