Tide and Punishment

by Bree Baker

  Icy wind stole my breath as I bolted through the foyer. I stopped short at the threshold to my porch.

  Senator Denver stood at the base of the steps, still wielding her weapon, scanning the darkened area with keen, trained eyes.

  I stared, horrified, at the pile of busted gnome bits shattered at my feet.

  Chapter Eight

  A flash of approaching headlights drew the senator’s attention, and I ducked back inside to call Grady before his mother-in-law shot someone or was abducted by a gnome-wielding maniac.

  The headlights blinked out, and I peeked into the night, keeping an eye on the truck and Senator Denver as the call connected.

  “Everly,” he groaned through the speaker at my ear. “Why is my mother-in-law at your house with a gun?” The truck door opened, and the fog-induced panic of my brain cleared.

  I knew that truck.

  Grady climbed down from the cab and marched in the senator’s direction.

  “There’s been another gnome-related incident,” I said into the phone, grabbing my coat and rushing outside.

  “Wait for us,” Aunt Clara called, the patter of hurried steps following me onto the broad wraparound porch.

  Grady dragged his stare from my aunts and me to his mother-in-law. “What happened?”

  She holstered her sidearm and took her time answering. “Hello to you too, Grady.”

  He shifted his weight, impatient. “Hello, Olivia. It’s nice to see you again. Now, what the hell happened?”

  She rolled her eyes. “Someone broke some garden statues,” she said, raising a disinterested hand in the direction of my front door. “There was a loud crash, and I came to check it out. Whoever the vandal was is long gone or hiding. Who can tell out here? There aren’t any lights outside the property.”

  I gave the world around us a sweeping look. Rows of icicle lights twinkled and swung from the eaves and dormers of my stately historic home. A similar web draped the trees along my property line in a luminous lacey backdrop against the velvety sky. Beyond that, we were at the seaside. Where did she propose the extra lights should be?

  “I suppose breaking garden statues in the winter is some bizarre form of island mischief,” she said. “Bizarre seems to come standard issue around here.”

  Grady rubbed his face. “Was anyone hurt?”

  “No,” I said quickly, eager to break up the tension and get Grady on task. Someone was trying to scare me, and the attempts were escalating. “We were inside when it happened. Come look,” I said, waving him in my direction. “The statues were gnomes. Someone smashed at least four of them on my porch.”

  Grady jogged up my porch steps, lips pursed. He dropped into a squat and used a pen to push the pieces of busted ceramics around. “I have to ask, for argument’s sake. Is there any chance the gnome stuff is a separate problem?”

  I crossed my arms, not liking where this was going. “No one would be stalking me with these murder-gnomes, except the murderer.”

  Aunt Clara gasped behind me, probably preparing to object to the term murder-gnomes, but I kept my eyes on Grady.

  He furrowed his brow and pressed on. “Could the murder weapon have been an item of convenience, while the gnome thing is unrelated to the mayor and coincidentally going on at the same time?”

  “No,” I said defensively. “This is another warning.”

  He worked his jaw. “I have to look at this from every angle. It’s not an accusation. Have you argued with anyone lately? Maybe someone’s holding a grudge for something you’ve already let go?” He turned his gaze on my aunts. “How about you?”

  I gaped. “People love us.”

  Senator Denver drifted gracefully up the porch steps. “She’s right. I’ve looked into the Swans, and they’re very well respected.” She quirked a brow. “The whole family has a strange monarchy feel.”

  Grady rubbed his forehead, managing to look more exasperated than I felt, which was saying something. I blamed his mother-in-law. “The Swans helped found the town. They’ve been part of Charm’s history from the beginning. People here like that. History. Continuity.”

  A quiet sob turned me on my toes. Aunt Clara pressed a frilly white handkerchief to her nose. “I don’t understand why my gnomes have to be a part of all this. I’ve spent weeks selecting and painting them, giving them unique and individual personalities. They were supposed to be whimsical accents to our enchanting town, but now look.” She released another shuddered sob, muffling it carefully with her hanky. “Some lunatic has dragged my hard work into his crime spree and perverted my plans. This awful person has stolen, smashed, and destroyed my works of art and even used them for harm. Who would want one now?” she squeaked. “I might as well be giving the black plague for Christmas.”

  I gave her what I hoped was an understanding and compassionate look. She really had worked hard on her gnomes. I still had no idea why, but she had, and she was right. No one would want one of her gnomes now. If she had any left, maybe she could put them out at Halloween.

  “Whoever did this was probably the same person who killed Mayor Dunfree,” I said. “I know it sounds like a stretch, but there’s no way all of these gnome crimes are unrelated.”

  Grady rose on a long exhale. He braced his palms over his hips and gave us each a long look. “You’re probably right.”

  My heart skipped, whether in victory from his easy agreement or in terror for the same reason, I couldn’t be sure. Adrenaline jolted through my veins as another fantastic point came to mind. “Aunt Fran was inside with us when this happened,” I said. “If Dunfree’s killer broke these gnomes, then the killer isn’t Fran.”

  Grady left us on the porch and made a trip to his truck. He returned with his black duffel bag and began shoveling the broken gnomes into evidence bags using a pair of legal pads as a broom and dustpan. The muscle in his jaw jumped with every repetitive clench of his teeth.

  “How about some hot cocoa?” I offered the women. “No need for us to stand out here in the cold, cramping the detective’s process. We should go inside and let him work. Detective Hays can join us when he’s ready.”

  My aunts slipped through the front door without another word.

  Grady rolled his eyes up to me, brows furrowed.

  His mother-in-law’s gaze moved slowly from me to Grady and back. “No, thank you. I’m leaving,” she said. “Besides, I’ve already eaten, and your dinner is getting cold.”

  As if on cue, a small silver SUV pulled up beside Grady’s truck. Lanita popped out and waved. “Someone call for a Pick-Me-Up?”

  Senator Denver sighed. “Here,” she called. “Coming.” She ducked into my home and returned a moment later with the small white pastry bag and her purse. “This is ridiculous,” she muttered, leaving us behind on the porch. She shot an ugly look over her shoulder at Grady. “I don’t see why I couldn’t bring my driver and escorts with me.”

  Grady shook his head. “Because it’s pathological,” he said. “You don’t need all that. No one needs all that. And I still need your statement.”

  “I’ll give it when you get home,” she said. “I’m taking some cookies to my grandson. I’ll stay until you return.”

  “Great,” Grady mumbled.

  I watched silently until Lanita drove away before turning back to Grady. “Are you hungry? I made a potpie.”

  “No. It looks like you’ve gained another stalker, and now I’ve got to find out who it is before you get hurt again.” He grabbed a flashlight from the duffel and headed dutifully into my gardens.

  “Come see me when you finish,” I called after him.

  He kept walking.

  By the time I hung up my coat and entered the café, my aunts had set the table for three and dished out the potpie.

  “Hey,” I said, my hands in the air. “I didn’t invite you to dinner so you could serve me. Sit dow
n. Let me do that.” I inhaled the rich, buttery aroma and my stomach gurgled.

  Aunt Clara ferried drinks in my direction. She lowered a tray with three ice-filled jars and a pitcher of tea onto the table. “Nonsense. We love to do things for you.”

  Aunt Fran followed with a heaping plate of cookies and fudge. “You’ve been serving people all day. Have a seat. Eat up, and let’s talk.”

  Conceding, I nearly collapsed onto my chair. It was pointless to argue with my aunts, and I was too hungry to hold my ground. I took a few bites of moan-worthy chicken and veggies before delving into my questions for Fran. “Did you have time to make a list of people with recent grievances against the mayor?” I asked.

  She grimaced. “I tried. I called Maven, the town hall receptionist, to see what we could come up with, but it wasn’t much. There were a few open complaints on the mayor’s desk and several made with the town council, but nothing stood out as murder-worthy. I thought there would be more. Dunfree was a pain, and he rubbed a lot of people the wrong way by denying that woman a paper lantern vigil for her son this summer.”

  “I remember,” I said. Vividly.

  “I warned him about that,” Fran said. “I did everything I could to sway the council on the issue, to make an exception, but no one wanted to upset Dunfree, and he was a stickler for adherence to the rules. Even stupid ones.” She poured a glass of tea and sipped, her red cheeks slowly losing their color as her temper cooled. “Every situation is different. We have to treat each instance as it comes. That’s supposed to be what the council is for, to make decisions on relative issues as they arise, not to blindly uphold every rule at all costs. Who does it serve? Not the people. It’s nonsense.”

  Aunt Clara patted her sister’s hand.

  Aunt Fran raised woeful eyes to mine. “The entire council, myself included, is nothing more than his puppet, and it breaks my heart when we could be so much more.”

  “Were,” Clara said, dipping the tines of her fork into the bowl before her. “You were his puppets.”

  I blinked. Harsh, but accurate. Dunfree was gone. Whatever had been true before wasn’t anymore, or didn’t have to be. “Who’s in charge now?” I asked. “We don’t have a deputy mayor, so who took over?” Had Mary Grace moved in somehow? Had his wife?

  “Chairman Vanders stepped up,” Fran said.

  I puzzled over the name. “Who?”

  “He’s been head of the council for a decade,” she said. “He moved out here after Hurricane Katrina displaced him from New Orleans. He owns the bike and kayak rental company on the bay.”

  “Interesting.” I speared a stack of golden-brown sourdough cubes with my fork. “He didn’t even have to run for office. That’s a convenient way to move up.”

  “I suppose,” Fran said, her eyes widened in understanding. “You think Chairman Vanders could have killed him?”

  I lifted a shoulder noncommittally. “You know him better than I do. Did he ever talk about wanting to be in charge?”

  Fran shook her head. “He never said anything like that at the council meetings. He talked more about cars, sports scores, and his most recent dates than actual council business.”

  The description of Chairman Vanders reminded me of Lanita’s family’s experience with the mayor. “Was Dunfree a misogynist?” I asked. “Did he treat women poorly? Or as if they were less-than?”

  Aunt Fran gave a coy smirk. “Dunfree thought everyone was less-than.”

  Aunt Clara fidgeted. “He liked to make comments about us being spinsters. When I was younger, he worried about how I’d take care of myself without a husband. I think he was just being kind. It was a man’s world then.”

  “It’s a man’s world now,” Aunt Fran snapped. “We’re working on it, but change is slow. Especially here. We didn’t get women on the council until 2001.” She leaned back in her chair, eyebrows high.

  “You’re kidding,” I said. How had I never noticed the inequality?

  “Very few women ran for the positions until then. We all knew it was a boys’ club and figured we could get more done without them. It was as if they’d taught us not to try, all without saying as much.”

  I blinked, processing how simply, quietly, things happened right under our noses.

  “And Dunfree wasn’t being kind back then,” she told Aunt Clara, “he was hitting on you. Anytime he and his wife were on the outs, he went trolling for a mistress to make him feel virile. He was offering to keep you on the side.”

  Aunt Clara’s face gleamed red. Her mouth opened and shut like a fish out of water.

  I pushed her tea closer to her hand. “So, he was a misogynist.” Maybe it was nothing more than an unfortunate personality defect. Or maybe it had played a role in his death.

  “What about Dunfree’s marriage?” I asked, sweeping my gaze from aunt to aunt. They must’ve heard plenty of gossip at Blessed Bee. I overheard my share of things at the café. Hazard of the job. “Any chance he and his wife were on the rocks? Maybe getting a divorce or dealing with an affair? Sounds like that wouldn’t be out of the question.”

  My aunts looked at me as if I’d asked them the color of the mayor’s underwear.

  “How on earth would we know something like that?” Aunt Clara asked.

  “Never mind.” Maybe I was the only one who heard more than she should. “Then what about Dunfree’s speech? When did Mary Grace change her mind about running for mayor?”

  Fran set her fork beside her empty bowl and selected a slice of fudge. “That was all news to me, but I’m sure he had an angle. He always had an angle. Usually a self-serving one.”

  “Convincing Mary Grace to partner with him eliminated one of his competitors,” I said. “That seems smart, I guess.” Though I still wasn’t sure why she’d agreed to it.

  Clara leaned forward, dotting the corners of her mouth with a napkin. Her long silver-and-blond hair draped across her shoulders in a braid. “Well, he was sick, you know. He probably expected to need help, and she was probably sympathetic to that.”

  I went for a second serving of potpie with a humorless laugh. “It’s as if you don’t know Mary Grace at all.” She was as surely in it for her personal gain as Dunfree had been, which was what made the partnership all the more unbelievable. “I didn’t know he was sick. What kind of sick?” I asked. “Something serious?” Something fatal?

  Aunt Fran frowned at her sister. “That was just a rumor. No one knows for sure if he was ill. I don’t even know where the story started. You can’t put any stock in it.”

  “Sure I can,” I said, digging into my bowl with gusto. “If whatever was wrong with him was serious enough, he might not have been expecting to finish another term. Which means, he could’ve offered Mary Grace a position as deputy so he could groom her to take over in his absence. Make sure she’d handle everything exactly as he had. Then he’d still have control of Charm from the hereafter.”

  Aunt Clara signed the cross.

  “Maybe Mary Grace resented the position he’d put her in,” I said, “and knowing he was on his way out anyway, she might’ve helped him along.”

  Aunt Fran sipped her tea and watched me. I could practically see the wheels of thought turning behind her smart brown eyes. “That won’t explain who he was arguing with on the phone. Mary Grace was here with him.”

  “Was she?” I asked. “I lost track of her after the obnoxious sabotage of your announcement. Mary Grace could’ve easily slipped outside and waited for him to leave. I didn’t see her after the murder either. Did you?”

  My aunts traded looks, heads wagging in the negative.

  “And we can’t be sure that whoever was on the phone was the killer. Just like we can’t be sure they weren’t,” I said. “Not until we find the missing phone and track down who he spoke to last night. Mary Grace could’ve called him from the shadows and lured him into an argument for distr
action’s sake, then snuck up and gnomed him.”

  Aunt Fran laughed.

  Aunt Clara cringed. “Don’t say it like that. It sounds awful, and my gnome had nothing to do with it. The gnome was innocent.”

  I bit into my lip to stop the brewing laughter.

  Aunt Fran shifted on her seat and frowned. “For being innocent, it certainly showed him gnome mercy.”

  I choked back a laugh, wiping the sting from my tear-filled eyes.

  Aunt Clara blanched. “Stop,” she whispered.

  “You’re right,” Fran said, setting her napkin on the table. “I’m sorry. We’ll figure this out. Don’t worry. The culprit won’t go ungnome for long.”

  “Ah!” Aunt Clara gasped. “Fran! Really.”

  The giggle I’d tried to swallow burst free.

  Aunt Clara’s eyes stretched impossibly wider as she watched me lose myself in laughter.

  I shook my head apologetically. “No. It’s not funny. I’m so sorry. I really will figure out who did this,” I said, sobering up.

  “Thank you,” Clara said, back stiff and shoulders squared.

  My lips wiggled into a fresh grin. “It’s just that at the moment, there’s gnome way of knowing.”

  Aunt Fran crumbled into laughter and I followed.

  Aunt Clara left the table.

  Chapter Nine

  I passed the night in fits and turns, my mind never quite able to relax despite the absolute silence. Grady hadn’t stopped in after checking the garden like I’d suggested. Instead, he’d been gone when I walked my aunts out, and I’d been left wondering why. Had he found the phone? Had he found something else? What? Where had he gone without saying goodbye? How was I going to clear Aunt Fran’s name? And what on earth was I supposed to serve for the Holiday Shuffle?

  I dressed in my softest jeans and favorite T-shirt at the first sign of daybreak, then pulled a hooded sweatshirt over my head. I’d had the Sun, Sand, and Tea logo printed on the back of several sky-blue shirts this summer, and the shop had thrown in the pullover at a discount I couldn’t pass up. I was especially thankful for the purchase as I slogged away from my toasty bed and through my cavernous, drafty old home. Suddenly, I couldn’t remember what it was like to be truly warm. I missed the searing southern sun on my brow, the humidity pulling sweat from my pores and wrapping me in its sticky cocoon.