Ian examined the door lock and dead bolt and made a note. “We can do that.” He followed me inside. “I’ll get new ones today.”
Resolutely ignoring the door to the cellar, I stopped by the storage room. “Put ordering a dumpster on your list. I’m going to empty this room out first.” Along with way too many boxes of old inventory, the room contained a couple of fifty-gallon plastic trash cans and a broom and dustpan, which were useful. But we also needed cleaning supplies, mops, and buckets. I jotted entries in my notebook.
In the main rooms, Ian measured the square footage so we could figure out how much paint to buy. “Hopefully the walls aren’t too bad behind the paneling,” he said. “If they’re damaged, you’ll need new Sheetrock.”
I prayed the walls would be okay. Sheetrock wasn’t expensive but the labor could be pricey, if you wanted a professional job. “Can we find out right now?” I asked, flexing my fingers. “I’ll help.” I was itching to make progress, any progress at all, and ripping something down would be satisfying.
He gave me a crooked grin. “Feel like a little demo? I’m in. Hold on, I’ll get my tools and gloves and masks for both of us.”
I found my apron on the arm of the chair where I’d left it and carried it to the storeroom for safekeeping. I placed the apron on a stack of cardboard boxes and grabbed the broom and dustpan and one of the trash cans.
Along with the tools, Ian brought his boom box in, and while we listened to classic hits from the seventies, we tackled the paneling. Ian used a pry bar to take off the trim holding it on and then lifted the panels away. My job was to stack everything so it could be carried out to the dumpster later.
We were in the smaller room, where I planned to put the sewing studio, when we found the trove. The wall under the paneling was covered with vintage movie, band, and celebrity posters, including several that mentioned the Sea Dogs.
“My grandfather played for that band,” I said. “And so did yours, I think.”
Ian studied the posters, one hand to his perfect, scruffy chin. “Yeah, I heard something about that.”
I was about to ask him if his grandfather was still alive when a feminine voice called, “Hello? Anybody home?” Ian and I exchanged surprised glances. We had left the front door propped open for air and someone had obviously walked right in.
I popped around the corner to the main shop. “Can I help you?”
A slender woman with long, silky auburn hair stood in the middle of the room, gazing around with curiosity. Dressed in a purple peacoat and flared linen trousers, she had very pale skin and elongated, elegant features.
“Oh, hi,” she said. “I’m Charlotte Ramsey. Sorry to barge in, but I was curious to see what you were doing to the place.” She pouted full lips. “I wanted Elliot to rent it to me, for my gallery.”
How was I supposed to answer that? I’m sorry? Do you want it now, complete with skeleton? I bit back a highly inappropriate laugh. “I’m sure something better will come along.”
She regarded me with skeptical eyes. “You haven’t changed your mind?” She waved a hand. “After, you know.”
Almost. I forced a smile. “Afraid not. We’re going ahead with the store.” I wasn’t exactly feeling warm and fuzzy about Charlotte, but I couldn’t blame her for asking, I supposed.
She grunted in response and began to wander around the room. “Elliot said he used to live in this building. It was his bachelor pad, if you can imagine. All kinds of friends crashed here, he said.” She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
After seeing the posters in the other room, I could well imagine the scene. “Did he say who?” Maybe one of his roommates had killed Star.
Her response was an incredulous look, followed by a warm smile when Ian appeared. “Hi,” she said, smoothing her hair with one hand. “I’m Charlotte.”
“Ian.” He gave her a brief smile and turned to me. “Lunch break or should we keep going?”
“Keep going.” Not only did I want to make progress today, I wanted Charlotte to leave. If she was as close to Elliot as people thought, she might well run to him with complaints about what we were doing. Imaginary ones, of course, but who needed the hassle?
“Sorry we don’t have more time to visit,” I said with utter insincerity, “but we need to get back to work.” I threw her a bone. “I’m going to take your upcoming painting class, by the way.”
“Oh. Great.” She tossed her head, letting her hair fly and then settle in an even more flattering arrangement. “Ciao. Nice to meet you, Ian.” Her heels crunched on the plaster dust and grit as she strode out, hips swaying.
I suppressed my laughter until she was out of earshot. “That was interesting,” I said.
Ian rolled his eyes. “I’ll say.” He laughed too, and it seemed to me that we shared a moment.
We finished ripping off the paneling and discovered that all the walls were okay. “A five-gallon bucket of joint compound and we’ll be fine,” Ian said. “I’ll fill the holes and cracks and then you can paint.” If Grammie and I did the painting ourselves, we would save a lot of money. I planned to host a pizza and painting party with the girls.
“Let me buy you lunch,” I said. “Do you have time this afternoon to change the locks?”
Ian threw his gloves and tools into a bucket. “I have an idea. We’ll take a ride to the building-supply store for the locks and pick up sandwiches on the way. We can eat down by the water.”
Perfect. Not a date, exactly, but a chance to spend time together and get reacquainted.
“How about going out to the lighthouse?” I stripped off the gloves he loaned me and dropped them into the bucket too.
Hemlock Point Lighthouse was on the way back from the building-supply store—well, more of a detour down a side road, but it was a perfect spot to relax in the sunshine.
“Sounds like a plan.” Smiling, Ian gestured for me to precede him out of the building.
* * *
Grammie called my cell while we were driving to the building-supply store. “I heard from Detective Varney. He’s coming by the house at five.”
My heart thumped into overdrive at the mention of the state police. I’d been enjoying the ride in Ian’s truck, with nothing to think about but his company and the tasks ahead. “That should work okay. Ian and I got the paneling off the walls and now we’re going to do the locks.”
“Don’t forget to take Elliot a key,” Grammie said. “He’ll want a copy.”
Yet another chore for my list. “I can do that.” Maybe sometime this afternoon.
“And another thing—” Grammie broke off with a chuckle. “Sorry to overload you. Barry Wills, the electrician, just called. Would it be all right if he came by the store today or should I tell him to wait?”
“Better have him come today.” Until someone got to the bottom of the issues, we would continue to have sudden blackouts. And electricians were notoriously hard to book. “When is Barry showing up?” After she told me, I realized we had barely enough time to hit the store and pick up lunch. There went our trip to the lighthouse.
With a sigh, I looked over at Ian slouched behind the wheel, the breeze tousling his hair. “Rain check on lunch?” I asked. “We’re going to have to eat on the road. The electrician is coming.”
He threw me a smile. “Of course. We’ll have another opportunity.” A beat. “Working together the way we are.” He signaled and slowed, waiting for traffic to pass before turning into the Coastal Building Supply lot.
My pang of disappointment was way out of proportion. I wanted him to think of me as more than a customer, I admitted. But then what? The memory of my last relationship drifted into my mind like a taunting ghost. Before I moved home, Eric Lumley had kept me on a string for two years with his hot-and-cold tactics. Ian was attractive, no argument there, and he seemed nice, but I really didn’t know him. Or his romantic history. For all I knew, he mistreated women. Or refused to commit, like Eric, although I didn’t want a commitment of course—
> “Iris? Iris.” Ian was staring at me, his keys in hand. “Are you ready to go in?”
I shook myself. “Sorry. Just … thinking.” I found my handbag on the floor and opened the passenger door.
He waited for me before starting across the lot toward the front door. “You must have tons on your mind. It’s a big job, opening a business.” The way he said it made me think he admired and respected me, another point in his nice column.
“Yeah, it is a big job, but it’s also fun. More creative than I thought.” I warmed to my theme. “Putting together a store is like designing a three-hundred-sixty-degree experience.” I laughed. “A full-body experience, of sorts. I want customers to become immersed in my world, to love being there.”
“I never thought about shopping that way,” Ian said. “It sounds cool.” His smile was teasing. “I can’t wait to try that full-body experience.”
Why had I said that? Instead of coming up with a great comeback, my mind went blank and my tongue tied itself in a knot. Cheeks flaming, I darted ahead through the automatic door. Was he flirting with me? Or was I imagining it?
Inside we paused, faced by a maze of aisles and products. “The lock sets are that way,” Ian said, pointing. I followed him as he wove through the displays, but stopped at the paint section to browse possible wall colors. Buttery yellow, Madison had said.
Oh, there were so many choices. I stuffed sample cards into my handbag, figuring we could tape them to the wall and see which one we liked best.
“Iris Buckley?” a man’s voice said near my elbow.
I turned to see an older man with a short gray ponytail and weathered skin. Not much taller than me, he wore a canvas coat and jeans, work boots on his feet.
“I’m Iris,” I said. “Have we met? I’m sorry, I’m really bad with names sometimes.” At Papa’s funeral, I met a lot of people from his generation but had been too overwhelmed to remember them all.
“Ted,” he said, holding out his hand. “Ted Perkins. I’m an old friend of your grandparents.” His cocky grin looked familiar and I remembered Ted had been a Sea Dogs band member. And the mention of his last name sparked other memories, so to speak. Ted had a reputation for producing pot in addition to hay and maple syrup on his hundred-acre farm, something everyone in town somehow knew.
“Nice to meet you.” I shook his hand then gestured at the display. “Looking at paint colors for the store.”
“Oh yeah.” He rubbed his chin. “I was wondering if you’d have any interest in some linens I found up at the house. Used to belong to my great-aunt.”
Which meant they were close to a hundred years old. “Um, yeah. I’d love to see them. When’s good for you?” I really didn’t have a spare moment in the next few weeks but it was important to take opportunities when they popped up. He could just as easily call another dealer.
“How ’bout I give you my number? Connect later this week, maybe on the weekend?” He recited digits I plugged into my phone.
“Thanks, Ted. I’ll give you a call.” After he nodded and strode away, I realized he was another possible source of information regarding Star. But standing in the building-supply store under flickering fluorescent lights wasn’t the right time or place to question him. Maybe when I went to his house—after I asked Grammie about his possible involvement. The last thing I wanted to do was find myself alone with Star’s killer.
CHAPTER 11
“Are you all set?” Ian approached, carrying a basket with the lock sets inside.
“I am,” I said, stuffing a few more paint chips into my bag. “Why don’t we get the joint compound and other things you need while we’re here?” I was all about being efficient and getting the storefront ready on time.
While Ian picked out a few more items, I found light green and white chalk paint for the displays. I also bought brushes and rollers, a paint pan, buckets, painter’s tape, putty knives, and other small tools. I selected a bunch of cleaning products, too, and a mop and bucket. Grammie probably had a lot of this but I didn’t want to wait and then find out we were missing something. The last thing to go into my cart was an umbrella clothesline, perfect for displaying aprons. I couldn’t believe they still sold such a retro design, but I was thankful.
After we checked out and loaded the truck with our purchases, we headed back toward Blueberry Cove. The next stop was the Clam Shack, a small eatery known for much more than clams. They had the best hamburgers and fries in town. But today I called in an order of two BLTs to go, along with small tubs of their fresh-made potato salad. Bottled iced tea rounded out our impromptu lunch.
“Man, that smells good,” Ian said when I climbed into the truck with the paper sack. “I’m starving.”
I was too. “Can you hold off until we get back or do you want something now?”
“Ah, let’s wait. Anticipation makes everything better, right?” He gave me that slow, teasing smile again. Now I was sure he was flirting. But I shrugged off the thought of responding in kind, reminding myself of my vow to be cautious. No more taking the ball and running with it, only to hit the goalpost with my head.
Back in town, Ian parked behind the store again. We ate in the truck with the windows open since neither of us could face the idea of a meal in those dusty, dirty rooms. As an added bonus, the sun had finally reached the alley and the salty air was balmy.
“So what have you been doing for the past ten years?” Ian asked, crunching the pickle that came with his sandwich. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since graduation.”
“Probably not.” I filled him in about college and my time in Portland. “How about you?” To be honest, I’d looked him up a time or two on social media, more of a “where are they now” thing than because I had feelings for him. He didn’t post much, mainly pictures of mountain ranges and ski slopes.
He took a bite of sandwich, chewed and swallowed. “I left Maine the day after graduation. Went out to Montana, to college in Bozeman. Took some drafting and business classes. Finally got my degree. In between I worked on houses, high-end second homes. When my parents bought the inn, I decided to move back. To help them and take advantage of the boom here too.”
“Yes, people are definitely discovering Blueberry Cove,” I said. “That’s why we decided to open a storefront. There’s finally enough consistent traffic.” I ate a bite of sandwich, loving the combination of mayonnaise, bacon, tomato, and lettuce on toasted homemade wheat bread. Heaven.
Ian sipped iced tea, looking thoughtful. “I’m glad, for all of us who need to earn a living. I just hope this place never gets overrun, like southern Maine. Locals priced right out.”
That was my concern too, that Blueberry Cove could maintain a balance. Some towns were so tourist focused they might as well be theme parks, the Maine way of life an attraction rather than real people making a living from land and sea. I was glad Ian saw it my way. Nasty rifts often formed between people with different visions of a town’s future.
A van pulled into the alley behind us and Ian turned to look. “There’s Barry.” He crumpled his sandwich paper and tossed it into the bag. “Are you ready?”
I scooped up the last bit of potato salad from the container. “Sure am.”
While Ian changed out the locks and Barry checked the electrical system, I swept the main rooms, making sure to keep my dust mask on. Then I taped up the paint chips, to see which color I liked best. I wanted a shade that had depth but wasn’t too dark. Something with glow but not glaring. In the end, I decided on a rich traditional cream that reminded me of old parchment.
I snapped a picture and sent it to Madison, wanting her input. The shuffle of boots behind me caught my attention. “Miss Buckley?” Barry was short and wiry, with a balding head he hid under a cap. “I found the problem.” He glanced up at the light fixture dangling from wires. “Good thing you had me check the wiring before you moved in. Otherwise you’d have an unsafe situation here.”
“Great. I’m glad too.” More footsteps announced Ian
. “Why don’t you wait for Ian so he can hear what you figured out.”
While they chatted about loose wires and short circuits, I sent texts back and forth with Madison. She loved the paint color. When I mentioned our appointment with the state police detective, she offered to come over to give us support. I had to say no, but she really was the best.
Barry walked over to me. “I have a few hours this afternoon available if you want me to get started.” He handed me a sheet of paper. “This is work that needs to be done and the estimate.”
I glanced at the bottom line, which seemed reasonable. Which was a good thing for Elliot, because he was paying. Our lease included maintenance for building systems—heat, water, lights—so as our landlord, he was on the hook for this one.
“I’ll take this over to Elliot in a few, along with a key,” I said. It was a nice afternoon and I might as well walk down to his office.
Barry shifted his feet. “There is something else, before I get started. For some reason, there’s a lot of broken glass on the cellar floor. Kind of a hazard.”
The thump and crash of falling objects echoed in my mind, from when I’d hit the shelf. Obviously cleaning up the mess hadn’t been part of the forensic team’s duties. Cold dread coiled in my stomach. I really didn’t want to go into the basement, not now and maybe not ever.
“Want me to sweep up?” Ian’s eyes held concern. “I expect you aren’t eager to go down there.”
Barry finally caught on. “Oh, is that where—” A mask of horror dropped over his craggy features. “Man, that’s awful.”
The delicate-flower part of my nature wanted to wallow in his sympathy, but instead I steeled my spine. Since I was running a business here, which would require periodic trips to the basement, I’d better put on my big-girl panties and deal.
I sucked in a deep breath. “I’ll go clean up.” At Ian’s protest I put up a hand. “But you can help. And please, before I go down there, make sure those shelves are back in place.”
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