Murder's No Votive Confidence

by Christin Brecher

“You looked like you were crying when we . . .” I stopped. I didn’t want to tell her I was peeking through her window. “When you opened the door.”

  “You are a very perceptive reader of human emotion,” she said. I thought she was right. “I was practicing a moment from my script where my character finds out she has been betrayed by the man she loves.”

  “So sad,” I said.

  “It is,” said Gina. She patted my hand.

  “I hope we didn’t bother you,” said Andy. He shifted to indicate that our visit was over.

  “You didn’t at all,” said Gina, rising.

  I took her cue, no film pun intended, and rose as well.

  Andy opened the door. Tinker stood outside as if he’d knocked and was expecting us to open it. I didn’t even bother, at this point, to pick him up or even worry.

  “Well, look at this little creature,” Gina said to Tinker. Even the cat seemed to know a celebrity when he saw one. He purred and rubbed himself in circles around her feet.

  “Sorry about that,” said Andy. He scooped up Tinker, and handed him to me.

  “No worries,” she said. “I love animals.”

  After a little more gushing from me, Gina closed the door, and we headed back to our cars.

  “OK,” said Andy. “I hope you got Mrs. Sterling and Gina Ginelli out of your system. From now on, no more nosing about Simon Sterling’s death. Deal?”

  “I think you have a new friend,” I said. “Hope your girlfriend doesn’t mind.”

  “I’m sure Georgianna could take on Gina Ginelli,” said Andy. “And, I can’t help it if I’m irresistible.”

  “You are so lame,” I said and opened my car door. “See you.”

  “See you,” he said.

  I knew if I did not see Emily right now, to tell her about my encounter with Gina Ginelli, she would never forgive me. As Andy pulled past me, I motioned for him to stop. He lowered his window. I lowered mine.

  “Hang on a sec,” I said, and fussed around the front seat as if something important was happening in my car.

  “What’s wrong?” he said.

  “Hold him for a moment?” I said and passed Tinker to him. “I need”—I feigned a look at the passenger floor—“um, hold on.” I then looked up and smiled. “Thanks,” I said and sped away before Andy could hand Tinker back to me. No offense to the cat, but he was off-limits at the Melville.

  It only took a minute rattling down the dirt road to get to the Melville. Frank was outside when I pulled up. He was delivering hot coffee to the police officer designated to watch the inn. I figured that when a police car is parked beside a group of new guests arriving at your inn, you make sure the officer at least has a smile on his face. I was both impressed with Frank and, once again, disappointed in our visiting police.

  Frank tapped the roof of the car and said goodbye as I headed to the inn’s entrance. He and I reached the front door at the same time.

  “Hi! Do you know where Emily is?” I asked him.

  “She left for the airport about five minutes ago,” said Frank. “Everything looks great and some of the guests have arrived. She wanted to put up a welcome sign with balloons at the airport though. Apparently, a group of arrivals didn’t see the van and they’re en route in a taxi. Emily felt bad. Ah, here they are.”

  “Let me get the door for you,” said a voice behind me as Frank dashed toward a taxi pulling up.

  I turned around to find a man about my own age with messy blond hair that fell over his shockingly blue eyes. I noticed that unlike the new arrivals who were unloading several bags from the trunk of their taxi, he was traveling light. He only had a backpack slung over his shoulder. He must have noticed me trying to figure him out because he extended his hand.

  “I’m Peter Bailey. I moved here about two weeks ago to work at the Inky Mirror.” The Inky Mirror is the affectionate name for the island’s weekly newspaper, the Inquirer & Mirror.

  “Stella Wright,” I said, taking his hand.

  “The Wick & Flame,” he said. “I’ve heard about your store.”

  My phone buzzed a text, but I let it go without a glance.

  “You’ve walked into quite a scoop, haven’t you?” I said.

  “I think I did,” he said. Perhaps it was the drama of Gina Ginelli still surrounding me, but I had a flash of surfing the waves and biking the island with this man during the summer months ahead.

  “I’ll have your bags brought to your room,” said Frank as he pushed through us to open the door for the new arrivals. When the door closed, he turned to Peter. “Listen, I’m sure you want to work on your story for next week’s edition, but I can’t let you in here right now, poking around, asking questions. We have a wedding tomorrow, guests arriving, and we’re down a couple of hands.”

  “I get it and I’m sorry about Bill Duffy,” said Peter. “Were you close?”

  Frank flashed his eyes, opened the door, and went inside. Through the open door, I noticed an older couple, likely friends of Mrs. Sterling’s, who were demanding a room with a view. They clearly did not understand that every room had a view at the Melville.

  “Timing is everything,” I said when the door closed.

  “Was I too pushy?” said Peter, folding his arms. “When I’m on a case, I’m like a hound on the trail.”

  “You’re on a case?” I said, trying not to let his hound metaphor throw me.

  “A good reporter looks at any story like a case,” he said. “I’m like a policeman, but with a pen instead of a gun.”

  I liked the imagery. I agreed, except I replaced “good reporter” with “whip-smart candlemaker.”

  “Do you have a lot of experience reporting on crimes?” I said.

  A broad smile spread across Peter’s face.

  “This is my second,” he said. “The first one was practice.”

  I knew we’d probably overstayed our welcome on the Melville’s stoop, but I found that Peter Bailey interested me on many different levels.

  “It didn’t go too well?” I said.

  He shrugged and put his hands in his pockets in a way that suggested he hadn’t lost much sleep over his setback. I liked his spunk.

  “My specialty is obituaries, weddings, and community interest,” he said. “Unfortunately, the Sterling-Handlers gave me their wedding announcement last week. I have no excuse to interview them today. That’s why I thought I’d try Frank.”

  “It’s a good idea, but maybe focus on other angles until someone at the Melville is ready to talk,” I said.

  “I’ve been looking into Simon Sterling,” he said.

  “Obituary?” I asked.

  He nodded.

  “Did you find out anything interesting about him?”

  “Sounds like you’re on your own case,” said Peter.

  “I don’t think Bill Duffy killed that man.”

  Peter smiled approvingly.

  “I haven’t got much on Simon Sterling. Although I heard he’d applied for Italian citizenship.”

  “He owned land there,” I said, wondering how Peter had gotten his scoop. “Olive groves. Maybe he was trying to rebuild the business.”

  “Maybe,” he said. “If I hear anything interesting, I’ll let you know.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “And don’t worry about Frank. This is a small town. Bellamy might move at the speed of light, but a lot of people here don’t. You’ll come to love or hate it, probably by about February.”

  “Point taken,” he said. “By the way, do you give interviews? How about something on the Wick & Flame? Look at it as a community interest story.”

  He pulled from his pocket a business card and handed it to me. I wondered if he was really interested in the store, or if he thought it might be a way to get me to talk about the murder weapon. Then I thought about the canceled order for one of my unity candles.

  I decided to take the risk. If brides were as superstitious as Cherry said they were, I wouldn’t mind an interview. I could use some good press
after this morning.

  “OK,” I said. I checked my watch. “I have to get back to my store, but can you meet me there? I can give you the grand tour.”

  “Great,” he said.

  A moment later, I was looking through my rearview window once again, this time to make sure Peter was following me. I’d just met Gina Ginelli, and now a newcomer to town was going to interview me about my candles. Hopefully I could show Peter Bailey that my candles were newsworthy for more than being a murder weapon.

  Chapter II

  Town was now packed. Great for business, but bad for parking. When I finally found a spot at the bottom of Main Street, I made my way up the brick sidewalks, looking for Peter. As I reached the corner of my street, I noticed two guys seated on one of the sidewalk benches. A tree slightly blocked them, but I knew their large feet anywhere.

  “Stellaaaa,” said my cousin Docker as I approached. Docker had been on the crew for a middle school play once, A Streetcar Named Desire, and now he loved to greet me like Stanley Kowalski. He and his brother now run a rubbish removal business. They bought their second truck last year.

  “We heard you were at the Melville when they found the body this morning. Are you OK?” said his brother, Ted.

  At that moment, my cousins Liz and Kate came dashing out of the real estate office on the corner.

  “Why didn’t you answer my text?” Liz said to me.

  Liz is a real estate broker at the office she’d just left, and Kate, her sister, is a nurse in the Emergency Room at the Cottage Hospital. Liz looked ready for business, lipstick applied, her keys hanging from a ring on her pants, but Kate looked a little worse for wear. I had a feeling she’d had a long shift at the hospital and would be heading home to bed after a coffee with her sister.

  “There was a lot to do at the Melville,” I said. “There’s no way Bill killed that man.” I could not share my feelings about Bill’s innocence while at the inn, and I had to be careful with Andy, who’d made his feelings clear about my interest in the case, but with my family I felt free to speak my mind.

  “Are we sure?” said Docker. “He’s a skinny guy, but have you ever arm wrestled with him? He’s stronger than he looks.”

  “He didn’t do it,” said Ted. “He’s married to Maude. She’s no dope. No way she’d marry a murderer.”

  “Kate, did you hear or see anything at the hospital when they brought in Simon’s body?” I said.

  Kate adjusted her eyeglasses.

  “The body was heliported off-island almost immediately after arriving at the hospital,” she said. “But everyone got a little distracted, because Gina Ginelli came in shortly after and asked if she could see a nurse about a splinter. Everyone wanted to help her. I don’t know why. She’s just a celebrity.”

  “She’s Gina Ginelli,” I said. “That’s why.” I was bursting to tell everyone about how I had just met her, but I used tremendous willpower to stay focused. “So, you saw nothing?”

  “No, I saw stuff. While everyone was gawking over Ginelli, I peeked at his body and his chart.”

  “You’re awesome,” Docker said to Kate. “She’s got those serious round glasses, and then she’s like, cool, a dead guy.”

  “Actually, there isn’t really anything to tell,” Kate said. “He’s in his midfifties. He had been dead for about five to seven hours when he arrived. He had a tattoo of a bell on his shoulder that looked new. Chart said death due to blunt force trauma. That was about it.”

  “Well,” I said. “That’s something.” I realized he died sometime between two and four. Maude had said Bill wasn’t in bed until three fifteen a.m. Ugh. That was enough time for him to have been the murderer.

  “But the wedding’s still on, so that’s good,” said my cousin Liz, always one to find a bright side to things.

  “Have you guys heard anything about the murder?” I said to Docker and Ted.

  “Nah,” they said.

  “We’ve been hauling off buoys,” said Ted. “The Buoy Bandit.”

  “I saw the cluster of red ones on the very top of Main Street,” said Liz. “That’s bizarre, by the way.”

  “It’s a pain in the you-know-what,” said Docker, nodding proudly at his discretion since Kate forbade all cursing.

  “My friends down at the dock swear they saw a motorboat loaded with buoys yesterday,” said Ted. “It was funny because they were piled so high they couldn’t make out the driver. At the time, they assumed he might be heading out to the Lifesaving Museum for a drop-off. Now they wish they’d paid more attention.”

  Behind Ted and Docker, a horn beeped.

  “Hey,” said Chris. His wife, Suzie, sat beside him. In their back seat were several bags that I knew were filled with supplies for their annual Memorial Day cookout. The party was planned for tomorrow afternoon in their backyard.

  “We’ve been worried about you,” Suzie said to me.

  At that moment, Peter crossed the street. There’s nothing like a family reunion when you’re on your way to meet a guy. And they wonder why I’m not married.

  He joined the crowd. I hate to say I blushed, but I did. Almost thirty and I’m blushing. It had been a long time since that had happened.

  “This is Peter Bailey,” I said, introducing him to each of my cousins. Liz, always in search of potential real estate customers, gave him her card when she realized he was the new guy at the Inky Mirror.

  “Nice to meet you all,” Peter said. “Nothing like meeting the family.”

  He winked at me. The gang took a moment to nod in approval, as if he couldn’t see.

  “Stella’s granted me an interview about her store,” he said.

  “Thank God. She could use the good press,” said Liz.

  Kate flashed her a look.

  “OK then,” I said, hoping to avoid any discussion about my candles and bad luck. “See you all later.”

  Peter and I started to turn the corner to my store, but I had the feeling that something was following me. I turned to find Chris and Suzie in their car behind me.

  “Stella,” said Suzie from her window. She waved me over. “I’ll put him on the list for our cookout tomorrow.” Suzie is almost as bad as Emily when it comes to finding me the perfect man.

  I smiled as graciously as I could and entered my store. The first thing I noticed was that my unity candle display was missing. I raised my eyebrows to Lucy.

  “Cherry and I thought it was bad karma,” she said. “But I can put it back if you want.”

  The empty spot where my candle had been proudly on display gave me yet another reason to want this murderer behind bars. I wondered if Peter could give me some information that could put me on the right path to solving Simon’s murder.

  “Let’s help each other,” I said to Peter as I headed to the counter and poured two cups of tea.

  “What do you mean?” said Peter. He walked behind the counter and took a sugar from my tea stand as if he’d been there a million times before.

  “You tell me what you know about the Sterling murder,” I said. “I’ll tell you anything you want to know about my candles.”

  Peter smiled, and took out a notebook from his shirt pocket.

  “OK. Me first. When did you first decide you wanted to be a successful businesswoman?”

  I liked the sound of that. I told Peter about my store, and a little about my life. A couple of customers came and went. Peter waited while I helped them find a candle. It was easy to talk to him about myself, but I still had a murderer I wanted to catch.

  “Enough about me,” I said. “I’m sure Frank wasn’t your first attempt at gathering information about the murder. What can you tell me?”

  “First things first,” he said. “Have you seen the view from Tupancy Links?”

  “Like, when I was in eighth grade,” I said. “That’s where the little kids fly kites and people walk their dogs.” I didn’t want to tell him that the area was also the middle school version of Lover’s Lane. In reality, we would kick
the sandy dune, whisper to each other about who liked whom, that sort of thing. Once, we had a game of spin the bottle there, too, but we all scattered when someone arrived, walking their dog.

  Peter looked out the window.

  “Want to go fly a kite?” he said with a ridiculous grin.

  “No, I don’t have time,” I said. “I have a store to run and a new unity candle to make for a wedding tomorrow.”

  “Jessica Sterling still wants a unity candle from you?” said Peter.

  “Yes, she wants a unity candle from me!” I said. “Why is that so hard for everyone to imagine?”

  “Well, you did create a murder weapon,” said Lucy.

  “Maybe you should be advertising to a new clientele,” said Peter.

  I took a breath and tried not to laugh. My crumbling new line of business was not a laughing matter, but I did have a vision of the lowlifes in our community coming in to smell my scents and pick out creepy, weapon-inspired candle designs.

  “I guess it’s a better idea to talk about murder victims outside of my store,” I said.

  “The Sunken Ship is having a sale,” said Lucy. The Sunken Ship is down the road from my store. They sell baseball caps and T-shirts and toys. And kites.

  “That they are,” said Peter. “I’ll get one of the shark kites I saw in the window this morning, and I’ll meet you at my car in ten. Oh,” he said, looking at the day’s featured candle that was still burning brightly from this morning. “And I’d like to buy this candle.”

  “You drive a hard bargain,” I said. “But take this one.” I handed him a different candle. “You’re more of a musk and sandalwood guy, I think.”

  “All right then,” he said, looking slightly lost but flattered. “Musk it is.”

  I had a good parking spot and I was tired of my back window not working, so I joined Peter in his car ten minutes later.

  When we pulled up to Tupancy Links, I had to wonder why we’d stopped going as kids. The land, which used to be a private nine-hole golf course, had been donated to the island decades ago. Now, it was a rolling grassland favored by dog walkers. There were four chocolate Labs running about the field. Their two owners were throwing sticks and the dogs were chasing them. I guessed they had been cooped up this morning when the weather had been so cold, and now, they were lapping up the fresh air.