by Barbara Ross
“Cabe Stone was arrested this afternoon for the murder of the person we knew as Stevie Noyes,” I said for the benefit of anyone who hadn’t heard.
“What happened to you?” Dan looked from the crutches I’d leaned against a desk to my bandaged ankle.
“I got pushed in the arrest.”
“Police brutality!” Bud yelled.
“Bud,” I warned. “I was in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was an accident.” I took Phil Johnson’s storage device out of my bag. “I believe Cabe’s innocent, and I think this could help prove it.”
I heard a vehicle door slam and caught a glimpse of Reggie’s Swinburne’s giant, dark blue pickup in the parking lot outside.
“Bunnie called me. I’m here to help,” Reggie said as he came through the door.
“Of course. I’m just explaining what we’re going to do.” I waved the storage device in front of them. “This device contains pictures of the pier taken by a professional photographer on the night of Stevie’s murder. I believe it includes photos of the real murderer placing Stevie’s body under the clambake stove. There are over ten thousand photos on the device. I’m going to divide them up and give each of you a group to go through. Ideally, you’re looking for a series of pictures that capture our killer in the act. But if the group of photos you get doesn’t contain anything conclusive, look for anything out of the ordinary.”
Each of them sat quietly as I moved a large block of photos off the storage device and onto their computers. I showed them how to open and scroll through the photos. The files were enormous and took time to open. It was going to be a long, tedious process.
When I moved the first batch of photos, timestamped 8:00 PM to 10:00 PM, to Vee’s computer, I saw exactly what I expected. Sonny and Cabe were setting up the Claminator. Weezer worked on his barbecue. Dan fussed with his portable ice cream cart. The sun was down, but in the first few photos there was still plenty of twilight.
I gave the second set of photos, 10:00 PM to midnight, to Bunnie. They were taken in full darkness and were disappointingly shadowy. Two streetlights on the pier threw a little light on the Claminator. The moon over the harbor was a slim crescent. In the first photo, I could just make out Cabe’s familiar body stacking wood.
I gave the third group of photos, midnight to 2:00 AM to Dan Small. I kept the ones from 2:00 AM to 4:00 AM for myself. Cabe had said he’d left the pier to go to the boarding house and sleep between 2:00 and 5:30, so I thought this group was the most likely to contain the images I was seeking. I gave 4:00 to 6:00—daybreak—to Richelle.
I gave 6:00 AM to 8:00 to Reggie and 8:00 AM to 10:00 to Bud. “Your assignment is slightly different,” I told them. “These photos were taken after sunup and probably after Stevie’s body was hidden. People will have started coming to the pier, so look for anyone acting suspiciously.”
“Cabe Stone acted suspiciously,” Dan pointed out. “He ran.”
“That’s not the only kind of suspicious. Look for people doing the opposite of running. Hanging around. Staring at the fire. People who are a little too interested.”
They were all pretty comfortable with their computers. I wasn’t surprised. Vee and Dan ran small businesses. Bunnie ran the Tourism Bureau. Richelle used a computer all the time with her tour guide work and Reggie had retired relatively recently. The only one I wasn’t sure about was Bud, but he caught on right away.
“World of Warcraft,” he muttered in response to my quizzical look. “The winters are long.”
I hopped back to my computer and starting scrolling through my group of photos. They were maddeningly dark. I could see what Phil had been trying to do. In a time-lapse video, the constantly changing photos would be lively, but looking at them one at a time, they were uninteresting and worse, uninformative.
In the very first ones, I could just make out a figure lying on the pier, head propped on something. At first I thought it might be Stevie, but then the figure moved and I realized it was Cabe, trying to sleep on the hard concrete. I assumed the darker patch beneath him was a blanket he’d taken from his bunk in the playhouse, brought over in the backpack he used as a pillow. I was angry at Sonny all over again for asking Cabe to sleep with the Claminator. I scrolled on.
“Can you look at this, Julia?” Reggie asked. I got up, hopped behind him, and looked over his shoulder at his monitor. In the sequence of photos he showed me, the vendors arrived and continued setting up. Cabe was there. So were Sonny and Livvie. Off to the side, a man stood, apparently staring at the Claminator. As Reggie scrolled forward, the man stayed still for several frames.
“Can you enlarge that?” I asked.
Reggie did. I bent over his shoulder to get a better look. “I don’t think it’s meaningful,” I said, pointing to the wires that trailed from the man’s headphones to the bulge in his shirt pocket. “He’s on the phone or listening to music. It looks like he’s staring at the clambake stove, but I think he’s staring off into space.”
“I think you’re right,” Reggie agreed.
“Are you sure?” Richelle pleaded from her desk, which was across from mine.
“Just in case, can you mark the number on those photos?” I asked. “And print them?” I wasn’t hopeful, but the committee members were working hard and I didn’t want to quash the momentum. Bunnie rose from her place to help Reggie with the printer.
On the way back to my seat, I stopped behind everyone, checking that they weren’t having problems. Dan worked efficiently, scrolling through the photos. Vee was more perfunctory, tapping the down arrow at a steady clip. I wondered if she thought the search was pointless.
I sat down at my computer and scrolled through more slides. Everyone worked quietly, occasionally stopping to write down the number of an image or print one. My ankle throbbed. I kept working.
Just when I was ready to give up, I saw it. The black rectangle of a vehicle pulling up beside the Claminator. A big pickup truck. I nearly cried out when I recognized the distinctive top Reggie had over his truck’s bed. I clamped one hand over my mouth and kept scrolling. Reggie was right in the room! I made myself put my hand back on the desk and tried to look casual or even bored. I didn’t dare look over at him. Just a few minutes ago, he’d tried to distract me with a photo of some random tourist on the pier.
In my photos, the shadow of a man got out and went behind the truck. The back of the pickup had almost no light on it, and though I wanted to scroll as quickly as my heart was beating, I made myself slow down, examining each photo. The figure opened the back of the truck and pulled something heavy out. Something I assumed was Stevie. Something wrapped in a dark sleeve that had to be a sleeping bag.
Binder and Flynn had never said anything about a sleeping bag!
The figure pulled the heavy object to the clambake stove. Stevie was a small man, but I thought his dead weight must be difficult to maneuver.
As I watched, the man who had to be Reggie removed a bunch of logs and stuffed Stevie under the Claminator. My hands turned clammy and shook a little. I thought the others must be able to see. Richelle peered around her monitor and arched an eyebrow at me. I gave one small shake of my head, warning her off.
I reminded myself to breathe. I concentrated on the pain in my ankle to take my mind off my fear. What to do? What to do? I scrolled on and watched the figure toss off the pier the logs he’d removed from the fire to make room for Stevie. Then he got in the truck and started to back out of the frame. As I wrote the image numbers on the pad next to me, I became aware of a presence behind me. I moved the image of the front half of the truck off my screen and turned around.
Bunnie. The photo had been very dark, and she was standing a few feet behind me. She hadn’t seen the full sequence or the complete truck. Could she even recognize what she’d seen?
“Need something, Bunnie?” I kept my voice steady.
“Just stretching.”
She returned to her computer and I looked at the rest of the images in my batc
h, scrolling to the end. All I saw was the silent pier, apparently empty, with its secret hidden under the metal skirting of the Claminator.
“I’m done!” Dan called out.
“Me, too,” Vee said. Richelle nodded she was done also.
“Just a few more,” Bunnie said.
I took deep breaths to steady myself. I wasn’t going to accuse Reggie here. Too dangerous, even in this room full of people. I had to get the storage device, with this sequence of photos, to Lieutenant Binder right away. “I’m done, too,” I said. I waited another agonizing ten minutes for Bud and Bunnie to finish up.
“That was disappointing,” Dan said. “Sorry, Julia.”
“It’s okay. I’m sure what we did find will be very helpful.” I made a show of collecting the photos people had printed and the image numbers they’d noted. “Thank you all so much.”
“It’s what neighbors do,” Bunnie said.
We clustered on the deck, lingering while Bunnie locked the office. The sun was low, but I could tell everyone was reluctant to go. For a couple hours, they’d been part of an exciting drama.
“Can you catch a ride back with Vee?” I whispered to Richelle. “I have an errand to do on the way to town.” She started to protest, but I gave another small flick of my head and she understood.
Finally, Dan jumped on his bike and peddled off toward town. Vee, with Richelle in the passenger seat, followed by Bud, waited for a break in the perpetual flow of summer traffic and then pulled their vehicles into the roadway.
Reggie climbed into his battleship of a pickup. Bunnie hoisted herself onto the truck’s tall running board and gave him a peck on the cheek through the open window. Poor woman. She had terrible luck with men.
I wanted to be sure Reggie was safely on his way the other direction, back up the peninsula toward Camp Glooscap before I left. But he and Bunnie chatted away, completely oblivious to my hanging around. Bunnie’s side of the conversation appeared downright flirty. The image she’d seen on my monitor must have been too dark for her to recognize Reggie’s truck. Finally, I gave up waiting. Reggie was so rapt; it seemed the perfect time for me to make a break for it. I pulled past them from my parking spot.
As I waited for an opening in the traffic, Bunnie turned, pointed at me and shouted. She ran around and jumped into the passenger seat beside Reggie as he fired up his truck.
I screeched out of the parking lot, causing a station wagon with a full bike rack attached to slam on its brakes. Were they coming after me? I reached out, angled the side view mirror, and saw the nose of Reggie’s truck bulling itself forward, impatient for a break in traffic. He let three cars go by, then rocketed onto the road.
Bunnie must have understood what she’d seen on my monitor and told Reggie! I floored it, using so much body force pain shot up my leg from my throbbing left ankle. In my tote bag was the only piece of evidence that would exonerate Cabe.
I kept the pedal to the metal, but Mom’s car barely responded on the uphill grade. Three cars were between us, spread out on the hill, but Reggie was moving fast. The road into Busman’s Harbor was a two-lane highway and passing was permitted. Reggie easily overtook the car in front of him. Only two cars between us, and I didn’t have the power to pass a go-cart.
Bunnie and Reggie were in it together. Of course, they were. Both hated Stevie. He had stolen all Bunnie’s money and caused her husband’s suicide. He had given the campsite Reggie felt was his to the Parkers. Reggie loved Bunnie and would do anything for her.
Reggie’s truck pulled out to pass again, but was forced back by oncoming traffic. Another coin dropped. Reggie and Bunnie had been together at the clambake. That must have been when they’d planted the camera in the playhouse.
On his next try, Reggie passed the second car. He was speeding, tailgating the remaining car.
I tore my eyes from my side mirror. A turnoff or side road wouldn’t help me. I’d be trapped. I beat on my steering wheel, “Go, go, go you lousy piece of crap!” At last, I crested the hill. Not much farther to the harbor and all downhill.
A horn blasted so loud I jerked the wheel. Reggie was coming up right beside me. Headlights flashing, his massive chrome grill loomed in my side view mirror like a monster’s maw. Too close! He was going to run me off the road.
Reggie nudged ever closer, honking madly. Bunnie leaned out her window and yelled, gesticulating crazily toward the backseat of my car. What the hell?
Something closed around my throat, stifling my scream.
It took me a moment to realize what was happening. Someone in the backseat was trying to strangle me! I scratched wildly at the strong fingers with my right hand as I careened into the oncoming lane, forcing Reggie’s truck onto the far shoulder.
The hands squeezed tighter. I clawed behind me, trying to free myself, craning to see who it was, light-headed and desperate for air. Red bolts flashed behind my eyes. I stomped both feet on the brake and the Buick skidded sideways, veering back into the right lane. Reggie pulled beside me again. Through blurring eyes, I saw Bunnie aim a shotgun out her window.
The hands squeezed tighter and tighter. Reggie’s truck banged the side of my car, pushing it onto the shoulder. Trying to fight off my attacker with one hand, I jerked my wheel back with the other. But I was no match for Reggie’s beast of a vehicle. He slammed me again, harder. The Buick fishtailed wildly, tires shrieking, taking out both the Rotary Club and Kiwanis signs welcoming me to Busman’s Harbor. The car was airborne for a second before nose-diving into a culvert with the heavy crunch of metal and a brutal jolt. My door flew open. My body lurched to the left, but I didn’t fall out. The hands were still clamped around my throat like a vise. I hit out feebly, desperately trying to hang on to consciousness.
The loudest noise I’ve ever heard exploded next to me.
“Let her go or my next round won’t be in the air.” Bunnie aimed the shotgun over my head.
As I slid to the ground, the last thing I saw was Zach from the RV park, raising his hands in the air.
Chapter 41
I woke up in the hospital. My mother slept on the guest chair in my room. The sun was out.
“What time is it?” I croaked, though in truth I wasn’t sure what day it was. I hadn’t been completely unconscious the whole time. I vaguely remembered Jamie had been the first officer on the scene, and as soon as I recognized him, I knew I’d be all right. I’d tried so hard to find words to tell him what I knew, but couldn’t get them out.
My mother opened her deeply circled eyes and looked at the delicate watch on her wrist. “9:00 AM Friday.”
So I hadn’t lost a day. Everything had happened the previous evening. Mom leaped from the chair and arrived at my bedside in two steps. She kissed my forehead.
It was only then, looking at the love and concern in my mother’s eyes, I thought to wiggle my toes. I saw them moving under the lightweight hospital blanket—which meant my eyesight was fine, too. My fingers and arms also moved to my brain’s command. My head wagged from side to side. It was only after I did all these things that I began to feel the ache. My neck hurt. Swallowing made my throat feel like it was embedded with razor blades. My chest hurt, too. And my ankle. Slowly the neurons connected and I remembered my ankle had hurt before the crash.
“Lieutenant Binder?” My voice was a hoarse whisper.
“He’s been here, last night and early this morning. You’ll need to talk to him, but there’ll be time when you feel stronger.” She paused. “Christopher was here all night. I sent him back to the Dark Lady about an hour ago to get some sleep. He wouldn’t leave until he knew you were okay.”
Chris. I thought I’d dreamed his face, such a mask of worry and hurt. It brought tears to my eyes that I could cause him so much pain. I’d tried to tell him I was okay, but my voice didn’t work.
“Christopher,” I repeated. “Why do you call him that?”
“Is that not his name?”
She had me there. “Why don’t you like him, Mo
m? Why do I feel the weight of your judgment whenever his name is mentioned?”
Now I had her. I was her child, lying in a hospital bed, neck still ringed by the damage left by a man who’d tried to kill me. She would have to answer.
But instead she said, “Why do you care what I think?”
The question shocked me. She was my mother. Of course I cared.
She continued. “Do you think when I fell in love with your father, my family, such as it was, supported me?”
Her family, at that point, had been her father. Her mother was long dead and Hugh, the cousin who’d been brought up with her had disappeared. I’d always assumed my grandfather had objected to her romance with and marriage to my dad, though neither of my parents had ever said so to me directly. My father was a high school-educated son of a lobsterman and my mother was the college-educated descendent of a once-wealthy summer family.
“Did you ever regret it?” I asked. “Everything you gave up to marry Dad?”
My mother blinked. “Julia, whatever do you think I gave up?”
I wasn’t sure. Life in Boston or New York? A husband who provided a good living without coming to bed smelling, even slightly, of wood smoke and shellfish? My mother loved my father. She loved Livvie and me, and those things added together meant she loved her life. So what did I think she’d given up?
She’d given up belonging—anywhere. That’s what I’d always believed in my gut. She wasn’t a summer person or a townie. She’d lived two thirds of her life in Busman’s Harbor, yet would always be From Away. If she’d married the stockbroker or college professor or physician her father had no doubt imagined, would she have lived a life where she fit in?
I said it to her haltingly, having difficulty finding the words, and not just because of the pain in my throat. I didn’t want to offend or hurt her. But I had to know.