by Emma Belmont
“Who?” Maris asked, her pulse quickening.
“Dr. Rossi,” he said, then took another puff.
Her eyes widened. “Are you sure it was him?”
“I wasn’t at first,” he admitted. “He wasn’t wearing that white doctor’s coat he usually wears. But my eyesight’s pretty sharp. It was him, all right.”
“What was he doing? Did you get a good look?”
“Oh yes,” Slick said, nodding sagely. “He’d gotten himself into a bit of a fix.”
“What do you mean?”
“Somehow he’d managed to get onto the yacht but it had drifted a little and dropped a foot or two with the tide change. By the time I showed up, he was jumping up and down on the deck trying to reach the pier’s ladder.”
Maris leaned back on her crate. “Good grief,” she muttered. It sounded like something that could have happened to her.
“So I brought Seas the Day alongside the yacht,” Slick continued, “and helped the doctor climb aboard and took him back to the pier. Must have been in some hurry. Rushed off without a word of thanks.”
Maris pursed her lips. “No doubt he was preoccupied.”
“Maybe,” Slick said, noncommittally.
“But why are you telling me this?” Maris asked. “Surely this is something to bring up with the sheriff.”
“Eventually, sure,” Slick conceded, peering out at the ocean. The full circle of the moon floated on its inky surface. “But I wanted to let you know first, give you a chance to run through it all with that brain of yours.”
“Why?” she asked.
Slick leaned forward, fixing her with a piercing gaze. “Because,” he said, his tone hushed and conspiratorial, “you’re one of the magic folk. The sheriff is first-rate, but I don’t think he really fathoms our little town. The doc isn’t one of the magic folk either.” He sat back. “You follow your heading, Maris. It’ll lead you to the truth.”
“You know,” she mused, thinking back on that afternoon, “at the credit union, after Edwin died, Dr. Rossi made a comment about whale watching. I thought it was a little strange, and it’s stuck with me. And now you’re saying he was on Edwin's yacht after he died. Interesting.”
“Interesting indeed,” Slick agreed.
13
As usual the next morning, Maris woke up before her alarm. Though she couldn’t remember dreaming about her conversation with Slick, she must have since it was immediately top of mind. The doctor had to be connected to Edwin Martin’s death in some way other than the obvious—being the first medical person to see the body. But how he could be linked with the manager’s demise wasn’t clear, at least not with the information at hand. She had to keep digging, but she also knew she needed to let Mac know.
When she turned on the nightstand lamp, Mojo stirred at her feet. He raised his head to look at her but then let it flop back down on her ankle.
“Good morning to you too,” she said quietly.
As she reached for her phone where it was plugged in next to the lamp, the bedroom suddenly vanished. For just a moment she wondered if the lamp had gone out, and then she could smell a barbecue. Though this had only happened once before, Maris recognized her precognition ability.
She was no longer in her bedroom at the lightkeeper’s house. It was the crowded, wood-paneled interior of Delia’s Smokehouse in Pixie Point Bay’s plaza. Though she hadn’t been there recently—in service of her diet—she’d know it anywhere. The smell of grilled fish continued to intensify, enough to make her mouth water. The din of conversation and clinking of silverware filled her ears.
But as quickly as it had begun, the vision of the future ended and instead she heard her cellphone ringing. The caller ID said it was Mac. She blinked a few times before answering.
“Mac” she said, sitting up. “Good morning.”
“Good morning,” he said. “I hope I’m not calling too early.”
“Not at all. Early mornings are standard around here.”
“Good,” he said. “Let me get right to the point. I have some news about the Edwin Martin case.”
“Information?” Maris asked.
“So to speak,” he replied. “And I wanted you to hear it from me.”
Maris frowned, and Mojo lifted his head to stare at her. Mac sounded so serious. “What is it?” she asked, almost not wanting to know.
“It’s Dr. Rossi,” he told her. “He was struck by a vehicle behind the clinic. Hit and run.”
Maris’s hand flew to her mouth. “Oh no, is he…”
“He was unconscious but alive when the paramedics took him.”
She let out a breath. “Oh thank goodness.” Mojo sat down next to her hip, and put a paw on her leg. She absently ran her fingers over the top of his head. “I can’t imagine this is coincidence.”
“I’m not saying the two things are connected,” Mac said, “but I’d have to agree.”
Finally she recalled what Slick had told her. “I have some information for you, too,” Maris said, her mind racing. “Is there some place we can meet to talk in person?”
“Yes,” Mac replied immediately. “I’m at the medical clinic right now. The EMTs just left. If you want, we can meet here.”
“Okay, yes. Perfect. I’ll be there ASAP.” There was a pause, and she added, her tone softening, “Thanks, Mac. I appreciate your calling.”
“You’re welcome, Maris,” he replied, and hung up.
Maris picked up Mojo before she swung her legs over the side of the bed. But when she put her foot down, it landed on something soft and squishy. She yanked her foot back up and peered at the floor. There, on the ornate Persian rug, was what looked like a velvet banana.
“What in the world?” she muttered. With Mojo tucked under her arm, she reached down and picked it up. To her surprise, it was a velvet banana. But as she held it up to the light, she saw some lettering stitched along its side: Catnip.
“Mojo,” she said, reprovingly.
His toys were everywhere. But despite the fact that she’d stumbled across a number of them, she never saw the same one twice.
“Where are you hiding all these?” she asked him.
But his only answer was a plaintive mewing, as he looked from the toy to her.
“Here you go,” she said, putting them both on the floor. He immediately flopped down on top of it.
Maris went into the bathroom to run the shower, but paused to eye the scale on the floor. As usual, it was looking squatly malevolent. One of the few advantages of living in hotel rooms for your job was never having to be confronted with these things. But here it was again, glaring at her. Well, she was not going to be intimidated.
She stepped over to it, then on top of it, and watched the digital number appear.
“Up one pound?” she said, almost wailing.
She stepped off and used her foot to nudge it into the corner, as far as it could possibly go. Tomorrow she’d find a place for it in the closet.
14
Just as it had been yesterday, Maris noted that the lobby of the Pixie Point Bay Medical Clinic was empty except for Jill Maxwell. Yet somehow it felt different. Perhaps it was the fact that she knew the doctor was fighting for his life, or maybe it was the anxious look that the nurse practitioner gave her.
“I’m sorry,” Jill said, “the clinic is closed for the day. There’s been an accident. The doctor isn’t available.”
“I know,” Maris said, closing the door behind her. “That’s why I’m here. Sheriff McKenna asked me to meet him.”
“Oh,” Jill said, relaxing a little. “Well, that’s a relief. The sooner this is sorted out, the sooner I can start to see patients who don’t want to wait for Dr. Rossi.”
“I totally understand,” Maris told her.
Jill looked down the hallway that led to the exam room. “He’s in the–” A door a few feet further down opened and Mac exited. “Well, here he is.”
The sheriff strode down the hall directly to Maris. “I’m gla
d you could make it,” he said. “Thanks for coming so quickly.”
“Of course,” she said. “Anything that I can do to help.”
He turned to the nurse. “Jill, I’m going to bring Maris to the back for a minute, all right?” Jill nodded, and without another word the sheriff turned on his heel, motioning for Maris to follow him. “I think you’re going to want to see this.”
Her curiosity piqued, Maris followed him past the examination room and into a small maintenance room no bigger than a closet. Mounted on the desk was an old-fashioned video monitor, and next to it a stack of sleek, black electronic boxes. On the screen was a grainy, black and white image that could only have come from a security camera.
“We were going through the security footage earlier this morning,” Mac said, leaning down toward the electronics, “and we found this.” He pressed a play button on one of the boxes, and the image began to move. Maris peered over the sheriff’s shoulder at the screen, having to squint to make out the grainy shapes. “This was taken from the alley around the back of the clinic,” Mac said, leaning forward as the two of them watched the footage.
“That has to be Dr. Rossi,” Maris said, pointing to the white-clad figure emerging from the left side of the frame. She understood what she was about to see and swallowed in a dry throat.
“Right,” Mac said, and they stared at the pixelated figure as he made his way down the alley to where a car was parked. Nothing seemed out of the ordinary, which only made Maris more nervous. But one second later, there was a bright flash of light and the doctor was illuminated at waist level. It had to be the headlights of a car.
“Move,” Maris urged him. “Move.”
The rest happened in quick succession: a car sped into the scene; Dr. Rossi waved his arms frantically; then he tried to dive out of the way; the car struck him and he flew out of the frame, along with the car.
Her hand flew to her chest, and it was all she could do not to shriek. The poor doctor.
In front of her, Mac hadn’t seen her reaction. He paused the footage then reversed, zooming in so they could get a better look at the windshield. The figure behind the wheel was shrouded in darkness and wearing black gloves, his or her face unidentifiable.
“Any idea who that is?” Mac asked.
Squinting it at, Maris shook her head. “I’m afraid not. I can’t see enough of the driver, and I don’t recognize the car.”
“Actually, we have a positive confirmation on the license plate. That’s Edwin Martin’s car.”
Maris gave him an incredulous stare. “More than a little macabre,” she said. A dead man’s car had been used to try to kill another. “How is the doctor doing?”
“Stable,” Mac replied, his brow furrowing. “They have him in a medically-induced coma in Cheeseman Village. Apparently he arrived with multiple fractures and internal bleeding. They’re not sure if he’s going to make it.”
Maris had to wince. “I can’t say I’m surprised after seeing that footage. But I’ll keep a good thought for him.”
“Your turn,” Mac said, straightening up and crossing his arms. “You said you had some information of your own.”
“I do,” Maris replied, taking a step back from the monitor. “I talked to Slick Duff last night. He said he saw the doctor on Edwin Martin’s boat yesterday.”
“On his boat?” Mac said, stroking his chin for a moment. “That’s very interesting.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Because we went through Dr. Rossi’s possessions,” he said. “On his person were transdermal patches. You know, the kind you use to quit smoking…or to control seasickness.”
The gears in Maris’s head were already turning. “Do you think he was planning to be at sea by trying to steal the yacht? It sounds like he had a bone to pick with Edwin.”
“I don’t know,” replied Mac, pushing the door open and leading her back to the lobby. “We’re having the patches sent in for testing. I’ll let you know once the lab results come in.”
“Thank you, Mac,” Maris said, feeling at last like the pieces were starting to come together. She would like to have chatted longer too, except that she could see out the window that Millicent Leclair was under the gazebo in the Towne Plaza.
“Listen,” she said, “I’ve got to go. Thank you for the information, Mac. If I find out anything else, I’ll let you know.”
“Thanks, Maris,” Mac replied. “I’d appreciate it.”
15
As Maris approached the gazebo, Millicent gave an excellent imitation of being surprised. “Maris,” she exclaimed, despite having watched her walk over. “What brings you into town again?”
“I was visiting the clinic,” Maris replied, deciding not to add, as you well know. “The sheriff asked me to meet him.”
“Oh he did, did he?” Millicent said, in that tone of voice that said she’d catalogued that fact away for later. “I have to say, I’m worried about that poor doctor. The ladies and I heard he was in some kind of a car crash?”
Maris considered for a moment before replying. In this negotiation, she had the upper hand.
“You might say I have some insight into what happened to the doctor,” she began slowly. “I wouldn’t call it especially perceptive, like maybe seeing, say, his spiritual energy. But I might have seen something else.”
Millicent’s eyes narrowed to slits. “I see,” the older woman said through tight lips.
Maris smiled at her. “I know you do.” Millicent inclined her head slowly, as if in acknowledgement. “I’ll tell you what,” Maris continued. “I can tell you what I know about the doctor, if you’ll tell me why Helen said Edwin Martin was murdered.”
“Oh, that’s not a problem,” Millicent said, seeming like her old self. “We’d been watching that one for months. Little revelations regarding his vile business practices kept coming to light, like the muck from an overturned stone. The longer we observed him, the more he showed his true nature. It was only a matter of time before we could prove something.” She sniffed and drew herself up. “Of course, I knew it years ago. His aura screamed it.”
Now the older woman sat back, primly placing her hands on her knees, and pointedly looked at Maris.
“It wasn’t a car accident,” she said, choosing her words carefully. By the time the day was done, this information would have reached the ears of all the other ladies in the crochet club, and who knows how much farther. “It was a hit-and-run.” Millicent gasped. “At least, that’s what it looked like on the security camera video.” Maris paused for effect, looking left and right before leaning in. “But here’s where it gets really strange.” Millicent came forward on her seat. “Whoever it was who ran the doctor over, they did it with Edwin Martin’s car.”
Millicent opened her mouth as if to say something, but quickly closed it, blinking and then coughing as though she’d just swallowed a fly. Although Maris smiled inwardly, she couldn’t blame her; even someone with the aura reader’s gift wouldn’t have been able to see that one coming.
As Maris crossed the rest of the Towne Plaza, still enjoying the moment with Millicent, her phone rang. She took it out of her purse, and was surprised at who was calling.
“Genie,” Maris said, “where in the world are you?”
“Freaking Heathrow,” Genie said, her voice a little raspy and deep.
Maris scowled as she continued her walk. “Still?”
“Yes, still,” her former boss said. “I had to sleep at the gate because, get this, the company didn’t want to pay for a hotel next to the airport.”
If Maris could count the number of times that Luguan Imperial Resorts had pinched a penny at her expense, she’d count well into the hundreds.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Maris said, and she was—but not too sorry. This was part and parcel of the trade. Travel was never a slam dunk.
“Look, I’m getting a lot of pressure from Pam, but I don’t have time for another hiring search and recruiters who can’t deliver. S
he’s willing to give you a bonus on the Napa property.”
Pamela Watson was Genie’s boss. Maris had only met her once, in Miami. She’d struck her as a slave to the ledger, someone who saw the bottom line with a lot more focus than the people it represented.
“Genie, I’m sorry,” Maris said, arriving at her car. “But these calls are really just a waste of your time. I’ve got a new life now. The company is in the past. I hope you can see it from my point of view.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Genie said, sounding exhausted. “All right. I’ve got to go find some congealed pasta or a burned burger or something.”
With a generous helping of saturated fat on the side, Maris thought grimly.
“Good luck, Genie,” she said, “and happy landings.”
16
Back at the B&B, breakfast was over, but the grumbling in Maris’s stomach could no longer be ignored. She opened the refrigerator and, to her delight, found that Cookie had saved a chocolate croissant for her.
“Bless you, Cookie,” she said quietly.
As she steeped some herbal tea, Maris slowly savored the buttery, flaky pastry. It was an indulgence, to be sure, but how could she turn down home baking from the amazing chef?
She couldn’t.
While she sipped her tea, she took a few moments to go over the B&B’s to-do list: making the beds, replacing towels, cleaning the bathrooms, and emptying the trash were always at the top. Cookie usually took care of the towels and bathrooms. Maris made the beds and took out the trash.
She polished off the last chocolaty morsel, finished her tea, and loaded her plate into the empty dishwasher. Because she’d already seen the open parking slots outside, she knew that the guests were out and about. Now would be the perfect time to make the beds and take out the trash. Since the B&B was running at less than half occupancy, it took only a matter of a couple hours or so for Maris to complete her chores. She could see that Cookie had finished hers as well, and spied her in the herb garden behind the property. Bear was with her, moving some bags of potting soil.