I meant that as a joke and thankfully they laughed. “Kind of,” Jamaica said. “We collect spores from mature seaweed and release them into a tank, where they settle on tubes wound with twine. They grow in a tank until they are ready to be transplanted.” She smiled at us. “If you’d like to see the process in person, you’re welcome to come check it out.”
Madison and I exchanged glances. “I would love that,” I said, and Madison nodded in agreement. Jamaica’s invitation was another opportunity to learn more about Hailey. Plus I was starting to find seaweed farming interesting, even if I still didn’t want to ingest any of the end product. “When would be a good time?”
Jamaica thought for a moment. “How about tonight, around five? We’re hosting a Business After Hours with the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Does that work for you, Madison?” The store closed at five, so I could make it.
Madison checked her phone. “I’m free. This afternoon, I was planning to start building our boat at the store. So we can go together from there.”
That’s right, we had the cardboard boat race coming up. Another adventure I’d somehow agreed to. But I left that for now and said, “I’d like to bring my grandmother along, if that’s okay. I know she’ll be interested.”
They agreed that Grammie was a welcome addition to the event and we left them to get back to work. Eleanor had said on the phone to come right in, so we entered the house through the French doors that led to the sitting room.
Voices drifting from the kitchen gave us an indication where to find Eleanor. “Have a seat, Auntie Eleanor,” Craig said, his voice booming in the high-ceilinged room. “I’ll find your glasses for you.”
“I can’t imagine where they went … but I need them to read the cookbook.” In contrast to her nephew, Eleanor sounded weak, almost frail.
“Aha,” Craig cried as we entered. He backed out of the refrigerator. “They were in the butter keeper.”
Eleanor put a trembling hand to her face. “What were they doing in there?” She took the wire-rimmed eyeglasses from him and put them on. “I don’t remember putting them inside the refrigerator.”
I rapped on the doorjamb, to warn them of our arrival. “Good morning. Craig. Eleanor.”
Craig looked as if he were inhaling the aroma of sour milk. “Hello. What are you doing here?”
“Um, er,” I said eloquently, not wanting him to know the real reason.
Madison stepped in, thankfully. “Iris’s grandmother wants your recipe for seafood chowder.” That had come up during dinner, when Eleanor said she made a lovely soup with fish, lobster, scallops, and clams.
“That’s right, I did promise dear Anne that recipe.” Understanding replaced confusion in the older woman’s eyes, I was glad to see. She began to leaf through the cookbook on the table, which was annotated with handwritten notes.
Probably bored by this discussion of cooking, Craig said, “I’m heading out, Auntie. Business to attend to.”
“Goodbye, Craig,” Eleanor said, her eyes not leaving the pages she was leafing through. She muttered under her breath as she searched.
He lingered in the doorway, scowling, as if he wanted to say more, but Eleanor kept her back resolutely turned. I gave him a big grin, hoping to irritate the man, who infuriated me. With a grunt, he flapped his hand in a wave and left.
Once he was gone, his footsteps receding and the French door closing behind him, Eleanor swiveled in her seat. “Now I remember. You’re here to see the compact.”
She hadn’t specified the item but I said yes, we were. “Anything to help us figure out Claudia’s background will be useful,” I said.
Eleanor rose. “Come with me.” She tapped the cookbook. “I’ll write out the recipe and give it to you later.”
She took us up the back stairs, which were right off the kitchen, handy for the servants who would have used them. We emerged in the upstairs hall. “My room is this way,” Eleanor said, leading us in the opposite direction of the guest wing.
As I’d experienced the last time I was there, roaming Shorehaven felt like stepping back in time. With the old-fashioned wallpaper and antique furnishings and fixtures, I could easily believe that nothing had changed since Eleanor’s childhood. Her room was more of a suite, with bedroom, sitting room, and en suite bathroom. Open French doors led to a balcony furnished with comfortable lounge chairs.
“My mother spent a lot of time out here,” Eleanor said, stepping outside. “She used to sit and read or do hand sewing. But she spent a lot of time looking at the view.”
“I don’t blame her,” I said, taking a deep breath of fresh, salty air. The view really was spectacular, south toward Blueberry Cove’s harbor and east to islands in the bay. Beyond them was the Atlantic, three thousand miles of ocean ending at the shores of Europe. Had Claudia thought about her home when she sat out here? Why hadn’t she ever returned? In those days, a trip to Europe might not be easy but it was far from impossible. And the Bradys had plenty of money, so it wasn’t due to lack of funds.
After enjoying the view for a few minutes, we went back inside. Eleanor rummaged through a carved highboy’s small jewelry drawer and withdrew a gold compact engraved with Claudia’s initials. “I forgot I had this,” she said, handing it to me. She grimaced. “It seems that I’m forgetting all kinds of things lately.”
I prayed it wasn’t anything serious. “What does your doctor think?” I asked gently.
She shook her head. “Dr. Morris said I was fine at my last checkup a couple of weeks ago. I’m only on one medication. And vitamins. Aren’t they supposed to help your memory?”
Only one medication, at her age. That was impressive, since many seniors had multiple prescriptions. I guessed Dr. Morris was Madison’s father.
“Don’t hesitate to go back,” Madison said. “Or call. Dad says he always wants to hear from his patients.”
“I’ll do that, dear.” Eleanor rummaged through the drawers again. This time she handed us a black-and-white postcard of a marching band dressed in berets and sashes. The watching crowd was a sea of white boaters. “That’s a postcard from the 1920 Olympics in Antwerp,” she explained. “Mother would have been ten.”
Evidence that suggested Claudia had grown up in Antwerp. As for the compact, the weight alone spoke to its value, as did the European gold hallmark—750—which meant 18-karat gold was used. This, like the clothing and sheets, was another object that would not normally belong to a working-class girl.
“And this,” Eleanor said, “is my mother.” The sepia-toned photograph showed a young Eleanor, about four years old, sitting between her parents. Walter was handsome, with dark, side-parted hair and a small moustache. Claudia had blonde wavy hair worn off a wide brow and killer cheekbones. Eleanor was a perfect mix of them both.
“You were so cute,” Madison said. “And your mom was a beauty.”
Eleanor smiled at the photograph. “She sure was, inside and out.”
I took quick snapshots of the items with my cell phone. “Lukas is going to help us research your mom’s background,” I said. “He’s from Antwerp, plus he knows French and Flemish. I hope that’s okay?”
After I handed them back, Eleanor placed the compact and the postcard in the drawer and shut it gently. “That’s wonderful. He’s such a nice young man.” She pursed her lips. “Despite what the police might think.”
She must be talking about his jacket, which the killer wore when pushing Hailey off the cliff. “Well, I have it on good authority that they aren’t making an arrest yet,” I said. “There isn’t enough evidence.”
Eleanor smoothed the bureau scarf, which was fine linen edged with lace. “I wonder how long it will take.” She turned to face us. “The whole thing is very disturbing. At least they finally finished searching the house. I thought Craig was going to have a heart attack, he was so furious at the intrusion.”
I had a realization. “You mean Hailey’s room isn’t off-limits anymore?”
�
��No, they released it,” Eleanor said. Her brow furrowed. “They told me I could pack up her things any time I want.” She shivered. “But I haven’t been able to make myself go in there. I guess I’m a wimp.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” I said. Packing up a victim’s clothing and effects wasn’t a task any rational person would want to do. “But Madison and I will help you.” And take the opportunity to look for clues. I was sure the police had already removed anything obvious or important, like her laptop, but we might find something to help us figure out who killed her.
“Would you do that for me?” Eleanor sounded grateful. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
“We have time to do it now,” Madison said. “If that works.”
Eleanor agreed that now was perfect and led us to the other wing. Decorated in blue and white, Hailey’s room featured a canopy bed, an armchair reading area by a fireplace, and a private bathroom.
My belly clenched at the sight of the bed, the covers pulled back on one side and one pillow still indented. Untouched since that fateful morning. But by all appearances, she had slept alone, which eased the tension in my belly a trifle. Maybe Brendan was off the hook.
I glanced around the rest of the room, noticing discarded clothing hung over a chair and shoes scattered across the carpet. An empty area on the desk surrounded by books and folders spoke of where a laptop had once sat.
Eleanor turned on the light in the bathroom, which had only one tiny, high window, revealing a few toiletries on the vanity and used towels hanging over the shower curtain rod. “As the only woman, she got the one guest room with an attached bathroom. Sometimes men can be slobs.”
“You’ve got that right,” Madison said. She opened a closet door and pulled out a suitcase. “We’ll pack everything inside this. How’s that?”
Eleanor sucked in a breath. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” She blinked rapidly against the tears brimming in her eyes. “Maybe I’m a foolish old woman, but I’m just devastated over Hailey’s death. Such a waste.”
I hugged Eleanor briefly, her bones delicate and bird-like in my arms. “I understand perfectly. That’s why Madison and I aren’t going to let this go. The truth needs to come out.”
Eleanor dashed tears away with the back of her hand with a tiny laugh. “I’m so grateful to you both.” She darted at me, then Madison, pecking us on the cheeks. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
Madison picked up the suitcase and set it on the bed, open like a clamshell. “She is such a sweetheart. I wonder if she would adopt me.” She laughed to indicate she was joking. Madison had two sets of wonderful grandparents already.
“Seriously,” I said. “I love her too.” I glanced around with a sigh, not exactly looking forward to our task. “I guess we’d better get to work.”
Working together, we cleared the bathroom and folded Hailey’s clothes, checking each pocket for clues. We didn’t find much, only a crumpled dollar bill in one jacket pocket and a receipt from the Bean tucked in her jeans. Then we tackled the desk. The folders and books were related to the aquaculture project, which made sense. I flipped through a notebook but only found scribbles from lectures about seaweed.
“Wow,” Madison said, picking up the books to pack them. “She certainly was a dedicated student.”
“Seems that way,” I said. “But remember, her personal life and entertainment are probably on her devices. Even any novels she was reading.” In the interest of being thorough, I got down on my hands and knees and looked under the desk. There, in the back, I saw a small rectangle and reached for it.
It was a matchbook. I backed out from underneath, gripping it in my fingers. “Look at this, Madison.” The cover depicted a line drawing of a stone castle with turrets. I read the gold embossed script below, “Château de Mount-Gauthier. In Rochefort, Belgium.”
“Fancy,” Madison said. “Maybe she stayed there.”
Something didn’t sit quite right. “On a student’s budget?” I pulled out my phone and looked it up, learning that the hotel was an exclusive resort and spa. It was also totally gorgeous, perfect for a romantic getaway. On impulse, I snapped pictures of the front and back of the matchbook. Yes, I was grasping at straws, but we hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary in here. Except for maybe this matchbook.
The sound of a door shutting followed by footsteps in the hallway caught my attention. I peeked out through the partially open door to see Lukas striding down the hallway. Maybe he could shed light on the matchbook.
“Hey, Lukas,” I called. “Can I talk to you a second?”
He stopped and pivoted on his heel, waiting until I caught up to him. I showed him the picture of the matchbook on my phone, enlarging it. “Do you know if Hailey ever went there?” She might well have found the matchbook somewhere and picked it up.
A crease appeared between his brows. “I don’t. But”—muttering the name of the hotel, he tapped a finger on his chin—“something about the place rings a bell.” His frown deepened. “But I can’t remember what, exactly.” After a few more seconds, he nodded. “Tell you what, let me think about it. Okay?”
I watched him continue down the corridor, hoping that he would recall where and how he’d heard about the resort. Until then, we were exactly in the same position as before. Nowhere.
CHAPTER 12
Four o’clock that afternoon found me helping Madison build our cardboard boat. She’d located a couple of huge cardboard boxes somewhere and managed to get them to the store in her Mini. Then we’d taken over the side room as we measured, cut, and glued a little boat barely large enough to hold us both.
“This is really going to work?” I asked with skepticism as Madison slathered glue onto a cross-brace. She set it in place and I helped push it down to make the glue hold.
“Long enough for us to finish the race,” she said, which wasn’t really reassuring. “We’re going to cover all the seams with duct tape, which will help.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I watched tons of videos, plus talked to last year’s winners.”
While she cut another brace to size, I looked again at the plan she had sketched. Wrapping-paper rolls would form the mast, and I had a plain apron we could use as a sail. To carry out the catboat theme, a cardboard cat’s head and tail would adorn the craft fore and aft. And, instead of a solid color, we planned to paint the boat cream with orange stripes, like Quincy’s coat. It would be eye-catching and cute, that was for sure. I just wasn’t sure it would float.
As if he knew he was the inspiration for our work, Quincy sat regally nearby, watching. I reached out and fluffed the soft fur under his chin. “What do you think of our boat?” I asked him. He butted my hand with his head, purring in approval. We didn’t have time to take him home before the lab tour, so he’d be staying here until later.
Out in the main room, Grammie was waiting on the few customers we had. Although we’d seen some new faces, the festival was the main draw in town this afternoon. Who could blame people? The weather was spectacular. I’d rather be outside myself.
“Hold this, will you?” Madison asked. She pushed another brace into place and squirted glue while I held the piece steady. “After the tour we’ll come back here to tape and paint.” The race was tomorrow afternoon so we were really cutting it close.
Grammie appeared in the doorway. “Iris, you have company.” She moved aside to reveal Lars Lavely, local reporter for the Blueberry Cove Herald.
Great. Of course Lars had tracked me down. Hailey’s demise was big news for a publication that usually featured committee meeting minutes and photographs of children eating ice cream cones. Sweet small-town stuff, but not exactly hard news.
“Hey, Lars,” I said. “What brings you by?” I said that to make him work for it.
The reporter, who was short and bearded with dark-rimmed hipster glasses, sauntered into the room without answering my question, a knowing smile on his face. “Madison. Glad you’re here too. I can talk to b
oth of you.” Without invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, allowing a hint of sarcasm into my tone. In general, though, I wanted to stay on good terms with Lars. Playing nice had gotten us some good coverage in a paper that everyone read, locals and visitors alike.
Naturally he wanted quotes about our discovery of Hailey. We made our statements about the actual event as bland as possible, trying to be discreet and not sensationalize the event. Lars could do that all by himself.
“So, did you see anyone else up there that morning?” Behind the glasses, his eyes were alight with reporting fervor.
The part of me that always answered questions—am I well-trained or what?—wanted to share seeing Theo, Patrick’s boat, and then later, Lukas. But I refrained, not wanting to point fingers in the newspaper. It was up to the police to disclose that type of information. “There were a few walkers on the cliffs,” I said. “But I didn’t see Hailey with anyone. Remember, the sun was just coming up. Not the best visibility.” Madison echoed my evasion. “And make sure you say how shocked and saddened we are,” I added. “It’s a real tragedy.”
With a disappointed shrug, Lars made a final note. “Well, I guess that’s it.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Got to go. On deadline.”
“Don’t let us hold you up,” I said, warming the words with a smile. Phew. That ordeal was over.
Lars rushed out, brushing past Grammie with a nod. “Iris, I just put out the closed sign,” she said, “and I’m going to cash out. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“We’ll only be a few more minutes,” I said. The last task right now was to make the mast. For the sail, I’d starched the apron until the skirt was stiff, so it’d stand straight out. We couldn’t rely on wind to make it look like a sail. In fact, I was hoping it wouldn’t be windy during the race. Swells and a headwind would make paddling much more difficult.
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