"Gus Hodges? Having an affair?"
"Shh!"
"Lighten up. I'm in the back room."
"With Alex?"
"No," she said. "He's off taking pictures. Again."
I finished dicing the peppers and added them to the bowl with the cucumbers, then reached for the radishes and rinsed them in the sink. "I’m so sorry, Charlene."
"I just have to get used to it, I guess. Maybe my standards are too high."
I whacked off the green tops of the radishes. "They're not too high."
"Are you sure? I just... I had this fantasy... but no, never mind."
I set to work dicing radishes, letting some of my frustration with Alex fuel me, and slid the red and white chunks into the bowl. "This fantasy that your boyfriend would want to spend as much time as possible with you?"
"Yeah," she said. "That."
I grabbed a sweet onion from the basket and cut off the ends, then discarded the skin. "It's not a fantasy. He's only here for a few days; I think it's a reasonable expectation.”
"You do? He's not even having dinner with me tonight," she confessed. "He's going out on a nighttime photography trip with some guy from Mount Desert Island. They're trying to catch seals in the moonlight or something."
"And he didn't invite you?"
"Nope."
"Talk to him about it," I said as the knife cut through the onion. "If he can't make you a priority, he's not worth your time."
"But who else am I going to find to date?"
"You know," I said, "if you have to take a part-time job in Portland, do it. I hate to sound like a broken record, but I really think you need to go online to see if you can meet someone closer to home."
" It just seems so... I don't know."
"I know." I slid the onions into the bowl, admiring the bright colors of the fresh, diced vegetables, then retrieved cilantro and a couple of limes from the fridge. "But you live on an island. How else are you going to mingle?"
She sighed. "Maybe I will. I just... I just feel sort of heartbroken over Alex. It's silly, I know... we didn't even spend that much time together."
"You had a lot invested in him emotionally," I said as I rinsed the cilantro and laid it on the cutting board.
"I'm still not sure I'm ready to move on," she warned me.
"I get that," I said as I chopped the cilantro. "But it might be nice to remind yourself that he's not the only man in the world. And hopefully," I added, "you can do it without moving to Portland."
She sighed. "It's no wonder really if Ingrid did get mixed up with Gus. I mean, ninety percent of the men on this island smell like herring!"
"She is married," I reminded her.
"I know," she said. "But now that I think of it, she had perked up since the Hodges moved to the island. Actually... you know what? I'll bet they are having an affair."
I slid the cilantro into the bowl of chopped veggies, then added the cooked crabmeat from the tub in the fridge. "Why do you say that?"
"I think they knew each other in college. Gus was in here one day, picking up milk and eggs, and Ingrid walked in… and he recognized her. They both went to Bowdoin."
To finish the salad, I halved a couple of limes and squeezed them over everything, topping it all off with a dollop of olive oil and some salt and pepper before wrapping up the bowl and tucking it into the fridge. I'd slice the avocados just before dinner, adding a scoop of crab salad to each half. "Do you think Ingrid's the reason the Hodges moved to Cranberry Island?" I asked as I worked.
"I can't see Francine picking it," Charlene said. "And I don't think Gus had a lot of say."
"He didn't seem to have an opportunity to say much of anything," I said, closing the fridge. "Still, it's the only explanation I can think of for why the Hodges ended up here. He did say the isolation of the place was a plus, after the death threats."
"Death threats?"
I rinsed the cutting board in the sink as I spoke. "They got them in Florida, and here, too. I can't believe I didn't tell you!"
"What kind of threats?"
"On postcards sent from Bar Harbor—at least the ones from here were from Bar Harbor," I said. "I don't know about the ones in Florida."
"Did Gus give them to the investigators?"
"No," I said.
"Weird."
"I thought so, too.” I dried the cutting board and wiped down the counter. "I kind of razzed him about it today. Do you think maybe Ingrid got mixed up in things?"
"You mean she sent the threatening letters?"
"That would explain why he was worried about giving them to the police," I said as I finished tidying up the kitchen.
"Do you think... do you think maybe Ingrid did in Francine?"
"She's gone to some lengths for people she loved in the past," I mused. "It's entirely possible. Maybe she was just angry, and it all went wrong?"
"Maybe Ingrid was supposed to meet Gus for an assignation and Francine showed up instead."
I gazed out the window in the direction of the co-op. "He was standing on the beach, in just the same place, before he went through the woods to meet Ingrid."
"I can't believe Ingrid might be a murderer," Charlene breathed.
"Hold on there," I said. "Most of the yoga retreat is from Florida. There's a good chance one of them was involved; after all, someone sent threats when they lived in Florida, too. Plus, she died only hours after turning up at the inn."
"Why would that be?"
"Maybe she recognized someone. Maybe whoever it was was afraid she'd go to the police, and that's why the murder happened that night."
"But why was she by the co-op?" Charlene asked.
"That's a very good question," I said. "I may have to go ask her that myself."
"She could be a murderer," Charlene reminded me. "Maybe it was Ingrid who attacked the goats, not Francine."
"She does hate the goats," I said.
"All I'm saying is, be careful."
Charlene was right. I hated to think of Ingrid being a killer, but I couldn't rule it out.
"I'll figure something out," I said. As I spoke, the back door opened, and John walked in. "Gotta run... catch you later?"
"Anytime, Nat."
As I hung up, John slung himself into one of the kitchen chairs.
"You look kind of glum," I said.
"You could say that," he told me. "They just charged Claudette with murder."
17
I sat down across from him, feeling deflated. I'd known it was probably coming—after all, she was in custody—but it was still a gut punch. "Have you talked to the detectives?"
He nodded. "No alibi. A threat. I think the knife in Francine’s hand clinched it for motive."
"I knew it," I said. "Still... why would Claudette have left the goats there if they were wounded?"
"I asked that. They said it seemed like a lot of work for someone her age to corral the goats and lug that tire around. They may downgrade it to manslaughter, but still..."
"It's still a lot of time. Meanwhile, whoever really did it is free to murder again. Do they think she's connected to what happened to Rainy?"
"They're calling that an accident caused by a Klonopin overdose," he said.
"I'm not buying it."
"Me neither," he said. "Any news here?"
"A bit," I said, and told him what I'd seen in the woods near the co-op.
He gaped at me. "Ingrid and Gus? Seriously?"
"They went to Bowdoin together a long time ago. Charlene said Ingrid's been looking particularly spiffy lately. I'm not sure she was the one I saw with Gus—I only saw her from behind—but there aren't that many blondes on the island, so that's the working theory."
"Ingrid Sorenson. The keeper of island mores, breaking her wedding vows. But with Gus Hodges?"
"We don't know that for sure," I reminded him. "And men aren't exactly thick on the ground here; Charlene complains about that all the time." I'd gotten lucky, though, I thought, drinking in t
he handsome specimen across the table from me. "Besides, you and I both know love is blind. I mean, look at Catherine and Murray."
"I think the blinders are totally off on that one," John said.
"Uh-oh."
"I heard them arguing earlier. He's said either they're exclusive or he's done."
"What did she say?"
"She didn't," he said.
As he spoke, Catherine walked in. She looked at John and narrowed her eyes. He looked like a ten-year-old boy who had just been caught with his hand in the cookie jar. "Are you talking about me?" she asked.
"We were just wondering about your new beau," I replied for him.
"You were wondering what happened between Murray and me, too, I'm guessing," she said, pulling up a chair at the table. "What happened is, I don't like the way he does business."
"Are you talking about the deal he was doing with Francine... the pier project?"
She nodded. "Values are important to me. I didn't like this island when we came here years ago," she said, looking at John, "but I've become quite fond of it." She glanced over her shoulder. "Murray was trying to push people into bad decisions," she said. "I didn't like it. He said that's how business is done. I said if that's how business is done, I want no part of it... or him."
"And where does Nicholas come in?" I asked.
"Ah, Nicholas. Originally, he was just... I don't know.” She shrugged. "To make Murray jealous, I guess. To try to bribe him in my own way, I have to confess." She blushed a little. "But the thing is, I really like him."
I could see why. He was handsome, attentive, and, if his yacht was any indication, not in any danger of going to the poorhouse. Certainly, at least from external appearances, he seemed like a step up from Murray.
"Do you know what you're going to do?" I asked.
"No," she said. "But I told Murray I wouldn't see him if he had anything to do with the pier."
"What did he say?"
"That it was business," she said.
"That doesn't bode well," I replied.
She grimaced. "That's what I thought."
"I have a question on another topic," I said, thinking of Ingrid. "But you can't tell anyone I asked."
"My lips are sealed," she said. "What is it?"
"I know you and Ingrid have had coffee a couple of times," I told her.
"We have," she agreed. "Largely talking about the pier. She was against it, and I was on her side. She was also angry at Francine Hodges for coming in and stirring everything up. She felt that outsiders should live here for a while before trying to put their stamp on things.” She looked pensive. "I kind of agree with her, now." She blinked. "But what about her?"
"Did you know that she and Gus Hodges were at school together?"
"No," she said, looking surprised. "Ingrid never mentioned that." My mother-in-law pursed her lips. "She did say how sorry she felt for him, though. How hard it must be to live under a tyrant like Francine."
John and I exchanged glances.
"Why?" Catherine asked.
"I think I saw them today," I told her. "Gus and Ingrid."
"Wait," Catherine said. "Together?"
I nodded. "They were in the woods by the co-op," I told her. "Has she said anything about her own marriage?"
Catherine shook her head. "Not really. Only... well, only that she and her husband didn't spend a lot of time together." She smiled. "She told me once she was a little jealous of Murray and me. That their idea of a romantic night was watching Jeopardy! with the lights off."
I choked back a laugh and glanced at John. "Well, lately, ours seem to involve doing dishes and keeping our guests from throttling each other."
"Still more exciting than Jeopardy!" John added. "Plus, the company is riveting."
I blushed. Catherine ignored John's comment.
"Do you really think Ingrid might have something to do with what happened to Francine?"
"If Ingrid was seeing Gus, it's possible."
"You think she killed her out of jealousy?"
"I don't like to think it, but between that and Francine's determination to move the pier..." I shrugged.
"Aren't there any suspects in this yoga retreat of yours?" Catherine asked.
"A lot of them are from Florida," John commented.
"I can't find any connection between the participants and Francine, but I do know she was getting death threats in Florida," I said. "And according to one of the papers, someone tried to burn her house down."
"What?" John asked.
"They only succeeded in torching the garage."
"She was carrying a lighter when she died," John said thoughtfully. "Doesn't it seem suspicious that only the garage was lit? And that it was caught before the house went up in flames?"
"Are you suggesting Francine tried to burn down her own house?" I asked. "Why?"
"What did the article say?" John asked.
"Well, she claimed it was a woman who had tried to keep her from developing a piece of land..." I paused. "Wait. The co-op was trying to keep the pier from happening."
"But if it was her, the modus operandi is different," Catherine said. "In Florida, she set fire to her own house—assuming she was the one who did it. And here, she's attacking the co-op. If that was her intention, which is kind of hard to say. All she had was a lighter."
"The co-op is built of wood and soaked with old gasoline," John pointed out. "It wouldn't take much."
"That's true," I said, "but it's still far-fetched. There were threats against her, though, and someone spray-painted the back of the Hodges' house. I guess it could be Francine who did it. But why?"
"It sounds like she liked to stir controversy," Catherine said. "She certainly stirred things up here."
"I still think it's a stretch," I said. "But I do believe she was linked with someone at the retreat."
"Why?" Catherine asked.
"She came over to file charges against Claudette the evening before she died. But once she saw the retreat participants, she seemed to kind of cut things short and leave in a hurry."
"That does seem suggestive," John agreed.
"The thing is, the only person I can come up with who might have had a motive is a woman named Audrey Meadows, and she's not here."
"Could it be someone associated with her?" John asked.
I shook my head. "I have no idea," I told him. "I feel like we're jousting at windmills here."
He sighed. "I just wish we had some way to help Claudette."
"Me too," I said. "And I think it's time to talk to Ingrid."
"Today?" he asked.
"I've got the crab salad prepped for dinner," I told him. "Would you cover for me here?"
"Yes, but are you sure you don't want company?"
"I think she'll be more likely to talk to me woman to woman," I said.
"I don't like you going to talk to her alone, though," he said. "She could be a murderer."
"My gut tells me she isn't. I'll take my phone with me," I said. "I'll call you when I go in."
"I still don't like it," he said. "But I know better than to try to stop you."
* * *
Ingrid's house had recently been repainted a fresh white with sleek gray shutters. The geraniums on the porch were ringed with chicken wire now, but they still looked embattled; a few stalks had been chewed off, and one side of the pot by the door looked like it had had a run-in with a drunkard wielding hedge clippers. I loved Claudette, but Ingrid was right; her goats could be a menace.
I knocked on the front door, and Ingrid appeared a moment later, wearing a blue top the same color as the one I'd seen in the woods. Although she didn't usually wear makeup, today she had on a touch of pink lipstick and some mascara. My heart sank; it looked like my suspicions were correct.
"Natalie. What are you doing out here?" she asked, looking surprised.
"We hadn't visited in a while," I said. "I thought I'd drop by to say hello."
"Come in," she said, opening the door
wider. "I'll put on a cup of tea.” I stepped through and followed her through the tastefully decorated living room toward the kitchen. I sat down at her antique kitchen table as she filled a blue teakettle and put it on the stove.
"Where's your husband today?" I asked, hoping she'd tell me he wasn't in the house.
She rolled her eyes. "He's out fishing, of course. It's all he does anymore."
"Ah," I said, wondering how to broach a delicate subject. "You two have been married a long time, haven't you?"
"Since the dawn of time," she replied. "Assam tea okay?"
"Sounds good. Can I help?" I asked as she busied herself laying shortbread cookies out on a plate.
"I've got it," she told me as she set the plate on the table.
"Any news on the pier business?" I asked
"It's on hold," she said. "Although I doubt it will go through. Even though Murray's on board, I know Gus isn't a big fan of the project."
She'd given me the opening I was hoping for. "I hear you and Gus went to school together."
Her eyes widened a bit, and she froze with a tea bag in her hand. "We did," she said lightly, looking away from me. "Funny how coincidences happen! It was a long time ago, though."
"Did you know each other well at school?" I asked.
She shook her head and picked up two teacups. "Not really."
"So you just became close here on the island, then," I said.
She dropped the teacups. One of them just rolled around on the floor, but the other shattered. "Oh, no," she said, her hand over her mouth, and hurried to the pantry to retrieve a broom and dustpan.
I scooped up the intact cup as she swept up the shards.
"We're not close," she protested.
"I saw you and Gus today," I told her. "In the woods close to the pier."
"I... we were talking about the plans for the lobster co-op," she stammered, her face red. She wouldn't meet my eye.
"I saw you kiss him," I said. She stared at the floor. I put a hand on her arm. "I'm not going to say anything to your husband. That's for you two to work out. I just want to know if maybe you know anything else about what might have happened to Francine... if Gus said something to you that he wouldn't have said to me, or to the police."
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