by Agatha Ball
In other words, they had absolutely nothing on him. I shook my head. "Seemed like such a nice guy.”
Stan shrugged his shoulders. "You can never tell about a person.”
I leaned over the counter again. "Listen, Granny asked if I could check in on him. He’s new in town. She thought you wouldn't mind, thought maybe a woman's touch might even loosen up his tongue a bit.” I was making this all up as I was going along, but it seemed to make sense to Stan. I think he was just thrilled at the prospect of having someone handle the Nate problem for him.
“You turning into some angel of mercy?” asked Stan, taking another big bite.
I shrugged. "No fighting the power of Granny,” I replied in a conspiring tone.
"She makes a good cinnamon roll," he replied.
I didn't mention I was the one who baked now. "Sure does."
"What'd you say you bring me the rest of the leftovers tonight and I'll let you have a private interview with our prisoner?"
Seemed like a fair trade. I mean, other than that Nate should have been allowed visitors without having to bribe an officer of the law, but sometimes you gotta play the hand dealt ya. I hated to think I was taking food out of Johnny's belly, but maybe I'd take him out for hamburgers tonight to make up for it. "You got yourself a deal."
He took the keys from his side and tossed them to me. "I can only give you five minutes, though,” he said. "Visiting hours.”
“Totally,” I replied like I totally got where he was coming from. Five minutes?! The guy was rotting in a jail in Seaside.
Stan dug into the bag and pulled out a blueberry muffin. "Let yourself in. Just bang on the door when you want out."
"Sounds good," I replied, waving the keys at him.
I opened up the door that separated the front office from the jail area. Nate was sitting on the cot with his head in his hands. He looked up at me as I came in and I gotta say, he looked like crap. And it wasn't because of the pale green walls or awful fluorescent lights buzzing overhead, although neither was doing anybody any favors, either.
Nate's eyes were red and puffy. His face was swollen. He wiped away his eyes as soon as he saw me but didn’t get up. And as uncomfortable as that narrow, barely padded cot looked, that's saying something.
I walked over to the bars of the cell. “Hey!” I said. "How are you holding up?”
He smiled without humor. “You mean other than being accused of killing my uncle and being arrested for murder? Great. This is a really lovely bed and breakfast they set me up in, but I got to say, I’m looking forward to check out.”
"I figured that you probably had enough 'bed' in this joint and could use a little more of the 'breakfast'," I replied, opening up my backpack and pulling out a second bag of cinnamon rolls. "Watch out for the nail file I baked into each of these. Wouldn't want you to break your teeth."
That got a real smile from him. He stood up and took the paper bag as I squeezed it through the bars. "Sneaking contraband into a prison," he said. "I couldn't be more grateful."
I hooked my thumb back at the office. "They're idiots." I watched as he took a bite and closed his eyes to savor it.
"This is really good," he stated.
I realized my eyes were lingering on the way his thumb wiped the frosting off the corner of his lip. “Soooo... what happened?” I asked, trying to change the subject in my brain.
I kind of hated myself for taking him out of the moment. He sat back down on the cot. "After you left, they asked me some questions. Told me not to leave town, which of course I wasn't going to do. I needed to take care of my uncle's funeral and notify people and... well... all the stuff you have to do when you are the executor of an estate and a family member has died. And suddenly they showed up a few hours later and placed me under arrest for murder."
Everything he said rang true, and it wasn't the sexy convict or the finger licking swaying my opinion. "That's CRAZY," I said. "Do you need me to contact anyone? Let folks know where you are?"
"Do you know a good lawyer?" he asked without humor.
"No," I confessed.
"Me, neither," he replied. "I mean... I've never been accused of murder before."
We sat in silence for a moment. I mean, how do you even go about finding a lawyer when you've got something like this happening? It didn't seem like something you'd want to hire from the yellow pages or a park bench ad.
"It’s okay,” he said, leaning his forehead in his hands. "I was told I'm being kept on a 72-hour hold as they collect evidence. If they don’t find anything, I’m free to go. And if they do? Well... what do you villagers do to murderers here? Keel haul them? Stone them in the town square?”
"I don't know if our town has ever had a problem that couldn't be solved with a cookie and a beer."
"That'd be a nice way to go," he replied thoughtfully. "Death by insulin overdose and alcohol poisoning. Promise me you'll be the executioner."
"No one gives a person diabetes like me."
He gave me a sad smile. "Thank you for coming to see me. It means a lot."
Stan banged on the door. I guess my five minutes were up. I was surprised he had enough brain cells to tell time. He probably just made it to the bottom of the bag.
On impulse, I reached out and gripped Nate's hand. "It'll be okay. I'm going to make sure."
He sighed, but tried to put on a brave face. "I hope you're right."
Chapter Seven
I decided to walk my bike back to the shop rather than ride it. I just needed a minute to get my thoughts together. There was no way that Nate was the murderer. He didn’t have the eyes for it. He didn’t have the soul for it. He was kind and funny. There is no way that he could have killed a man he so obviously cared for. I mean, I guess everyone says it's always the one you least expect. Whenever the news has interviews with criminal's friends, they're always saying he was so quiet and lovely.
But this time was different.
I bent down to scratch my ankle as I felt a bug bite me.
Or was thinking "this time it was different" part and parcel to the whole denial thing?
I sighed. I didn't know what to think.
And I didn't have time to ponder anything more because a woman's voice called out. "Been to the jail, have ya?"
I stood up to see who it was. I simultaneously squashed down my dread and tried to look happy as I waved back. It was Marnie, the owner of the yarn shop, and Wanda, the blue-haired owner of the souvenir shop. They were out for a power walk, complete with matching visors. Both had cups of hot tea from our shop. They probably already got all the gossip straight from Granny's mouth.
"Do you think he did it?" shouted Wanda as they crossed the street toward me.
I knew I was in for it, one way or the other, so there was no point beating around the bush. "Something didn't feel right," I replied back.
"Darn," said Wanda as they drew beside me. She confessed to Marnie, "I was going to send him a thank-you basket."
Marnie smacked her in the arm in mock shock. "No speaking ill of the dead."
Wanda touched her hand to her heart. “I would NEVER speak ill of the dead,” she replied. She leaned my direction and said in a conspiring tone, "But I can name at least five people who will be throwing a party tonight.”
"And you said you didn't get my invitation," teased Marnie. They tittered and then pulled themselves back together. "Not that I would speak ill of the dead," continued Marnie, pointedly.
"What did Byron do?" I asked. "I mean, everyone keeps talking about how awful he was, but... was it just him? Or did he do something?"
Marnie took a long sip of her tea as Wanda pulled a flask out of her bra and added a little tipple onto the top of her drink. She then looked over her shoulder to make sure no one was listening in. “Oh, he was all high and mighty, living in that old house up on the hill."
"Which, may I state for the record," Wanda interrupted, "was absolutely beautiful once upon a time."
"So, while he couldn'
t even be bothered to take care of the place he had, he found this loophole and starts buying up half the street in Seaside," continued Marcie without missing a beat. "Then he starts jacking up the rent on everyone unfortunate enough to have a shop on the parcels he's picked up, as if any of us is rolling in the dough. Especially during the winter. It’s a miracle any of us survive the season, much less to suddenly be expected to hand over wads of cash to that skinflint." She leaned in. “Did you know he has not eaten ONCE at Yvette’s cafe. Not ONCE. That place has been an institution ever since her husband got hauled away.”
I couldn't really blame Byron too much on that front. Yvette wasn't exactly my favorite person on the island. For some reason, she saw our coffee shop as a direct competitor to her café. But her café had a walk-up window for ice cream, and featured sandwiches and a soda fountain. It had little marble-topped tables and black-and-white tiled floors. Our bookshop was the polar opposite and, you know, we sold books. But maybe having her husband arrested was the reason for her attitude.
“Her husband got hauled away?” I repeated, unable to keep up with all of the bits of information she was throwing at me.
Marnie and Wanda nodded at each other knowingly before Wanda continued. “Oh, it was a mess of a divorce. He was dallying on the side with a tourist and she caught him. Turned out he had been dallying in the moneybox, too. All of his weeklong shopping trips into town were always a couple days longer than they needed to be and he always came back with a tan. And we’re not talking a Seaside tan. You don’t get that sort of brown without some coconut oil in a tropical location."
"Poor Yvette," clucked Marnie.
Absentmindedly, Wanda ran her fingers through her blue hair to spike it up. "Stan was good enough to haul that no-good, low-down, cheating man away for embezzlement until the Feds could come collect him, but for some unknown reason, the whole business of Yvette's ex stealing from her made Old Man Byron madder than a hornet. And not at him. Byron came after her."
Marnie took a judgmental sip from her tea. "Just goes to show, birds of a feather, if you know what I mean."
Wanda nodded in agreement. "Those are the only two men in this town dirty and scheming enough to enjoy each other’s company."
Marnie continued the thought. "He swore he’d never set foot into Yvette’s shop. And who even knows why? But he had no problem buying out the land beneath it to try to drive her out of business.”
“Oh!” I said.
"It was like he had a vendetta against the whole town once Yvette's husband's sins were brought to light."
"Bitter, bitter, nasty old man, that's what I've always said," said Wanda. "I'm not one to speak ill of the dead and all."
"Me, neither," said Marnie. "But some people are dead because they just need killing."
"Like putting down a rabid dog that keeps biting the hand that feeds him."
"Town is better off without that bastard," said Wanda.
"Did you hear that Jake is throwing a wake for Byron at his tavern tonight?" Marnie laughed. "Down at his place. Dollar whiskey shots until the bottle's gone."
Jake owned the local watering hole. Jake's Tavern wasn't very fancy, but in a town like Seaside, you had two choices—dive bar or wine bar. The wine bar was usually filled with tourists celebrating whatever anniversary caused them to book a room at the local B&B. Jake's Tavern was where the rest of us hung out, the folks who wouldn't be able to tell the difference between a $1 shot or a $5 shot, and were more interested in the fastest way to oblivion, rather than the best way there.
If Nate was innocent, it seemed like a good place to hear a lot of information on people who might want Byron dead. "A wake?" I repeated, suddenly very interested.
"More like a 'thank God he's dead' party, but you can't go saying those things out loud," said Marnie.
"It's tacky," added Wanda.
"Can anyone go?" I asked.
"The more the merrier!" said Wanda, lifting up her paper cup. "Just don't let that new boyfriend of yours hear about what we're up to."
"Nate is not my boyfriend..." I mumbled.
"Wouldn't want to hurt the poor duck's feelings," said Marnie.
"Of course," I replied.
Marnie looked at her watch. "Oh, I should be getting back inside. Evening ferry's coming in."
Wanda downed the rest of her tea. "On my way, too!"
There was usually a bit of a rush and then things would slow down again, so I headed to the coffee shop just to see if there was anything that needed to be done. Granny was snoring away in one of the chairs. If our town was any less safe, we’d be robbed blind every Tuesday.
I gave her a shake when the bell over the door didn't wake her up. "Granny!" I whispered. "The ferry is coming in!"
She took a great big breath and opened her eyes. She saw me and smiled before giving herself a sleepy stretch. "I was wide awake. Just reading the back of my eyelids," she informed me.
There must have been something really interesting written there because she took every moment she could get to "read."
As Granny sashayed behind the counter in her lime green mules, I started straightening the books on the shelves.
“Do you think that maybe we should expand our inventory?” I asked, picking up a book that was a big seller five years ago.
“Oh, we have plenty,” she said, waving me away. "When the summer comes, people will want something trashy to read on the beach and throw away afterward.”
But a thought was starting to percolate in my head. “I don't know," I said. "Maybe some books on local history. You know... about the town and the sights.”
“We’re making money hand over fist with all of the pastries you're making. Everyone likes a little something made with love," she reassured me with a comforting smile.
But now that this idea was in my head, it wasn't letting go. One of the most prominent men on the island had just been murdered and I couldn't get anything on the history except stories that he was a jerk. It seemed like a really great excuse to talk to people. "I could put something together," I offered.
"What was that, sweetie?" she asked, looking up from the till.
"Well, I was just thinking I could put together a little booklet about where to eat and places to hang out and we could sell it for a couple bucks. Maybe even interview some people in town and get some old stories."
"We have a couple of books like that already," she reminded me, pointing to the shelf.
"Yeah," I admitted, "but this would be new! With updated information."
She smiled at me, and I think she figured out something else was up, but she was willing to play along. She nodded as she mulled over my proposition. "Sure. If that seems like something that would be fun." Her smile widened. "In fact, I've got that copier in my office. We'll print it out and bind it up and make it an island-wide bestseller!"
I didn't have the heart to tell her the only reason I was thinking about it was that I wanted an excuse to dig a little deeper into the lives of the people living here.
I glanced out the window and saw Yvette walking down the street in deep conversation with Jake. I wondered if they were talking about the recent murder.
Remembering the wake that Jake was throwing tonight, I asked Granny, “Do you need me tonight?”
“No! No!” she said, dusting the leaves of a fake plant that we kept on top of the bookshelf. "Go out and hang out with all the young people!”
There weren’t really any young people in the town, but as I watched Yvette plant a kiss on Jake's cheek, I figured when you want the gossip, you have to go where the gossip is.
Chapter Eight
I tugged up my shirt, realizing it was showing off just a little more cleavage than I felt entirely comfortable with, especially since we were headed to a wake. The chill from the ocean was rolling in and a light fog was causing a yellow halo to appear around all the streetlights. Johnny walked next to me, completely unaware of the world around us.
"So... um... thanks for
asking me out for a drink,” he said. He reached his hand out and stopped me. "Just so you know? I've known you, like, forever, and you're, like, a sister. Sooo... I just want you to know I don’t feel about you, like, that other way. If that's why you asked me out.”
“I KNOW,” I said for the twentieth time. "I just need you to be my wingman at the bar tonight.”
“OHHH!” he said, smiling with relief. "I get it now. But as long as you know.”
Sometimes it was like talking to a wall.
We walked into the bar. It was paneled with honey-colored wood and had a pool table in the middle. A chair railing ran around the room at the perfect height for people to set a drink and a couple of tall tables were scattered throughout. Usually, just the hardcore drinkers, like Johnny's family, would have been taking up barstools, but tonight the place was buzzing with all sorts of locals. I waved to Granny's posse, Marnie, Holly, and Wanda, who lifted their fluorescent drinks my direction. I knew I was going to have to be on my best behavior or I'd hear all about it in the morning from all sides.
I sidled up to the bar. Jake was wiping out the inside of a pint glass with a dirty-looking rag. I'm pretty sure the man had never heard of a dishwasher and a good wipe down was the most his glassware had ever received. The alcohol he poured was hospital-grade, though, and strong enough to burn anything living.
Jake smiled when he saw me. "Hey, Paige! How are things at the bookshop?”
“Slow,” I confessed.
He shrugged. "Just wait until Memorial Day. This place will be hopping." He threw his towel over his shoulder and gave me an appreciative look up and down. "You clean up nice. You get all fancied up for this crowd?”
I yanked down my skirt and gave another futile attempt at pulling up my shirt. "No. Just... sometimes a girl likes to look nice, you know?”
"Mission accomplished,” he said, high-fiving me.
I pulled out my credit card. "Open a tab for me?”
He waved it away. "This is a wake! First one is on Old Man Byron.” He poured what he knew I liked, a hoppy red lager, and shot a finger gun at Johnny. "What can I get you?"