“Would you like anything else?” she said politely.
Mr. Beauchamp pulled a twenty-dollar bill out of his wallet and tapped the long edge on the glass. “I don’t know,” he said to his wife. “Would you like anything else? Because I’m not going to let you pick at my pastry whenever my head is turned. Either get your own pastry or keep your hands off mine.”
“I’m fine,” Mrs. Beauchamp insisted, her eyes still fixed on the pastry.
Angie rang them up, and they walked over to the comfy chairs in the café area. Mrs. Beauchamp picked up one of the used books Angie kept stocked on the tables. Most of them were from her own collection, or from a bargain bin somewhere. They were popular titles that customers could take home with them for a dollar or two in the small donation cup on a nearby shelf. And if a dollar or a book walked off with one of her retired gentlemen who was struggling, so be it.
She watched the couple for a moment. She wouldn’t exactly say there was tension between the two of them, but they were giving each other funny looks. On her next tour around the bookstore to see if anyone needed any help, she stopped to see if they were having any luck with the treasure hunt.
“The treasure hunt?” Mrs. Beauchamps said, looking nervously toward the back of the store. “No new developments.”
Angie followed her gaze, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.
“That’s too bad,” she said. “Are you planning to come to the treasure hunt gala on Friday? It starts at five-thirty at the Whaling Museum.”
“That museum has a damned big whale hanging from the ceiling,” Mr. Beauchamp said. “We’ve been in. Seen all the Christmas trees and everything. No need to go again, unless there’s an open bar.”
“No, it’s a cash bar.”
“Then I think we’ll give it a miss,” Mr. Beauchamp said, giving his wife an almost stern look.
Mrs. Beauchamp’s face was beet red—so red, in fact, that Angie was worried about her.
“Are you all right?” Angie asked.
Mrs. Beauchamp coughed into her hand, rather vigorously, then reached out and took a napkin.
Mr. Beauchamp slapped the leg of his trousers. “Had to steal a piece, didn’t you? And then you choked on it! That’s just what you deserve.”
Mrs. Beauchamp took a gasping breath, then stood up and walked to the public toilet at the back of the store, while Mr. Beauchamp continued chuckling to himself.
Angie beat a hasty retreat back to the café counter. Once again, the Beauchamps had thrown her for a loop.
In between customers, she managed to do a little research on the computer at the sales desk. She was able to track down a list of properties owned by the Snuock family around the turn of the century, which was a little earlier than she wanted, but it did include the building containing both the bookstore and the bakery. She printed out a map of the island, then started plotting out roughly where the properties were and labeling their current business names and property owners. At a glance, the Snuocks had been a wealthy family even then, but their property ownership hadn’t reached its current extent.
After a few minutes, she tore herself away from the map and did another circuit of the store.
The destructive archaeology student, Alayna Karner, had returned, sneaking into the store without attracting Angie’s notice. This time she was staring at the angle of the roof as it met the bookshelves in the rear of the store.
“Can I help you?” Angie asked, thinking, Honestly, I’m not sure I can.
“Have you done any additional research on the ownership of your building? Is there an attic access? Can I access it?”
“Yes, but not much; yes, but not from the bookstore; if you don’t mind rat poison lying around and you ask for permission,” Angie said.
“Where is it?”
Angie sighed and wrote the name of the building manager on the back of one of her business cards, then handed it to the woman. “You should run it by the Chamber of Commerce if you’re really interested in looking up there.”
“I’ve been to their office. Twice. They’re always busy.”
Angie couldn’t deny that was probably going to be the case for a while. “Well, call the property manager anyway.”
“Have you been up there?”
“No, but I’ve seen the access panel. Unless you can pick locks and climb bare walls, you’re going to need some assistance.”
“I’ll call him,” the woman promised. “Thank you for your help.”
“Can I help you with anything else?”
“A cup of coffee?”
Angie left Alayna Karner in the café area paging through one of the used books—a copy of Victor Hugo’s The Man Who Laughs. An unexpected choice, but Angie had long since learned that you can’t judge a book by the readers who pick it up.
The back door jingled, and Angie glanced at it over her shoulder. Aunt Margery had arrived early, which reminded Angie that nobody from the Chamber of Commerce had come over for coffee lately.
She called the office. This time, the person who answered the phone was Carol Brightwell, the executive director. She thanked Angie effusively for the coffee she’d delivered, then asked her to bring more over. “Just one this time,” she said.
“It hasn’t been busy today?”
“No, it has. But the new coffee machine is on its way over on the ferry. We should be fine.”
Angie filled up two pots—just in case—and left the store in Aunt Margery’s capable hands.
Chapter 8
Exiles & Discoveries
The Chamber of Commerce wasn’t merely less hectic than it had been previously. It felt hushed. The tourists who were looking at the displays and maps and reading fliers from the rack seemed to tiptoe around the room. Their voices didn’t rise above a whisper.
After the chaos of the previous day, it was probably for the best.
At first Angie couldn’t figure out why, but then she noticed that the lights hadn’t been brightened for the day—they were still on some kind of dim setting—and the room felt dark and heavy, as though a storm were rolling in.
Marlee Ingersoll was watching the front desk. When she glanced up and saw Angie, she jumped up and walked over to help with the big coffee pots, but did so on tiptoe.
“Hi!” she whispered. “Coffee! I’m glad to see you.”
“Isn’t the new coffee maker coming over on the ferry?”
“But what if it’s delayed?” Marlee hissed. “Or…worse? What if it gets here and everyone starts to argue over how to set it up? It could be hours!”
Angie snorted softly through her nose. The quiet was getting to her, too.
The two of them carried the coffee pots to the break room. Angie picked up the empties and closed the door softly behind her.
“Just so you know,” Marlee said, “Carol’s thinking of saying something at the gala—giving you a thank you card or something.”
“Thanks for the heads’ up,” Angie said.
“I think she’s going to be passing out a lot of cards this year,” Marlee added. “Did you hear about Jasper?”
“No, what happened?”
“He had some kind of heart palpitation thing and had to go to the hospital this morning while I was talking to you!”
“Oh, no, is he all right?”
“He’s been moved out of critical care and into his own room, so I think he is.”
“I should visit him,” Angie said.
“Don’t bring him any coffee,” Marlee whispered. “The doctor says that he was drinking energy drinks and coffee and taking NoDoz at the same time. He could have had a heart attack. So now he has to cut back.”
“Poor Jasper,” Angie said. “He’s probably going through coffee withdrawal right now.”
“That’s the worst,” Marlee agreed.
“Marlee, about Reed Edgerton’s accident yesterday…” Angie began.
“Oh, man. I heard that you were his friend. I’m so sorry that I was a jerk this morning. I had no
idea. I’m so sorry.”
“It’s okay,” Angie said. “But I wanted to know if he had ever come through here.”
“Nope,” Marlee said. “I had to go through all the paperwork Jasper entered and check everything over. When he entered it, he added a ton of mistakes. There were even a couple I had to delete and start over with. He put stuff in like ‘Vincent Van Gogh’ in some of the entries, swapped people’s addresses, even wrote some of the numbers in backward. But anyway I had to check all his entries from yesterday and compare them to the slips so I know for sure that Mr. Edgerton never checked in with us.”
“When did the computer come back up?” Angie said.
“The software stopped erasing entries and rebooting, I don’t know, around eight a.m.,” Marlee said. “Why?”
“Did a woman by the last name of Karner come in and ask you about searching my building’s attic sometime today?”
“I don’t think so? I don’t remember anyone asking about your attic, but it’s been a weird day.”
“Did she register yesterday?”
“I’m not sure.” Marlee sat down in front of the desk, woke up the computer, and started typing. “Karner with a C?”
“I think it’s Karner with a K.”
“Um… yes, here we are,” Marlee said. “We do have a Karner with a K registered. What was her first name?”
“Alayna.”
“A-L-A-Y-N-A?” she spelled out.
“I’m not sure, honestly.”
Marlee pressed the arrow keys several times. “Well, that’s the only Alayna Karner we have registered.”
“Then that must be her. Thanks.”
“No problem. Everybody here owes you one, anyway.”
“Don’t worry about it.”
“I take my favors seriously,” Marlee said, her eyebrows pinching together.
“Okay, okay,” Angie laughed. “The next time I need an alibi during a murder case, I’ll call you.”
“Friends help you move,” Marlee said. “Real friends help you move bodies.”
Angie had heard the line a hundred times but she laughed anyway. Sometimes timing trumped originality.
Out on the street, she hesitated. The new hospital building wasn’t too far to walk, but she was carrying a pair of coffee pots. They weren’t heavy, but they also probably weren’t the best “get well” gift to bring along on a visit to someone constrained from drinking coffee.
She walked back to the bookstore, dropped off the pots, and asked her great-aunt if she’d mind if Angie took an hour or two to visit Jasper at the hospital.
Aunt Margery said, “It should be fine. You need to stop working so much. Have you read anything today?”
Angie laughed. “Reading isn’t like brushing your teeth, Aunt Margery. If you skip it for a day or two, you’ll still be fine. I promise.”
“Did you?”
“No.”
“Then take a book with you. Go home and take a nap while you’re at it.”
Angie yawned before she could stop herself. She thought about arguing that she was fine, but changed her mind. She’d already lost that argument the day before—she couldn’t do it all herself.
So instead she laughed at herself and said, “You know, I had completely forgotten that the gala was coming up tomorrow.”
“Tomorrow!” Aunt Margery said. “Gadzooks, are you joking? What day is it? It’s only Wednesday.”
“Wednesday was yesterday.”
“My mind is going, isn’t it?”
“‘All children, except one, grow up.’”
“Too easy. Peter Pan.”
“I just like the sound of it,” Angie said.
She was summarily shooed out of the bookstore, although on her way out she did remind Aunt Margery that Janet was working on a list of information she would need from Angie before putting together a marketing plan.
The door closed behind her with a jingle. Then Angie turned suddenly and knocked on it, moaning, “Let me in, let me in,” until Aunt Margery, who hadn’t actually locked the door, let her in again.
“What is it, you cat? In or out?”
“I forgot my book. And I thought I’d bring something for Jasper.”
“You may come back in,” Aunt Margery said, “but if you’re still here in ten minutes I shall toss you back out again.”
The new hospital building was nice. It managed to look modern and professional without standing out too much. The cement siding was the same shade of gray as the worn shingles that could be seen all over town, and it was trimmed with white. There was an orange ramp leading up to the front door.
She had no idea what kind of books Jasper liked to read, so she brought him three: a recent Jack Reacher novel, a history of the Impressionists (more in memory of Reed than anything else), and a silly bodice-ripper romance by Tessa Dare that was packed with silk dresses and goofy hidden references to popular culture. Why not?
“You have a visitor,” the nurse said as she knocked on the frame of Jasper’s door.
“Come in,” his voice called, a little hoarse.
He was sitting up in bed with his glasses on. His skin looked gray, almost wooden, and Angie couldn’t keep her concern from showing on her face.
“Hi,” she said. “How are you feeling?”
“They say I might be able to go home tomorrow,” he said dejectedly, “as long as I let myself rest and don’t go back to work. But I don’t see how that’s supposed to happen. As soon as I cross the threshold, they’ll find me. It’ll be just one little thing after another until I’m back to working sixteen-hour days.”
Angie said, “I’d tell you to just take it easy, but that would be the pot calling the kettle black.”
“Have they found the painting yet?” Jasper asked cautiously. “It would all be over if someone finds the painting. Mostly over, at least.”
She laughed, then schooled her features into a more sympathetic expression. “No, nobody’s made any significant progress. Otherwise I would have heard about it.”
“I’m sorry to hear about your friend.”
She deflated, her shoulders falling and her head bowing. The books she had brought suddenly felt unbearably heavy, so she set them down onto his swing table. “Thank you,” she murmured. “I didn’t know him terribly well, but it just came as such a shock. And the thing is, I knew instinctively that something was wrong as soon as…” She was about to spit out, “as soon as I called your office and he hadn’t registered yet,” but then she paused. The unspoken words surprised her, and she wasn’t sure why. She cleared her throat. “Well, the minute he was late for dinner at Sheldon’s. He’s always early.”
“Do they know what happened to him?”
“He fell and hit his head,” Angie said. There was something else she wasn’t ready to talk about—her suspicions that it was murder. That would just remind him of her history with the Alexander Snuock murder case, which every nosy nelly on the island wanted her to talk about in great, lengthy, tiresome, and embarrassing detail. “For some reason, he came over to the island to do something that might be related to the treasure hunt, never showed up at the Chamber of Commerce, missed our supper without contacting me, and then ended up in the harbor.”
Jasper frowned. “Did he know anyone else on the island besides you? It almost sounds like he came over here on, er, well, personal business that you didn’t know anything about.”
“Personal business?” Angie asked. “I hadn’t thought about it. He might have? He never mentioned anything like that to me, but then he never mentioned anything about his personal life. I suppose I might have been briefly introduced to some of his colleagues in Boston at art shows, but…surely he would have thought to text me to cancel our plans.”
“I’m no detective,” Jasper said gently, “but if he came here for personal reasons, maybe it didn’t have anything to do with the treasure hunt. Maybe he came chasing a woman, and just had an unfortunate fall. Love will make you do crazy things.”
&n
bsp; “Love is crazy, I know what you mean.”
“Because of Walter.”
“Oh, no,” she said, “Walter has been a perfect gentleman. I was thinking of the first time I really fell in love. My ex and I lost track of everything, it seemed like. There were friends I didn’t speak to for over three years, and I barely noticed I hadn’t, until we broke up again.”
Jasper’s frown deepened. “Your ex wasn’t abusive, was he?”
“No,” Angie said. “He cheated on me and stole my ideas at work, though.”
“They say good artists copy, and great artists steal. I suppose that doesn’t apply here, though. Sorry about your ex Angie, he sounds terrible.”
“Yeah he was. Talk about bad memories.” Angie said, sitting down in the chair beside the bed. “I take it you’ve had bad experiences in the past, too.”
His lips twitched. “Ex-wife.”
Angie thought about Walter, and how she wanted him to come back to the island, but she also thought about how formal and genteel they both kept things when he was here. Maybe he’d had problems, too. She barely knew anything about his past love life. She just knew he was currently single. Other than his relationship with her, of course, but she wasn’t really sure what that amounted to.
She shook her head. In fact, now that she was thinking about it, a past trauma might explain Reed’s behavior, too—that tendency he’d had of holding others at arm’s length.
“That’s definitely something to think about,” she said. “Not just about Doug, my ex, that is. I mean about Reed. He always kept himself a little aloof from other people, even though he was a charming man.”
“It’s hard to trust again after a bad relationship,” Jasper said.
“Why do people screw each other over like that?” she asked. Then answered her own question, because she remembered Doug’s attitude about their break-up. “Because they can. Because they need someone to love them unconditionally, and they don’t know how to love someone back.”
“That sounds about right,” Jasper agreed.
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