Scone Cold Dead

by Karen MacInerney

  "I'll get the first one," I volunteered. "Where do you want them?"

  "The sunporch in the back should work for now," she said. "Unless you think they'll break through the glass to get them."

  "I don't think so, but with Muffin and Pudge, you never know."

  "We'll have to risk it," she said.

  "I'll get started," I said. As she went back in to contend with her cake, I lifted the first box and walked around the house to the sunporch, the goats eyeing me with interest. "This isn't for you," I informed them. By the time I'd gotten both boxes back to the sunporch, the goats had lost interest and were pulling back toward a tasty patch of grass in the meadow, and Emmeline had taken her cake out of the oven.

  "Come on in," she said.

  "Are you sure?"

  "Of course. You can have a piece of cake with me. Consider it a reward for saving my petunias."

  "Thanks," I said, following her into her cozy kitchen. A half-finished afghan in shades of purple sat on a chair, knitting needles protruding from it, and a variety of teapots and teacups festooned the windowsill.

  "What kind of cake?" I asked, practically drooling from the sweet smell.

  "Sour cream coffee cake," she said. "It was my mother's favorite cake."

  "If it tastes anything like it smells, I can see why," I said.

  "I'll turn it out of the pan in a minute and we can both have a slice," she said. "In the meantime, you can tell me all about what's going on out at the inn. I hear you've had some excitement."

  "More than I like, unfortunately," I said. As she bustled with the tea things and we waited for the cake to cool, I filled her in on everything that had happened.

  "Do you think what happened to that young woman was linked to what's going on down at the co-op?"

  "It's possible," I said. "Someone cut loose all the boats the morning she died. What are the odds that that was a coincidence?"

  "True," she said.

  On the other hand, Chelsea had known Bruce and Noelle... and they both had a motive for wanting Chelsea out of the way. And then there was Chad. There was obviously no love lost between Chad and Chelsea, although I didn't know why, but a motive for murder? The antipathy I'd seen was hardly enough to warrant murder. I briefly considered Quartz as a possibility... what if she considered Chelsea a threat? But as far as I knew, she hadn't met Chelsea. Unless Chelsea had gone to Chad's room the night she arrived and discovered Quartz there? But Chelsea had seemed surprised to see Chad that morning.

  And then there was whoever had left that cat on my doorstep. Was it connected to Chelsea's murder? Did someone not want me looking into her death or into the lobster fishery?

  I felt like I was jousting at windmills.

  "This may seem like a weird question, but have you heard any rumors about Mac and Earl being up to something?" I asked Emmeline.

  "I know Mac's sister came in from Northeast Harbor and was at his place last week," she said, and leaned in. "Just between you and me, I heard she was trying to get him into rehab."

  "Rehab? For alcohol?"

  She shook her head. "He hurt his back a few years ago," she said. "Got hooked on painkillers, from what I hear. I'm not sure if he's moved on to something else or not, but she's worried about him."

  "That sounds bad," I said.

  "It does," she agreed. "He and Earl were friends for a long time... grew up together. It's gotten bad the last year or two, though. I don't know if it's because of the pain meds, or what."

  "Mac rammed Earl's boat," I said.

  "I know," she told me. "I'm wondering if it had something to do with Mac's sister's being in town. Maybe she talked to Earl, tried to get him to help, and Mac got mad."

  "I heard it was because Mac thought Earl called in the fisheries inspector."

  "That could be the party line," she suggested with a shrug. "He's not about to tell the world his friend wanted him in rehab, is he?"

  "No, probably not," I said. "Apparently, Mac said something to Earl about a 'snow day.' Is that some kind of island or lobster slang I don't know about?"

  She shook her head. "If it is, I've never heard of it. And I've lived here my whole life."

  I sighed.

  The teakettle began to whistle. She busied herself making tea in a teapot shaped like a cabbage, filling a small pitcher with milk and setting it on the table with two cups and a bowl of sugar, then turned to the cake. "Now. I think this is about ready to turn out of the pan." As I watched, she slipped a knife between the cake and the pan and eased it around to make sure the cake wouldn't stick. Then she put a baking rack under the Bundt pan and inverted it, giving it a few good taps. When she lifted the pan, a beautiful golden cake stood on the cooling rack. I could see the streusel middle of nuts and brown sugar, and my mouth started to water.

  "I'll just whip up the glaze and finish it off and we'll try it," she said. "I saw the Daily Mail," she said nonchalantly as she measured confectioners' sugar into a bowl. "Are Gwen and Adam still speaking with you?"

  "Gwen is," I said. "But she's not happy."

  "I can't believe you told Gertrude that," she said.

  "She overheard a conversation," I told her. "She drew conclusions."

  "Looks pretty bad, if you ask me. We need to find out what really happened, and fast."

  "I know." I grimaced.

  She mixed in milk with the sugar and a touch of vanilla extract, then began glazing the cake. I was dying for a piece of it, particularly now, considering the topic of conversation. "And you still won't tell me what's going on with Claudette?"

  "I just know she's tired," I said. "I think she's going to get checked out, but that's all I know."

  "Well, then," she said. "I'm going down there tonight to find out."

  "Let me know if you hear anything," I said.

  "Maybe I will, and maybe I won't," she said, finishing the glaze and cutting two big pieces. "In the meantime, have a piece of cake. You look like you need it."

  I really, really did.

  I left Emmeline's stuffed with sour cream coffee cake and tea, and grateful for friends who were generous and knew how to bake. I was still worried, though. As I walked down the hill toward the inn, Quartz appeared, wearing skin-tight leggings, heavy eye makeup, and a spandex top that left little to the imagination. The crystals hanging around her neck flashed in the sunlight as she walked.

  "Hey," she said. "You're the innkeeper, right? You're taking the pottery class?"

  "I am," I said.

  "Chad is just amazing, isn't he?" she gushed, eyes sparkling. "I mean, the way he expresses himself... it's so, like... amorphous, almost."

  "Amorphous. Good word," I said.

  "Anyway, I just stopped by to say hi, but his room was being cleaned and it looks like all his stuff is gone. Do you know where he went?"

  "I think he moved to a house on the island," I told her. "His parents arrived this morning and checked him out during breakfast."

  "They did?" She rolled her eyes. "He must be so pissed at them. They're always putting their noses in where they don't belong. I mean, their son is an accomplished artist. He doesn't need their interference."

  "I thought they were funding the Art Guild?"

  "It's family money," she said. "They just did it as a philanthropic thing. It's a tax write-off."

  "Well, his parents paid his bill," I said, hoping she'd understand what she was getting herself into with Chad, regardless of what he'd been telling her about philanthropy and tax write-offs. "I think they rented his new place for him, too. From what I can tell, he's not paying for much."

  "It's going to be his one day anyway," she said. "His parents pay for as much as they can because of the inheritance tax. He could do it himself, of course, but they just work the funding this way to minimize taxes."

  "Huh," I said, not convinced. From what I could see, Chad hadn't actually worked a day in his life. I guess if you were expecting to inherit millions, why would you? Although I probably would.

 
"His dad was so pissed that that chick from college was on the island."

  "What?"

  "That Chelsea girl. The one who got herself killed."

  17

  "How did Chad's dad know her?"

  "She was on the newspaper at Middlesex, where they went to school. She wrote a whole article on how Chad's dad bought Chad's way into the school by funding part of a building. It was all bull, of course, but the local papers picked it up."

  "Did he?"

  Quartz fiddled with one of her crystals. "Did he what?"

  "Buy part of a building."

  "He paid to build a new art studio," she said. "But that's totally not why Chad got in. You can see how talented he is."

  "Right," I said. "When did he find out Chelsea was here?"

  "The night she arrived. His dad came by. He was visiting Chad, and they walked out into the hall, and there she was."

  "I didn't see anyone who wasn't a guest that night," I said.

  "I don't think he stayed long. But he was mad about Chelsea. He was convinced she was on the island undercover to write another thing on Chad."

  "But she was a fisheries observer!"

  "Chad's dad didn't believe that. He thought she was here as an undercover reporter."

  "Why? Why would she come here to report on Chad?" From what I could see, he wasn't exactly burning up the art scene.

  "Chad's dad is always obsessed with reputation," she said. "His wife's some kind of socialite from New York. His dad kind of worked his way up in the real estate business, but she was a blue blood, from what Chad told me."

  "You know a lot about Chad's family."

  "We've been dating for the last few months," she said. "He was talking about doing a mermaid statue of me. He hasn't said the L-word yet, but I think it's only a matter of time." She straightened a little, and her eyes sparkled. "I've been trying to decide what kind of ring I want."

  Whoa. She was thinking about rings already? I thought about what I'd overheard Chad telling someone on the phone at the Guild. I would bet my bottom dollar Chad didn't see Quartz in the same way she saw him, and my heart ached to think of her future disappointment. "I'm sure a mermaid statue would be... lovely," I said. If his sea creatures looked like they'd been run over by trucks, I could only imagine what Chad would do if he attempted a human-type form, but I didn't share my thoughts. "But as for the long-term... you're still so young. Are you sure you want to settle down yet?"

  "I'm twenty-two!" she said, as if she were approaching Social Security age. "I wasn't sure I was ready, and then I met Chad," she continued. "He bought me this crystal." She proffered a clear crystal on a black cord. "Quartz. Just like my name."

  "Pretty," I said. "Do you get along with his parents?"

  She shrugged. "I haven't spent a lot of time with them. I only met his dad."

  "You said he was on the island the night before we found Chelsea. How did he get here?"

  "I think he took a water taxi," she said. "I asked about the yacht—Chad had told me about it—but he said their captain had the night off, so he left it on the mainland. I think he was a little surprised to see me."

  "Why was he here?"

  "He said he was planning on taking Chad to dinner, but you know how this island is. Not a lot of restaurants."

  "By the way, did you stay over that night? I think I found your barrette in his room."

  She blinked. "What? No," she said. "I don't think I'm missing a barrette." She fiddled with the crystal nervously, then clasped it in her hand, as if she were afraid to lose it. "What did it look like?"

  "It was a butterfly," I said. "It had crystals on it, so I thought it might be yours."

  "No," she repeated. "I don't have anything like that."

  I shrugged. "Maybe it was there from another guest and I missed it during the cleaning," I suggested, although I was pretty sure the clip was connected to Quartz somehow. "Or maybe he was planning to give it to you. Who knows?"

  "Yeah," she said, but she sounded unconvinced. "You're right. Maybe he just hadn't given it to me yet."

  "Who knows?" I repeated.

  She pursed her lips, still clutching the crystal. "You don't know where he's staying?"

  "Sorry," I said. "I don't."

  "He didn't text me," she said. "Maybe the reception's bad."

  "It's on and off here on the island," I admitted. "You could try him at the Guild," I suggested.

  "He wasn't there earlier."

  "I'm sure he'll turn up," I said.

  "I'm sure," she said, but with much less confidence than she had had a few minutes before.

  "Before you go," I said, "do you know when Chad's parents left the island?"

  "I think they went back that night, but I don't know; I ended up going back to my place."

  "If you find out, let me know," I said.

  "I will. Anyway, I guess I'll go back to the Art Guild. If you see him, will you tell him to call or text?"

  "Of course," I said.

  "Thanks. See you!" she said, and headed down the road, still clutching her crystals and looking a lot less carefree than when I'd encountered her.

  I hoped Chad didn't break her heart too badly. And that if he did, her heart healed quickly.

  On the way back to the inn, I decided to detour to the Cranberry Island store, in part to check in with Charlene and in part to pick up sour cream for the stroganoff I was planning to make for dinner.

  "You're still alive," she said as I walked through the door. Charlene was restocking the chicken broth from a box, and was the most put-together stock clerk I'd ever seen. Today, she wore charcoal eyeliner that matched her sparkly gray V-neck and flared jeans that hugged her curvy form. I could see why my cousin—and most of the men on the island—were smitten.

  "I am still alive," I confirmed. "At least for now."

  "I thought Adam might skewer you. Or Gwen."

  I winced. "Any news?"

  "Well, Adam was in earlier, and once he saw the paper, he was furious," she said. "Gwen came in a few minutes later and talked him down, but he was livid. I told him I'd heard you leave a message for Gertrude saying you really didn't have anything to say, but I don't think he bought it."

  "I'll bet not, based on what's in the paper," I said. I had some work to do to win back Gwen's trust—and Adam's. I hoped finding out what had really happened to Chelsea might help. "Have you heard anything that might possibly be related to what happened to the fisheries observer?"

  "Nothing yet," she said. "You?"

  "Well, everyone here seems to think she was undercover, but no one can agree on what." I relayed what Quartz had told me about Chad and Chelsea's history... and shared what I now knew about Bruce and Noelle.

  "So Chad's dad thought she was here for a scoop on Chad."

  "It doesn't make sense, but apparently, he was livid," I said. "I wish I knew if he was here the morning she died."

  "I didn't see his yacht."

  "He got here some other way. Water taxi, maybe?"

  "I could call the guy who runs the taxi to see if he remembers him," Charlene volunteered.

  "That would be great," I said.

  "Do you think the married folks might be responsible?"

  "Is someone finding out about your affair a motive for murder?" I asked.

  She shrugged. "Depends on what's at stake."

  "You're right," I agreed. "I need to look in to the two of them some more. I glanced at their Facebook profiles, but I don't know anything more about them."

  "Let me know," she said.

  "And poor Quartz is going to have her heart broken, I'm afraid."

  "The one who walks around with all those crystals bumping on her chest?"

  "Yes, that one," I said. "She's set her sights on Chad, but I think she's just the flavor of the month for him. Maybe even the week."

  "Been there, done that," she said.

  "But not with Robert," I said quickly. "Speaking of Robert, how's that going?"

  "Oh, Nat
alie, you should have introduced us years ago!" she said. "He had a work emergency so he had to go back to Bangor, but he's planning a weekend getaway to Nova Scotia soon."

  "I'm glad things are going well for someone," I said.

  "It's a nice change of pace," she agreed. "I just hope I don't find out he's a werewolf or something."

  "I don't remember any full-moon transformations growing up," I said, "so I think you're good. But back to Adam... any word on his boat?"

  She shook her head. "None," she told me. "Talk about a bad week. First the paper... oh.” She covered her mouth with one hand, eyes wide. "Sorry!"

  "It's okay. It's my fault, after all. Any ideas on where the boat might be?"

  "I think they're afraid it sank," she said.

  "He's got insurance, though, right?"

  "He does, but it'll take weeks to get it sorted out, and then he's got to get a new boat, new gear..." She shook her head. "He'll lose a lot of income. And he and Gwen were saving for a house; it may have to wait."

  "Gwen mentioned that," I said. As I spoke, the bell at the front door jingled, and Tom Lockhart walked in, a frown on his weathered face.

  "Any news on the Carpe Diem?" I asked as the lanky lobsterman strode across the store floor.

  "None yet," he said. "I just hope she didn't go down."

  "Me too," I said. "Any thoughts on who might have cut all the mooring lines?"

  "We're investigating still," he said.

  "That's what Lorraine told me," I said. "Hey... what do you know about Earl Randall and Mac Penney?"

  "They've been friends and rivals for years," Tom said in a guarded tone. "I think Mac may have had one too many PBRs the night of their run-in."

  "I understand Mac might have had troubles beyond beer," I said.

  He narrowed his eyes. "What? Who told you that?"

  "I don't remember," I said, remembering my promise to Josie. "It was just a rumor."

  "I'd appreciate it if you didn't repeat it," he said shortly. "Rumors cause trouble."

  "I understand that," I said. "But one of my guests died recently. I think Mac thought she was undercover with the Marine Patrol. If he had something to hide, the police need to know about it."