I'll call the harbormaster at Northeast Harbor," Catherine said, pulling out her phone and walking down the hill to retrieve the lost rolling bag as I helped Noelle back to the inn.
"I feel so stupid," Noelle said as she picked at a scone in my warm yellow kitchen. Smudge, sensing her upset, had jumped up into her lap, and Biscuit was weaving around her ankles. Catherine had come into the kitchen after us, pulling Noelle's bag behind her, and then excused herself, sensing that two people might be one too many for Noelle right now.
"It happens," I told her. "I admire you for wanting to put an end to things and be honest."
"It's going to ruin my marriage, probably."
"Maybe," I said. "Maybe not."
"I tried so hard to put him off," she said, "but the more I objected, the more he pushed. I should have been stronger."
"You can't change the past," I said gently as I filled the teakettle and put it on the stove. "If you were vulnerable, it sounds like there might have been some trouble in the marriage to start with. I think it's fairly common to grow apart a bit when kids get thrown into the mix." I turned on the burner and sat down across from her. "Do you still love your husband?"
"I do," she said. "I can't believe I did this to him."
"I'm so sorry," I said.
"And Bruce... to think he killed that girl Chelsea." She looked up at me. "Will the other girl be okay? Crystal?"
"Quartz," I said. "I don't know yet, but they've taken her to the hospital. Why do you think he killed her?"
"She heard us talking," she said. "We were arguing on the back porch, and she just... appeared. I told Bruce not to worry, but he was convinced she’d heard something, and raced off to talk to her."
"She didn't say anything about it when I saw her," I said.
"When did you see her?"
"A little while before she was found," I told her.
"He did come back," she said. "Said he'd convinced her it was a misunderstanding."
I thought about the money in Quartz's hand. "Out of curiosity, did he usually carry a lot of cash?"
She blinked. "How did you know? He did everything in cash so there wouldn't be a paper trail."
"Just curious," I said. "What happened with Chelsea?"
"We both panicked when we saw her in the dining room," she told me. "She lived in our neighborhood; I saw her when I was walking my dog, and she knew my husband."
"Small world," I said.
"Too small. Anyway, I couldn't eat another bite once I saw her. We went back to our room and tried to figure out what to do." She pushed her hair behind her ears, still looking anxious. "He saw her leaving the inn and went to talk to her. He came back a few minutes later and told me she'd said she wasn't going to say anything."
"How long was he gone?" I asked.
"About twenty minutes, I guess. I took a shower while he was gone, to clear my head; when I got out, he was back in the room. And now I know... oh, God. I can't believe it." She buried her head in her hands.
I reached out to touch her shoulder. "It's been a pretty horrible weekend for you, hasn't it?" I asked.
She wiped her eyes and looked up at me. "Not as bad for me as it was for those poor girls. What do I tell Delilah? She's got to know she's married to a murderer."
"I think you should let the police worry about that," I said.
We sat in silence for a few minutes, waiting for the kettle to boil. All this time I'd thought Chelsea's death had had something to do with the lobster co-op, or maybe Chad... and it had been Bruce who'd done it.
Who had cut the mooring lines of the lobster boats, though? Why had someone left that stuffed cat on my front doorstep, and made the anonymous call? What was going on between Mac and Earl? And what had Quartz been talking about when she talked about Chad, and being enough?
It seemed as if we'd found the murderer, but things still weren't adding up.
I looked at Noelle, mascara streaks on her pale cheeks and her big eyes haunted, trying to imagine how she must feel. She'd jeopardized her whole life for a man who was mentally unstable and violent. How was she going to pick up the pieces and move on?
There was no way to be sure, but I did know one thing. For all her mistakes, Noelle was a strong woman... and a moral one. She'd been willing to admit her mistakes and do the right thing.
I just hoped she'd be able to recover.
"So it was Bruce all along," Charlene said when she and John got back to the inn a half hour later, one of the detectives with them. The detective had escorted Noelle to the dining room to take a statement, and the rest of us were sitting in the kitchen.
"I guess so," I said. "But it feels... wrong somehow."
"Wrong?" Charlene asked.
"Yeah," I said. "It's like I'm missing something."
"I know what you mean," John said. "Maybe there are just two things going on, and we're kind of mixing them up."
"Maybe," I said. But I still wasn't convinced.
20
"Are you still up for that art class this afternoon?" Catherine asked the next morning as I finished cleaning up the breakfast dishes.
"Why not?" I asked, drying my hands on a towel and then hanging it on the oven door. "I'd like to go early to see if I can smooth things over with Gwen."
"Sure," she said. "Any word on that poor girl?"
"Stable but still unconscious, from what I've heard," I told her. "I hope she comes out of it."
"Me too," Catherine said.
I looked at John's mother closely. Her hair was freshly styled, she was wearing pearl earrings, and she had on a cashmere sweater that was the exact color of her eyes. "You seem better today."
"I am," she said. "I was thinking about it last night. There were a lot of things about Murray that bothered me. If he's willing to throw me over just for the chance to date someone new on the island, maybe he's not the kind of man I want to be out with anyway."
"That sounds positive," I said.
"Besides," she said, "I don't see myself with a man who favors brass bathroom fixtures."
I grinned. "We have to have standards. I'm glad you're feeling better about it."
"Thanks, Natalie," she said. "I mean, I still want Sarah to fall off a cliff or something, don't get me wrong. And if she took Murray with her, I wouldn't object."
"I've been there myself," I said. "I totally get it."
"But instead of coming up with exciting ways to murder them, I think I'm going to talk to Charlene about online dating."
"That sounds like a great idea." I was impressed. I'd been a mess for months when I'd been dumped for another woman many years ago. "Let me know what I can do to help."
"I will," she said and looked down at herself. "You know, I kind of forgot we were working with clay when I got dressed this morning. I think I'm going to go change into something more casual."
"You look great, but that's probably a good call," I said. "I'll just send off that scone recipe and we'll go, okay?"
"Sounds like a plan," she said.
I went to the office and submitted both scone recipes—the limit was two—along with a short e-mail telling the contest administrator about the inn. I had just hit Send when my phone rang.
"Good morning, Gray Whale Inn."
It was Charlene. "They found Adam's boat."
"Oh, thank goodness. Is it okay?"
"She got a little banged up, but it should be an easy fix."
I leaned back in my chair, looking out the back windows of the inn at the blue water and the green-gray humps of Mount Desert Island in the distance. "Where was she?"
"Headed out to sea," she said. "She was spotted by a lobsterman from Southwest Harbor. He called it in, and they're towing her now."
So the Carpe Diem hadn't sunk to the bottom of the ocean. "What a relief."
"I know. He was in here just a few minutes ago, in high spirits. I think you're forgiven for your oversight."
I sat up straight in my chair. "Really?"
"Really. The
re was an article in this morning's paper; they found Bruce on Route 3 and arrested him last night. Gertrude got the scoop and published the story. They're charging him with murder."
"Oh," I said, feeling my stomach flutter.
"What? That's good news. It means Adam's off the hook and everything's back to normal."
"I guess you're right," I said, still looking out at the buoy-studded water. A lobster boat chugged by slowly, and it looked like everything really was back to normal. But it still didn't feel resolved to me. For starters, I still didn't know who had left that horrid thing on my porch steps. And there were still all kinds of trouble down at the co-op.
"Did you ever hear anything from Eli, by the way?" Charlene asked.
"No," I said. "I've been meaning to check in with him, but with everything going on, I haven't gotten to it. Maybe I'll stop by on my way back from the Art Guild."
"The Art Guild? Why are you going over there?"
"I signed up for that awful pottery class with Catherine, so we're going for our second session. Speaking of Catherine, she wants to talk to you about online dating."
"Moving on already, eh?"
"Looks like it."
"Sarah and Murray were in here just this morning," she said. "It didn't look chummy."
"No?"
"He was trying to tell her she should use laminate flooring instead of real wood. He kept touching her arm, and she kept looking at him like he was a barnacle she was hoping to pry off as soon as possible."
"I can sympathize," I said. "So it didn't look romantic?"
"Not from her side, anyway. He was full of enthusiasm. I'm not sure if it's so much about her as the idea of a new development project; it's been a while since he's had anything to work on."
"Which is good news for the island," I said.
"True," Charlene agreed. "I'm kind of glad Catherine's moving on, frankly. She was a good influence on him, but I'm still not his biggest fan."
"Me neither," I said. "But I don't like to see her hurt."
"I hear you," she said. "We've both been there, haven't we? But we found love in the end."
"That's true," I said. "There's hope."
"Oh—and the Bermans were in, too. They're a piece of work, aren't they?"
"All three of them?" I asked.
"All three of them," she confirmed. "Chad Senior was upbraiding Chad Junior about keeping family matters in the family. Any idea what he was he talking about?"
"Nope," I said. "Did Chad say anything about Quartz?"
"No," she said. "But he looked kind of sick. Almost like he was in shock or something."
My antennae went up. "Really?"
"Yeah," she said. "I know you thought he wasn't really in to her, but maybe he liked her more than he let on."
Or maybe he had killed Chelsea after all, I thought privately.
"Love is weird, isn't it?" Charlene said.
"I can't argue with that," I said, still thinking about Chad. I was planning to ask him a few questions about Quartz at the Art Guild today. I wondered if his parents would still be hovering now that an arrest had been made. I decided odds were good.
"Anyway, let me know what you find out about Claudette," Charlene said, bringing me out of my reverie.
"I will," I said, pushing my chair back from the desk and standing up. "Keep your fingers crossed that Gwen's forgiven me."
"I'm sure everything will be fine. Are you going to ask about doing that co-op advertising?"
"We'll see how it goes," I said.
"All right. Keep me posted," she said, and signed off.
Chad hadn't arrived at the Art Guild by the time we got there. I'd enjoyed the walk, but even though the Guild was a place of hope and promise for Gwen, it still made me a bit sad. I sniffed the roses blooming at the end of the driveway; they reminded me of Fernand, who had been Gwen's mentor and owned the place before meeting an untimely death.
"I'm going to pop in to see Gwen for a moment," I told Catherine, who had changed into tailored jeans and a taupe cotton blouse. Not exactly grubby clothes from my perspective, but probably easier to care for than cashmere.
"Sure. Tell her hi for me; I'll meet you in the pottery studio," Catherine said as we walked in the door.
"Will do."
I found Gwen in her small but bright studio, busy framing some of her recent work. Today, she wore jeans and one of Adam's oversize Cranberry Island T-shirts, her curly hair tied up in a knot on the top of her head. A sketch was taped to an easel by the window, and a mostly finished painting of a stand of lupines was taped to a board on her worktable; the focus on flowers made me wonder if she was taking inspiration from her fellow artist Emma. She looked up at me with a tentative smile when I walked in.
"These are beautiful," I said, pointing to the painting of lupines. The rich purple mixed with the pale green of the leaves and the gray-blue sky above was dreamy and lush. It had a different feel from her other work. "I've never seen you do a painting of just lupines before."
"I've been learning from Emma," she said. "I felt like experimenting; not to work to someone else's specifications, but to kind of express... I don't know. A feeling."
"Whatever it is, it's working," I said. She'd experimented before at the advice of another artist, trying to create what he considered more "commercial," with rather disastrous results. This, on the other hand, had a lovely, luminous feeling to it, and was anything but a disaster.
"I love having other artists around," she said as I admired the use of color in her new painting. "I'm so glad I was able to start the Guild; I think it's really helped me grow as an artist."
"You're always amazing," I said, "but I'm glad you're enjoying exploring a new direction, and your work is just beautiful."
"Thanks," she said, the corners of her mouth pulling up into a smile. "I'm sorry I was so hard on you on the phone. It was really upsetting, but I should have known you wouldn't do anything like that to Adam or me."
"I'm sorry I was so careless," I said. "I'm glad it's all worked out."
"Me too," she said. "I was terrified they were going to arrest Adam."
"You must have been," I replied. "By the way, I heard they found the Carpe Diem."
"Thank goodness, yes, they did," Gwen said, looking relieved. "Eli said he'll be back in the water by Monday. He's making Adam his top priority."
"Good," I said.
"And they arrested someone for that murder, so Adam's completely in the clear."
"I never doubted," I said.
She cocked a dark eyebrow. "Really?"
"Really," I reassured her. As I spoke, a thought occurred to me. "Hey... did Chelsea Sanchez ever talk to you about the Art Guild?"
"Funny you should ask," Gwen said. "She called about it last week, a few days before she got here. Said she had an interest in art, and wondered if she could stop by to check it out. I'd forgotten till you asked."
"Did she ask anything specific about it?"
"She asked who had founded it, and when," she said. "I told her I had started it, with funding from donors."
"Did she ask who the donors were?"
"She did, actually. I told her the name of the major donors—namely, the Bermans. I mentioned it to Chad, and he wasn't too happy about it."
"No?"
"In fact, he was really angry. Said his parents didn't want that information out, and I should have checked with them before saying anything." She sighed. "He's probably right. I don't know why he's so worried about it, though."
"I have an idea why. Apparently, Chelsea outed him in the school paper at Middlesex College,” I informed Gwen. "His parents bought his admission to the college by buying a building."
"What?" Gwen put down the painting she was framing. "That's horrible! Did he know that's how he got in?"
"I don't know, but evidently it was a bit of a sore spot. Given Chelsea's background, I'm wondering if she was here undercover as a reporter, in fact."
"Have you looked her up?"
"Let's do it now," Gwen said. "The computer's in the office."
I followed her into a small room loaded with papers, files, and art supplies. She opened her laptop and typed in Chelsea's name.
"I don't see anything here about Chelsea being a fisheries observer," she said. "In fact, the only Chelsea Sanchez I can find is a wrestler."
I looked over her shoulder at a picture. "That's not our Chelsea."
"No," she said. "It's not." She looked through Facebook, but none of the faces in the photos were familiar. "Let's check LinkedIn," she suggested.
There were no fisheries observers named Chelsea Sanchez on LinkedIn.
"Looks like she was here undercover," I said. "What's the name of the Middlesex College paper?"
She typed in a search. "The Middlesex Campus," she said.
"Google Chad Berman and Middlesex Campus," I suggested.
She typed in the names, and an article popped up... authored by a Chelsea Gutierrez. "Found it," Gwen said. Together, we scanned the article. It was as bad as Quartz had said it was, and must have been humiliating for Chad at the time. "Now let's do a search for Chelsea Gutierrez," I suggested.
She typed in the name. A profile for Chelsea Gutierrez, reporter for the Portland Press Herald, popped up.
At least that was one mystery solved, I thought. Unfortunately, it didn't get me any closer to figuring out who had killed her.
21
"Looks like whoever pegged her as an undercover reporter was right," my niece said.
"But what was she working on?"
"Maybe she was doing a follow-up on Chad and the Art Guild?" Gwen suggested.
"That seems like awfully small potatoes for the Portland paper," I said. "I think it's got something to do with all the squabbling at the lobster co-op. After all, she was posing as a fisheries observer, not an artist."
"True," Gwen said.
"And if she was going undercover to out Chad, why wouldn't the paper send someone else? He obviously recognized her."
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