“How could Mrs. Martin and Uncle Carl do that?
“I don’t know, Jake. I don’t.”
“I could tell Detective Preston that I took Dad’s rifle, that Matt and I had it, and then Mr. Martin confiscated it. Wouldn’t they have to let Dad out of jail then?”
“I think that’s a big start. But your dad still has a motive. Uncle Carl stole money from him. And we don’t know what happened to that rifle between late Friday night and when the police found it over on the ledges.”
Jake looked exasperated. “I told you. Mr. Martin had it. And he had a motive, too. Mrs. Martin was sleeping with Uncle Carl.”
Jake was right.
“You once said you thought Matt might have shot your Uncle,” said Izzie, looking at the notes she and I’d made. “Why did you say that?”
Jake looked down. “I thought maybe Matt knew where his dad had hidden the rifle Friday night. And maybe he’d gone down to the lighthouse while I was searching for the gun in his house. He was awfully mad at Uncle Carl. When I went to look for him after that he wasn’t at the wharf. He was only a little bit down the road.”
“So, you thought he might have had time to get past you, get to his house, find the rifle, go to the lighthouse cliffs, shoot Carl, and then go back toward the wharf?” Izzie sounded skeptical.
Jake shrugged. “I thought maybe. He wouldn’t have needed to take the road to his house, like I did. We know shortcuts through the woods between here and the shore.”
Jake and Matt knew this part of the island as well, or better, than anyone else. They’d been wandering and playing here since they were little. But for Matt to have done all that would have taken more time than I suspected Jake had figured. What he was saying now—that maybe Dolan Martin had shot Carl—made more sense.
“Would you like some cake, Jake? Your Mom and I are going to have to figure out what we should do next.” Izzie’s solution to problems was food. It wasn’t a bad idea.
“Is there any of that chocolate cake we had yesterday left? That was the best.”
“I’ll find you some,” promised Izzie, getting up.
I didn’t even mention Jake ruining his dinner. I was proud of him. Truth wasn’t simple.
But—Lucy and Carl? I was still stunned. They’d been my friends for years. They’d been childhood sweethearts. I hadn’t a hint they were anything more.
Jake went to wash his hands before eating his cake.
Izzie said softly. “So, Carl was having relationships with both Rose and Lucy at the same time. I wonder if he was any more serious about Lucy than he was with Rose. And there was a third woman, I’m pretty sure.”
“He’d broken up with Rose, we know. And he’d known Lucy all his life. I wonder how long they’d been lovers. And what would have happened to Dolan and Matt if Carl was serious about her?” I whispered back.
Not to speak of what others in the town would have thought, or the awkwardness of the whole situation. How could Lucy and Carl have betrayed all of us?
And—still—who’d killed Carl? Was Jake right? Was it Dolan Martin?
Jake took his cake and went to his room. Izzie looked at the sheet of paper with the timeline (she’d been taking notes as Jake talked) and motives. “We’ve gone from no one having a motive to kill Carl, to Burt having one, along with Rose, and maybe Cynthia. Now we can add Dolan and Matt.”
“I don’t think it was Matt. Even though Jake wasn’t with him all morning, he didn’t have enough time. He may have been hurt and angry at his mother and Carl, but I can’t believe he’d kill anyone. Besides—he’d only used a rifle once before. He wouldn’t have been able to shoot someone on the deck of a boat, even a boat just offshore.”
“That leaves Dolan. He found out about Carl and his wife Friday night. He must have been furious. He was the last person we know of who had Burt’s rifle. And when the boys went to the town wharf after breakfast at the Martins’, his boat was still there. He hadn’t gone out early, like Burt and Carl, as he usually did.”
“I’ll admit, I can’t get my head around any of this. Dolan wasn’t violent. He’d even given up hunting.”
“Because Lucy was against it, right?”
“Partially, I’m sure. He did everything for Lucy and Matt.”
“You should call Detective Preston. Tell him he has other suspects,” said Izzie.
“But it’s all based on what Jake’s said. Preston could say Jake invented it all, to get his father out of jail.” I kept thinking of years before, when Burt had been arrested for stealing the boat a friend had loaned him. The police hadn’t believed him then. And right now, his rifle was probably the murder weapon … and he had a motive. Why would they believe him now? Before we called the police, I wanted to tie up all the ends.
“Jake didn’t make all that up,” said Izzie.
“I agree.”
Jake could be back at any moment. He didn’t need to hear this. “An hour or two won’t make a difference. After supper, I’ll call Rob and get his advice. If Dolan is guilty, I don’t want to mess up any evidence.
“I don’t think you should wait much longer. Dolan might figure out Jake talked.”
I got up and stretched. My whole body had tightened while I’d been talking with Jake. “I just want to be sure before we accuse anyone. It’s after four in the afternoon. Wine? And then an early supper.”
“Definitely,” she agreed.
Someday Izzie and I might have a restaurant. Today we didn’t need a bartender to serve us.
Chapter Thirty-Nine
“Lettuce, greens, and celery, though much eaten, are worse than cabbage, being equally indigestible without the addition of condiments. Besides, the lettuce contains narcotic properties.”
—The Young Housekeeper: Thoughts on Food and Cookery by William A. Alcott. Boston: George W. Light, 1838
Supper was a quiet meal. We were all too aware of what was happening.
Izzie tried to chat about the weather and the island. Jake was silent. I tried to respond to Izzie, but was too conscious of the empty place at the table, and the bed I’d sleep alone in again later that night.
Burt and I had only been separated a few nights since we’d been married. When I’d given birth to Jake he’d stayed with me at the hospital. That was the only night I’d been away from home. Two or three times Burt had headed with Carl or Dolan up to the county to hunt, and stayed there overnight. But they hadn’t done that in years.
The house was empty without him.
No matter what Izzie or Jake said, I kept seeing how Burt had looked in jail: discouraged and alone.
Normally, if I had a problem I’d talk to Lucy. But I didn’t know what was happening next door. I didn’t want to barge in on the Martins.
And I wasn’t ready to talk to Mom or Mamie, or accuse people we all knew so well. Years ago, when I’d found out I was pregnant, I’d told my mother before I told Burt. Mom had asked me, “What’s the worst that could happen?”
I’d told her, “I would lose the baby. Or find out Burt doesn’t love me.”
“Then what will you do?”
I remembered saying, “If I lose the baby, I’ll cry. And then I’ll marry Burt. If Burt doesn’t love me, I’ll cry more. Could I stay with you, Mamie, and Seth if I had a baby on my own?”
“This will always be your home,” she’d said. “Remember, no matter what happens: imagine the worst possibility, and decide how you’ll cope with that. If you’re prepared for the worst, you’ll be strong enough to handle anything.”
Tonight, I didn’t feel strong. The worst that could happen would be Burt being convicted and spending the rest of his life in prison.
But, on the other hand, I was going to inherit money that would pay for a lawyer. And if Izzie and I found the person who really killed Carl, Burt could come home. Everything—well, almost everything—would be back to normal.
Izzie’s dream might come true, and she and I would become partners in a restaurant.
And no matter what happened, Burt and I would love each other and believe in each other, and Jake would be all right. I sometimes had doubts about my own strength, but together, our family would survive.
“I’m going to see Rob now,” I told Izzie as soon as Jake had gone to his room on the usual homework premise. Who knew? He might actually be doing it.
“I’ll clean the kitchen. Don’t worry about anything here,” she said.
Izzie had been part of my life for only a week, and I already trusted her to do what was right. She’d clean the kitchen and watch television or read one of her recipe books. She’d answer the telephone and not give away any secrets or say anything stupid. She’d be there if Jake came downstairs and needed anything.
I walked over to her and gave her a hug. “Thank you, Izzie. I’m really glad you’re here.”
“I am too. No matter what.”
As I got to the Ericksons’ house, I realized I should have called first. Maybe Rob was taking care of his dad. Or Gus wasn’t having a good day. Or …
But the door opened before I’d a chance to consider any other possibilities.
“Anna! Come on in,” said Rob. “I was about to call you.”
I followed him into the small living room his mother had decorated in pastels and flowered fabrics years ago. Now, only men lived there, but it was still her house. Rob was a little over six feet tall. He dwarfed the furnishings.
“Dad’s watching the sports channel in his room. Red Sox are playing.”
“This early?”
“Pre-season game,” Rob explained. “Coffee? Tea?”
“No, thank you,” I said, sitting on one of the yellow sprigged slipcovers.
“Wine?”
“Thank you,” I agreed. “Just half a glass.” A little more wine might help me relax. More than that and I might lose my courage.
Rob was back in a few minutes with glasses for both of us. “To Burt,” he said, as he handed mine to me.
“Do you know if the lawyer has seen Burt yet?”
“He planned to see him this afternoon.”
“Then I won’t worry about that right now. But I have another problem I need help with.”
“At your service,” said Rob, stretching his long legs so they reached under the coffee table to the other side. “What’s happening?”
“I’ve found another suspect in Carl’s murder,” I said. “And I don’t know what to do about it.”
Rob sat up. “What did you find out? Who is it?”
“One of the reasons I came here is it sounds impossible. But all I know points to one person.”
“Who is?”
“Dolan Martin.”
I saw Rob shake his head slightly.
“I know. Everyone likes Dolan. You and me both. He’s been one of Burt’s and Carl’s best friends for years. And your neighbor. But hear me out.”
“I’m listening.”
“You know Jake took Burt’s rifle.”
“Yes.”
“Matt used it, and it was in Carl’s truck. They didn’t want Burt or me to know they’d borrowed it, so they left it in the truck. Later that night, Matt went and got it.”
“Okay,” said Rob, listening intently.
“Jake spent the night at the Martins’ Friday night. He and Matt saw Carl coming into the house to see Lucy after she thought everyone else was asleep. Seems Matt knew Lucy and Dolan were having an affair.”
Rob grimaced, and put his glass down. “That explains why I’ve seen his truck parked behind the church so often when I get up to help Dad to the bathroom in the middle of the night.”
“I guess it’s been going on a while. Jake says Matt’s been upset, and angry at his mom. But, of course, he never said anything to anyone but Jake.”
“I sense that changed.” Rob leaned forward, listening intently.
I nodded. “Friday night. Carl arrived at the Martins’ late, when he and Lucy assumed the boys and Dolan were asleep. The boys weren’t. Matt threatened Carl and his mother with Burt’s rifle, and Jake was scared he’d hurt someone, so he woke Dolan and told him what was happening. Dolan took the rifle, told the boys to go to bed, and he and Carl and Lucy had a major argument.”
“So, Dolan had the murder weapon Friday night.”
“Exactly. But no one was hurt then. Carl left. Saturday morning baseball practice was canceled, so Jake and Matt went to the wharf. Dolan’s boat was there. He hadn’t gone out.”
“He was still on the island? With Burt’s rifle?”
I nodded. “So it seems.”
“Did the boys see him that morning?”
“Not until after Carl’s boat was found adrift. They had lunch at Mom’s house and were on their way to Luc’s bookstore when you saw them and told them Carl was missing.”
He nodded. “I was going to offer them a ride, but they looked at each other, and both took off, running toward the wharf.”
“And ended up going out with Burt to look for Carl. They said Dolan was at the wharf then, too, but neither of them wanted to go with him.”
“So, you’re saying Dolan Martin had a motive—his wife was having an affair with Carl—and he had the murder weapon—and he wasn’t out fishing the morning Carl was killed.”
“Right. So, should I call Detective Preston?”
“You heard all this from Jake?”
“Yes.”
Rob sat for a few minutes. “Testimony from the suspect’s son isn’t perfect. We need proof of what happened.”
“That’s what I thought. You saw Carl’s truck parked nearby sometimes.”
“True. But that wouldn’t convict anyone. I didn’t see Carl’s truck Friday night. And I did hear Carl and Burt arguing Saturday morning.” Rob thought for a minute. “Assuming he was the killer, Dolan got rid of the rifle he used. But he probably has other guns.”
“I don’t think so,” I said. “Lucy told me she made him get rid of his guns.”
“If Dolan had killed Carl Friday night, that might be seen as an act of passion. But if he waited until the next day, took a rifle, and went to a spot near where he knew Carl would be setting traps, that’s premeditation.” Rob shook his head in disbelief. “Dolan’s a good guy. It’s hard to believe he’d kill Carl. But if he was stressed and angry … If he did kill Carl, he’s probably nervous and wicked scared now.”
I nodded.
“And I’ll bet he’s still angry with the two of them, unless he’s convinced himself Carl seduced Lucy and it wasn’t her fault.”
“No way,” I blurted. “Lucy’s known what she was doing since she was a kid.”
“Husbands sometimes see their marriages differently than do people outside it,” Rob pointed out. “Has Dolan ever hurt Lucy?”
“Not that I’ve heard of. Or seen. And Lucy and I’ve been friends for years.”
“Good. And if there aren’t guns in their house, better. I’d hate for anyone else to be hurt.”
“Do you think Lucy’s in danger now? Or Matt?”
“I don’t think so. I hope not.”
We both sat for a few minutes.
“So right now, Dolan doesn’t know anyone suspects him.”
I winced a little. Dolan and Burt were close friends. How could Dolan relax knowing his friend had been arrested for something he’d done?
“I know Dolan pretty well. Or, at least I thought I did,” said Rob. “I’d like to give him a chance to turn himself in.”
“But why would he do that if everyone believes Burt killed Carl?”
“Because you and I are going to confront him,” said Rob. “He doesn’t have a weapon. But I do, if necessary.”
“Are you sure we shouldn’t call Detective Preston?” I asked. “Jake wanted us to do that this afternoon.”
“Right now, let’s not tell him anything,” said Rob.
I looked at Rob doubtfully. “You were a homicide detective. Is this the way cases are usually run?”
“No. But not every suspect is a good friend
. It’s worth a try. If it doesn’t work, then,” he held up his phone. “I have Preston on speed dial.” He looked at me carefully. “Are you okay with this? Are you nervous? Afraid?”
“Yes. Yes. And … yes,” I said. But my husband was in jail and my brother-in-law was dead. I believed Jake’s story. I could do this. I had to. “But I want to do it as soon as possible, before Dolan figures out we suspect him. I want Burt to come home.”
“We’ll do it tonight, then,” said Rob. “We don’t know how Dolan’s going to react when we confront him with what you’ve found out. But I’ll record everything that’s said. Is that okay with you?”
“Isn’t that illegal?”
“Not in Maine,” he said. “We’ll both be there. If I do the recording, and you and I’ve agreed it’s all right, the other parties don’t have to know. The recording would stand in court. Are you still okay with this?”
“Whatever we have to do to prove Burt isn’t guilty.”
I could do this.
“Why don’t I call Lucy and Dolan and invite them to my house? I’ll tell them we have desserts left over from all the food people gave us, and that I’d like company. I’ll send Jake over to see Matt. Despite their problems, the boys will do that, and I don’t want them around to hear whatever happens. Lucy will convince Dolan to come. It won’t seem unusual: we often get together for an evening.”
“That works for me,” Rob agreed. “Give me fifteen minutes to get Dad settled.”
I could be as brave as anyone if it meant bringing my husband home.
Chapter Forty
“Oysters and clams are scattered along our coasts—usually in the neighborhood of some miserable barren soil. Perhaps they are in part designed to afford a temporary sustenance to the miserable mariner who has been wrecked, where there is nothing better for his support.”
—The Young Housekeeper: Thoughts on Food and Cookery by William A. Alcott. Boston: George W. Light, 1838
Izzie was watching the news in our living room when I got back. “How did it go?” she asked, switching it off. “What did Rob say?”
Death and a Pot of Chowder Page 23