The Postman Always Purls Twice

by Anne Canadeo

  “I know everyone is going gluten free. Jennifer Todd acts as if flour and sugar were poison now, too,” she said. “But I do love a good piece of freshly baked bread now and again. It used to be called the staff of life.”

  “Everything in moderation. Including moderation,” Charles replied with a smile. “Thank goodness I’m not a movie star. I couldn’t stand it.”

  “Me, either,” Maggie agreed. “I heard that you had some very esteemed visitors at the police station today. Trina Hardwick and the film’s new director.”

  “Oh right . . . Sam Drummond.” Charles popped an olive into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

  “Did you take their statements?” she asked curiously.

  “We already got Hardwick’s and Theo Pullman’s.”

  “Theo Pullman was there? Lucy didn’t mention him.”

  “Yes, he was in the delegation. Sort of a fifth wheel, seemed to me. They came to see how we were progressing with the investigation. I think it was more of a publicity stunt myself. But we humored them. The producer had a lawyer along. Not that she needed one. Just wanted to rattle my cage, I guess.”

  “Maybe she always travels with a lawyer. I don’t think you should take it personally,” Maggie advised.

  He shrugged. “I knew they’d be on top of us. I wasn’t surprised.”

  “But you have made progress. You found the bottle Nick drank from,” Maggie reminded him.

  He gave her a sharp glance. “Who told you that?”

  A bite of bread nearly stuck in her throat. She covered her mouth with a napkin as she coughed. “I heard that in town . . . in the fish store,” she fibbed, saying the first thing that came to mind.

  Dana had told them not to repeat the information, or say where they’d heard about that evidence. Maggie was embarrassed she’d slipped.

  “The fish store?” he squinted, not really believing her, she could tell.

  “Everyone in town is talking about what happened. You must know that.” Maggie shrugged. “I couldn’t decide between shrimp or flounder. Maybe I should have asked if you were allergic to anything.” A transparent bid to change the subject, Maggie knew, but he seemed to buy it.

  His expression softened. “I’m not allergic to anything. Whatever you decided on smells delicious.”

  “It’s almost done. I’ll check it in a minute. Jennifer told me that Theo stands to get a larger credit for the screenplay, now that the script needs so much rewriting.”

  Charles selected another olive. But didn’t reply.

  “But he probably didn’t poison Nick. That’s just too obvious.” She paused, hoping he’d jump in here and say if they suspected Theo, or didn’t. But he didn’t say a thing, just listened with a blank expression. “And why would he want to hurt his father?” she continued. “I got the impression Nick was giving his son a leg up on this project, trying to help Theo’s career.”

  “Possibly,” Charles said simply. His look suggested she could talk all night about the investigation, but he wasn’t going to slip up and tell her anything.

  “It is interesting, though, that Theo didn’t go to Mass General today with Jennifer. Not that she mentioned it. And he wasn’t there yesterday, either,” Maggie added. “Jennifer told me that he’s been working ever since Nick fell ill. But don’t you think he’d want to see his father at some point? I didn’t see him follow the ambulance on Thursday night, either. He didn’t go with Jennifer—or in the car with Heath and Trina,” she recalled.

  “Maggie . . .” Charles shook his head. “You are a very intelligent, observant, lovely woman. But I’ve been at this all day and was hoping for some diversion. Not shop talk,” he said honestly. “You know I’m not allowed to talk about it anyway.”

  Maggie felt contrite. “I’m sorry. I get carried away. Let’s not say another word. It was inconsiderate of me to go on like that. Let’s see, there’s a good film coming to the arts cinema. Nobody under investigation is starring in it. But it might be worth seeing. Next weekend maybe?”

  He laughed. “That sounds like a plan. Provided this investigation is done.” He paused and then sighed. “Okay. I will tell you one thing. The other night at your shop, Theo Pullman followed the ambulance in another car. He said O’Hara and Hardwick had left without him. Does that make you feel any better?

  “Thank you. Yes, it does.” She was grateful for at least one question answered. He smiled and shook his head, as if confounded by her interest in these details.

  With all the flashing lights and activity in the street Thursday night, she obviously had not noticed Theo’s car leaving. That was the problem with Theo. He was easy to overlook, so quiet and nondescript, easily blending in with the background. Especially among the flock of movie stars competing for attention. Lucy hadn’t even noticed him walking into the police station today, eclipsed by the other celebrities.

  Maggie didn’t really suspect Nick’s son of the heinous deed. Though it was true that most criminals hurt someone with whom they shared a close relationship, patricide required an awful lot of hatred and passion. Theo didn’t really strike her as such a seething personality. Though it was often said that “still waters run deep” and she guessed it must have been hard to grow up in the shadow of a titanic figure like Nick Pullman, with his artistic sensibilities and hair-trigger temper. No wonder the young man was more comfortable laying low.

  Who had poisoned Nick Pullman? Maggie only knew one thing for sure: She wasn’t going to find out from Charles. Even if he did harbor some suspicions by now.

  Chapter Eight

  Maggie had hoped to sleep late on Sunday. But the ringing phone jarred her awake. She peered at the clock on the side table as she fumbled for the receiver. It was barely six.

  “Hello?” Her voice came out in a croak and she felt a dull headache, right between her eyes. The consequences of enjoying too much good wine and conversation with Charles. But they’d definitely enjoyed a perfect evening—after she’d stopped asking about his work.

  “Maggie . . . did I wake you?” Suzanne was using her Minnie Mouse voice, a playful, apologetic squeak. Maggie could just picture her pinched expression.

  “Of course you did . . . it’s six in the morning. On Sunday.”

  “Is Charles there?” Suzanne asked in a mouse whisper.

  “Suzanne . . . I can’t believe you just asked me that.” Maggie propped herself up on an elbow. “Wait . . . let me check . . .” She glanced over at the other side of the bed. “Nope. He’s not here. I’ll check under the bed, if you like.”

  “You know what I mean . . . sorry. I knew he was coming over for dinner, that’s all.”

  Maggie sighed. “Is that why you called me? Sunday morning bed check? Did my house turn into a dorm in an all-women’s college in 1952?”

  Suzanne finally laughed. “I’m calling because Lyle Boyd is afraid of you.”

  “Afraid of me? Why on Earth would he be afraid of me?”

  “Well . . . he’s a nice guy and he knows how the movie using your shop as a location has not exactly gone as planned. And he knows how the contract said that they only needed it for one day and how that turned into two. But . . .”

  “Saints preserve me, you’re not trying to say that they want to come back to film again, are you? Please don’t ask me that.”

  “They’d come over today and they’ll leave by midnight. They really need to finish shooting that scene with Jennifer and Trina they were working on when Nick got sick, and two more they’d planned for the location shots. They’ll be working at the beach house tomorrow and will leave town on Tuesday. Lyle said they’ll pay you extra for the day,” Suzanne added. “But if they have to shoot it back in the studio in California it will cost a lot to reproduce the interior—”

  “You sound like an expert now,” Maggie cut into Suzanne’s speed-talk sales job. “Are you planning on ditching Plum Harbor for the Boulevard of Dreams?”

  “Don’t tempt me. The assistant director already told me I have ‘unbelie
vable eyes.’ He wants to use me in his next movie.”

  “They all say that. I’d watch myself.”

  “No danger. He looks about . . . thirteen,” Suzanne clarified. “So, can I tell them it’s okay? Think of Jen, all she’s been through. She’s involved in the business end of this movie, too. You’d be making it easier for everyone if you just say yes.”

  Maggie sighed and ran a hand through her bed-head hairdo.

  “All right . . . do they still have a key?”

  “I’m not sure. But I know where the spare is. I’ll let them in. He said it’s fine if you want to go over today and visit the set again. He’ll put your name on the list. I might drop in around noon, after my appointment.”

  “I don’t think so. Thanks. But you’d better warn Phoebe they’ll be there. She’s liable to wander down in her Hello Kitty pj’s, snitching yarn for her sock orders.”

  “Will do,” Suzanne promised.

  At least she didn’t have to make that call. Phoebe would be a cranky little cat, woken up at this hour.

  “Thanks again, Maggie. You’re a good sport.”

  “So they tell me.”

  Suzanne said good-bye and ended the call.

  Charles walked into the room, carefully carrying a mug of coffee with two hands.

  “I noticed you were up, so I brought you this.” He handed her the mug and sat on the edge of the bed.

  “Thanks. That was very thoughtful.” Maggie smiled at him. She couldn’t remember the last time anyone had brought her a cup of coffee in bed. “Maybe I will get up. It looks like a nice day. I can always take a nap later. I don’t have much planned,” she mused aloud.

  “Good idea. I love to nap on Sunday. While reading the newspaper. Too bad I have to work, I’d join you.” He smiled and flicked a curl off her forehead with his finger.

  “That is too bad.” She meant it, too. She smiled as he came to his feet. Fresh from a shower, he had shaved and dressed. But hadn’t put his tie on. He still had to run home and get some clean clothes. He was due at the station by seven for his shift.

  “You can have a rain check . . . even though it’s not raining.”

  “I’ll remember that.” He leaned over and kissed her quickly. Then smiled into her eyes again. “I’ll call you later.”

  “Try my cell. I’m not sure where I’ll be . . . Have a good day. Catch some bad guys,” she added.

  “I’ll do my best.”

  She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the front door snapped shut. Then she heard him turn the knob, testing that it was locked. He was a police officer. Very security minded. Very caring, too.

  She leaned back on the pillows and took a sip of coffee. Which was just right. He already knew how she liked it.

  This relationship was advancing faster than she’d expected. But so far, it was just right, too.

  Maggie had fully expected her friends to weasel that important information out of her via email or phone calls. Or even a surprise attack at the shop. But they must have been too busy on Monday to worry about her social life. Maybe because they’d all lost so much time the week before with their star gazing.

  It was still cloudy on Tuesday morning, and a light rain fell. Maggie would have liked some sunshine, but reminded herself that her garden needed a good soak in order to bloom more.

  Despite the wet weather, Lucy appeared with her canine pals in tow, marching down Main Street. The dogs were actually towing her. Nothing unusual there. Maggie watched from the porch as she unlocked the shop, then waited.

  She and Lucy went inside together after Tink, the ever-panting golden retriever, and Wally, the three-legged chocolate Lab, were tied to a porch rail, and left to lap at a portable water bowl or snack on chew toys stuffed with treats.

  Lucy was a sucker for the latest dog toys. The gadgets, most of them chewable, never failed to astound Maggie. Every possible contingency was covered.

  Lucy followed Maggie into the shop. “Van Gogh isn’t on the prowl this morning, is he?”

  Van Gogh, Phoebe’s cat, was a sweet-natured fellow, as felines went. But he had a habit of jumping into the window display to taunt the dogs through the glass. The dogs never failed to fall for his trick. You could hardly blame him.

  “He’s most likely still curled up on Phoebe’s bed. Where she is still most likely curled up, too.” Maggie glanced up at the ceiling, listening for Phoebe’s light footsteps. Nothing yet. But it was barely eight.

  Lucy followed Maggie into the storeroom and watched as she put on a pot of coffee. “I heard the movie people are leaving town soon. I’m sure you won’t be sorry to see them go.”

  “No . . . I won’t. But it was exciting having them here. In more ways than one,” Maggie added. “Did you hear any more about Nick Pullman’s condition? The TV news is already tired of the story. On to the next disaster, I guess.”

  “I did hear a sound bite. They say his condition is stable but still critical. Matt says his heart may be seriously damaged, especially since he already had a heart condition. And I spoke to Dana last night. Jack told her some interesting information. The police lab has figured out that the drug found in Nick’s drink, which reacted on his body like an overdose of heart medication, wasn’t the typical compound produced by a pharmaceutical company. I think she said that medication is called digoxin, or digitoxin. It has a few names. Anyway, the digitalis they found in Nick’s bloodstream was in a pure state.” She tried to recall his exact words. “The way it’s found in nature.”

  “Really? Digitalis is found in some blooming plants, like foxglove,” Maggie said. “It’s been used for centuries as a cure by the Native Americans. But it can also be deadly to people and animals.”

  “I didn’t know that. I’ll keep the dogs away from any foxglove plants.”

  “It’s not blooming now, but it will come out later in the year,” Maggie warned her. She shook her head. “That’s an interesting and strange twist to the story. And Nick’s poisoning has certainly cast a long shadow on this movie.”

  “I agree. I was here Sunday night to watch the filming again. I may have been imagining it, but the crew seemed very subdued, and the dynamics between the big shots was very different, too,” Lucy said. “Suzanne didn’t seem to notice,” she added. “But I saw it pretty clearly.”

  Maggie smiled and sipped her coffee. “I love Suzanne . . . but subtle nuance in relationships is not her forte.”

  Lucy smiled. “Yes, she’s more of a big love, or big hate, girl. That’s for sure. But it seemed to me that when Jennifer and Nick were on the set Thursday night, they were the power center, calling the shots. Trina, and even Heath, were the second-string players. But with Nick gone and Trina’s boyfriend directing, it looked like Jennifer has definitely lost leverage. It’s hard to explain. It isn’t as if anyone treated her disrespectfully,” she added. “But I did see her disagree with the new director, and Regina Thurston had to smooth it out. He was also pushing through the script at the speed of light, compared to Nick.”

  “Interesting.” Maggie cocked her head to one side, considering Lucy’s observations. “Suzanne said they’re on a supertight schedule now. I’m not surprised he’s pushing the actors. I’m curious to see how this film turns out. If it turns out,” she added. “Seems to me, that’s still a question.”

  “Speaking of questions and relationships, what’s going on with Charles these days? Didn’t you have the ‘first time making him dinner at your house’ date on Saturday?” Lucy’s quick subject change threw Maggie a curve. She tried to hide her smile but really couldn’t.

  “We did. On the spur of the moment. We’d planned to go out, but he had to work late on the case.”

  “Oh right. Did he tell you anything interesting?” Lucy asked eagerly.

  “Charles can be so tight-lipped. No fun at all . . . that way,” she quickly clarified. “Dinner put him in a better mood. From the little he did say, it sounds like the police don’t suspect Theo Pullman. Though I was going on about hi
m. I made some flounder stuffed with shrimp,” she continued, avoiding Lucy’s impatient gaze. “I like to cook the shrimp a little first so they don’t—”

  Lucy made a time-out sign with her hands. “Enough recipe tips, Rachael Ray. How did the rest of the evening go . . . after dinner . . . and dessert?” she said with special emphasis. “Unless you came back downstairs for that?”

  Actually, they did put dessert off, and came back down to the kitchen barefoot. Maggie smiled, remembering.

  Lucy rarely hesitated sharing the private details of her life, but Maggie felt herself holding back. Not entirely fair, she knew. Natural shyness about these matters, perhaps. Or she was out of practice dishing on this topic; she was selective about her relationships reaching this stage.

  Just as Maggie was about to disclose the whole story, the shop door opened. Suzanne flew in, a red trench coat swirling around her body, a black turtleneck and black jeans underneath. A very dramatic look, Maggie thought.

  “I’m here . . . with news!”

  “Quite an entrance.”

  “Thanks, I won’t disappoint. I was just at the beach house.”

  “What was your excuse today?” Maggie cut in.

  “I had to pick up your spare key . . . Thank you very much, Suzanne, for remembering,” she mimicked Maggie’s voice perfectly. “Lyle told me they’ll be finished by five and I have to inspect the property and sign off before they leave . . . and guess what?”

  Maggie couldn’t imagine what she was going to say next. Clearly, neither could Lucy.

  “There’s a party tonight, to thank everyone they hired locally and give the crew and cast a morale boost. Lyle invited me and said you were invited, too. Since you were so nice to let them come back.”

  “So many times,” Maggie added dryly.

  “Is this what they call a wrap party?” Lucy asked.

  “I think it’s a prewrap . . . or a location wrap? They’re not really finished with the movie. There are more scenes to shoot in a studio back in Hollywood. I wanted to go back today in time to see if they really say, ‘It’s a wrap!’ You know, the way they always do in the movies?”