“That’s terrible,” I said mechanically as I gathered flour and sugar from the pantry and grabbed the bottle of vanilla extract I’d made with bourbon and vanilla beans. As she prattled on, I made occasional noises, concentrating on the soothing ritual of baking. I did it every day, but it never grew old. As my sister regaled me with news of her latest cases, I focused on the task at hand, creaming the butter and sugar, adding eggs and dry ingredients, and stirring in a mix of milk and dark chocolate chips, half-listening as I worked. I wasn’t sure how it was possible that we were so different, but I suppose it made sense; our parents were opposites, too. Where my sister had always been voted most likely to succeed, I’d spent my childhood out tramping around in the fields and woods, making disastrous experiments in the kitchen, and reading Nancy Drew mysteries while sucking on butterscotch drops. I was wondering how to incorporate that lovely butterscotch flavor into a cookie when Bridget said, “That’s why I’ve decided Gwen’s coming back to California with me.”
I looked up from the chocolate-chip-studded batter. “What?”
“I’m taking Gwen home with me,” she said.
“Have you talked to her about that?”
“I will this evening,” I said. “She needs a break from all of this.”
“She just spent almost a year in California,” I said, putting down the spoon and looking at my sister. “She finished her degree and decided to come back.”
My sister’s face darkened. “Her degree was in art, not business.”
“Yes. She chose art. And she’s good at it... you’ll see when she shows you the studio.”
Bridget looked like she could have chewed a bullet and spit it out. “Gwen’s my daughter, Nat. Not yours.”
I took an involuntary step back at the fury in her voice. “I know. I’ve never claimed to be her mother. But what does that have to do with whether or not she decides to go to California?” I asked.
“Everything,” my sister spat. “I know you fancy yourself some kind of... I don’t know,” she said, waving a dismissive hand, “second mother to Gwen, but the truth is, she’s my daughter.”
“I’ve never questioned that.”
“Are you sure? I know you always wanted kids, and never had a chance to have one of your own, but Gwen is my daughter, Natalie. Not yours.”
I set down the spoon, my face flaming. “Excuse me?”
“You’re overstepping your bounds,” my sister told me, her own cheeks pink. “You’ve been doing it ever since she set foot on this godforsaken island. When I said she could come for a few months, I didn’t mean you could take over her life.”
“This is ridiculous. Talk about overstepping bounds...” I was so angry I almost couldn’t speak. “Take over her life? Bridget, she chose to stay!”
“You derailed her, Natalie.” My sister’s nostrils flared. “She had a future. A real future! She was smart, she had good grades, all the right extracurricular activities... she could have had a successful life!”
I stepped back as if my sister had slapped me. “Successful?” I said. “She’s an artist, Bridget. She’s doing what she loves.”
“There you go again. Filling her head with... nonsense.”
I took a deep breath. “I think you need to leave my kitchen now,” I said, in as calm a voice as I could muster.
“Fine,” she said, standing up. “But this conversation isn’t over.”
CHAPTER SIX
I bit my tongue as she turned and stalked to the back door, head high. Anger flared in me, and I wanted to say all kinds of things in response... but anything I said could reflect back on Gwen, and she had it hard enough already.
When the door closed behind my sister, I let out a long, slow breath and stabbed the spoon back into the batter, swearing under my breath. I couldn’t believe Bridget had just accused me of trying to steal her daughter.
I shouldn’t be surprised, I told myself as I spread the batter in the brownie pan. Bridget had been appalled when I quit my job to buy the inn. The thought of her daughter making beds and helping clean up after other people’s breakfasts must be horrifying; she’d been prepping Gwen for a career in either law or business ever since she was born, and the service industry certainly wasn’t on her list of acceptable professions. She and her husband had spent tens of thousands on private schools, music lessons, and tutoring to groom their daughter for big things.
Had I led Gwen astray? I wondered. It was true, I thought as I spread caramel over the batter, that she probably would have followed a different path if she hadn’t come to help me out at the Gray Whale Inn. She certainly wouldn’t be engaged to a lobsterman and painting watercolors for a living.
Was there a grain of truth in what my sister had said? Had I derailed my niece’s career trajectory? She was bright, talented, vivacious... would her gifts be wasted here on Cranberry Island? I felt a stab of self-doubt as I sprinkled fleur de sel—French sea salt—over the caramel and then spread the second half of the batter into the pan before tucking it into the oven. I was happy here... but I’d already had a career when I chose to make the move, and had lived another life. Gwen was just beginning hers. Would she look back in ten or twenty years and wish she’d taken a different path?
These unsettling thoughts were swirling around in my head when John walked in through the back door.
“Hey,” I said, putting down the bowl I was washing and rinsing my hands. “What’s going on out there?”
He sighed. “Homicide, I’m afraid.”
Even though I wasn’t at all surprised, my stomach contracted. “I figured.”
He glanced behind him toward the door. “What’s up with your sister?” he asked.
“She thinks I’m trying to be Gwen’s mom and mucking it up,” I said.
“Because she didn’t go to business school? She made that decision before she ever came here.”
“Because she’s throwing her life away to do menial work in a backwater,” I said. “At least that seems to be my sister’s opinion of the situation.”
“Wow,” John said, coming over, arms open, and pulled me into a hug, fitting my head into the crook of his neck and putting his chin on my head. I inhaled his masculine, woodsy scent and felt something inside me relax. “I’m so sorry, Nat. Did she really say that?”
“More or less,” I said into his T-shirt clad chest, loving the feel of his strong arms around me. I stayed that way for a moment, then gave him a squeeze and stepped back, looking up at him. “Do the police have any suspects?”
“Detective Fleming has been tight-lipped,” he said. “They seemed very interested in the rest of the crew, though.”
“I was worried about that,” I said.
“What do you mean?”
“Charlene’s pretty into Alex,” I said. “But I heard him arguing with the captain yesterday... and last night, when I came down to get the kitten off the back porch...”
John blinked. “Kitten?”
“She’s in the laundry room; she’s really cute. She was just meowing on the back porch last night. Didn’t I tell you?”
He kissed me on top of the head. “We didn’t really have time to talk this morning,” he pointed out. “The day kind of started out with a bang.”
“And not the good kind,” I agreed.
“No.” He kissed my head again. “At any rate, last night, when you were getting the kitten I haven’t heard about off the back porch...”
“Oh, right. It was after 2 a.m., and Alex came in the back door. He said the front door was locked.”
“Late night with Charlene?”
“That’s what I thought, but when I talked to her this morning, she said he went home at midnight. Someone else was moving around, too... on the second floor. I heard a door close.”
“Busy night at the inn,” he observed.
“I know. And yesterday, I heard a conversation between the captain and the first mate.” I relayed what they’d said about “taking care” of Alex.
�
��Are you thinking Bainbridge tried to do something to Alex, and Alex acted out of self-defense?”
“It’s a possibility,” I said. “But tying a man to an anchor a pretty nasty way to do someone in. Not really a crime of passion. And it’s not like it looked like an accidental death.”
“It seems someone hit Bainbridge over the head first,” he said. “He was probably unconscious when he went down.”
“I’m glad of that—I hope he didn’t suffer too much. But that makes more sense; if he were conscious, it’d be hard to keep him still long enough to tie the chain around his leg.” I shivered. “I hope he didn’t feel anything.”
“Me too,” he said. “Horrible way to go.”
We both looked out at the deceptively serene blue water. It was beautiful, but everyone on the island also knew it could be deadly.
“I guess we need to tell the detectives about Alex,” I said.
“We do,” he said.
“Charlene won’t be happy.”
“If she’s dating a murderer, none of us will be happy,” he pointed out.
I sighed. “She’s got the worst luck.”
“Hey,” John said. “At least Alex is still alive.” He had a point; many of Charlene’s previous beaus had met untimely deaths.
“At least so far,” I said. “But is it better to date a killer than a victim?”
John gave me another squeeze. “Let’s hope he’s neither.”
***
Gwen arrived just as I finished spreading the last bit of caramel on the top of the bars. I smiled at her as I reached for the milk chocolate chips.
“Where’s my mother?” she asked as she crept into the kitchen, her art bag over her shoulder.
“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe the carriage house?”
“Her shoulders sagged. “Hallelujah,” she said, and heaved her bag onto the table.
“She’s not very happy with me,” I said as I sprinkled the chips over the top of the caramel. Once they melted, I’d swirl them in. The bars would be too gooey for the cookie jar, but I had a cake plate that would work just fine.
“Why not?”
“She thinks I’m responsible for you not earning a business degree and getting engaged to a lobsterman,” I said. “I’m a bad influence; I’ve ruined your life.”
Gwen snorted. “You’re kidding me, right?”
“Unfortunately not,” I said as I swirled the melting chocolate into the caramel. “But she got me thinking. Are you sure this is the life you want?”
“You mean, instead of working in a law office or a corporation, suing people or organizing ad campaigns?” she asked dryly. “Aunt Nat, you gave me the opportunity to spend time with you when I needed time to figure out what I wanted in life.”
“Yes,” I said. “But did I talk you into staying?”
“Of course not!” She fished in her bag and pulled out a watercolor pad. “Look what I did this morning,” she said, flipping through four gorgeous sketches of scenes on the island. My eyes lingered on a watercolor of Adam’s lobster boat chugging out from the dock. The colors leapt off the page; my niece’s talent had blossomed these past few years.
“They’re beautiful,” I said. “You just keep getting better.”
“I do,” she agreed. “I have work I love, in a community I adore, and I’m engaged to the most amazing man I’ve ever met. Why would I want anything different?”
“You’ve just worked so hard over the years,” I said. “I want to be sure you’ve thought this through. Remember, I had a career in Austin before I came here.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re as bad as my mother,” she said. “Can’t you just accept that this is my choice?”
“I do,” I told her quietly. “I just want to make sure you’ve thought about it.”
She slapped her watercolor book closed and shoved it into her bag. “How come nobody believes me when I say this is what I want? It’s my life, not my mother’s,” she said. “So I’ll thank you to butt out.”
“Gwen...”
“I’ll be here to help with dinner,” she said. “See you later.” Before I could answer, she headed back out the door, slamming it in her wake.
I was doing a terrific job in the family relations department, I thought morosely as I watched her march up the road, away from the inn.
***
Despite the challenging start to the day, the tour group’s outing appeared to be a success.
“That clam chowder at Spurrell’s was the best I’ve ever had,” Jan told me as I put the cake plate of cookies and a pot of tea out on the dining room sideboard. “And I can’t imagine working out on the water every day... it’s so beautiful!”
“That herring is a bit stinky, though,” Doreen said. “I could hardly eat my lunch. Besides, those lines are dangerous; think what would happen if you got caught on one of them?”
“Did you have to bring that up?” Yvette asked her, giving her children a pointed look.
Doreen pressed her lips together and didn’t respond.
“Can they each have a chocolate caramel bar?” I asked Yvette.
“Sure,” she said.
“Hot chocolate?” Lizzie asked.
“Only if your mom approves,” I told her.
“You can choose one; a cookie, or hot chocolate,” she advised them. They both went for the caramel bars.
“Did you have a good outing?” I asked Stacy as she reached for a cookie. I was very happy with how they’d turned out; the mix of milk chocolate and butter and salt was addictive.
“It was an interesting day,” she said. “I enjoy seeing how life really is for the people who live here.”
“And the sea cucumbers are gross,” Liam announced. “They squirt water if you squeeze them.”
“Did you know they’re related to starfish?” Alex asked. I found myself studying him, wondering if he was the one who had tied that chain around the captain’s leg and thrown him into the water.
“Really?” Lizzie asked.
“They’re both from a family called Echinodermata—it means spiny skin.” He smiled at her, and once again, I could see why Charlene had fallen head over heels for him.
“Cool!” Lizzie said, taking a big bite of cookie.
I stood up and caught Martina’s eye. She was smiling, but it looked brittle. I walked over to her and asked quietly, “Are you going to have access to the boat again tomorrow?”
“I think so,” she said, glancing out the window at the schooner. “They said they were finishing up tonight; I’m going to have to go and clean everything up tonight, though.”
“Do you have someone to crew for you?”
“Alex can help,” she said. “And Adam’s got a friend he’s going to send to help crew. He’s a nice man.”
“I know,” I told her. “He’s going to marry my niece soon.”
“Lucky girl,” Martina said.
I smiled. “He’s a lucky guy, too. They make a great couple,” I said, regretting the way my conversation with Gwen had ended earlier. Had I been too interfering? I wondered. I started to have a bit of empathy for my sister. It was hard enough being an aunt; I couldn’t imagine being a mother. My eyes strayed down to the carriage house; I hadn’t seen Bridget since the morning. Was she still down the hill, or had she headed out for the day?
“Everything okay?” Martina asked.
“Oh, fine,” I told her. “Lots going on. Dinner at seven okay?” I asked.
“Perfect,” she said. “That will give everyone an hour to decompress. I’ll head out and clean up the boat after dinner.”
“If you need help, I can probably come out and give you a hand.”
“Thanks... if it looks like it’s too much, I may come find you.” She sighed. “I just can’t believe he’s gone,” she said, and I could see her eyes welling up.”
“Were you two close?” I asked.
“We had our disagreements—who didn’t? But we’d worked together for five years.” She nodded.
“Yes. We were close. With Carl gone, I just don’t know what I’m going to do about the business...”
“Surely you can manage on your own?”
“I don’t know,” she told me. “Plus, I don’t know who inherits his share of the company.”
“You didn’t work that out beforehand?”
“I don’t think so,” she said. “We’re both in our forties... it just never occurred to us that we’d have to face something like this. He was so young,” she said, and began to cry, then took a deep breath. “We should talk about this later,” she said. “I still have to be on. I can’t afford to think about it right now.” She reapplied the brittle smile, wiped her eyes, and turned back to the group. “You’re welcome to relax until dinner. Tomorrow, we’ll do the itinerary we planned for today—including lunch at Jordan Pond House.”
“Any word on Captain Bainbridge?” Stacy asked, while Nan looked on with interest.
“I’m sure the police will let us know as soon as they have any information,” she said in a stilted voice. “Anyway, I’m headed out to get the boat ready for tomorrow. See you at dinner!”
Alex watched her as she headed for the back door. Did she really not know what the terms of the captain’s will were? I wondered. Or was that just a smoke screen?
I surveyed the group of people gathered in my dining room. Someone had tied that chain around the captain’s leg and tipped him into the ocean. Had it been someone in this room?
Or had the captain had other enemies I knew nothing about?
CHAPTER SEVEN
By the time I finished serving dinner, it felt like I’d been up for a week. The shrimp scampi had been a big hit, as had the key lime pies I’d thawed; I’d gotten limes on a sale a few weeks back and baked a few extras.
As I cleaned up the kitchen, I found myself wondering how Adam and Gwen were holding up; they had invited my sister over for dinner at Adam’s house. Emotions were obviously running high for both Bridget and my niece; I felt sorry for Adam. Talk about trial by fire!
After drying the last of the dishes, I reached for my cookbook—my binder still hadn’t resurfaced—and started leafing through, looking for another version of the blueberry muffin recipe I’d planned to make in the morning. As I flipped through the pages, I found myself wondering how I could have handled both Gwen and Bridget differently. Was Gwen right to take me to task for trying to interfere with her life? Or did Bridget have a point—had I played a part in limiting my niece’s options for her future? There didn’t seem to be a right answer. I checked the fridge to make sure I had bacon and eggs and enough blueberries for the muffins. When I was satisfied that I was prepared for the morning, I grabbed the Tupperware with the rest of the caramel-chocolate-chip bars so that I could refill the cake plate on the dining room sideboard.
Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 5