“He’s got a deal,” I said, smiling. Presuming I could find my recipe binder, that was. “I’ve got to go take care of breakfast, but can you come over later on today?”
“Tania takes over at two,” she said. “I’ll come over then, if that works. We have to get Alex free,” she said.
“I’ll be here,” I told her, hoping that Charlene was right, and that there was some other explanation for Alex’s 2 a.m. arrival—and wondering exactly how fractious relations between the captain and the naturalist had been.
***
Stacy Cox was full of questions over breakfast that morning, and I began to wonder if perhaps the slant of her article had changed. How much would the Gray Whale Inn figure into the article? I wondered. I wasn’t thrilled with having the inn linked with the captain’s death.
“How many times have they based the tour here before?” she asked as I refilled her coffee.
“This is the second time,” I said, glancing over at Martina, who was sitting with Nan McGee doing her best to put on a happy face. A murder and an arrest were not exactly what most investors were looking for when considering plunking down a bunch of cash. I wished Martina luck; from the look on Nan’s face, I was guessing it was going to be a tough sell.
“This isn’t the first time there’s been a murder associated with the inn, is it?” she asked.
Before I could answer, Gayla piped up. “I heard there were a few others. And we ended up having to stay in the poor dead captain’s room. I think he may be haunting it; I heard all kinds of bumps last night.” As Stacy wrote down everything she said, she gave an exaggerated shudder. “It’s like the inn is cursed or something.”
Stacy looked like a dog on a scent. “Cursed?”
“I’ve heard there was a ghost here even before the latest murder,” Gayla said.
“Is it murder, then?” Stacy asked, looking at me. “Have they arrested someone?”
“I saw the police taking that naturalist away this morning,” Gayla said, and I resisted the urge to cram the coffee cake on her plate into her mouth to shut her up. At the rate things were going, the PR article I’d been hoping for was going to turn into a nightmare.
“Is there any crew left?” Stacy asked, her eyebrows rising.
“Martina will be captaining,” I said, “and we have a first mate on his way.”
“How much experience does he have?”
“He builds boats for a living,” I told her. “And he’s been on the water since he was born. No one knows these waters better than he does.”
“Huh,” she said, but didn’t sound convinced. “Back to these murders,” she said. “Who else has died here?”
“Can we talk about that later?” I asked; this was the last thing I wanted to discuss in the breakfast room.
“How about this afternoon when we come back in?” she suggested.
“I’ll see how it goes,” I said, not to anxious to commit to an interview. “I have to go refill the coffee... need anything else?”
“I’m fine for now,” she said.
I hurried back into the kitchen, relieved to be away from Stacy, but a little nervous about what Gayla would tell her in my absence. How did she know about the inn’s history? I wondered. “I don’t like the direction this news article is going,” I told John as I scooped more coffee into the coffeemaker.
“Why?”
“With everything that’s been going on, I’m afraid it’s going to be more of an investigative journalism piece than a travel article. Gayla’s in there telling her about the other murders that have happened, and how the inn is cursed.”
He sighed. “Want me to go in and intercede?”
“You can try, but I’m afraid Stacy’s going to take the opportunity to quiz you; she was trying to set up an appointment for an interview with me this afternoon.”
“Just what we needed,” John said. “How did Charlene take the news, by the way?”
We’d barely had a chance to chat since breakfast started. “She’s convinced he’s innocent,” I said. “On the plus side, Eli is coming to help out with the Summer Breeze today.”
“Good thinking,” he said.
“It was Adam’s idea,” I told him.
“Did Charlene find out anything else about who was looking to buy Cliffside?” he asked. I’d told him about the call last night when I went up to bed.
“I didn’t ask,” I told him. “Too many other things going on.”
“No kidding,” he said, glancing at the laundry room door. “And I haven’t even called the insurance company yet.”
“Let’s get through breakfast and the rooms, and then we’ll deal with it.”
“Aren’t you glad we have such a relaxing, glamorous life?” he asked with a grin.
“At least we won’t die of boredom,” I replied.
“And at least the company is good,” he said, sweeping me into an embrace that made me—if only for a moment—forget about everything else that had happened.
And that’s when Bridget walked in the back door—at the same time that Gwen started down the stairs from her room.
CHAPTER TEN
Bridget had just closed the door behind her when Gwen got to the bottom of the stairs. Despite sharing dark hair and willowy figures, they could not look more different; while Bridget wore a navy pantsuit and looked like she was ready for a client meeting, Gwen was dressed in a crinkled cotton skirt and an oversized wool sweater, her unruly hair caught up in a loose, artsy bun.
“I was hoping I’d run into you,” Bridget said, sweeping a critical eye over her daughter.
“Going to try to persuade me to leave Adam and fly back to California with you again?” Gwen asked.
“I went to your gallery yesterday,” my sister announced.
Gwen looked surprised. “Why?”
“I wanted to see your work, of course,” Bridget said. “I can tell you’ve been putting a lot of time and effort into it.”
Not exactly the compliment an artist wanted to hear, I thought, cringing inside.
“Gee, thanks,” Gwen said frostily, and turned to me. “Do you need me to take care of the rooms today?” she asked.
“I think my mother offered to do it,” John said. “You want to take the day off?”
She nodded. “I sold three more paintings yesterday, and I’d like to finish a few more.”
“Three paintings? That’s great!” I said.
“Congratulations!” John added.
“All to the same person, and she’s thinking of commissioning another one,” Gwen answered, and for the first time since our discussion yesterday, I sensed a slight thaw.
“Don’t you think you’d sell more if you got into one of the mainland galleries?” my sister piped up.
“I’ve tried that route,” Gwen said, and the temperature in the kitchen dropped again. “It wasn’t very effective. Besides,” she said, casting her mother an icy glance, “I thought you wanted me to go to business school.”
Bridget threw up your hands. “Just trying to help,” she said. “But I can see when my opinion isn’t wanted.”
I almost choked; if that were the case, she would have shut up a long time ago. Gwen gave her a look that could have taken paint off a wall. “Right. See you later.”
“Are you sure you don’t want some breakfast?” I asked as my niece marched toward the door.
“No thanks,” she said, without looking back. “I’ve lost my appetite.”
Bridget, John and I watched her go, and then my sister turned to me. “She’s touchy. Always has been. Once she gets an idea in her head...” She shook her head.
“I wonder where she gets that from?” I said dryly.
“The difference,” my sister continued, as if I hadn’t spoken, “is that she’s not practical. She has no common sense.”
“You know, I think this is between you and Gwen,” I told her. “If you have an issue with her, you can take it up with her. I don’t want to be in the middle.”
“Look,” I told her. “I have a relationship with my niece; I love her. But what she does is her choice, and always has been-- not mine. If you have a problem with her decisions, talk to her—but please leave me out of it.”
Bridget started to say something else, but John cut her off. “Natalie’s right, Bridget. She hasn’t tried to influence your daughter. All of Gwen’s decisions have been hers alone. It’s not fair to put Nat in the middle.”
Bridget tightened her lips. “I can see you’re all in league against me,” she said. “I never should have let her come here. Just because you all feel comfortable throwing your lives away doesn’t mean it’s okay for my daughter to do it, too.”
“Throwing our lives away?” John asked. “Is that really what you think of what we’re doing here?”
She got up without answering. “I’m going to have a conversation with my daughter,” she said. “Somebody needs to talk some sense into her—and I can tell no one here is capable of it.” She stormed out the door, half-slamming it behind her, leaving John and me alone in the kitchen. Even though I loved my life, tears of anger and humiliation stung my eyes. How dare my sister say such things to me—and to John?
“Wow,” John said after a long moment. “Nat. I’m so sorry.”
“I’m sorry you had to hear that,” I told him.
“I’m not,” he said, closing the distance between us and taking me into his arms. “I didn’t realize what it was you have to deal with; now I have a better idea. I’m so sorry, honey,” he said, squeezing me tight.
Something inside me loosened at his touch. “I can’t believe I let her get me so upset,” I told him.
“Family can do that. I can see why you moved across the country,” he said. “She goes for the throat. I’m not even related to her, and I’m upset.”
“You don’t think we’ve wasted our lives, do you?”
John took me by the shoulders and looked into my eyes. “Is that a serious question?”
I shrugged. “It’s just...”
“No,” he said with conviction. “We have not wasted our lives. We are living full lives, doing what we love to do, in a wonderful community in a beautiful part of the world. What would you do differently? Work in a corporate office 60 hours a week and live in a high-rise somewhere?”
“Of course not,” I said. “I’d hate that. “It’s just...”
“Just what?”
I sighed. “Something about Bridget makes me question everything I’ve done.”
John grinned. “Family does that,” he said. “We all fall into those old patterns.”
“You don’t seem to with Catherine,” I pointed out.
“I still have to work at it,” he said. “When she gives me one of those looks... I feel like I’m five years old and got caught stealing a cookie from the Chips Ahoy bag. It all comes rushing back.”
“Chips Ahoy?”
“She wasn’t much of a baker,” he said. “But when that happens, I remind myself that I am here, with you, living the life I want to. With free access to the cookie jar—and much better cookies.”
I laughed a little bit, and wiped at my eyes. “Even so. Do you think she’s right, and that I’ve influenced Gwen?”
“I think you’ve given Gwen room to discover her passions,” he said. “You have been supportive, but haven’t suggested she do anything. The choices she’s made are hers alone; you didn’t talk her into anything.”
“That’s not what Bridget thinks,” I said.
“What your sister thinks doesn’t matter to me,” he replied. “And I hope you can find a way for it not to matter to you. Besides,” he said, “we’ve got bigger fish to fry.”
“Like what?” I asked.
“Like getting Charlene’s boyfriend off the hook—if he deserves to be,” John said. “And calling the insurance company about the laundry room ceiling—and looking to see how bad the room upstairs is.”
“And doing publicity damage control,” I added, thinking of Stacy’s request for an interview. “And saving that whale.”
“Not to mention keeping your sister and your niece from strangling each other. Good thing you picked such a menial, unchallenging job,” John said with a crooked grin.
I laughed, feeling lighter. “Thank you,” I told him.
“Any time,” he said, kissing me lightly on the forehead. “Now,” he said. “Do you want to be in charge of breakfast cleanup, or calling the insurance company?”
“Breakfast cleanup for sure,” I said. “I just need something that doesn’t require brainpower for a few minutes.”
“Good luck,” he said with a final peck on the forehead, just as Eli knocked on the back door.
***
“Thanks so much for coming to help,” I said as I poured Eli a cup of coffee and settled him at the table. John had taken the gray kitten down to his workshop and planned to call the insurance company from there. “I saved a few cookies for you,” I told Eli, putting a few of my cookie bars on a plate.
“Promise you won’t tell Claudie?”
“Promise,” I said as he bit into the first cookie, looking dreamy. Although Eli’s wife Claudette was an amazing bread baker, she was not particularly gifted in the pastry department, as everything she made was sugar free. Although she was more than amply proportioned and Eli was thin as a rail, she still kept him on a tight dietary leash. “Why don’t I go get Martina and you two can hash out the details?” I suggested.
He reached for another cookie. “This tour group isn’t having the best week, is it?”
“No,” I said. “And it’s bad luck for them, too; there’s a journalist and a would-be investor aboard. Although with the captain gone, I’m not sure if the first mate was still planning on expanding.”
“Were they buying another boat?”
“That was the theory,” I said. “I don’t know, though; it may be dead in the water.” I winced as soon as I spoke.
“The deal’s not the only thing dead in the water,” he replied, saying what I was thinking out loud. “Did you know this wasn’t the captain’s first time on the island?”
“Captain Bainbridge? I’d heard rumors.”
“Ayuh,” Eli said. “He sterned for me one summer when I was lobstering, years ago. Came up from Boothbay Harbor. Went by the name of Bridges then, though. Carl Bridges.”
“Charlene said he looked familiar. And that explains why he decided to make the island his home base; he knew about it from his time here.”
“He was always looking for ways to make money,” Eli said. “Not the most ethical way necessarily, either. Got caught up in a robbery—one of his girlfriends took the fall—and I caught him pulling up Tom Lockhart’s traps one day.”
“I’m surprised Tom didn’t kill him then,” I said.
“He caused quite a stir on the island that summer, as I recall. Quite popular with the ladies—a good-looking young man from away always is on the island.”
“Did he date anyone in particular?” I asked.
“Lorraine Lockhart, as I recall. She was pretty broken up about it when he left after a season.”
“Lorraine? I thought she and Tom had been together forever?”
“Not quite. Of course, she took up with Tom soon after Bridges left, and you know how that turned out.”
“Yes,” I said. The two had been married for years, and had children. “I had no idea the captain had such an interesting history. I wonder why he changed his name?”
Eli shrugged. “We’ll probably never know. Now... where’s that first mate? Although I guess she’s the captain, now.”
“I’ll go get her,” I said, and headed out of the kitchen, still considering what Eli had told me. Carl and Lorraine... was one of them still carrying a torch for the other? Was Lorraine the reason Carl had come back to the island? I turned the corner, deep in thought, and almost bumped into Nan and Gayla.
“Lots of untapped potential. If you’d like, we can arrange...” Gayla was saying. She trailed off when she saw me.
“Excuse me,” I said. “Sorry to interrupt. Have you seen Martina?”
“I think she went upstairs for a minute,” Nan said, pushing up her wire-rimmed glasses. “Poor thing. This trip has not at all gone as she planned.”
“Murphy’s Law,” I said. “Although I feel a bit worse for the captain, to be honest—and Alex.”
“I heard they arrested him this morning,” Nan said. “What’s next? There’s almost no crew left on this tour. I hope they’re planning a refund—or at least a big discount to the passengers.”
“I’m sure Martina will make sure everyone is taken care of,” I said. As I spoke, Martina came around the corner. “Just who I was looking for,” I said brightly. “Eli’s here; I was hoping to introduce you,” I told her.
“Terrific,” she told me, looking relieved. “We’ll be ready to head out in an hour,” she told the two women with a bright, confident smile. As she followed me into the kitchen, I relayed what Nan had told me. She groaned. “This whole second boat thing was a mistake,” she said, her confident facade sagging. “I knew it from the beginning. Now, not only are we not going to get the second boat, but the whole business is going to be torpedoed.”
“You never know how it’s going to turn out,” I told her. “And if worse comes to worst, you can always rebrand the company and start fresh.”
“But how am I going to make the payments on the boat without income?” she asked. “I’ll have to build our reputation all over again, from scratch.”
“I’m sure you’ll pull through,” I said in an encouraging tone of voice. “This is my friend Eli,” I said, introducing her to my old friend as we walked into the kitchen.
Martina gave the old boatwright a weary, grateful smile. “I hear you’re the most experienced sailor on the island. Thank you so much for coming to help out,” she said.
“My pleasure,” he said, nodding toward where the Summer Breeze gleamed in the morning light. “It’ll be a joy. She’s a beauty.”
Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 8