“And maybe why he changed his name?” I suggested.
“It’s worth looking into,” Charlene said, sounding much more hopeful. “We’ll get Alex out of jail... I just know it.”
I hoped she was right.
***
Spurrell’s Lobster Pound was humming when I got there twenty minutes later. The insurance adjustor had come on the second-to-last mail boat, and spent twenty minutes inspecting my laundry room and the room above it, whose floors were warped. “Lots of damage,” he said, chewing on the end of his pen. He was pale and thin, with an Adam’s apple that bobbed disturbingly. I got the impression this was the first time he’d been out of his office for months. “Going to be expensive to fix. Hope you don’t have mold issues.”
“That’s why I have fans going,” I told him, pointing to the two room fans we’d set up to dry the place out.
He made another note on his tablet. His Adam’s apple bounced up and down as he said, “Well, we’ll see what the company says.”
“They’ll cover it, right?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “I haven’t submitted my report.”
I offered him cookies and a ride back to the mail boat, but he declined. I got the feeling he thought I might be trying to ply him with favors.
“When will I know the results?”
“We’ll call you,” he said.
“When?”
“Within two weeks,” he said, and set off up the road. I sighed. I guessed it could be worse.
Now, at the lobster pound, I tried to put thoughts of insurance companies out of my mind. Jenna Pool had already seated the tour group at a long table on the dock outside the low-slung shingled building, and the enticing scent of cooking lobster and baking bread made my stomach growl. Eli was regaling the group with tales of his time on the island, and the whole table seemed enchanted—Stacy was scribbling notes wildly, and even Nan was smiling. Martina, on the other hand, looked tense; her foot tapped a nervous rhythm on the boards of the dock, and her eyes flicked to me. I viewed both Martina and Stacy anew; they were seated as far as possible from each other, I noticed. They resembled each other slightly—both had shiny black hair, but while Martina’s was pulled back into a neat ponytail, Stacy’s was long and loose. They both shared high cheekbones and dark eyes, and could have been sisters... if I didn’t know Lorraine, I would have said the captain definitely had a ‘type.’
“How’s it going?” I asked as Eli finished telling a story about a gear war that had gone on a few years ago.
“This man is just a treasure,” Stacy said, looking up at me with a big smile. “I could write a whole book on him!”
“I’ll bet,” I said.
“Hi, Natalie,” Jan said. “How’s the kitten?”
“Could be better,” I said. “John took her to the mainland for tests. We might need your help injecting her with saline later.”
“Happy to assist,” she told me. “Any word on that whale with the gear attached to it?”
“Nobody can get here for a while, I’m afraid. Adam Thrackton—he’s a local lobsterman—is trying to work with College of the Atlantic.”
“Good,” she said. “With all those lobster traps and fishing lines out there,” she said, gazing out at the buoy-studded water, “it’s a minefield. Can you imagine being trapped underwater and not being able to breathe? What an awful way to go,” she said in a low voice. Of course, we all thought of what Martina had pulled up with the anchor the day before.
“Well,” I said, anxious to change the subject, “hopefully he’ll have good news for us. How was your day?”
“Fun!” Lizzie said. “Only Liam almost pushed me over the side of the boat.”
“Did not,” Liam protested.
“It scared me. I didn’t want to end up like Captain Carl.”
“Enough,” Yvette said with a strained smile. “Why don’t you work on your coloring pages?”
“Or I could tell you a story,” Eli suggested with a twinkle in his eye. “I know a lady who found a baby seal and raised her in her laundry room!” he said.
Both kids lit up immediately, and I shot him a grateful smile.
“A baby seal?” Lizzie asked. “I saw a skunk lady the other day, but I’d rather see a baby seal.”
I didn’t linger to find out what a “skunk lady” was. With things at the table under control again, I drifted to the back of the restaurant, where Martha was busy ringing up orders. “Thanks so much for fitting us in,” I said.
“We look out for each other,” she said with a smile, but she looked tired.
“Is Jenna here?” I asked.
“She’s in the kitchen,” Martha told me as she rang up another order. Her graying hair was caught up in a tight bun; it looked like she hadn’t had time to touch up her roots, since the white streak was about an inch wide. I touched my own hair; I hadn’t started coloring it yet, but my “natural highlights” were becoming a bit more numerous lately.
“I heard your daughter knew the captain,” I said as I pushed a lock of hair behind my ear.
Martha froze. “What makes you say that?”
“He used to be Carl Bridges,” I said.
“Bastard,” she muttered under her breath. I was taken aback; I’d never heard her utter anything close to an obscenity.
“He set your daughter up, I hear.”
“Cost us tens of thousands in legal fees. And the thing is? I think he sold the damned thing and walked off with the profits.”
“So she did take it?”
She narrowed her eyes at me. “He talked his way into the house while she was there. He talked her into looking at the family’s jewelry box—just to see—and must have palmed the tiara. I promise, Jenna had nothing to do with it.
“I won’t say anything,” I told her. “It was a long time ago. Besides, like you said... we look after each other.”
“Thanks.” She gave me a grateful smile. “She was totally enamored of him,” she told me. “I told her to tell the police, but she refused. Said he was coming back to the island, and they were going to be together.”
“But he didn’t.”
She sighed. “Of course not. Men like him never do. Just leave a trail of broken hearts in their wake.”
“And big legal bills,” I added. “Do you think Jenna would talk to me about him? About who might have wanted him to...”
“To die?” She snorted. I could see the worry lines in her face; I wondered how many of them had been carved by her daughter’s relationship with the late captain... and the fallout. “Fifteen years ago, I would have topped the list, to be honest. But I don’t think she has any idea who would have wanted to kill him. I’m not sure she knew he was on the island.”
“Still,” I said. “She might remember something. The tour naturalist is in jail for murder.”
“I heard. The one Charlene’s sweet on.”
“Yes,” I said.
“Women are always so gullible,” she said, stabbing a check onto a spike.
“Maybe,” I admitted. The thought had crossed my mind. “But it sounds like there were a lot of people who might have wanted him dead. It might be nice to at least consider possibilities... after all, she might be right.”
“She might be,” Martha said, “but I wouldn’t count on it. I’ll talk to Jenna, see if she’s up for talking about it. It’s a little embarrassing, still, I think, and now that she’s married...”
“I get it,” I told her. “Thanks.”
“Any more news on the hotel going in?” she asked.
“With everything going on, it kind of slipped my mind,” I confessed.
“Mom!” The call came from the kitchen.
“I’d better go,” Martha said.
“I’ll take care of the bill for the table,” I told her.
“Expensive.”
“I know. But it’s part of the deal.”
“I’ll discount it,” she told me.
“You don’t have to. I really
appreciate you fitting us in on such short notice.”
“We look out for each other, remember?” she reminded me with a wink as she disappeared back into the kitchen, her no-nonsense rubber-soled shoes squeaking on the wood floor.
***
It was turning dark by the time we started back toward the inn. I’d treated myself to a bowl of clam chowder and Martha’s excellent lemon fool for dessert. The bill was high, but thanks to Martha, was less punitive than it might have been; I left a big tip, though. If I didn’t get my kitchen up and running soon, we were going to have a hard time paying the bills, I thought as the sun painted the sky gold, orange, and a deep, beautiful blue.
“It’s chilly,” Stacy said, pulling her cardigan tighter around her.
“It is,” I said, falling in beside her. “How’s the article coming?” I asked.
“It’s coming along well,” she said. “The trip’s been more exciting than I thought. Can you hang back with me for a moment?” she asked in a low voice.
“Sure,” I said, slowing down and letting the rest of the group drift by. “What’s up?” I asked.
“Two things,” she said. “First, someone was rifling through your desk the other day.”
“What?” I almost stopped. “Who?”
“I imagine one of the guests. They heard me coming; by the time I got down the stairs, they were gone.
She shrugged. “It could have been. I got the impression that whoever it was didn’t want to be found out.”
“Thanks for telling me,” I said, resolving to look through my desk when I got back to the inn. “What’s the other thing?
Stacy lowered her voice further. “Someone further down the hall from me at the inn left the room at around 1 a.m. the night the captain died.”
“How do you know?” I asked.
“I was up doing research for my article. I heard the door open and close, and the creak of footsteps.”
I thought of Alex, and scanned the guests; that left Nan, Doreen, and the Fowlers. “Did you hear them come back?’
“Yes,” she said. “About an hour later.”
Enough time to get out to the schooner, kill the captain, and come back, I thought. But why would any of them want to kill Captain Bainbridge? “Did you tell the police this?”
“I did,” she said, “but they arrested Alex, so I don’t think they’re really looking into it.”
“Do you think he did it?” I asked—I’m not sure why. Probably because I was nervous about it myself.
“He had a beef with the captain, but I don’t think he’d stoop to murder.”
“What kind of beef?”
“Bainbridge was involved in some activities Alex considered... unsavory.”
“Why didn’t he say something about it?”
“If anything, it would incriminate him more, wouldn’t it?” she asked.
“What kind of activities?”
“Let’s just say he was involved in some politically incorrect industries,” she said vaguely.
“Is that why he changed his name?”
“You know that?” she asked, surprised.
“I do. I hear you and the captain might have been... involved.”
She gave a low chuckle. “Oh, yes. Martina walked in while he was putting the moves on me. I let him go a bit—easier to get information that way.”
“I thought you were writing a travel article?”
“Sort of,” she said, and my antennae pricked up. Was she going to write bad things about the tour—and the inn? I hoped she didn’t find out about the health inspector.
“So, what was he involved in?” I asked. But before she could answer, Nan doubled back to us. In a loud voice, she asked, “What are you two gossiping about?”
“Just wondering what it’s like to live on an island,” Stacy lied smoothly. “Getting some background information for the story.”
“Going to feature the inn?” Nan asked.
“We’ll see how the article turns out,” Stacy said vaguely. I didn’t know if that was a good thing or a bad thing.
***
The first thing I did when I got back to the Gray Whale Inn was excuse myself and look through my desk, which was in the front hall by the door. I could tell immediately that Stacy was right; when I opened the file drawer, which contained guest addresses and information, I could tell something was wrong. Although I kept most of the information on my laptop, I had made files for each guest, including addresses and any unusual preferences.
Somebody else had been digging through them. Several pages were misfiled, and several were jammed into one manila folder in the front. I closed the drawer and sat back in my chair, feeling both angry and violated. Someone had gone through my guest files. My recipe binder was missing. And the health department had come based on an anonymous tip.
Was someone on the tour trying to ruin my business?
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
I was still reorganizing the files when Catherine walked up to me, looking elegant as always in slacks and a fuzzy pink cashmere sweater I didn’t recognize. “That’s where you’ve been hiding,” she said.
“I wish I could hide,” I told her.
“Sounds like things between you and Bridget aren’t going too well.”
“They’re not,” I agreed.
“She told me about everything this afternoon,” Catherine said. “It can be hard for parents to let go.”
“She’s talking to you about it?” I asked.
Catherine nodded. “Wondering where she went wrong. I keep telling her she hasn’t gone wrong, but she’s still too caught up in thinking her daughter’s choices are a reflection of her.”
“And studying art on a Maine island isn’t exactly high on Bridget’s priority list.” I grimaced. “Thanks for trying, Catherine,” I said, then added, “The health inspector came this morning, by the way. The kitchen is closed because someone called in an anonymous tip; and it looks like someone rifled through my desk.”
“Ouch. And I know one of the bathtubs overflowed, too. Whose room was it?”
“Gayla and Herb Fowler,” I told her.
“Those two. Nothing’s right for them.”
“I had to put them in the captain’s former room; they weren’t happy about that. It wouldn’t surprise me if they called the inspector, but that doesn’t explain this,” I said, pointing to the files.
“Think it might have anything to do with the new hotel going in?” Catherine asked. “Maybe someone wanted your guest list?”
“I guess that’s possible. What do you know about the hotel?” I asked as I shoved another page into a file.
“Murray mentioned it. He’s looking into the investors.”
“Why?”
“He doesn’t like outsiders having such a big impact on the island,” she said. “He’s made a few offers over the years, but the seller wouldn’t budge on the price.”
“I heard they’re going to put in a huge building,” I said.
“If they do, it’ll change things around here,” she said.
“Not for the better, I’m afraid,” I told her.
“People probably said that when you opened the inn here,” Catherine pointed out with a smile.
“True,” I said. “But I didn’t add tennis courts, a swimming pool, and boat service.”
“Who knows? Maybe it won’t go through.”
“They’ve already had an architect out looking at it.”
“Even if they did, Murray said they still have to get a permit, and since they’re on the shoreline, they may run into some difficulties.”
“Who approves the permits?”
“The code enforcement officer,” she said. “Murray’s asked him to give him a call when they submit the plans.”
“I guess if anyone can scuttle it, Murray can,” I said.
“I’ll see what he can do,” she said with a grin, then came over and squeezed my shoulder. “Don’t worry too much about Bridget. You’ve been just what Gwen’s
needed; don’t back away from her just to appease your sister.”
“You don’t think I’ve been too forward?”
“You’ve treated her like a young adult who is making her own decisions. If she needs you, you’re there for her, but you don’t try to railroad her. That’s what a good mentor does.”
“Thanks,” I said, feeling relief. “It’s hard to know what’s right and what’s wrong sometimes.”
“Isn’t being an adult fun?” she said with a grin. She adjusted her pearls and turned to go when something she said struck me. “Does Murray know the investors in Cliffside?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said.
“Ask him,” I said. “If it’s related to what’s going on here,” I said, waving at my messed-up files, “I want to know.”
“I’ll ask,” she said. As she spoke, the phone rang. I reached for it; it was Charlene.
“How are you doing?” I asked.
“I was just talking with Eli,” she said. “He was out early the morning the captain was found.”
“How early?” I asked.
“Like around 2 in the morning early,” she said. “He couldn’t sleep, so he decided to go work on one of the boats.”
“At two in the morning?” I asked.
“I know. Anyway,” she said, “He saw a skiff headed toward the inn.”
“Where was it coming from?” I asked.
“The other side of the island,” she said.
“Does he know if it went to the inn?”
“Unfortunately, no; it went around the point, and he didn’t follow it. But at least it’s something, right? I told him to tell the police.”
“Did he see the skiff come back?”
“Unfortunately not.”
I sighed. Nothing seemed to be coming together. Lorraine had a motive—as did her husband, Tom, now that I thought of it—and both of them lived on the other side of the island. I couldn’t imagine either of them being killers, but I’d been wrong before. Despite Martha’s assertions that her daughter was over it, Jenna Pool was a possibility, too... I hadn’t gotten a chance to talk to her last night, but I would. Who else? The first mate? I needed to find out more, I realized... I had nothing but dead ends.
Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 13