“What was that? That rough stuff?”
“Will that happen tonight?” Ella wants to know.
“No,” I say. “It was a squall. No biggie.”
“No biggie,” Ben agrees.
Dominic and Ella have to carefully put one foot in front of the other as they walk to the yacht club. But soon we’re back to discussing the plan.
“I’ll be with Edgar and Ceil, taking the van to the yacht club,” Ella says.
“I’ll be at the yacht club waiting for you,” says Ben.
“But first, we all go see Edgar and Ceil,” I say. “Then Dominic and I will go to the café and keep an eye on John and Bob.”
By the time we pass Gusty’s, the parking lot is full, and that means Dad is serving food like he’s on an assembly line. This reduces the chance that he’ll see us walking by and ask me to report on where we’re going and what we’re doing. With every passing house, I begin to gain confidence that we’re on the right path.
* * *
When the four of us get to Ella’s house, we find Edgar and Ceil drinking depth charges and eating lobster rolls.
“I’m going to miss this food,” Edgar says.
“How’d you get the food?” Ella asks.
“Oh, your dad went for it,” says Ceil. “He’s back in his office. He’s on fire with this new book.”
“Did you tell him?” I ask.
“Oh, no. No. No,” says Ceil. “Just going to Bar Harbor for a few days, right, El?”
“No need to mention it, really,” Edgar says.
I pick at a few of the cold fries left on the table. There’s no buttery lobster dip left in the little paper cup, which is fine, because I think my stomach suffered a little in the squall too.
“Well?” I ask them. “How did it go with Mom this morning?”
Ceil and Edgar glance back and forth and both give up a small shrug.
“I think it went very well,” says Ceil.
I look at them like, a little more detail, please?
Edgar offers, “She told us about the suspicious activities of the two men and warned us to be cautious and to let her know if we see any worrisome activity.”
“Did she ask you if you knew them?” I ask.
Ceil twists her head like she’s trying to remember. “Let’s see. She asked us if we knew anyone named John Smith or Bob Jones, and she described them as being dressed like fishermen.”
“And you said . . .”
“We said we didn’t know a John Smith or a Bob Jones who dressed like fishermen.”
I feel a pang for Mom. She really wants to help them, and they’re not cooperating. I decide not to ask them any more sheriff-related questions. I turn to Ella and mouth, the donation, urging her to tell Edgar and Ceil about the commitment she made on the sisters’ behalf.
“Aunt Ceil, I have something to tell you.”
“What, Ella?” Ceil says. “What is it?”
“When we talked to Sister Rosie and Sister Ethel . . .”
Ella’s struggling. I want to jump in and help, but I know it will be better if this comes from her. “And we wanted them to be very comfortable. No, we wanted them to be enthusiastic. No, not that either. We wanted them to feel like helping would be a really good thing.”
Edgar’s face turns stony. “What’s wrong? Don’t they want to do it?”
“No. No. I mean yes. They do want to do it. It’s just that we wanted them to know that you cared about their cause, just like they care about helping you.”
“Is there a but in this story?” asks Ceil.
“Not a but. An and.” Ella bites her green nail. “And we said you . . . I said . . . you would make a contribution to the cat-rescue lighthouse.” She takes a deep breath and holds it.
“Oh, for heaven’s sake.” Ceil laughs. “I thought it was something serious. Of course we’ll make a contribution to their cause.”
“How much should we give them?” Edgar takes out his wallet and pulls out a wad of cash. “One hundred? Two hundred. I have four hundred in cash right here. Take it.”
“I think, maybe, they think it will be more.” Ella’s voice is as small and squeaky as a cartoon mouse.
“How much more, Ella?” Ceil says.
We never gave the sisters an actual number, but we did talk about renovations to the lighthouse. They have every reason to believe it would be thousands.
Ella clears her throat. “Err, uh. Fifty thousand dollars.” She looks to me for support.
“Yes,” I say. “They would be thrilled if you made a donation, or contribution, or whatever, of that much.”
“To a cat rescue organization in Maiden Rock, Maine?” says Edgar, his voice leaping an octave.
Ben pipes up: “Actually, it’s in Pidgin Beach.” I give him a look and he shrinks back.
“Edgar, I don’t care if it’s on the moon. Let’s donate whatever they need to get their little place in shape. I’m fine with that—whatever it takes,” says Ceil.
“Great,” says Edgar sarcastically, “that’s just what the world needs, a lighthouse full of spoiled cats.”
“Shut up, Edgar,” Ceil says. Edgar closes his mouth.
Done. For fifty thousand dollars, they get a nighttime cruise from Maiden Rock to Pidgin Beach in the Connie Will, and if there’s a squall—and they still get there safely—that’s a very fair price.
Ella hugs Ceil, then squeezes Edgar around the waist until he groans for relief.
I check the nearest clock. It’s time for Dominic and me to go to the café and pretend to eat. Ben goes with us so his uncle will have a chance to see him. That way, John Denby won’t be wondering where he is. From there, he’ll head to the yacht club.
My gut is still churning when we leave the Philpotts’ place. I hug Ceil and Edgar. I even hug Ella. I can’t tell if my stomach is roiling from anticipation or if it’s still a little squall-sick.
30
By the time we reach Gusty’s, some of the dinner-rush cars have cleared out. It’s warm and cheery inside. Ben goes over to talk to his uncle, who’s at the counter with his big hands wrapped around a coffee mug. Clooney is behind the counter talking to Dad. She’ll be taking over for the evening now.
We sit at our table, waiting while Dad circles the room with a coffeepot. When he reaches us, the first thing he says is, “Looks like you guys got some sun out there.”
Dominic pours out how much fun he had sailing around the Pool, smiling through his lingering queasiness, and Dad seems perfectly satisfied. “Good thing you didn’t get caught in that squall. We got clobbered here for a bit.”
We say nothing.
“So? What’s it gonna be?”
I’m not hungry, but I know I have to order something. Chowder? No, too thick. Lobster roll? No, too creamy and chunky. Gusty burger? Too meaty, but I could eat the English muffin it comes on. Crab cake? No, too spicy. Cream of Wheat? That might be okay.
“Cream of Wheat.”
He looks at me like I’m sick or something. “Cream of Wheat? For dinner?”
“Just have a taste for it.”
“Okay then. I’ll fix it up nice for you, with some blueberries and brown sugar.”
“Okay, Dad. Thanks.”
Dominic is struggling with the same problem. He’s smart, though. “I’ll try some of that Cream of Wheat, but I’ll have the blueberries and brown sugar on the side.”
Dad’s getting into it. “You know, I could mix some sour cream with the brown sugar and add a smidge of maple syrup, like a fruit sauce.”
“Great,” Dominic says weakly. “Just on the side, please.”
“If you really like it, I might put it in the menu!” Dad says.
After chatting with his uncle, Ben walks up and pulls out a chair, while I look out the window for John and Bob. Nothing yet.
Ben has come back to the table in time for Clooney to serve up his Gusty burger, fries, chowder, milk, and two whoopie pies. She sets his order down with an approving smile. We, on t
he other hand, get the kind of look from her that usually comes with a head scratch.
“Never seen that b’fore.”
I taste my Cream of Wheat, and it’s just perfect. Ben is wolfing his burger. I reach for my phone to check the time and realize I left it on my desk—next to the note I wrote Mom. So not only do I not have my phone with me, I didn’t put the note where she could find it later. Great.
Dominic sees me patting my pockets and says, “It’s okay. I’ve got my phone if we need it.”
“What time is it?” Ben asks.
“Quarter to seven,” Dominic answers.
Ben drains his glass of milk and squishes the last half of whoopie pie into his mouth. “I gotta get to the yacht club. I told my uncle that I was cleaning the boat and I planned to show you around it, Dom.”
Dom? I would never have taken Dominic for a Dom. I guess he’s cool with it, coming from Ben, but I make a mental note never to use the nickname. It just doesn’t fit—for me.
Ben’s out the door at the same time John and Bob come in. They’re in full-on L.L.Bean wear again. Boy, those clothes must smell pretty bad. Don’t people notice this? I guess not. Everyone is smiling at them and slapping them on the back, and they’re playing it up.
I must have stared at them too long, because John turns and catches my eye, and his big fat smile fades. I get flustered and drop my spoon into my Cream of Wheat. A white glob splats on the table.
“Hang on to the hot cereal,” Dominic says, but when he follows my gaze to John, his spoon rattles his dish too. He starts tugging at my sleeve. “Maybe we should go.”
I glance nervously out the window, and at that instant, the sisters’ van drives by, headed for the yacht club. Little do the other diners know that Edgar and Ceil are on the first leg of their escape.
“No,” I whisper to Dominic. “Our job is to watch these guys and let Ben know if they leave the café.”
Dominic doesn’t like this answer, but we stay where we are, pushing the Cream of Wheat around our bowls. We steal peeks at the John and Bob table. We watch the sky go from blue to pink to gray, and lights snap on in beach houses across the street.
Edgar and Ceil must be in the boat by now, I think, but Sister Rosie hasn’t driven back this way. I want Dominic to call Ben, but he doesn’t want to use the phone while we’re here in the café. He’s become very skittish about old John and Bob. I make him at least text. Ben doesn’t reply.
It’s not my imagination. John keeps looking at me. At least every other time I check, he’s got me in his gaze.
I feel a growing urge to get out of the café and get to the yacht club to be sure everything is fine. “Okay. I think we should go.”
As we get up to leave, I catch Mom’s cruiser pulling into the parking lot. She’s back from Rook River. Crossing paths with us at the café entrance, she asks me, “Where are you kids headed?”
Always with the questions! But I’m ready for this one. “We’re walking up to the yacht club to watch Ben clean the boat.”
I follow the Detective Monroe Spalding rule I learned last fall: The cleverest lie is the one that is closest to the truth.
Mom assesses the fading light outside. “Well, that can’t go on too long. Don’t be late. I’m heading home in a minute.”
I feel a little bit terrible as she gives me a good-bye hug, but not terrible enough to call this all off or betray Edgar and Ceil’s confidence.
After putting a few steps between us and the café, we can see small figures moving on the yacht club dock. They’re visible in that hazy half-light between day and night. It’s not high tide anymore, but it’s still two hours to low tide. They have plenty of time to get out of the channel before the water is so low the boat will get stuck in the sandy mud. They just need to get going.
We’re fifty feet away from Gusty’s when we hear the café door open and a group of people crowd out. I look over my shoulder. One of them is Mom. Two of them are John and Bob.
Dominic has his arm around my waist now, and I have my arm around his. We pick up our pace, pulling each other forward. Move. Move. We’re nearing the end of Mile Stretch Road, where we’ll turn left on Circle Lane, when headlights flood over us.
We don’t check over our shoulders. We just keep walking.
The car behind us slows to keep our pace. Then the passenger window powers down.
“Hey, you kids.” It’s John. I haven’t truly heard his voice before. It’s gravely. “You wanna ride somewhere? Where ya going? It’s getting dark out here.”
“No, thank you,” Dominic says without turning to look at him.
We’re only feet from the yacht club. If they don’t pull away, they’ll know exactly where we’re going because we’ll be there.
They don’t pull away. I veer to the right, taking Dominic with me, and cross in front of their car, toward the Lobster Pound. The car continues following us—past Miss Wickham’s, the Bradfords’ tiny grocery store, the post office. At the next turn, before John and Bob’s car rounds the bend, I grab Dominic’s hand and pull him into the dense bushes around Circle Lane. We crouch down as their beams appear on the lane, flooding it with light. The car stops, but the engine keeps running.
“Just stay still,” I tell Dominic. “They’ll probably think we went into Miss Wickham’s.”
A minute passes before the car backs up and then noses into a parking spot in front of the B&B. Once they’re inside, I move—“Now!”
Dominic and I turn into the deeper brush and thrash through to the other side, coming out across from the yacht club. Five seconds later, we are behind the club’s big doors. It looks entirely different at night. A single barn light at the top of the roof ridge shines down on the hanging boat hulls, making them look like monstrous bats in Count Dracula’s crypt. I can hear Sister Ethel out on the dock, telling Edgar where to stow his bag.
We feel our way through the building, toward the dock, and see Edgar and Ceil finding their places in the Connie Will’s rocking hull. Sister Ethel is poised on the bow, wearing cargo pants, boat shoes, a sweatshirt, and her veil. Ben is untying the spring line, while Ella hangs over the edge of the dock, trying to touch hands with Ceil.
Sister Ethel tells Ben to cast them off. He does.
But the second the Connie Will pushes away from the dock, Ella takes a flying leap and lands between Edgar and Ceil, nearly capsizing the boat.
31
I run onto the dock and whisper-bark, “Ella, get out of the boat!”
She links arms with Ceil instead.
I turn to Sister Ethel for support, but she says, “I think it’s fine, Quinnie. She’s where she wants to be.”
I’m kind of trapped. I don’t like this rearranging of our reasonable plans, but there’s not much I can do about it. And to be honest, Ella is planted in that boat like nothing will get her out. And they need to get going.
“Right.”
I guess I’ll see Ella when she’s back from the lighthouse.
Sister Ethel slowly angles the Connie Will away from the dock and into the waters of the Pool. Dominic and I head back to the boathouse, leaving Ben to do some rope-wrapping at the dock. We’ve barely stepped inside when we hear the creak of the large front doors.
Ben slips over the dock’s edge into the water, while Dominic and I creep around one of the hanging hulls and hold our breath.
Bob’s deep voice fills the yacht club. “Ohhh Victoria? Victoria Kensington? We know you guys are in here.”
“All we want’s our money,” John yells. “Just what the Count says you owe us.”
Their footsteps plod in our direction, and we tuck ourselves into the shadow under a boat hull.
The light from above illuminates Bob, digging through tools at the workbench. He picks up a pipe wrench the size of a hatchet and tests its balance in his hand. “Yeah. Hey, Lardy, this will do.”
Lardy? Who the heck is Lardy? John? How many names do these guys have?
Lardy moves around the boats, push
ing on them and making them sway in place. “Just tell us where Gordo hid the loot and everything will be good. We don’t want to hurt you.” He’s talking to Ceil and Edgar again, or trying to. “But we can do it that way, if that’s the way you want it.”
My brain is going zzt-zzt-zzt. Who’s Gordo? Their share of the loot? What loot? Wait. A. Maine Minute. These guys aren’t crazy fans. These guys are crooks.
“We know you know where the money is, so come on out now,” Lardy yells. “Look over there, Snooks.”
Snooks? Really? Bob is Snooks? Snooks Jones?
“Yeah,” says Snooks.
Snooks is good at saying “Yeah.” His tan pants and newish Top-Siders move within feet of us, and we see the tip of the pipe wrench. Luckily, he’s either too stupid or too lazy to bend down.
“It’s no use,” yells Lardy. “We know that you know. You wouldn’t ’a’ had any idea about that damn cat in the van if Gordo hadn’t told ya.”
“Yeah,” says Snooks. “You and Gordo were prob’ly laughing yourselves sick about us being stuck in there with that evil cat, but you’re not laughin’ now, are ya? You’re gonna wish you never heard about the bank job, let alone put it in your stupid book.”
Dominic’s forehead has wrinkled upward. He’s putting this mess together at the same time I am. His eyes scream, Are you getting this?
I nod and push on his hand. Stay quiet.
But the silence breaks when all the boats at the dock start bumping together. Ben must be trying to crawl up onto the dock. But why’s he doing that?
“Out there,” Lardy yells to Snooks. “They’re gettin’ away! In a boat!”
Lardy runs to the dock with Snooks behind him, hauling the heavy pipe wrench. Ben dives back in the water, next to a boat.
“I’ll get a boat,” Lardy says. “You get that kid in the water!”
Snooks runs up and down the dock, alternately looking for Ben and looking at the heavy wrench in his hand.
Lardy boards an old yacht club motorboat that always has the keys in it. He turns over the motor and screams, “Snooks! Come on! They’re gettin’ away!”
Snooks is all too happy to hurl the heavy wrench into the water at Ben and climb into the boat with Lardy.
Vampires on the Run: A Quinnie Boyd Mystery (Quinnie Boyd Mysteries) Page 15