I rolled my eyes. “Juliet just offered to give you thousands of dollars’ worth of jewelry. I think Susan’s just biding her time until we’re gone.”
I raised my voice. “Are you Juliet’s, um, nurse?”
Susan looked up. “Yeah, plus chief cook and bottle washer. It’s just me taking care of her and the house until summer renters come in July.”
“Big house for two people.” Verity opened a drawer of lingerie.
Susan shrugged. “It’s just Juliet. Contessa lives in her house in Beverly Hills. Lived. She put”—Susan hesitated—“she let Juliet live here for the past couple of months. She only came out herself because of the job at Broadway by the Bay.”
“Oh. So Juliet moved here from California?”
“No, they didn’t live together. Juliet was in a”—again Susan stopped—“in a place in Chicago.”
Verity turned to me and mouthed “Loony bin.”
Through the open window came the sound of car tires crunching over the gravel drive. A door banged somewhere down the hallway.
Juliet shrieked, “Susan! If it’s newspeople, get rid of them!”
Susan threw down her rag and hurried from the room.
Verity and I ran to the window. A black sedan parked by the Tank.
“Oh, crap. If they see me taking boxes out I’ll look like a vulture,” Verity muttered.
From above, we saw a dark-haired guy get out of the car, smooth his hair, and jog to the door. Verity and I jumped back from the window.
“That’s Leo Rodriguez!”
We eased down the hall where we could see down into the foyer. An old-fashioned buzzer echoed, magnified by the marble floor. We heard Susan’s sneakers squeak.
A door along the gallery banged open. Verity and I hurried back into the doorway of the bedroom, peering around the doorjamb.
“Susan!” Juliet leaned over the gallery rail, dangerously far, I thought. I moved forward, but Verity pulled me back.
“Tell them I’m distraught,” Juliet screamed. Verity and I froze.
Juliet stomped away and seconds later we heard a door bang shut.
The door below opened.
“Hello. May I speak to Miss Wells? I’m—”
“Just go already. She doesn’t want to talk to anyone,” Susan said.
“Leo Rod—”
The door slammed. Susan muttered a stream of obscenities as her sneakers squeaked across the floor.
We rushed back to the window. Leo Rodriguez got back into his car and drove down the driveway.
“We’d better move. He’ll be back,” I said.
For two hours we packed trash bags and boxes. At first, I worried that Juliet would come back and make a scene, but the clothes were so beautiful I forgot her. As Verity pulled silky gowns, wrap dresses, and tweed suits from their hangers, she checked labels and sobbed out the name of a designer.
“Halston!”
“Chanel.”
“Givenchy.”
She staggered to the door of the walk-in closet, a magnificent red velvet ball gown held out in front of her. “Dior!” I took the dress from her and held it in front of me, bemoaning my height. Contessa’s petite frame meant all the clothes were too short for me.
Verity gazed out the window. “My life finally has meaning.” She gasped. “Oh, no!”
I hurried to the window. A television news truck parked at the end of the driveway.
Verity’s eyes went wide behind her glasses. “We’re trapped!”
I laid the crimson dress on the bed and took Verity’s arm.
“Verity, look at me. They can’t block the driveway. Let’s see if we can sneak out a back way. The driveway probably goes around to the kitchen door. From what I heard before, Susan can handle them.”
Susan’s sullen expression didn’t change when we asked her about a back exit. Perhaps caring for Juliet Wells made her feel like she’d seen it all. We followed as she plodded to a gleaming, updated kitchen. She unlocked a dead bolt with a key on a chain around her neck. We hustled packed bags and boxes down to the kitchen and set them outside the door.
“I’ll get the car.” Verity panted. “We’ll be back Wednesday.”
“Thank…” Without a word, Susan closed the door, I heard the bolt shoot home.
“… you, Susan.” I rolled my eyes.
As I’d thought, the kitchen opened onto the gravel drive as it curved behind the house. Verity hurried past a brick wall to the side of the house away from the driveway. I peered around the corner of the house. The news truck hadn’t exactly blocked the exit, but the Tank would have to squeeze past.
I clambered onto an iron garden bench and looked over the top of the brick wall. The wall was part of a courtyard that encircled the garden just outside the morning room where we’d met Juliet. The enclosed flower beds were lush and well tended. On the other side of the wall, just below where I stood, was a moss-covered garden bench.
I lowered my injured leg carefully to the ground and walked around the garden wall, trailing my fingers along its rough surface. Though the house had been renovated, the garden wall was in poor shape. Ivy covered the crumbling mortar and brick; its lovely but destructive tendrils had worked their way into the masonry, weakening and undermining the wall. A heavy iron gate set into the back wall was flecked with rust, but a shiny metal chain and padlock were threaded through the bars.
The padlock on the inside of the kitchen door had also been shiny and new. Was the gate padlocked to keep people out or was it padlocked to keep Juliet in?
The Tank’s engine rumbled up the drive. I hurried to load the car.
“Oh, God, the reporters saw me drive back here,” Verity said.
We heaved bags into the backseat and vast trunk of the Tank. I cringed thinking of the glamorous silk and satin fabric crushed within the cardboard boxes and plastic trash bags.
“Don’t look at them.” I slammed the trunk and we got in the car. “Just drive right past. No eye contact.”
“Here, I took some wigs.” Verity handed me blond Marie Antoinette curls. She slid a curly brown bob over her dreads.
“Sunglasses on.” Verity slid on her cat’s-eye glasses.
I put on my own aviator sunglasses. “Just don’t stop.”
Like that’s going to help, I thought. We were driving a rust-spotted 1962 DeSoto. There was only one in Mystic Bay. Heck, there was probably only one in all of New England.
“What if they stop us? We need a story,” Verity babbled. “Why am I here? Hello, Leo. Why I am buying a dead lady’s stuff?”
“Verity.” I took her shoulders. “You always buy dead ladies’ clothes.”
“Oh, yeah, that’s right.” She frowned. “But why does this feel different? It feels different. What if her clothes are important? Huh? What if they’re evidence?”
It did feel different. But would the police care? I had to calm Verity down. I parked my glasses on top of my towering wig. “Honestly, Verity, what on earth could her clothes have to do with anything? You heard Juliet, they’ve been locked up for decades. Listen. We did buy clothes. But we also paid our respects, right?”
Verity nodded.
“Okay, if anyone asks, we paid our respects. We’re big fans of Contessa’s, right?”
Verity nodded. “Big fans.”
“And if anyone asks, that’s all we say.” I slid my sunglasses back into place. “Just don’t hit anyone on the way out.”
Verity floored it. The car roared, spitting gravel from the rear tires. As we rocketed down the drive, Leo Rodriguez poked his head around the corner of the house and held up his hand.
Verity screamed but didn’t stop. I covered my eyes. As we skidded through the gates, just missing the news truck, I looked back. Leo jogged down the drive after us.
“Did I hit him?” Verity said.
“No.”
We high-fived.
“We need to stop for ice cream.” I pulled off the wig and fanned myself with it.
�
�You’ve got it.” Verity headed for Route One.
As air streamed in the open window, I lifted my hair and let it cool the back of my neck. “You know something funny, Verity? Juliet never said her sister’s name. Not once.”
Chapter 14
After ice-cream cones at Sea Swirl and several unanswered calls to Verity’s police chief uncle, we drove to the Plex.
I expected to see Bronwyn Denby, but instead there was a woman I didn’t recognize at the reception desk. Suddenly, my mouth went dry, but I squared my shoulders.
“Yes?” She looked up from her computer screen.
“I need to talk to someone. About some letters, threatening letters, that my aunt received,” I said.
“Do you have the letters?” the woman said.
“Um, no. My aunt threw them out.”
The woman looked at me for several long seconds. “She threw them out.”
“She thought they were from kids playing a trick,” Verity said.
“But you think they’re important.” The woman’s eyes drilled into mine.
“Yes. Well, they might be important.” A blush crept up my neck. “Related to the, er, what happened at the food festival.”
The woman tilted her chin and looked at me over her reading glasses.
“All I’ve had today is people with theories about what happened at the food festival. Is there a crime in progress?”
“Well, no, but—”
“Just fill out this form.” She handed me a clipboard. “I’ll make sure it gets to the right people.” Her look said, When hell freezes over.
I filled out the form and handed it back. We got back into the Tank.
“That went well,” Verity said.
If the police weren’t looking into the letters, I would. “Verity, turn down by the Mermaid and park by the stone wall.”
The Tank slid to the curb in front of a multicolored Victorian across the street from our shack. A skinny boy with floppy black hair sat on the front porch holding a skateboard.
In the Mermaid parking lot, a group of guys got out of their Jeep and posed for a photo by Aunt Gully’s life-sized wooden mermaid. They cupped their hands to peer in the windows, then shrugged and headed down the street.
“Well, you’d have customers if you were open. Why are we here?” Verity asked.
“I want to talk to Bit Markey.” I waved to the boy on the steps.
The boy on the porch stood. His T-shirt read IF HISTORY REPEATS ITSELF, I’M GETTING A DINOSAUR.
“Hey, Bit!” I called.
“Hi, Allie.” Bit ran up to the car and leaned in, his dark hair flopping into his eyes. “Hi, Verity.”
“Hey, Bit.”
Two angry scratches crossed his forearm under several colorful sailors’ knot bracelets. “What happened?”
“One of Mrs. Farraday’s corgis got away from her. Muffy. I helped Mrs. Farraday catch her.”
“God, those dogs.” Verity rolled her eyes.
“Why’re we closed today?” Bit helped with odd jobs every day at the Mermaid. Aunt Gully had noticed him hanging around the Mermaid, and ever since she’d asked him to “taste-test” a lobster roll, Bit had taken responsibility for the shack. Even when we weren’t open, Bit picked up trash and kept an eye on things.
I wondered if he’d seen anyone leaving the letters. “This past week, did you notice anybody hanging around or putting anything under the front door of the Mermaid? Before we opened? Or at night?”
Bit’s eyes went wide. “I don’t think so. Did someone leave something bad?”
“No, no. Someone left letters. And put up a sign about lobster liberation.” I forced a laugh. “Silly, right?”
Bit’s green eyes were steady. “Lobster liberation? Does that mean they want to let all the lobsters go?”
“Free the lobsters,” Verity said.
Bit shook his head. “They have a place in the food chain like other animals.”
“If you remember seeing anything strange, or out of the ordinary, let me know, okay?” I said.
“You mean like the guy in the health inspector’s car that was here a little while ago?”
“You saw him?” Bit didn’t miss a thing.
“Yep.” Bit scratched a scab on his knee. “He looked happy.”
“Good. That means we’ll be open tomorrow.” Relief flooded me.
Bit smiled. “I’ll be there.”
“Thanks, Bit.” Verity and I waved.
“Peace,” Bit said.
Verity pulled out.
“How did such crummy parents get such a nice kid?” My eyes flicked to the rearview mirror. Bit propped his skateboard against the low stone wall across from the Mermaid and sat cross-legged on top. Keeping watch.
Chapter 15
After I promised to come over later to help her sort clothes, Verity dropped me back at Gull’s Nest.
In the kitchen, Aunt Gully was exuberant. “Robbie says we can reopen tomorrow!”
Lorel frowned as she flipped grilled cheese sandwiches.
“You don’t look happy.” I pulled plates from the cabinet.
“Reopening’s great. But you won’t believe this,” Lorel said. “Aunt Gully’s van got another flat tire.”
“Again? She just had one!” I set the table.
“The mechanic said her tire was punctured several times,” Lorel said. “Deliberately.”
“Where was this?” My pulse raced.
“At church,” Lorel said.
Aunt Gully rooted in her tote bag. “The mechanic found this.” She laid a narrow silver lobster pick on the kitchen table.
“A lobster pick?” I said.
“Kids! The things they get up to.” Aunt Gully shook her head.
A decorative red enamel lobster topped one end. The other end curved in a nasty sharp point. “Our tire slasher has nice taste. Looks like the kind of thing you’d find at a fancy gift shop.” Hadn’t I just seen boutique owner Finella Farraday in the parking lot at church? Good grief, would Finella puncture Aunt Gully’s tire?
I tested the sharp point with my fingertip. Finella hated Aunt Gully, thought the lobster shack building should’ve been hers. Why wouldn’t Finella puncture Aunt Gully’s tire?
Lorel’s voice surfaced. “Since you’d already put on the spare Saturday I didn’t have one.”
My heart pounded. Flat tire Saturday. Flat tire today. Threatening letters.
“Two flat tires and threatening letters!” I said. “Aunt Gully, this isn’t kids. Lorel, you know who was parked next to Aunt Gully at church? Finella Farraday.”
“Do you think Finella saw who slashed my tire?” Aunt Gully said.
Finella’d slashed the tire. I was sure of it.
“I know that look.” Aunt Gully opened a bag of potato chips. “I cannot believe that a lady like Finella Farraday goes around slashing tires.”
“Well, what kind of weirdo goes around using a fancy lobster pick to poke holes in tires?” I grabbed a handful of chips.
“Ridiculous!” Lorel snapped. “Finella Farraday’s a respected businesswoman on the town council! I hardly think she goes around slashing tires.”
Aunt Gully patted my hand. “See? Maybe the flat on the day of the food fest was just a flat. My tires’re pretty old.”
Lorel slid sandwiches onto our plates. “No matter what happens, you need to think about getting a new van, Aunt Gully.”
I dropped the pick into my bag. “But the letters said ‘lobster libbers.’ This is a lobster pick. That ties them in—”
“You’ve been so very concerned about those letters,” Aunt Gully said.
Her phone shrilled.
“Hello?” Aunt Gully listened intently, then started wrapping the cord around and around her wrist. I’d only seen her do that a few other times—when on the phone with Uncle Rocco’s doctors and when her friend Anna called to talk about her no-good son.
Lorel and I exchanged glances.
“Call me when you know more.” Aunt Gu
lly hung up.
“What happened?”
“That was Lucia.” Aunt Gully took a deep breath. “The police are searching the Mosses’ house. They’ve taken Ernie and Megan in for questioning.”
Chapter 16
Stan Wilder had arranged a meeting at the Harbor Inn at 5 P.M. Lorel tossed her overnight bag into the trunk and then we drove over in her car. She’d drop us home after the meeting and return to Boston to prepare for a big presentation Monday morning. I knew it was killing her to leave.
“You work too hard, Lorel,” Aunt Gully tsked. “Tomorrow’s Memorial Day. A holiday.”
“Life in the big city.” Lorel shrugged. Even when she wasn’t in the office or traveling for work she was glued to her work phone. “But I’ll come right back after my presentation,” she said. “I can telecommute.”
Aunt Gully patted Lorel’s shoulder. “Honey, just knowing you’re a phone call away is a help. But don’t you worry. We’ll be fine, right, Allie?”
“Right, Aunt Gully.” I forced a smile, but my mind reeled. Ernie with his crazy Hawaiian shirts and sweet wispy Megan were being questioned by the police. How could the police think Ernie would poison people with his very own lobster roll?
“Lorel, drive past Kahuna’s, okay?” I said.
Lorel threw me a glance in the rearview mirror but did as I asked. A few minutes later we pulled into Kahuna’s parking lot. Police tape still fluttered at the front door. The painter had covered the red X on the Kahuna’s sign, but now the sign was simply a shiny white blank. Just like Kahuna’s future. A minivan pulled into the lot and, seeing the tape, pulled out again. “Ernie and Megan are losing business,” Lorel said as she spun the wheel.
“He’s lost more than just business,” I said.
* * *
We met Paul Pond and Chick Costa in the wood-paneled lobby of the Harbor Inn. Paul stood and greeted us. Chick nodded as he strode outside to take a call.
“How are you, Paul?” Aunt Gully asked.
“Been better,” Paul said.
We stepped into a quiet parlor off the main lobby.
“I thought you were heading back to Maine?” I said.
“You heard about Ernie and Megan?” Aunt Gully said in a low voice.
“Ayah, to both questions.” Paul waited until we’d taken seats, then sat in a Windsor chair by the fireplace. He rubbed his bright blue eyes. “I’d like to be on my way, to tell you the truth, but the police wanted to ask me some questions. And my lawyer called. Said that somewhere in that pile o’ papers we signed was a clause about YUM having the right to tell us when”—he looked upward—“‘our participation was no longer required.’ Figured I’d best see what Stan had to say.”
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