Curses, Boiled Again!

by Shari Randall

  Aunt Gully turned to Lorel and me. “Should I call John Dombrowski?”

  John Dombrowski was Aunt Gully’s lawyer. I considered. Mr. Dombrowski had helped Aunt Gully with the purchase of the Lazy Mermaid property. He’d helped with Uncle Rocco’s insurance. He was a nice guy I’d last seen dressed in a green lobster suit for the St. Patrick’s Day Fun Run. I shrugged. Mystic Bay wasn’t exactly full of lawyers experienced with television contracts and the poisoning deaths of famous actresses.

  Chick returned, his face red, his lips set in a thin line.

  Stan Wilder stepped into the parlor. “Glad you’re here. Please join me in the meeting room.” We followed Stan and took seats at a conference table.

  “Where’s Ashley?” Aunt Gully asked.

  “Ashley has a shoot in L.A.” A smile lit Stan’s face. “Thank you for asking.”

  Paul Pond cleared his throat. “Stan, what’ve the police told you?”

  “Very little. They asked to see footage of the judging. Of course we cooperated. Answered a lot of questions, same as many of you. Wish I had more to share, but that’s it.”

  Chick leaned forward. “Listen, Stan, I’m not a quitter. Yeah, we’ve had a huge setback, but I’m still in.”

  Setback? Could Chick get any more insensitive?

  Stan tented his fingers, the gesture revealing hands of surprising strength. I remembered he’d played for the Patriots before going into television. “The purpose of this meeting,” he said, “is to communicate the network’s decision as far as continuing with New England’s Best Lobster Roll Contest.” He looked at each of us as he let the quiet stretch. Good dramatic timing.

  “Yeah?” Chick raised his chin and folded his arms.

  “The YUM Network does want to host a best lobster roll contest this year,” Stan said.

  Chick sat back, a satisfied smile curling his lips. Paul Pond frowned.

  “However.” Stan cleared his throat. “However, we feel that association with the tragic events of yesterday are not in congruence with the upbeat personality of the YUM Network. We plan to discard the existing footage. We’ll continue with the lobster roll contest in a different venue.”

  “Come on up and do it in Chatham. Perfect setting,” Chick crowed.

  Stan shot Chick a look that said the contest would be held anywhere in the world but Chatham. “The network will decide and extend the invitations.”

  “To the same lobster shacks, right?” Chick pressed.

  Chick was a jerk, but he asked the question we all wanted answered. This was the bottom line. Would we be in the running again for the title?

  Stan shifted in his seat.

  My breath caught in my throat. Aunt Gully bit her lip.

  “Pond’s and, ah,” Stan said, “Chick’s will be invited to participate again.” Chick whooped and punched the air. Across the table, Lorel struggled to keep her face composed.

  “Unfortunately, we don’t want to, ah, bring up the memory of what happened Saturday.” Stan turned toward Aunt Gully. His voice softened. “I’m sorry, Gully, but we won’t be inviting anyone from Mystic Bay.”

  Heat surged into my face, but before I could say anything Aunt Gully put a hand on my thigh and squeezed a warning. Lorel beat me to it.

  “But what if the Lazy Mermaid has the best lobster roll?” Lorel prided herself on her professional behavior but her voice was shrill and the cords in her throat stood out.

  “I truly am sorry,” Stan said. “But the network’s decision is final.”

  After promising to stay in touch, Stan shook hands around the table and left the room, trailed by Chick Costa. “Stan, Chatham’s a great setting…”

  We shuffled toward the door. “Don’t worry, Aunt Gully,” Lorel said, tapping on her phone. “I’m going to check our contract with YUM—”

  Aunt Gully stopped short. Lorel bumped into her.

  “Lorel.” Aunt Gully slipped an arm around Lorel. “Do you remember the time you got caught in the rip off Seal Rock?”

  “When I was ten?” Lorel said. “Yes, I’ll never forget it.”

  “The rip carried you right out into the sound. But you remembered what to do. You didn’t fight it. You rode it till it let you go, and then you could swim back. This is one tide I can’t fight. I’m not going to try. I’ll ride it out and then”—she squared her shoulders—“I’ll just get back to the Lazy Mermaid. That’s what I’ll do.”

  “Aunt Gully, it’s not fair.” Tears pricked my eyes.

  “Allie’s right,” Lorel said. “It’s not fair. You have the best—”

  Aunt Gully raised her hands. “It’s what I want to do. Stan’s a smart man. And…” She took a deep breath. “I think he’s right.”

  I couldn’t fathom where Aunt Gully was getting her Zen today. I slipped an arm around her as we headed through the lobby, leaned my head against hers. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t swallow my disappointment. Why should Aunt Gully suffer when she hadn’t done a thing wrong?

  Paul Pond followed, silently hanging back. I turned to him.

  “Are you going to do the lobster roll contest again?” I asked.

  Paul Pond shook his head. “No. If they won’t let me out of the contract, I’ll fight it. Every morning when I open, there’s a two-hour line of people waiting to get in. I don’t need any more customers. Pond’s was fine before the contest. We’ll be fine after.” He took Aunt Gully’s hand.

  “Gully, I think you’ll be fine, too.”

  “I will,” Aunt Gully said. “At our age, we know the storms come and the storms pass.”

  “I hope someday you’ll come to Maine and visit,” he said.

  Aunt Gully smiled. “I’d be delighted. And anytime you’re in Mystic Bay, I hope you’ll stop by.”

  “Thank you. Pleasure to meet you. All of you.”

  We stepped onto the inn’s broad porch. The wind had risen and it whipped the flag around the flagpole in front of the hotel as Paul got into his truck.

  The twist of Lorel’s lips told me she wasn’t done, but Aunt Gully looked serene. We got into Lorel’s car and headed home.

  I leaned back and closed my eyes while Lorel and Aunt Gully talked, Lorel arguing that they should fight the network’s decision. I knew Aunt Gully well enough to know that her decision was final.

  Lorel’s leather seats were so comfortable. My mind drifted. Scenes from the past few days flitted through my mind. The roses in Megan’s trash. Juliet Wells’s red lips. Rick and Rio waving to the crowd. Ernie Moss in that gaudy orange Hawaiian shirt. Ernie Moss with a spoon to his lips while Aunt Gully sang in the church kitchen.

  I sat bolt upright. “Turn around, Lorel! Go back to the inn.”

  “Did you forget something?” Aunt Gully said.

  “Remember Stan said the police asked for video of the judging? Did the police know there’s behind-the-scenes footage? Because that footage proves that Ernie didn’t poison the lobster rolls.”

  Chapter 17

  We asked for Stan at the reception desk and met in the same meeting room. After I explained what I was looking for, Stan opened his laptop and clicked on a file.

  “I have the behind-the-scenes stuff here,” he said. “I assumed the police just didn’t want it. Maybe they didn’t realize we’d shot it.”

  We huddled around the laptop. Had the food festival been only yesterday? It seemed like a decade had passed since then.

  Stan fast-forwarded through scenes of Mystic Bay, happy faces at the festival, the quaint beauty of our small town on a sparkling May day. All the cheerful activity as the chefs bantered with the producers, volunteers hurrying to and fro. I watched the screen intently.

  Aunt Gully’s hair-raising singing rang into the room. We winced.

  “Great TV.” Stan chuckled.

  “There!” I said.

  On the screen, Ernie dipped a small tasting spoon into a tub of his lobster salad. Ernie tasted the salad as Megan plated their lobster rolls.

  “See, if he
tasted the same lobster salad that went to the judges, and he was fine, then the poison couldn’t have been in the lobster salad,” I said.

  We watched as the four plated lobster rolls were placed on a tray and a silver cloche was lowered over them. Volunteers set the covered plates on a long counter on the side of the kitchen near the door. Ernie and Megan took seats across the room from the covered lobster rolls and chatted with a woman in a blue YUM Network polo.

  “Who’s that?” Lorel asked.

  “One of the producers,” Stan said.

  “I remember,” Aunt Gully said. “Ernie and Megan finished faster than everyone else because their preparation’s cold. All they had to do was assemble their lobster rolls.”

  “And that’s why their rolls were judged first. They were done first,” I said. “Their rolls were closest to the door.”

  We watched for a few more minutes. From what we could see in the footage no one approached Kahuna’s covered lobster rolls.

  The camera swung often to Aunt Gully, who bantered with the producers and other chefs. Her sunny personality filled the screen. Stan sighed. He pressed a button on the laptop and Aunt Gully’s image froze. Stan straightened. “Well, I’d better make sure this gets to the police.”

  Aunt Gully squeezed my hand as we walked back to the parking lot. “That’ll help Ernie’s cause. The police will figure it out, this whole nightmare will be over, and we’ll all get back to normal.”

  Chapter 18

  “So Ernie and Megan couldn’t have poisoned the rolls,” Lorel said. “Ernie and Megan owe you one, Allie.”

  “Someone must’ve added the poison after Ernie plated the rolls,” I said slowly. But why? Why poison Kahuna’s rolls? “YUM didn’t film every single moment in the prep kitchen. And maybe Ernie still could’ve poisoned the rolls after he plated them.”

  “There were so many people,” Aunt Gully said. “Wouldn’t someone notice?”

  “Maybe yes, maybe no. If the poisoner looked like he or she belonged there? I remember how distracted we all were when you were, er, singing, Aunt Gully. All eyes were on you for quite a while.”

  So many volunteers and television people were crammed into the kitchen. Kids running in and out. It was hard to tell who belonged and who didn’t.

  Lorel pulled into the driveway. “Well, it’s still good for Ernie and Megan. That’s your good deed of the day, Allie. I’ll come back tomorrow, after my meeting,” she said. “We’ll talk about how to go forward.”

  “Of course, dear. We’ll get a good night’s sleep tonight, right, Allie?”

  “Right after I go to Verity’s.” I’d promised to help with Juliet Wells’s clothes.

  “And right after I go to the hospital and check on the judges,” Aunt Gully said as she unbuckled her seat belt.

  “What!” I said.

  “Weren’t all the judges in ICU? They won’t let you see them, Aunt Gully,” Lorel said in her trying-to-be-reasonable voice.

  “Aren’t you tired, Aunt Gully?” I was exhausted.

  “I want to see how Rick and Rio and the mayor are doing,” she said.

  “They might not let you in,” I repeated.

  Aunt Gully got out of the car. “I’m getting a sweater. Don’t worry, Lorel, Allie can drop me on her way to Verity’s.”

  I sighed. There was no stopping Aunt Gully when she made up her mind. She was a smiling, rainbow-colored steamroller. I opened the door.

  Lorel checked her watch. She drummed on the steering wheel. “I’ll take you over.”

  “Don’t you have to get back to Boston?” I said.

  “It can wait. I want to keep an eye on Aunt Gully.” That was Lorel. If there was a chance that Aunt Gully would be on TV or social media, Lorel wanted to be there.

  “I can keep an eye on her,” I said.

  “This won’t take long,” Lorel replied.

  Translation: she didn’t trust me to do it.

  I slammed the door and folded my arms.

  Aunt Gully emerged from the house, pulling on a yellow crocheted sweater.

  “I’ll drive,” Lorel called.

  “Thank you, Lorel.” Aunt Gully settled back into her seat, perching her glasses on her head as she bent over the glowing oblong of her smartphone, intent as she texted.

  Dusk was falling. Wind-whipped waves crashed onto the seawall as we drove past on the way to the hospital.

  “Lorel,” I said softly, “aren’t you worried about the newspeople?”

  I couldn’t see Lorel’s face clearly but I could hear her certainty. “Aunt Gully going to see the poor folks who were sickened by someone else’s poisoned lobster roll? Nope. That’s nothing but positive, Allie.”

  Two news trucks hulked by the brightly lit main entrance of the hospital as we turned into the parking lot.

  “In the back, Lorelei.” Aunt Gully directed Lorel to the staff parking lot. A woman wearing faded purple scrubs stood in the golden rectangle of light spilling from an open door. She waved us inside.

  “It’s Mrs. Yardley,” Lorel whispered to me as we hurried inside.

  “Hello, Darcie,” Aunt Gully said.

  “Gully, how are you?”

  Mrs. Yardley greeted us both, but her eyes lingered on Lorel. Lorel had dated her son Patrick in high school. It hadn’t ended well. Patrick’s crowd of partying lacrosse players had been too fast for Lorel, the lifelong Girl Scout. Still, I knew Lorel’s feelings for Patrick ran deep.

  “Gully, what a time you’ve had.” Darcie Yardley embraced Gully.

  “Seen better, that’s for sure, but those poor judges, Darcie! How’re they doing?”

  “Well, the reporters created such a scene. We had to have the police help our security team. Reporters and others trying to sneak in.” She grinned at Aunt Gully. “They don’t have your connections.”

  “Now you know I’m not going to go barging in or break any rules,” Aunt Gully said. “I just want to know how they’re doing.”

  Mrs. Yardley led us past a bank of elevators and through a waiting area. She gave Aunt Gully a conspiratorial look.

  “When you texted me, I asked the mayor if he’d like to see you. He said yes. He’s sitting up, doing pretty well, considering. Let’s just say he got whatever it was out of his system pretty fast.”

  “Ugh,” I muttered to Lorel. She was wringing her hands. She cannot stand hospitals. Or bending rules.

  “What’s wrong?” I asked.

  “Aside from everything?” Lorel said.

  “What was the toxic substance?” Aunt Gully stage-whispered to Mrs. Yardley.

  Mrs. Yardley raised her spare gray eyebrows. Her eyes were the same dark brown as her son Hayden’s. “No one’s saying exactly what it was. Believe me, they never get results this fast from the police lab, but because it involved celebrities, it all happened like lightning. They said something organic. Plant based.”

  A poisonous plant? Lorel and I shared a look.

  “And you heard about Ernie and Megan Moss being questioned?” Mrs. Yardley asked.

  Aunt Gully waved it away. “Ridiculous.”

  Mrs. Yardley shrugged. “I’ve seen Ernie Moss in here a few times. When he was younger. Bar fights.”

  “Poisoning and bar fights are two different things,” Aunt Gully said in a low voice. “And we know Ernie couldn’t have done it.” She whispered to Mrs. Yardley. Mrs. Yardley’s mouth formed a surprised O. No doubt what we’d seen on the YUM video would soon be reported across Mystic Bay via the gossip hotline.

  “Here we are.” The ICU was a glare of white paint and glass. Curtains screened individual cubicles. Thank goodness. Hospitals made me nervous. Amid the beeps of equipment and low voices of conferring medical staff ran an undercurrent of excitement.

  A clutch of people hovered at the door of a room down the hall.

  “Rick and Rio down there.” Mrs. Yardley nodded to nurses at the main desk and asked us to sign a visitor’s log. Then she greeted a security guard who sat by a door. We followe
d her in.

  Mayor Packer was propped up in bed, a table across his legs. His normally ruddy face was as white as his pillows.

  When he saw Aunt Gully, he grinned. “I think it was something I ate, Gully.”

  Lorel and I hovered by the door. Seeing the mayor pale and weak, a hospital gown slipping from one shoulder, made me feel awkward, but Aunt Gully went to the bedside and squeezed his hand.

  “Serves you right, gulping your food like that,” she said.

  “How nice of you to come. You, too, girls.” Bliss Packer sat on the other side of the bed. The mayor’s wife was a tanned tennis blonde, as angular as her husband was round. Her coral lipstick coordinated with her coral cardigan, skirt, and flats.

  “Doctor said he’s going to be all right. Said it was a toxic substance, can you believe it?” Mrs. Packer twisted the double strand of pearls at her throat. “What kind of toxic substance ends up in a lobster roll is what I want to know.”

  Mayor Packer drew a shaky breath. “Takes more than a lobster roll to stop me.”

  “Why would someone poison my husband, I ask you? And the other judges, of course,” she added. “And why on a television show? The mayor thought this would bring so much great attention to Mystic Bay. Now, all people’re talking about is the poisoning!”

  “And poor Contessa Wells,” I said.

  “Of course, Contessa Wells.” Mrs. Packer rolled her eyes and sighed, as if the whole disaster had been Contessa Wells’s fault.

  Mayor Packer’s eyes fluttered. “Not good for the town.”

  “No, it’s not.” Mrs. Packer folded her arms.

  “We’ll let you rest,” Aunt Gully said.

  Mayor Packer whispered, “Gully, nobody’s blaming you.”

  “Of course not,” Mrs. Packer snapped. “We know who’s responsible.”