Several people screamed and shouted for help. “What if someone’s down there!”
Officer Petrie spoke into his shoulder mic.
Lorel tightened her grip on my arm. “What if it was Ernie in the Mermaid?”
An even worse thought made me clutch my chest. “What if it wasn’t? What if Ernie’s down there?” I whispered.
“I’ll check.” Bit Markey had been standing at my shoulder but I hadn’t noticed him. He slipped through the crowd of bystanders.
I hurried after him. “No, Bit!”
Bit dove off the dock.
“Don’t you go, too.” Lorel pulled me back as Bit surfaced.
“Bit Markey, you get back here,” Officer Petrie bellowed. Bit’s answer was a wave. Nervous laughter rippled through the crowd.
Bit was a good swimmer. But as I watched his dark head and skinny arms circle the boat and then the car, I slipped off my flip-flop and bent to loosen the fastenings on my boot. If he showed the slightest distress, I wouldn’t let anyone stop me from helping him.
Bit dove. The crowd on the dock inhaled and bent forward as one, watching the dark head disappear under the water. Bit splashed back to the surface, then dove again. Officer Petrie grumbled and shouldered through the crowd, holding the life ring we’d just used to haul up Hugh O’Hare.
Bit surfaced, shook his hair out of his eyes, and stroked smoothly to the ladder. He clambered up in seconds. Some people applauded. Something colorful trailed from his hand, a strand of plastic flowers.
“No bodies,” he said. “It’s kinda dark, but I didn’t see anybody in there.”
“In there? Did you go in the car?” Lorel gasped.
“Yeah, the windows were open.” He held up the strand of flowers. Officer Petrie took it from Bit’s hands. Lorel and I exchanged glances. It was the lei Ernie’d worn at the lobster roll competition. His badge still hung from it.
“It was on the rearview mirror,” Bit explained.
“Bit, you gave me a heart attack.” I hugged him tight, not minding his sopping-wet clothes. “You nut.”
Bit grinned and blushed.
“Come with me, Bit,” Officer Petrie said. “Gonna get you warmed up.”
Bit cut through the crowd, followed by a wave of murmured “attaboy”s, back slaps, and a smattering of applause.
I bent to retighten the fastenings on my boot.
“What on earth is Ernie Moss’s car doing there?” Lorel whispered.
“Was it Ernie Moss in the Mermaid?” I said.
* * *
After the discovery of the submerged car, the police cleared everyone from the Lazy Mermaid parking lot except for Hugh and Bit. These two actors in the most recent Lazy Mermaid disaster sat in the Adirondack chairs as EMS evaluated them. Bit was wrapped in a blanket simultaneously enjoying a hot chocolate and ice-cream cone from the Tick Tock. Hugh sipped from a flask passed to him over the police tape by a friend.
Hector, Hilda, Lorel, and I canceled deliveries from our bakery, distributors, and lobster providers. The police declared our dock off-limits to lobster drop-offs until the boat and the car were removed. “Perhaps two days,” Officer Petrie told us.
“How on earth did that car get down there? How could somebody drive off this dock? There’s hardly room,” Lorel said.
Officer Petrie considered our dock. “That sports car’s little. Almost a toy. Ernie looked funny in it sometimes, you know, almost like one of those clown cars.”
“You’d have to have nerves of steel. It’s so narrow.” I shook my head. “Or maybe somebody pushed it?”
Lorel and I hurried up to the Plex, but as Officer Petrie said, we weren’t allowed to see Aunt Gully. My stomach churned thinking of her in a cell, picturing her handcuffed to a wall. I hated the thought of her being alone.
“Let’s wait outside,” I said.
Bronwyn walked with us. “Aunt Gully’s okay. I was just talking to her. The minute I hear anything new, I’ll let you know.”
She ran back inside. Lorel and I sat at a splintery picnic table. As usual, Lorel lost herself in work, scrolling on her phone. I texted Verity to let her know where I was, then I paced on the sparse grass.
The Tank roared up to the curb. Verity slammed the door and hurried over to us.
“It’s time for the funeral. I got someone to watch the shop.”
“Verity, you won’t believe what’s been happening—” I began.
“Fill me in on the way. We’ve got fifteen minutes to get to the Ancient Burying Ground.”
“The funeral!” I looked down at my clothes. Not only was I not dressed for a funeral, my T-shirt and jeans were damp from hugging Bit Markey.
“Don’t worry, I’ve got just the thing,” Verity said. “Nobody’s going to notice you.”
Perhaps no one would notice me because I was with Verity, her highlighted dreads pulled into a demure low bun. She wore a black sheath dress that hugged her dramatic curves. A black pillbox hat with a half veil covered her forehead and eyes. A pearl choker completed her look. She looked dangerous, like a sexy black widow who’d just murdered her millionaire husband.
Lorel frowned and folded her arms.
I hesitated. “I don’t know. I might get to see Aunt Gully.”
“Really. Playing dress-up at the funeral of the woman Aunt Gully’s accused of murdering? Yeah, doesn’t strike me as a good idea.” Lorel’s voice dripped with disdain. “Seriously, Allie.”
“How’s Aunt Gully?” Verity said.
“They won’t let us talk to her, but Bron said she’s okay,” I said.
“Look, you might as well come with me. You can’t do anything here. You don’t have time to go home and change. I brought you a dress and shoes. Well, a shoe since you’ve got your boot thingy.” Verity angled her body between Lorel and me. “Come on. This is the funeral of the century.”
On any other day, I would be curious about this movie star’s funeral. But a bigger part of me felt that I couldn’t sit still and wait, that I had to get to work to discover something that could clear Aunt Gully.
“I’m going,” I said. Lorel scowled. “I know it’s crazy, Lorel. But maybe if I talk to people, I’ll be able to help Aunt Gully. I’ve got to find out who’s really responsible so the police’ll let Aunt Gully go. On cop shows the police always watch funerals “
Verity nodded vigorously. “The murderer always shows up to celebrate.”
Lorel threw up her hands. “Go play detective,” she fumed. “I’ll be the grown-up and handle things.”
Verity and I hurried to the car.
“Have no fear,” Verity said. “Believe me, with the outfit I got you, you’ll blend right in.”
Chapter 30
Blend in to what, Verity hadn’t said. Maybe the same black widow’s support group she was dressed for. On the way over to the Ancient Burying Ground, I told her everything that had happened as I shimmied out of my clothes and into the black silk shirtdress Verity had chosen for me.
Verity almost swerved off the road several times as I described last night’s and today’s events.
“At least Ernie wasn’t in the sunken car,” she said. “Why would he drive his own car off the dock?”
“Maybe he didn’t. Why would he? Maybe Chick did it?” I couldn’t believe Chick’s story about his midnight jog. “It must be Ernie that they found in the lobster shed. But why drive his car into the water?”
“Yeah, that’s weird.”
My mind whirled with ideas. “So people wouldn’t be able to find him? At least until we opened the Mermaid,” I said slowly. “Or someone just wanted to be mean because Ernie loved his car?”
“Well, actually, I love my car.” Verity patted her steering wheel. “It would kill me if someone drove the Tank off a dock.”
“What about my hair?” My red hair made me stand out in a crowd.
“Behind you,” Verity said.
On the rear seat was a black straw hat with a broad brim.
I put
it on. Sheer black organza and black roses encircled the brim, which bent with a flirty dip. I frowned. I looked like I was going to a goth garden party.
“What? It was all I had in the shop!” Without taking her eyes from the road, Verity fished in her handbag and handed me some black sunglasses. “The sunglasses’ll help.”
I slid them on. “Maybe Lorel’s right. This is a monumentally bad idea.”
“We’re going to find suspects and clear Aunt Gully,” Verity said. “And then buy the rest of Contessa’s designer clothes and jewelry tomorrow.”
The Mystic Bay Savings and Loan clock flashed 2:55 as the Tank lumbered through town. We passed Christ Church, a classic white clapboard building set high on a hill. “I thought that was the Wells’s family church?”
“The service is graveside.” Verity swung the Tank onto narrow Cemetery Lane by the burying ground. Riding in the vintage DeSoto was more like riding in a boat than a car.
We cruised past row after row of cars double-parked along the burying ground’s crumbling, low stone wall.
I winced as Verity rolled the Tank onto someone’s lawn. I slid on the black silk Louis heel Verity had brought for me. It was tight, but better than wearing the flip-flop I’d worn earlier.
I angled the broad brim of my hat to shield my face as we passed a group of reporters. Leo Rodriguez, as usual, was at the center of things. Verity trailed me as I scurried between lichen-covered headstones to the far side of the cemetery.
Here among the oldest residents of the burying ground, we had a good view of the white marquee where Juliet would sit with other mourners, which was where the news cameras were trained. The ground was slightly higher here, a perfect spot for us to watch the crowd. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, but I intended to watch for anything suspicious, anything that could help clear Aunt Gully’s name.
A black hearse parked at the entrance of the cemetery, followed by a limousine.
With practiced, economical movements, two men in somber black opened the back of the hearse. Sprays of white mums, roses, and lilies burst forth as they slid Contessa’s coffin out of the hearse.
At the same time, a tall man with a thick silver mane of hair emerged from the back of the limousine—Mac Macallan, the director of Broadway by the Bay. Tall, with regal carriage, Mac exuded old-fashioned, masculine grace as he helped Juliet Wells from the vehicle.
Mac bent toward her, nodding sympathetically. Either he was sincere or he was indeed a very good actor. Juliet stepped forward, adjusting the veil on her own black hat as she scanned the crowd.
The burying ground was full of people, those closer to the grave dressed in black. Farther out from the white tent, the clothing and atmosphere got more colorful and relaxed, more festive. Several people in shorts and T-shirts filmed with their cell phones.
Juliet’s face lit up when she saw Verity and me. She made a beckoning gesture.
“Oh, God, what do we do?” Verity whispered out of the side of her mouth.
People in the crowd turned to see what was going on.
“Too late to hide behind a headstone,” I said. We picked our way through the headstones to Juliet.
“My friends.” Juliet took our hands in hers. The tear holder thingy she’d shown us before swung from a chain around her neck.
“These people don’t know how to dress.” She waved dismissively toward the crowd. “Nobody has a sense of drama anymore. Death is the ultimate drama. It deserves respect.”
Verity and I looked at each other then back at Juliet.
“My condolences,” I stammered.
“So sorry for your loss,” Verity said. She curtsied.
I almost laughed, but there was something so over the top about Juliet that I understood why Verity did it.
Juliet smiled. “You’re some of the only people in this whole town that I’ve ever spoken to. Except for Susan and Mac and the good father here.” She turned to the Reverend Priddy, the rector of Christ Church. He looked like a man preparing to defuse a bomb.
Susan emerged from the limousine, dressed in a black sweatshirt, wrinkled black pants, and black sneakers for the occasion. When she saw us she rolled her eyes.
“Oh, Susan, my flowers,” Juliet said.
Susan reached into the limo. Verity and I exchanged a look at the strange bouquet: orange lilies and yellowish-green palm branches tied with an elaborate black bow.
“Carry them for me, please, Susan.”
“Victory. Hatred,” Verity muttered under her breath.
“What?” I whispered, but Verity had turned away.
Juliet whispered to me. “Well, the show must go on.” She took Mac’s arm, pressed a handkerchief to her dry eyes, and stepped into the entrance to the burying ground. She waited for every eye to turn to her. The crowd quieted. A small combo started playing.
We followed, stepping slowly and carefully over the uneven ground.
Juliet wore a black shirtdress with a very full skirt and her hat was practically a carbon copy of my own. Television cameras swung to us. Please, earth, just swallow me now. Susan walked just behind Juliet, carrying the bizarre bouquet.
There were three open seats in the front row, reserved for Juliet, Mac, and the ever-present and unhappy Susan. My eyes flicked along the melancholy faces under the tent.
Who looked guilty?
Mayor Packer and his wife, Bliss, sat in the front row. The mayor’s face looked thinner and with a shock I noted a cane tucked next to his leg. Bliss Packer sat ramrod straight, martyrdom etched on her lovely, bored face.
A row behind, Finella Farraday leaned forward to whisper into Bliss’s ear.
Chick Costa, a navy blazer over his yellow polo shirt, sat two rows behind the Packers. I pulled my hat brim farther over my face. Another person I didn’t want to see. His head was bowed, but I was pretty sure he was just checking messages on his phone.
Verity and I headed to the back row. Rio Lopez sat in the aisle in a wheelchair. My breath caught. Rio’s body curled into one side of the seat as if she didn’t have the strength to sit upright. She looked so fragile and weak. The poison must’ve taken a terrible toll on her. Rick’s arm draped protectively over the back of Rio’s chair and two stocky men stood behind her. Bodyguards or nurses? Rick stood and gestured to empty seats in the row.
Rio smiled as we edged in. One seat had a sign that read RESERVED FOR GINA FONTANA. I blinked. Hardly anyone used Aunt Gully’s given name. The other two chairs were reserved for Megan and Ernie Moss, more confirmation that the man found at the Mermaid was Ernie. Verity and I sat next to Rick, picking up the programs on the seats of the chairs. Two other empty seats were reserved for CHARLES COSTA and PAUL POND. Chick had decided to get a better seat, Paul had probably gone back to Maine as he’d said. I scanned the mourners but didn’t see his distinctive white hair.
“How are you?” I whispered to Rick.
“Survived,” he said. “Hell of a thing. We’re lucky to be here.”
“Lucky to be anywhere,” Rio leaned over. “You’re Mrs. Fontana’s niece, right? Allegra?”
“Yes, but call me Allie. This is my friend Verity Brooks.” Verity lurched across me to shake hands.
The small group of musicians played the final notes of the processional.
“Don’t leave without talking with us, okay?” Rick whispered.
People fanned themselves with their programs in the warm spring air. A sudden hush fell, punctuated by birdsong and a few coughs.
The reverend began with the words of the Book of Common Prayer, the old-fashioned cadence poetic. I tried to resist, but I couldn’t help checking my phone for news of Aunt Gully. There were no messages. I let the soothing words of the service wash over me.
“Ashes to ashes, dust to dust.” Reverend Priddy spoke into a hushed silence, then beckoned Juliet to join him She approached the open grave, carrying the strange bouquet. Mac followed a discreet distance behind her. She circled the grave so she faced the seated mourners under the m
arquee, playing to the VIP audience.
The spiky palm branches she carried jarred against the mound of soft, feminine white and pastel-hued flowers. Something metal on the black bow of the bouquet caught the sunlight. Checking behind me to make sure I wasn’t blocking anyone’s view, I stood to see better. Juliet was no longer wearing the lachrymatory.
The Reverend indicated a small pile of dirt. Juliet took a handful and scattered it into the grave. Then she kissed the bouquet and also let it fall into the grave. A smile curved her red lips, then she turned to Mac and leaned heavily on his arm, her black handkerchief pressed to her mouth. The audience/mourners stirred but Mac wrapped an arm around her waist and escorted Juliet back to her seat without incident.
Verity tugged my arm.
I hadn’t realized I was still standing. I sank into my seat. “Remember that thing Juliet wore around her neck? The tear thingie?” I whispered.
“Lachrymatory? Yeah?”
“She tossed it into the grave with the flowers.”
Verity shrugged. “A symbol? Maybe she’s tossing away her tears.”
A Broadway by the Bay singer took the microphone and delivered a stunning version of “Memory” from Cats. Sniffles turned to loud weeping as the singer gave the song the full Broadway treatment. Some people on the outskirts of the funeral applauded as the singer held the song’s final note.
Mac announced a reception at Broadway by the Bay, and everyone processed out, accompanied by the combo playing “My Heart Will Go On.” Juliet led the black-garbed flood of mourners through the gates of the Ancient Burying Ground.
“Want to go to the reception?” Verity said. “Check for guilty people?”
“Yes, but it depends on how things are with Aunt Gully,” I whispered. “I’ll check in with Lorel but first let’s talk with Rio and Rick. Maybe they saw something at the food fest.”
I leaned toward Rio. “How are you feeling?”
“Funerals,” she said. “They take it out of me.” Rio looked even paler than before, her skin pulled taut over her high cheekbones.
Rick stood slowly, unfolding his lanky frame from his seat, leaning heavily on the handles of Rio’s wheelchair.
“Let’s head back to the van,” Rick said. “You guys want to walk along?”
Curses, Boiled Again! Page 15