“You heard?”
“Heard that reporter ask about my wife? Of course. She screamed it for the whole town to hear.”
“We’ve obviously got a leak,” Tanner said. He turned to the Sheriff. “Is that against the law? Letting the victim’s name out like that?”
“I don’t think so, no,” he said. “Not releasing a name before the next of kin is notified is basically just a common courtesy. It’s not required by law. But it’s not the way we wanted it to go down. You did a great job, Skyler. It probably should have been me out there, but I’ve never been in this situation. What the hell is wrong with me? It should have been me.”
“Sheriff, there is nothing wrong with using a spokesperson. Organizations do it all the time.” Skyler took a seat on a stool. “But I need a drink.”
“I think we all do,” Tanner said. He scooted behind the bar and started pulling down glasses. “The hard stuff.”
“We know everyone who knows for sure that it was Patty, right?” Skyler asked as she pulled out her iPhone. She opened the Notes app and began making a list. “Manuel, Lillian, Shea, Tanner, the Sheriff, Leonard, the three state troopers, the four forensics guys from Portland, the two ladies from the morgue, and me. Who else?”
Tanner thought about that a bit as he poured Evan Williams into four low ball glasses. “Mmm, let’s see. Chris and Bobby. Chris is a waiter and Bobby buses tables and stuff. High school kids, both of them. Courtney called out sick; she was supposed to play hostess tonight. And Carl. He showed up after the medical examiners did. He’s a cook. That’s it, that’s everyone.”
“That doesn’t mean that there aren’t other people, or a person, who knows,” the Sheriff said as he accepted the drink. “But even more important than that, we have to assume that besides the restaurant staff, that someone else could have come in and killed Patty and then left.”
“Well we certainly don’t expect that someone who works at the Chowder House killed her, do we?” Leonard asked. “So, it has to be someone else.”
“For the record, Shea, Chris, Bobby, and Carl arrived after the body was discovered,” Tanner said. “As did I.”
“As did I, too,” Leonard said. “And ‘the body’ was my wife, Tanner.”
“Jesus Christ, I’m sorry, buddy.”
“It’s okay. I just want to get to the bottom of this.”
“So, just to be clear, everyone is a suspect,” the Sheriff said. “Where were you before you got called to the restaurant, Leonard?”
Leonard choked on his bourbon and nearly spit it across the bar. “Dad, really?”
“I’m going to ask everyone, Leonard,” his father said calmly. “Where were you?”
“I was driving from my house to City Hall when I got the call. I was scheduled for three o’clock today.”
“Okay,” the Sheriff said. “Tanner?”
“Skyler and I went to visit Porter in prison this morning, I dropped her back at her house, and then I went home and played with my kid until I left to come here.”
“You went to see Porter Maddox? The llama killer?” Leonard asked.
“Alpaca,” Skyler corrected. “And he said he didn’t kill it.”
The Sheriff was ready to leave. “Let’s focus on Patty and forget the animal for now, okay? I’m going to go to the station and get some notes written up. Leonard, I really want you to go home and take it easy.”
“I’d rather be useful.”
“You need to grieve.”
Leonard thought about that for a moment. “I guess.”
The Sheriff shot his son a look of disgust. He nodded at Skyler and Tanner and pushed Leonard out the back door and into the parking lot.
“I realize that you’ve been on a fucking roller coaster of emotions this afternoon, but you’ve got to at least pretend to be sorry that your wife is dead for a few days, kiddo. Can you manage that? People are going to be watching you very carefully. This is a small town.”
“You don’t need to keep reminding me of that,” Leonard said. He fumbled around in his pocket for his car keys. “And I am sorry. I’m not devastated. But I am sad.”
“Act like it. And don’t tell anyone that you’re not devastated. It makes you sound like an unfeeling asshole. And a suspect! I’ll see you tomorrow.” Sheriff Little opened the driver’s side door of his truck then turned back to his son. “Drive the speed limit, please.”
Skyler followed Tanner into the kitchen after they finished their drinks. She watched as he switched off lights and made sure the ovens and grills were turned off. Despite not having worked at the restaurant for nearly 25 years, she knew the closing routine almost as well as any of the current employees.
“I appreciate your help today,” Tanner said. He leaned against the walk-in freezer and crossed his arms across his chest. “I’ve always made fun of what you do, but I have to admit, public relations is a real career.”
“Well, thank you for that. It’s a delicate situation. There are going to be plenty of people in this town who will come eat here because of the murder and there will be an equal amount of people who will avoid this place like the plague, I fear. I’ve seen it happen before. I wouldn’t be as worried about the tourists. They’re not likely to hear about it after a few days.”
“It’ll be the main story in Wednesday’s newspaper. Thank God it’s only a weekly.”
“And tomorrow is Independence Day. After you get the joint cleaned up I suspect you’ll be busy despite it all.”
Tanner had almost forgotten about the mess. He was going to have to call in a professional cleaning crew; he couldn’t expect any of his employees to deal with the blood of an ex-colleague. He reached out and hugged his friend. He held on a little bit longer than he should have. When she pulled away, she gave him a sly smile. “You’re married.”
“I know. But I still love you. I always will.”
“I know.”
* * *
Freshly showered and cozy in a set of lobster-print pajamas she bought especially for the trip, Brenda sat with Mulder and Scully on Skyler’s large L-shaped couch. She had switched from wine to hot tea and she cringed as she watched a sub-par cooking show on television. She didn’t hear Skyler walk into the room until she was almost upon her, sending the tea cup sailing across the room. At the same time, the dogs started barking and jumping about.
“I am so sorry,” Skyler said. “I assumed you heard me come in the front door.”
“We didn’t, obviously,” Brenda laughed. She was on her feet and looking for paper towels. Together, the women cleaned up the mess and Skyler put the tea kettle back on the stove to make two fresh cups. “So, Leonard’s wife was really killed at the Chowder?”
“It appears so. And, not surprisingly, Leonard is not very upset about it.”
“He did it!”
“No way. He’s a doofus, but not a murderer. Come on.”
“Are there any other suspects? A motive?”
“Not one. Of either. And we don’t know where Patty was for the last three weeks. Apparently, she’d been missing.”
“This keeps getting better and better. This kind of thing doesn’t happen in Wabanaki.”
“I know. I really think Tanner wants to believe it wasn’t anyone on his staff.”
Brenda let out a chuckle. “Well, of course he does. That’d be very bad for business. I had a busboy at my first restaurant in Manhattan that killed his girlfriend. Remember? Granted, it wasn’t at the restaurant, but the murder was gruesome and it was widely published that he worked for me. We saw a dip in business for a while.”
“That’s what we’re afraid of here,” Skyler said. “Wait. How’d he kill her?”
“My busboy?”
“He’s still your busboy?!”
“No. He’s doing life without a chance of parole, thank goodness.” Brenda took a long sip of tea. “He cut off her head while she was sleeping and put it in the freezer. He left the body in the bed and took a bus to Atlantic City. He paid with a
credit card he stole from the restaurant. He also took our petty cash. He was caught at a Trump Taj Mahal slot machine the next day with dried blood stains still on his hands. He wasn’t very smart, to say the least, and I guess it was pretty easy to find him.”
“That’s just gross. And stupid.”
“He was a really good busboy though. We were totally bummed to lose him.”
NINE
Laura Maddox leaned against her Volkswagen Beetle and scanned the Facebook feed on her phone. She’d been waiting hours for her brother to be released. He was supposed to get out at 10 o’clock and it was nearly three in the afternoon. She was famished, she had to pee, and she was pissed off.
She was about to squat between the car and a chain link fence when Porter Maddox was ushered out through a side entrance by a uniformed guard. A gate slid open and he started toward her. He had a huge smile on his face.
“Happy?” she asked.
“I am. I’m sorry that took so long. The place was on lockdown all morning. Some idiot tried to hang himself with a bunch of tube socks tied together.”
“I’m glad you didn’t try something so stupid,” Laura said as she opened the door for him. “Get in. We’ve got to get to the Denny’s down the street, pronto.”
“Good. I haven’t had a decent meal in weeks.”
“I’ve got to pee so bad it hurts.” She tore out of the parking lot and did an illegal U-turn through a yellow light.
“Please don’t get us arrested,” Porter said as he held on tight to the door handle. “I can’t do any more time.”
“You’re not going to get arrested. But if we don’t get there soon, there’s going to be a mess in this car.”
After they parked at the restaurant, Laura sped-walked into the joint. Porter took his time, enjoying the cool summer afternoon. He noticed an advertisement in the front window for all-you-can-eat red, white, and blue pancakes and realized it was July 4th. He was happy that he could celebrate his own independence along with the rest of the nation. Inside, he asked for a booth and hungrily scanned the massive picture menu while he waited for his sister.
“I made it,” she said after she plopped herself down in the booth opposite him. “But it’s disgusting in there.”
“Not nearly as gross as the prison bathrooms, I imagine. There are no walls around the toilets. You have to crap right out in the open in front of everyone else. So demeaning.”
“I think that’s the whole point,” she said, picking up her menu. “Oh, all-you-can-eat red, white, and blue pancakes!”
“I didn’t do it, you know.”
“I know that. If I thought you had, do you think I would have closed the Shanty for the day to come down here to get you?”
“Why’d you have to close it?”
“Because there is no one else we trust with money, dummy. Plus, it’s a holiday. It’s okay.”
“It’s not okay, summer holidays are our biggest days. But I understand. And I appreciate you watching over stuff while I was gone. It means a lot to me.”
“I worked 23 days in a row. I want a paid vacation.”
Porter sighed. “I’m not sure we can afford that. We’re just getting by. The last time I checked the books, we were barely covering the cost of the food and labor. We’re going to have to make some hard decisions in the coming months.”
“Maybe. But I’m deciding on this mushroom omelet and a mocha shake right now.”
“I’m serious,” Porter said. He noticed a small child at a nearby table staring at him. He thought he was used to it, but it still hurt. He hated looking like a half-melted monster. “We’re running out of time,” he said quietly.
“I know. And I will do whatever I can to help you keep it open. I mean it. I can wait to go on vacation. You know the lobsters are smaller this year?”
“I noticed.”
They ordered, ate hungrily when their dishes arrived, and left the restaurant feeling full, and perhaps just a little bit ill. They drove back to Wabanaki in silence.
A few hours later, Porter took a 20-minute shower then dressed himself in white jean shorts, a red t-shirt, and picked out a denim baseball cap. Appropriately decked out for the holiday, he descended the stairs of his garage apartment and walked down the cobblestone driveway to the main house’s front porch. Lois was sitting in a rocking chair with a glass of champagne.
“Well, well,” his landlord said. “Welcome back to the home of the brave and the land of the free. I’m glad to see you.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Millhouse,” Porter said sheepishly. “It wasn’t fun.”
“You look like Uncle Sam himself in that getup. Where are you going?”
“I thought I’d head down to the Great Lawn in front of the Court House and check out the bands and stick around for the fireworks.”
“No fireworks this year,” Lois said sadly. “Budget cuts.”
“Bitch,” Porter said…but not out loud. The richest woman in town could certainly afford to fund a modest fireworks display for her subjects, he thought. “That’s too bad,” he said instead.
“But we provided sparklers for the kids. And there’s a hot dog vendor. Cotton candy, too.”
“Thrilling,” he said out loud. “I’m sure the kids will be very pleased. See you later.”
Porter continued down the driveway and hung a left. It was only two blocks to the town center and he enjoyed the leisurely stroll. He would have enjoyed sharing the evening with someone else, but he was short on friends and Laura had a date with some Portland guy she met on an iPhone dating app, so she was out.
He kept his face turned away from as many children as he could as he navigated the Great Lawn. He walked down the steps toward the pier and ran straight into a large woman wearing a red, white, and blue checkered Mumu.
“My apologies,” Porter said, trying not to make eye contact.
“Porter?”
“Yeah.”
“Brenda Braxton. We went to high school together.”
“Of course,” he said. “How are you?”
“Fat and tired, but happy. How are you, dear? I heard you’ve had a little trouble of late.”
He was surprised that someone as successful and famous as Brenda was would have even a passing second to give a shit what was happening in his little, insignificant world. “I guess,” he managed, “but I’m okay now. I’ve watched your career very carefully, Brenda. Congratulations. I could only wish for a small percentage of your good fortune.”
“Good fortune, huh? It’s called hard work.” She grabbed his hand and led him to a bench overlooking Wabanaki Harbor. “Not that you don’t work hard, I imagine. But I don’t believe in luck, or fate, or divine intervention. I’ve always hated it when athletes thank God for their win, like God cares if the Red Sox or the Braves win a fucking baseball game? Don’t you hate that?”
“I do,” Porter said, even though he’d never given it a thought before.
“I guess what I’m saying is, that it’s all been a hell of a lot of work building a brand like mine. Not luck. Just…” Her voice trailed off. “I’m talking too much.”
“Not at all. I’m enjoying it.”
“I don’t think I ever properly told you how sorry I was about your accident.”
Porter bristled. “That was so long ago.”
“True. But we were friends and I should have at least come to visit you. Things were so different then. We didn’t have the compassion and understanding we have as adults. It’s just unfortunate. I should have been a better friend.”
“It’s really okay, Brenda. As you can see, I survived.”
They watched as a group of kids darted toward an ice cream vendor followed by a harried looking father trying to keep up. A young couple sat nearby on an old Indian blanket, sharing a bottle of wine. Two middle aged, very neatly dressed men seemed to be having a heated argument near the face painting stand.
“Those guys seem to be having some kind of fight,” Brenda said.
“Mm
mm. That’s Jared and Frank Harper-Smith. Married gay dudes from Boston. They rent the old Farnsworth farmhouse out on Route 17. Jared is some sort of designer of home goods and Frank is a commercial real estate broker—malls, restaurants, that sort of thing. They had a kid, but they had to give it back. It was very sad. The mother changed her mind months after they adopted her.”
“Oh my God, that’s so sad. Are they friends of yours?”
“Never met them in my life,” Porter said with a laugh. “I just made that shit up.”
“You’re not serious. It was so detailed. The little girl. They had to give her back!” She was genuinely upset.
Porter laughed it off. “I make up stuff a lot. When people come into the Shanty to eat, I give them back stories in my head. It passes the time.”
Brenda exhaled. It took her a beat to catch up. She eventually put a hand on Porter’s back. “Well, I’m impressed with that active imagination. You should be a fiction writer. No! You should write for television. TV is so hot right now. The new golden age.”
“I’ve thought about it.”
“Don’t think about it, boy, do it! None of us are getting any younger and, as you are fully aware, there is no guarantee that there will even be a next year or a next month or a tomorrow. That’s why I always do everything today. Or tomorrow. I guess tomorrow is okay. But ya gotta do it!”
“Is that why you have books and restaurants and TV shows and all that?”
“Yeah, because I say ‘yes’ to every restaurant, and every new book project, and every stupid hosting gig, because I’m afraid that they’ll stop asking someday. I’m always afraid that they’ll get tired of stupid ol’ me.” Brenda felt that she was saying too much too fast, so she forced out a hearty laugh and stood up. “My little career will be the death of me if I don’t start saying ‘no’ more often, is all.” She smiled down at him. “Okay, enough work talk. I’m going to go get a hotdog and a beer and try to find Skyler. Want to come with me?”
Porter thought about that for a moment. “That’s very nice of you, but I’m good. You guys enjoy your evening. I’m going to go home soon. It’s not very often that I get a chance to have an evening at home. I’m usually at the restaurant.”
The Maine Nemesis Page 6