Murder on the Rocks

by Karen MacInerney

  “You’re telling me,” I said. “I’ve got half a dozen calls to return to people I’ve never even spoken to.” I put the kettle on the stove and sat down across from him. “So,” I said, “What happened?”

  “They airlifted him out.” John’s twinkling green eyes were still, and his voice was serious. “You were right,” he said. “He was beyond help.”

  “That’s what Grimes said.” I sat for a moment, thinking of what I’d seen on the cliff. “Do you still think someone killed him?”

  “Well, there’s still the possibility that he might have fallen. We won’t be sure until the autopsy results are in.” He grimaced. “I don’t know, though. He looked pretty bad.”

  “What do you think he was doing out there?”

  “It looked like he might have been going to meet someone.” He paused to sink his teeth into a scone. His sandy eyebrows shot up and some of the sparkle returned to his green eyes. “These are delicious,” he mumbled through a mouthful of crumbs. I resisted the urge to reach out and brush a crumb from his lower lip.

  “Why do you think he was meeting someone?”

  “Just something I saw. Something he had with him. Besides, he was pretty dressed up for a hike.”

  I snorted. “Anything less than a three-piece suit was casual for Bernard Katz.” I thought for a moment. The path through the preserve ended up right next to Cliffside. Maybe Estelle had lured him out for a late-night rendezvous. “Do you think he might have been going to meet a woman?”

  John looked up, startled. “What makes you say that?”

  “Just a guess,” I said.

  John said nothing, and I guessed I had hit close to home. I wondered what Katz had had with him that pointed to a meeting with a woman. Flowers? Condoms? If he was meeting with Estelle, my guess would be something more expensive, like a forty-carat diamond bracelet. Although that might be hard to explain to Stanley. On the other hand, Stanley didn’t seem to care too much what Estelle did.

  “So you don’t think he was out trying to destroy the terns’ nests?” I asked.

  “I don’t imagine so, not in a sports coat and slacks.”

  The kettle whistled, and I got up to fix tea. I had just poured the water into the pot when Gwen swept into the kitchen with a sketchbook under her arm, looking stunning in a red floral sleeveless dress that clung to her slim figure. I was suddenly conscious of the fact that I hadn’t changed clothes or looked in a mirror since my fall on the cliff that morning.

  My eyes darted to John; his eyes crinkled into a smile. “Hiya, Gwen.”

  “Hiya, John. Hey, Aunt Nat.” Her eyes registered the plates on the table. “Ooh, scones. Can I have one?”

  “Sure,” I said. She grabbed two. “Where are you off to?” I asked.

  “I’ve got a sketching class with Fernand this afternoon.” Before I could ask, she said, “I’m done with all of the rooms. I didn’t do Katz’s, though.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Apparently that room’s off-limits for a while, anyway. Will you be back in time for dinner?”

  “Oh, don’t worry about me. I’ll grab a sandwich.” She glanced at the table. “And maybe a scone or two, if there are any left.”

  “See you later, then,” I said. “Have fun.”

  John’s eyes followed her out of the room, then returned to me. I felt like an ugly stepsister in the presence of Cinderella. I hoped John didn’t plan on trying out for the role of Prince Charming.

  “I don’t understand how she eats the way she does and stays so skinny,” I said. “It’s not fair.”

  “Ah, youth,” said John. “Still, kids that young are like California fruit; they look good, but they have no flavor.” He winked at me. “They need to get a few more years under their belts before they become interesting.”

  I felt the blood rush to my face and stood up, bumping the table with my skinned knee. “Cream or sugar?” I asked in a strangled voice.

  “Neither,” he said, grinning. I doctored my own tea and sat down again, still smarting.

  “So,” I said, “are the police considering anyone other than me as a suspect?”

  “Who said they were considering you?” John said. “Just because Grimes asked some pointed questions doesn’t mean you’re a suspect. Besides, it’s not official that Katz was murdered. We haven’t gotten the coroner’s report back yet, remember?”

  “True. I guess I have a few days left before Grimes decides to slap me in jail.”

  “Nat, let’s wait and see what happens, okay?” John reached across the table and grabbed my hand. Once again, my whole body warmed at his touch. Then he squeezed, and I winced.

  “Sorry.” He let go, and the warmth faded. “I forgot how banged up you are. Anyway,” he continued, “if it is murder, the coroner’s report may turn up some new information. It’s still early going.” He leaned back in his chair. Biscuit looked up and mewed for more attention.

  “Maybe Grimes is just trying to make me nervous,” I said. “Besides, aren’t something like ninety percent of murders committed by family members?”

  John laughed. “Let’s find out if anyone other than Katz is to blame before we start pointing fingers.”

  “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see.”

  “Yup.”

  By the time we had finished our scones and tea, I was feeling much better. John headed back to his cottage with Biscuit on his heels, promising to let me know as soon as he found out anything else. I checked my watch. It was almost four. I decided to clean up the kitchen and then run the scones down to the store before dinnertime.

  I was just closing the dishwasher when someone knocked at the kitchen door.

  “Come in!” I called.

  Barbara Eggleby poked her head through the door. “Hi, Nat. Sorry to bother you, but do you know where I can get some dinner around here?”

  “Spurrell’s Lobster Pound down on the wharf is good,” I said. “By the way, have you heard the news?”

  Barbara looked puzzled. “News? What news?”

  “Bernard Katz is dead.”

  Barbara’s face paled. For a moment, a brief flash of something like triumph flashed over her features, but it was quickly submerged.

  “That’s awful,” she breathed. “How did it happen?”

  “Apparently he fell off a cliff,” I said.

  “Fell off a cliff?”

  “Yeah. I found him this morning. He was right above the terns’ nests.” I shuddered at the memory of Katz sprawled across the rocks like a discarded doll.

  Barbara’s eyes hardened. “Well, if he was down there messing with those nests again, he deserved it.” She looked at me. “What do you think this means for Premier Resorts?”

  I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”

  “I suppose you’re right. Still, this may change things a bit,” she said. She stood in the doorway for a moment. “Anyway, thanks for the dinner info. I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?”

  “No, not tonight, I’m afraid. Too much to do.” And not enough money in my bank account. “Say hi to Connie and Ned for me, though.

  “I will. See you later, Nat.” She disappeared through the door.

  I strapped the box of scones onto the back of my battered blue Schwinn and started down the road toward the store. The smell of spruce and balsam wafted past me as I rode, and the only sound was the whir of the wheels and the distant crash of waves. It felt good to be outside in the cool air. The sky was robin’s egg blue, with puffy clouds here and there, and the rain had intensified the deep green of the tall evergreen trees and clumps of bayberry bushes that lined the road. My worries faded under the bright Maine sun.

  Before I knew it, apple trees and raspberry patches began to replace some of the towering pine trees, and the Sch
winn was rolling past a cluster of painted wood-frame houses. In the winter, many of the houses had lobster traps stacked in front of them; at this time of year, though, the traps gave way to soft green grass and flowers.

  The Cranberry Island Grocery looked just like a small-town grocery store should. The wooden building was painted brick red with creamy trim, and four rocking chairs decorated the wide front porch. A variety of signs and notices had been posted in the mullioned front windows, and the window boxes below them overflowed with brilliant red geraniums and trailing ivy.

  As the bike nosed into the driveway, I wondered how many curious islanders were congregated inside. Charlene had converted the front of the store into what locals called the island’s “parlor,” a comfy little seating area filled with overstuffed armchairs and a big, saggy sofa. As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed that the line of La Marne rose bushes Charlene had pampered all winter were looking the worse for wear. Something had eaten most of their leaves, and only one feeble pink rose bloomed among the battered branches.

  The bell above the door jingled as I entered the store. I glanced around the large, sunlit room. The narrow aisles were empty, and I didn’t see anyone lounging on the chairs by the windows. Charlene rose from her seat behind the cash register. Her eyes were lined in dark blue to match her long denim dress, and her shellacked hair barely moved as she shook her head and wagged a plump, manicured finger at me.

  “It’s about time you showed up. I’ve been worried sick about you!”

  “Why didn’t you just call?” I asked. “Everyone else has.”

  Charlene groaned. “Phone’s out of order. Again. The storm must have knocked the line down.” Her eyes slid to the box I held, and her face lit up. “Ooh, goodies!” She narrowed her eyes at me. “I suppose you think because you brought food I’ll have to forgive you? Hand them over.”

  I passed her the box and pulled up a stool at the counter. She ripped open the container and looked up, disappointed. “No cookies?”

  “We ate them all, remember?”

  “And you didn’t bake more?”

  “Maybe I’ll get a batch out tomorrow.”

  Charlene sighed. “It’s probably for the best. I like scones, but not as much as I like cookies. At least I won’t eat them all before I can sell them.”

  “Scones?” A grizzled head popped up from the purple armchair next to the front window. It was Eleazer White, Claudette’s husband and the local boat builder. He had been hunched down so far in the chair I hadn’t noticed him. Eleazer was a regular at Charlene’s; today he was dressed in worn overalls and a faded plaid shirt, and as always, he looked like he’d been on the island since the dawn of time. “What kind?” he asked.

  “Cranberry walnut,” I said.

  “I’ll take two.” His brown eyes were mischievous under bristly gray eyebrows. “Just promise me you won’t tell Claudette.”

  “We promise,” said Charlene, laying out two scones on a china plate. She set the plate down next to the half-full teacup on the table beside Eleazer’s chair and pulled up a stool next to me, engulfing me in a wave of perfume. “Would you believe she made me eat sugarless cranberry pie last night?” Eleazer said.

  “Sugarless cranberry pie?” Charlene made a face. “Another diet?”

  “Ayuh,” said Eleazer resignedly. “They never work, you know. If anything, she just gets fatter.”

  “That explains the six pounds of grapefruit she bought last week,” Charlene said, fishing a nail file out of her pocket and smoothing a rough edge on one of her raspberry-painted nails.

  “I’ll say one thing for her, though . . . she doesn’t give up.” Eleazer shook his head and started in on a scone.

  “By the way, Charlene, what happened to your roses?” I asked.

  Charlene’s face darkened. “Those damned goats again.” She looked over toward Eleazer. “Sorry, Eli.”

  “Don’t apologize to me,” he said, lifting up an arm and displaying a ragged shirt cuff. “They got out while the wash was on the line the other day. Half my clothes have holes in ’em.”

  “At least it’ll keep you cool this summer,” I laughed.

  “Aye, that’s true,” he said. “But you should see my undershorts,” he continued, eyes twinkling. “I can’t figure out which holes are for my legs.” He shook his head again. “Claudette was out rounding them up again the other night. Came home soaked to the bone.” He munched contemplatively for a minute. “I love her, I do,” he said. “I just wish she didn’t come with goats attached.”

  “Or sugarless cranberry pie,” I added.

  He winced. “That too.” He took another huge bite of scone, smiling as he chewed. I turned to Charlene.

  She examined her nails and slid the file back into her pocket. “So,” she said, leaning forward on her stool. “You fell off a cliff and found Bernard Katz dead, and you’re just now coming to see me.”

  “It’s been a busy day,” I said.

  “You’re telling me. This is the quietest the store has been since that helicopter started swooping around the island. Everyone who wasn’t out investigating in person came here. They finally all had to go home and start dinner.” She looked at me from the corner of her eye. “I hear your boyfriend came and saved you.”

  I flushed. “He’s not my boyfriend. Remember? You told me he’s dating a woman in Portland.”

  “Well, when the cat’s away . . .” Charlene’s glossy lips curved into an evil smile. “If you don’t want him, send him my way. I could go for a man who doesn’t smell like fish; it’d be a nice change.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Charlene yawned and stretched, putting some serious strain on the buttons of her denim dress. “I must have dried this dress last time I washed it,” she said. “It’s a bit snugger than I remember.” She might not be willing to admit it, but since I’d moved to the island and started to bake cookies, she was keeping pace with me in the weight-gain department. If I didn’t find some low-fat recipes soon, we were both going to have to buy new wardrobes. Large ones.

  “So,” Charlene said, “do you think someone offed him? Or was he just out for a little walk and slipped?”

  “How come everyone assumes it’s murder?”

  “Nat, come on. Why would Mr. Namby-Pamby Katz be out on a cliff in the middle of a nor’easter?” She helped herself to a scone. “Not bad,” she said. “Needs tea, though. Want some?”

  “No, thanks.” If I had another cup of tea at this hour, I’d be up all night. Charlene licked a bit of cranberry off her finger, then slid off her stool and walked over to the small kitchen area beside the counter.

  “What did Claudette think about the whole thing, Eleazer?” I asked the back of the purple chair as Charlene poured herself a cup of Twinings English Breakfast. Eleazer’s gray head popped over the back of the chair again.

  “Claudette?” The crumbs in his beard bobbed up and down as he said his wife’s name. “Oh, you know—she thought Katz got what he deserved.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of folks she don’t take to, but she really had it in for that fellow. If I thought she had a violent bone in her body, I might think she’d pushed him off herself.”

  The bell tinkled, and our eyes swiveled to the front door as Ingrid Sorenson stepped into the store. Her eyes registered Eleazer and me; she froze for a moment, then let the door swing shut behind her with a jangle. Her pale face looked sallow against the brown of her loose cotton sweater, and her short gray-blonde hair stuck out in spikes around her head. I was surprised. Next to Charlene, Ingrid was usually the best-coiffed woman on the island. Her blue eyes darted around the room; with her sharp nose, her face resembled a wary bird’s.

  “Good afternoon, Ingrid,” Charlene said.

  “Lookin’ to buy some golf balls, missy?” Eleazer piped up from his purple chair.<
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  Ingrid thrust her chin into the air and marched across the wooden floor to the front counter. “Just here for my mail and a few groceries, thank you.” Charlene set down her teacup and retrieved a large stack of mail from one of the cubbies lining the wall behind the register. She thwacked it down on the wood countertop in front of Ingrid.

  “Thank you.” Ingrid scooped the stack of envelopes into her mesh bag and retreated to the dairy case at the back of the store.

  “Piece of work, that one,” Eleazer grumbled.

  I watched until Ingrid had disappeared behind the shelves. Then I told Charlene in a low voice, “The reason I wasn’t here earlier is that the police came by. They’ve closed up Katz’s room—they’ll be sending in forensics if the coroner decides it was murder.” A crash sounded from the back of the store. Charlene stood up.

  “Everything okay back there?”

  “Fine, fine,” Ingrid said. “Just dropped something. Everything’s fine.”

  Charlene sat back down and turned to me. “So you can’t even rent out your priciest room?”

  “I don’t have anyone to rent it to, anyway. But that’s not the worst of it,” I continued. “I think the police think I murdered Bernard Katz.”

  “You?” Charlene pshawed as she poured cream and about a half cup of sugar into her tea. “Half this island wouldn’t mind seeing him dead. Why would the police pick on you?”

  “Gertrude Pickens called from the Daily Mail this afternoon,” I said. “She knew Katz was planning on replacing my inn with a parking lot.”

  Charlene froze with her teacup halfway to her mouth. “How did she find that out?”

  “The only people who knew about it—except Katz’s crew—were Gwen and you.”

  She looked affronted. “Like I’d pass that kind of information to the press!”

  “Was anyone in the store when I called you and told you about it?”

  Charlene’s brow furrowed. “Well, there’s almost always someone here, isn’t there? Let me see, when was that—yesterday? Well, Tom Lockhart had come in for a mug-up with a couple of lobstermen—they’d just come from the co-op, made sure all the boats made it in okay.” She tilted her head to one side. “Eli was here, of course. Other than that, though, I can’t think of anybody.”