Four Seasons of Mystery

by Karen MacInerney

  "Sadly, the selection isn't terrific. You and Gwen have skimmed the cream off the top of Cranberry Island."

  Although I couldn't disagree with her--my husband John was amazing, and Gwen's intended was pretty awesome, too--I knew agreeing with her would be counter- productive. "The sea is bigger than just Cranberry Island," I reminded her. I'd been trying to get her to post an online dating profile for years. She'd talked of moving to Portland not long ago, and I was afraid to lose my closest friend. "I think you should broaden your search."

  "Maybe," she said, finishing her hot chocolate and standing up. "I should probably head back to the store and close up." Charlene ran the island's only store (and post office); she had help, but she'd promised to let her niece Tania off early.

  * * *

  "Will we see you later, for dinner?" I asked.

  "Are you sure?" she asked. "You're already so busy." "Absolutely," I said. "I made chowder, so there's plenty."

  "Thanks," she said with a smile. "Besides, if your sister's here, the entertainment alone will be priceless." "I'm hoping you're wrong," I said.

  "Me too," she said, with a mischievous grin as she tucked her mug into the dishwasher and grabbed her coat. "Sort of."

  By the time I got to the town dock to greet the last mailboat--and hopefully my sister and all the other guests scheduled to arrive--the snow had started to fly. The ground was already white from a storm that had come through the previous week, and there was a fresh dusting on the plowed roads. I said a small prayer for the local lobstermen who were probably still out on the open water--the lobster season in Maine extended to the end of December, and many islanders were still out pulling traps in the sub-zero weather--and then added a small prayer of thanks for my mostly indoor profession.

  The wind tore at my coat as I hurried from the van to the dock, passing the local stores that lined it. Although Spurrell's Lobster Pound was closed for winter, Berta Simmons's sea glass jewelry store and Island Artists both kept limited hours as the holiday approached, and the windows twinkled with Christmas lights. I was pleased to see John's boats displayed prominently in the window of the Island Artists store, along with some ornaments he'd designed in the fall; the owner, Selene MacGregor, had told him they were selling well. Once the holiday season was over, I was hoping my husband could turn his attention back to the driftwood sculptures that were starting to take off in some of the galleries on the mainland.

  I huddled in the lee of the building, watching for the mail boat. After a few minutes, I heard the thrum of the engine, and watched as the boat churned through the thick, wind-whipped water. As the boat approached the dock, I recognized my sister, who was bundled in a fashion- able puffy jacket, and her husband, Glen, among the small group of passengers. I was just about to head down the gangway when I heard Gwen behind me.

  "Aunt Nat!" she called. I turned to see my niece hurrying over to me, her curly dark hair flying in the wind.

  "Gwen!" I said. "Where's Adam?"

  "He's out pulling up the last of his traps," she told me. Her cheeks were flushed.

  "But the wedding's in two days... and aren't his parents coming in?"

  Gwen shrugged, but I could tell she was nervous. "He told me he'll be back in a few hours. I just hope the storm holds off."

  I glanced up at the darkening sky, then at the whitecaps foaming on the dark water. It decidedly wasn't holding off, but I didn't want to upset Gwen anymore. Adam had been lobstering for years, and was careful, but bad weather wasn't something to mess with.

  "Look," she said. "Here they are."

  We hurried down the gangway together as the captain leapt lightly off the mailboat and tied her up, then pulled out the plastic steps while his first mate stood by to help his passengers off the pitching boat.

  Bridget was first, and pulled first Gwen, and then me, into an expensive-smelling embrace. I pulled away, still smelling spring flowers despite the cold, and then gave my brother-in-law Glen a quick hug.

  "We met your future in-laws on the boat," Bridget said. "This is Margaret and James," she said, as an older couple stepped off the boat and onto the dock.

  "You must be Gwen," said Margaret, fixing my niece with a penetrating look that reminded me of my sister's. I could sense Gwen shrinking under her future mother-in-law's gaze, and felt a little sorry for her; neither her mother or mother-in-law-to-be seemed like the warm, comforting type.

  "Great to meet you," James said, enfolding his future daughter-in-law in a stiff hug. "We've heard so much about you."

  "Natalie? Is that you?"

  I turned to see what I guessed from the voice must be a man; it was hard to tell with the layers of jacket, scarf, and hat. I surmised it must be my cousin, although he'd been a lot shorter the last time I saw him. "Robert?"

  "It's me," he said, flashing me a grin from the depths of his scarf. I gave him a hug. "I haven't seen you in what... twenty years? Thanks so much for making it out. I can't wait to catch up!"

  "Can we do it somewhere else?" my sister whined.

  "Of course. We should get into the van where it's warm," I said as the wind gusted. I waved to the captain as he untied the mail boat. As the engine roared back to life, I led everyone back up to the pier toward the van, excited for the chance to catch up with my cousin and hoping things would go well. Gwen was pointing out John's toy boats and his newest experiment, small wooden cars, to her mother when the door to Island Artists popped open and Selene MacGregor emerged, eyes wild behind her sparkly reading glasses.

  "Natalie, I'm so glad you’re here. Someone robbed the store!"

  My plans to catch up with Bridget and escort Adam and Gwen's families were put on hold as Selene dragged me into Island Artists. I loved the colorful, cozy little store, which featured John's work prominently, along with several other local artists. Sea glass mobiles dangled in the frosted windows, locally made stockings and mittens in a rainbow of colors lined the front of the counter, and shelves of beautiful hand-thrown mugs and bowls lined the back wall; I'd had my eye on a beautiful blue pitcher that would be perfect for serving maple syrup for a couple of weeks now.

  "See?" she said, pointing to a pile of empty boxes behind the counter. There was a strong smell of gasoline in the place, and a touch of herring; I assumed it was a result of the lobster co-op being located right next door.

  "What's missing?" I asked.

  "All the toys I was going to donate to the fundraiser," she said, fiddling with the hem of her hand-knitted sweater. My friend Claudette had set up a Christmas fundraiser to help support Marge O'Leary as she recovered from her broken foot; all the local businesses had donated something to be auctioned off. I'd contributed a weekend at the inn, myself. "Someone stole them. I can't believe someone would do a thing like that!"

  "When did it happen?" I asked.

  "I don't know," she said. "They were here this morning; I finished packing the boxes first thing. I was going to take them over to the church on my way home." She sighed. "Will you ask John to come in and do a report, or whatever it is you do when there's a theft?"

  "Of course," I said. Like most islanders, my husband held a variety of jobs. In addition to supplying Island Artists with a good portion of their merchandise, sculpting artwork in his studio, and operating as my partner at the inn, John also served as the island deputy. Things had been quiet since the summer people left; there had been a few (not out of the ordinary) complaints about Claudette White's goats rampaging through local pumpkin patches in October, and one missing poultry case (the hen in question, Niblet, was later found helping herself to the lower branches one of the local apple trees), but other than that, things had been pretty quiet. "I'm sorry this happened; you were generous to give so much to the fundraiser. Were you here all day?"

  "I went home to see Fozzie Bear and grab lunch at around one, but other than that, I haven't gone anywhere." Fozzie Bear was Selene's adorable corgi; he sometimes came to the shop to keep her company.

  "Did you lock the door?
" I asked.

  "I think so," she said, fidgeting with her bracelets.

  "You think so?"

  "I don't know," she said. "I got a call from my daughter just as I was leaving. I think I did... but I just don't remember. But why take the gifts I was going to donate and leave everything else?"

  "That's a good question,” I said. "What all did you put aside?"

  "Three or four of John's boats, a few of these handmade dolls and some doll clothes"--she pointed to a basket of adorable dolls on the counter--"some puzzles, two of the cars John's experimenting with this year, and some wooden tops."

  "That's a nice donation," I said.

  "It would have been, anyway," she said, still fiddling with her bracelets. "But now it's all gone."

  "Where was the box?"

  "Right here," she said. As I followed her to the counter, the smell of gasoline and herring grew stronger. I wrinkled my nose, but Selene didn't seem to notice. "Behind the counter. I tucked it in under the register. And now the whole box is gone."

  "And you're sure you didn't deliver it?"

  "Positive," she said. "I was going to drop it off tonight."

  I sighed. "I'm so sorry your donation disappeared. I'll tell John as soon as I get home; there's a storm coming, but I'm sure he'll be out as soon as he can."

  "I hate to be a bother, what with the wedding and the holiday coming up, but I really did want to donate to the fundraiser."

  "It's a wonderful thing to do," I said, "and I'm so sorry this happened. I'll let John know when I get back to the inn."

  "Thanks, Natalie," she said, looking relieved. I wasn't sure what John was going to be able to do about it, but I smiled at her and headed back into the frigid afternoon, hoping everyone at the inn was getting along. After all, they'd only been together for a half hour.

  What could go wrong?

  Evidently, a lot.

  My sister met me at the kitchen door, and I hadn't even closed it before she started in. Glen was nowhere to be seen; doubtless he'd run for cover. "Those people are the most insufferable snobs!" she said. "They made some comment about Gwen’s degree... as if she weren't 'good enough' for their Princeton-educated son." I closed both the door and my mouth; I didn't feel it would be helpful to point out that she'd felt a mere lobsterman was below her own daughter.

  "I'm sure it was nothing," I said. "Is John here?"

  "I haven't seen him," she said. "What did that woman at the store need you for? Robbery? I thought this island was safe!"

  "Just something that went astray," I said, giving my cats Biscuit and Smudge, who had finally befriended each other and were curled up in front of the heater, a quick hello. "Nothing huge. I'm sure it'll be worked out soon. Where is everyone, anyway?"

  "In the parlor," she said.

  "I'll get some cookies and hot chocolate out, then," I said. "Can you grab me one of those platters?"

  Bridget grabbed the top platter from the stack without breaking stride, continuing to talk as I set to work laying out jam thumbprints, gingerbread cookies and lemon bars. "Now that I think of it," she said, "I still have reservations about this. I mean, this island is idyllic and all, but it's-- pardon me for saying so--a real backwater. I know she's in love, but is she going to regret her decision a few years down the line, when it's too late?"

  "I don't think anyone knows for sure how it's going to turn out when they get married," I pointed out as I busied myself pouring milk into a kettle on the stove.

  "But really. She'd have so many more opportunities if she'd gone on to get her master’s degree. And in California..."

  I stifled a sigh. All the progress we seemed to have made the last time my sister visited appeared to have evaporated in the California sun. I'd hoped she was finally on board with Adam and Gwen's decision, but that no longer seemed to be the case. "Why don't you keep an eye on this pot for me?" I asked. "The recipe's right here, and I've got the chocolate and milk powder measured out; there's the corn starch. I'm going down to talk to John."

  "But..."

  "I'll be right back," I promised, and grabbed my coat and boots. I'd rarely been happier to step out into sub-zero temperatures and a stiff winter wind.

  John was finishing work on a last batch of toy cars when I knocked and walked into his sawdust-scented workshop, which was one of the small outbuildings behind the inn. His mother Catherine lived in the other, but I knew today she was visiting with her boyfriend, Murray Selfridge. "I don't want to interfere with the meeting of the families," she had told me as she arranged her pearls and put on her wool winter coat late that morning. She and Charlene were tied for "most stylish islander." Not that there was much competition on Cranberry Island. "I'll come by tomorrow, when things have settled out."

  "Thanks for the support," I said wryly.

  "Liquor is always helpful," she'd suggested with a grin before nipping out the door.

  Now, as I stepped into John's workshop, I found myself wondering if perhaps there might be some merit in the idea. Would anyone notice if I spiked the hot chocolate with bourbon?

  Or maybe just served bourbon? "Everyone make it in?" John asked.

  "They did," I said. "And Gwen's mom and Adam's mom seem to have a few things in common."

  "Oh, that's great!" he said, rubbing a bit of sandpaper over a recently completed toy car. He was dressed in jeans and a green fisherman's sweater that brought out the color of his eyes. His sandy hair was flecked with sawdust, as were the shoulders of his sweater. Not for the first time, I reflected that I was a very lucky woman. He smiled at me. "At least they're getting along, right?"

  "I said they had things in common," I replied. "I did not say that they were getting along."

  He cocked an eyebrow. "Uh oh. What happened?"

  "Apparently Adam's mom made some comment about Gwen not finishing school, and Bridget took it to mean that they don't think her daughter is good enough for their son. So now she's back on the whole 'will she really want to be married to a lobstermen and trapped in this backwater in five years' thing."

  John groaned. "She didn't say this in front of Gwen, did she?"

  "Not that I know of," I said. "I'm making hot chocolate before braving the parlor. I'm thinking of spiking it."

  "Good call."

  "It was your mother's idea. But that's not why I'm here..."

  "You just missed my company, didn't you?" he asked, eyes sparkling. "Or you're nosy about your Christmas gift."

  "Well, yes on both counts," I admitted. "But Selene down at Island Artists told me someone stole all of the toys she'd put aside for the fundraiser."

  His expression turned serious. "What? When?"

  "Sometime today," I said. "There's nothing else missing, though... at least nothing she's noticed so far."

  "That's the third theft this week," he told me. "All related to the Christmas fundraiser."

  "Really?" And here I was thinking things had been quiet.

  "We've been so busy getting ready for the wedding, I guess I forgot to tell you. Emmeline said someone took the box of candles and scarves she was donating off the front porch yesterday, and another package from one of the shops in Bar Harbor disappeared off the mail boat the day before that."

  "Weird!" I said. "Why would someone steal toys going to a fundraiser? I mean, it's a small island; someone's going to notice if their neighbor suddenly turns up with two of your handmade cars under the Christmas tree."

  "I'd notice, for sure. I know exactly which ones they are."

  "Who would do something like that?"

  "Someone desperate to have toys for their own kid for Christmas?" he asked.

  "Why not steal one or two from the shelves in the store, where they'd be less easily noticed?" I asked.

  He shrugged. "Maybe whoever it is figured she'd think she'd already dropped the box off... or someone had picked it up."

  "I'll have to talk to Claudette," I said. Claudette White, owner of the island's renegade goats, was organizing the fundraising sale. Th
e willingness to help neighbors out was one of the things I loved about living on Cranberry Island. It troubled me that someone was interfering with the effort.

  He sighed. "I'd talk with Marge, but I don't want to upset her."

  "I get it," I said. "In the meantime, we've got enough stuff to deal with at the inn."

  "Problems with the wedding plan?"

  "Problems with the parents of the bride and groom, I suspect. Like I said, I think both sets think their offspring could have done better."

  "Lovely," John said. "Good thing they live far away, then."

  "We still have to make it through the next few days; and I don't want them spoiling Gwen and Adam's wedding."

  He sighed. "I'm just about done here; why don't I come up and join you?"

  "That would be great," I said.

  "Then let's go!"

  The snow was falling fast and hard; it had already covered the walkway in a light blanket as John closed the workshop door behind him and we hurried back up to the inn. The windows glowed warmly in the cold night; after years of green Christmases in Texas, I was still enjoying the snowy holiday season... even if it did involve a bit more snow- blowing and shoveling than I would have liked. There would be plenty of both in our immediate future, I knew.

  We stamped our boots off before stepping into the kitchen. Charlene had reappeared and was sitting at the kitchen table as Bridget stirred the milk on the stove.

  "Bridget!" John walked over and gave her a big hug, and she smiled for the first time since I'd seen her. "So good to see you!" he continued. "Let's go join the others in the parlor; I haven't met everyone yet."

  We watched as Bridget allowed John to maneuver her out the kitchen door, and then I heaved a sigh of relief.

  "Sounds like things are off to a rocky start," Charlene said.

  "Nothing a little Christmas cheer can't help, I hope," I said as I stirred the pot on the stove. "I just hope everyone behaves for the sake of Adam and Gwen."

  "I hope so, too," Charlene said.