Out in the kitchen Betty put the kettle on the fire and got out a tray. She took down a china teapot with a delicate pink and gold design, along with matching cups and saucers. She could see how upset Alyssa was. “Are you on this cruise by yourself, dear?” she asked her.
“Oh, no, my husband Rob is with me. He went up with the others to help.”
“Well, that’s good,” Betty said, relieved. Alyssa seemed fragile to her. Not physically—she appeared young and healthy—but on the inside, as if her well of inner strength might be running dry.
“Would you like to help me prepare the dinner after we have tea?” Betty asked her.
Alyssa jumped at the opportunity. “I’d love to. It will help take my mind off all of this.”
Betty steeped the tea and set out a plate of iced lemon cookies. Alyssa helped her carry the things into the dining room, where they sat down together.
“Have you been married long, dear?” Betty asked.
“For five years. It seems longer, though,” Alyssa said.
Betty sensed a loneliness in her. “Any children?” she asked.
“No, Rob doesn’t want any—at least not yet. I’d like to, though.”
“Well, I’m sure you will when the time is right,” Betty said. “Do you work outside the home?”
“I work with Rob at his business. He owns a chain of camera and photo finishing stores. I help with bookkeeping and office work.” She stared at her tea cup. Betty heard a profound lack of interest in Alyssa’s voice. “I’d like to have a gardening business.” She glanced shyly up from her cup as if looking for Betty’s approval.
“That sounds wonderful. Why don’t you?”
“I wanted to go back to school—become a master gardener. I’d like to have a business of my own designing gardens for people.” She took a cookie and started nibbling.
Betty could see that just talking about the idea provided an emotional transfusion. “Won’t Rob support you in doing that?” she asked.
“He wants me to stay with the business. He wants me close by.” Her voice fell. “He wants me to dress in skirts and high heels. He likes to show me off. And then he gets jealous when other people notice me. I hate it. At times I’ve wanted out so badly, I would have done anything.” She looked at her half-eaten cookie, surprised she’d said these things to a stranger. There was something about Betty that made her feel safe. She wished she had someone like her back in Pittsfield to talk with. Someone motherly. There’d been no one like that in her life since her own mother had died eight years ago.
“I love the outdoors,” she continued. “That’s why I love to sail. Working outdoors—supervising the design and planting of gardens, and even doing some of the planting myself—I’d love that. It would be like a dream come true.”
“Then you must share your dream with your husband. If he really loves you, he’ll support you in it,” Betty said.
“Do you think so?”
“I do. In your mind’s eye you need to see yourself accomplishing your dream. Then each day do something that moves you closer to that dream becoming a reality. Even if it’s only for a half hour—do something toward it every day. That’s how Glenn and I got here. It was our dream to retire to a place like this, and we worked hard at making it come true.”
“Thank you, Betty,” Alyssa said. She took another cookie and bit into it with gusto.
“You’re very welcome, dear.”
“I hope someone’s lucky enough to have you for a mom.”
Tears welled in Betty’s eyes.
“Betty? What’s wrong?”
Betty turned her head and stared out the window. “We did have a daughter,” she said quietly. “She died in a car accident when she was seventeen.” Betty bit down on her lip to stop the tears. “She’d have been about your age now.”
“I’m so sorry.” Alyssa took a small pack of tissues from her pocket and put one in Betty’s hand.
“It’s something you never get over. You just move on. It brought Glenn and me closer, and that’s been a blessing. And buying this place has given us a focus.” Betty dried her eyes and stood up, busying herself with the tea things. “It’s been nice talking to you today, Alyssa.”
“For me too, Betty.”
“We should start on the dinner preparations. I’m thinking chicken and dumpling stew might be a good choice. What do you think?”
“I think the men will love that,” Alyssa said, smiling. “And I bet you won’t hear any complaints from Brie either.”
“Good. Then let’s get started.” Alyssa picked up the tray and they headed into the kitchen.
“I like your cookies, Betty.”
“I’ll give you the recipe.”
John and his crew moved slowly down the trail with the body. It was a painstaking process. In several places they had to tip the backboard on its side to get it through the trees. The slippery ground slowed their progress even more. At a brisk pace, the bluffs were about a fifteen-minute walk from the inn, but with the body in tow, it took them almost forty-five minutes. The rain had slacked to a heavy drizzle, but darkness was fast approaching, making visibility along the trail poor. Fog was cottoning the ground and as twilight fell, it looked like a forest filled with sleeping ghosts.
Glenn and Howard had emptied the truck. They were busy discussing the layout of Glenn’s garage workshop, as well as their experiences in the Korean War, when they heard voices approaching. They walked out of the garage and saw John and the others just below the woods, approaching with the body. John was relieved to see Glenn there with the truck. They carried the body across the back lawn to the gravel driveway and slid the board into the truck bed. Scott headed for the inn to change into dry clothes.
“I suppose Howard has filled you in on our sad state of affairs,” John said to Glenn.
“He has, and I’m sorry, John. Betty and Alyssa are cooking dinner. It’s late and you must all be…” Glenn stopped abruptly, wondering if he should be talking about dinner over Tim’s body.
“I think you’ll find everyone’s ready for a meal,” John said, as if reading his thoughts. “We’d planned to be out of your way and have dinner back on the ship. But I guess trying to plan anything on this trip is a risky proposition.”
“It’s okay, John. Betty and I will be happy to have everyone eat at the inn tonight. Are you heading down to the village right now?”
John nodded. “We’re going to see if Fred has room for one more body in his cooler. Brie, why don’t you hop in front with George, and as soon as Scott’s dressed we’ll get going.”
John talked to Glenn at the back of the truck while they waited, and in a few minutes Scott swung out the back door and jumped in the bed of the pickup truck for the ride down the hill. Gravel crunched under tires as they pulled down the driveway. John switched on the lights and turned left onto the dark road. The truck, bearing its grim cargo, disappeared around the bend.
16
THEY PARKED THE TRUCK in front of the general store. “All the lights are out,” Brie said. “I think Fred’s gone home.”
“He doesn’t have far to go—he lives upstairs above the store,” John said. “There’s a stairway around back. I’ll go see if I can raise him.”
John walked around the back of the store and up a double flight of open stairs, taking them two at a time. Outside the door there was a small balcony surrounded by a rickety wood railing. He opened the screen and knocked on the inside door. He heard footsteps and in a few moments the door opened, and Fred peered out.
“Captain DuLac,” he said, opening the door a few more inches, his eyes wide with surprise. “Have you come to check on the body?”
John suppressed a smile. “I’m afraid it’s more serious than that,” he said, composing himself. “I’m afraid there’s been another death.”
“You don’t say!” Fred opened the door all the way and looked around as if he half expected the body to be standing there. “Well, this is a serious turn of events.” H
is last three words got the nod.
It was pretty serious after the first one, John thought to himself. “Would it be possible to make room for one more body in your cooler, Fred? It will only be till noon tomorrow. The Coast Guard should be here by then.”
“Don’t see why not,” Fred chirped, as if he’d just been invited to a party. “I’ll go get my keys. You wait right there, now, Captain,” he admonished, as if John might change his mind and shop around for a better cooler. Within a few seconds Fred popped out the door and led the way down the stairs.
“Let’s go around front and get the others, Fred. They can help move things in the cooler.”
When he saw them coming around the building, George opened the door. He and Brie got out, along with Scott, who vaulted over the side of the pickup. They walked up on the wooden porch and waited as Fred fumbled with the keys. He led the way through the door, flipping a light switch on the right-hand wall.
“Hello, again, Miss Beaumont,” he said, turning eagerly to Brie. He nodded to Scott and George, but his eyes immediately returned to her. “I hear there’s been another murder,” he said, stretching his long neck toward her as if sharing a confidence.
“Actually, we believe it’s a suicide, Fred.”
“A suicide. You don’t say. You don’t say.” His head moved back and forth as he processed this titillating bit of news. “Right here on the island. Imagine. Was it a gun? Did he shoot himself?”
“Actually, he jumped off the cliffs on the other side of the island and fell to his death.” Brie decided to share the information, hoping it would keep Fred from doing his own investigation in the cooler after they left. She was pretty sure it was in the realm of possibility.
Fred led the way to the storeroom at the back, flipping on another light as they entered. He unlocked the heavy padlock hanging from the cooler and, pulling the door open, stuck his head in and turned on the light. Pete’s body was against the right wall in its makeshift body bag, with food stacked along the other three walls. Fred craned his neck, giving directions as the others began moving crates of fruit and produce, eggs, milk, butter and cheese over to the left side of the cooler to make room for Tim’s body along the back wall. Then they went back to the truck, slid the body out and carried it into the store as Fred held the door. Once the body was situated, they stepped out of the cooler, and after one last look, Fred relocked the door.
“Thanks so much, Fred,” John said, shaking his hand. “You’re a life saver.” The irony of the phrase dawned on him as soon as it escaped his lips.
“Glad to be of help, Captain,” Fred said gravely, momentarily straightening up to his full six-foot-three height.
“The Coast Guard will be here tomorrow, and you can get things back to normal,” John said.
Fred visibly deflated. Brie felt a little sorry for him, knowing his moment of glory would be so short lived. They left by the front door and walked across the porch toward the truck. Below the hill the waters of the cove stretched out in front of them like black velvet.
“I’ll sit back in the bed if you want, Scott,” George said.
“Don’t worry about it, George,” Scott said, hoisting himself over the side of the pickup. Brie loved seeing men make that particular move—placing their hands on something chest high and simply vaulting over it. She had coined it the hormonal vault, because it so captured the impulsive agility of young men.
John, Brie and George piled into the front seat and waved to Fred. He had paused on the porch, shoulders slightly hunched, one gangly arm raised in a goodbye—a stark contrast to Scott’s athleticism. Poor Fred, Brie thought. He had been unlucky in what emerged from the gene pool, and she sensed it had led to a solitary and lonely life. Had he been in a more populated place, he might have found a mate, but here on the island his chances were slim. She inwardly wished him happiness.
John turned the truck around in the road and headed back out of town. It was a small pickup, and three adults across the front seat made for close quarters. As they bounced along the gravel road heading back up the hill to the inn, Brie was acutely aware of her body pressed against John’s. She was also aware of a pleasant warmth that started in the pit of her stomach and traveled through her body. She remembered his playfulness in the library that afternoon and glanced over at him, trying to pick up a vibe. It immediately struck her that the only thing he was probably feeling right now was exhaustion. She hoped her closeness gave him a little comfort after this awful day.
It was 9:20 when they pulled up the driveway to the inn and parked in front of the garage. They headed down the flagstone path that led to the back door. Inside everyone was congregated in the kitchen waiting for them.
“Betty finished the dinner a little while ago,” Glenn said, “but we wanted to wait until you four got back. Everything go all right?” he asked, studying John’s face.
“Yup,” John said, without elaborating. But Glenn could hear the tightness in his voice, and see it in his body—the laid-back ease with which he normally moved replaced by a kind of arthritis of anxiety.
“It smells wonderful, Betty,” George said.
“Well, Alyssa gets half the credit,” Betty said. “She helped with everything. Now, everyone carry the food into the dining room so we can get started.”
Glenn picked up the stoneware tureen filled with chicken and dumpling stew, and Alyssa followed with a big bowl of mashed potatoes that smelled of butter and garlic. Will carried in a large bowl of salad, dressed with honey-mustard vinaigrette. Howard brought two wooden boards, each holding a loaf of crusty, piping-hot bread, and John, bringing up the rear, carried two carafes of coffee. Everyone gathered around the big table in the dining room, which sat twelve people—the total number of guests that the inn could accommodate. They passed the food around and started eating, and there was no shortage of grateful comments once everyone sampled Betty’s cooking. Tense shoulders relaxed and stomachs were silenced as a powerful culinary contentment settled on the group.
“Betty, this is really delicious,” John said. “Thank you.”
“Alyssa, maybe Betty will give you her recipe,” Rob suggested.
“She’s certainly earned it,” Betty said. “She helped me get this dinner together in record time.”
“John, I’ll come back to the ship with you and help you get the radio repaired,” Glenn said. “If you’re weighing anchor tomorrow, you’ll need it fixed.”
“Thanks, Glenn.”
As they ate, Brie saw fatigue on the faces of her shipmates. After asking each of the passengers where they were from, Glenn and Betty let them eat quietly, and talked with John and Brie, who sat across the table from them.
“Glenn has been telling me about Ben and his lighthouse,” Betty said. “Have you been out to visit him yet?”
“Not yet. I’ve been busy getting the Maine Wind ready for the season,” John replied. “I’ve got a break in my cruise schedule in July, and I’m planning to get out there then.” He turned to Brie to explain. “Six months ago my friend Ben inherited a lighthouse out on Sentinel Island. The light has been inactive for years. Ben’s friend, Harold McCann, willed the property to him when he died. Harold’s father had purchased it from the lighthouse service in the 1960s. Harold was a bit of a recluse. He never married and had no close relatives. Ben was the only one who ever went out there to visit him. Harold left the place to him when he died, and now Ben plans to live out there in the summer. He’d always hoped to buy a place on an island one day.”
“Sounds like a dream come true—having your own lighthouse,” Brie said.
“That’s what Ben thinks, too. He went out there in April and has been busy painting and doing repairs.”
“Is Ben married?” Brie asked.
“He’s a widower—his wife died five years ago. This is the first thing I’ve seen him really excited about in years. I think it’ll be good for him.”
Within twenty minutes everyone had finished dinner, and Betty served up strawber
ry rhubarb pie à la mode to go with the coffee. After dinner John sent Scott and George out to load all the equipment into the truck, while everyone else helped clean up from the meal. Glenn went upstairs to gather his tools and parts to repair the radio, and at 10:20, after thanking Betty and Glenn for their hospitality, everyone headed out to the truck. John told Brie and Alyssa to sit up front with Glenn, and he hopped in back with the other men for the drive down to the yawl boat.
17
GLENN PARKED THE TRUCK on the side of the road near where the yawl boat was tied up, and everyone piled out. Brie noticed Anna’s lobsterboat still tied up where it had been earlier. There was a light on.
“I’ll be right back, John,” Brie said.
“Okay,” he said over his shoulder as they began unloading the gear.
Brie walked down to the dock and stopped next to Anna’s boat. “Ahoy,” she called.
Anna stepped up out of the cabin, looking surprised. She smiled when she saw it was Brie. “Hey,” she said.
“I saw the light in your wheelhouse and just wanted to make sure everything was all right,” Brie said.
“Thanks, Brie—that’s really nice. I’m just splicing some line and having a cup of coffee. I like it down here at night. It’s so peaceful.”
Brie understood Anna’s connection to her boat and her work. She’d certainly lived for her own work for enough years.
“How’s the investigation going?” Anna asked.
“It’s coming along.” Brie didn’t want to get into the details of Tim’s death with Anna because she knew John was waiting to head back to the ship.
“If you aren’t busy in the morning, why don’t you come out with me for a couple hours and haul some traps—have an authentic Maine experience? You can tell your friends about it back in Minneapolis,” she said.
“The Coast Guard is coming around noon. Would we be back in time?” Brie asked.
“Plenty of time. I’ll have you back by eleven o’clock. You’ll have to get up early, though, if you don’t mind.”
Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) Page 16