“Yeah,” I said, my heart squeezing. “Maybe too big.”
“Natalie, it may not be what you think. Maybe he was just trying to calm her down. A heat of the moment kind of thing.”
“Brought on by the lighthouse where they shared all those special summer moments,” I said sourly. Then I shook myself. A man had just died, and here I was worrying about a lovers’ squabble. “There’s nothing I can do about it now, though. I need to focus on my job.” Although if we did break up, having John live next door would put a big damper on the enjoyment of my new life.
I had mixed the soy sauce and a dash of sesame oil together with the ginger mixture and was pouring everything over the fish when the phone rang. I sloshed a bit of marinade onto the counter in my haste to pick it up.
“Gray Whale Inn,” I said into the receiver.
“Natalie, it’s John.”
My heart seized in my chest. “Oh. Hi.”
“I wanted to let you know the police are on their way over to the inn.”
“Why?”
I could hear him suck in his breath. “They haven’t done the autopsy yet, but it looks like Dirk’s death was suspicious.”
“What does that mean?”
“It means we could be looking at another homicide investigation.”
I closed my eyes and sank against the counter. “Wonderful.”
There was silence for a moment. Then he said, in a tentative voice, “How’s Vanessa?”
“I don’t know,” I snapped. “You can ask her yourself when you get back.”
And then I hung up on him.
Charlene was staring at me. “What was that all about?”
“It looks like it was murder,” I said, feeling my stomach sink.
“That’s what I figured,” she said, grimacing. “Do they know how he died?”
“They haven’t done the autopsy yet. But I do know they’re sending the cops over to the inn.”
“Better toss in a few more fillets then,” she said. “If I remember correctly, Sgt. Grimes looked like a pretty big eater.”
I groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”
The doorbell rang just as I slid the bowl of cod into the fridge. I rinsed my hands at the sink and ran to answer it.
To my surprise, it wasn’t Grimes; it was a stout woman with a Brillo pad of hair and a shiny badge glinting from beneath her blue coat. Her eyes were icy gray under a wide, oily-looking forehead. “Miss Natalie Barnes?” she asked.
“That’s me,” I said.
“Detective Rose,” she said. “You and your group found the body, is that right?”
“Yes,” I said. “I heard you’d be stopping by. Won’t you come in?”
“Thank you,” she said brusquely, not bothering to wipe her shoes before stepping into my entry hall.
“I understand you’re running a retreat of some kind here,” she said.
“That’s right. A weight-loss retreat.”
“Are the participants still on the premises?”
“As far as I know, yes,” I said.
“I’ll need to question them, then.”
I stifled a sigh. This week was looking like it might be a total disaster. Still, there had been a death, and the police needed to do what they could to find out what happened. I was glad it wasn’t Grimes here to do the questioning; otherwise, there was a good chance I’d already be the prime suspect for a murder nobody was sure had even been committed. “Can I take your coat?” I asked.
“Thank you.” She shucked the blue coat off, and as she handed it to me, I got a strong whiff of Ivory soap. Which was a definite improvement over the cigarette aroma of Sgt. Grimes.
“Where are the individuals who were with you when you discovered the body?” Detective Rose asked, looking past me to the living room, where several of the guests were already staring at the police officer.
“Some are in the living room,” I said, “and the rest are in their rooms.”
“I need them all to stay in their rooms until I’ve had a chance to speak with them individually,” she said.
“Some of them have roommates,” I pointed out.
“Even so, they are not to discuss the case.”
That horse was already out of the barn, but I decided not to mention it. Instead, I led her to the living room and allowed her to share the unpleasant news that everyone was to be quarantined to their rooms. The guests filed out of the living room with wide eyes when she informed them it was a murder investigation. I tried to keep a smile on my face as she told everyone they were confined to the premises while she conducted the questioning. House arrest, essentially. Just what my guests were looking for out of a high-priced luxury weight-loss retreat.
“I’m getting things ready in the kitchen,” I said to the detective. “Would you like a cup of coffee to warm you up while you’re waiting for the other officer to arrive?”
“It’ll just be me today,” she said, following me toward the kitchen, where Charlene sat perched on one of the kitchen chairs. “But thanks, coffee would be good.”
“This is my friend, Charlene Kean,” I said as we pushed through the swinging door. “She runs the Cranberry Island Store; she was with us when we found the body.”
“Detective Rose,” the police officer said, extending a hand abruptly to shake Charlene’s hand before sitting down at the opposite end of the table. She pulled out a notebook as I poured her a mug of coffee from a carafe and fixed a plate of gingersnaps to go along with it. Like Grimes, Detective Rose looked like an officer who enjoyed her food. Speaking of Grimes, where was he? As I set the mug of steaming coffee in front of the detective, I inquired after him.
“Sgt. Grimes took a leave of absence,” Detective Rose said shortly, adding a spoonful of sugar and a glug of milk to her coffee. I breathed a sigh of relief at the news. But the relief was short-lived. “I understand you’ve been mixed up in a number of investigations over the past year,” she said, her hawk-like eyes focusing on me in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable.
“Unfortunately, there have been a number of tragedies on the island in the past year,” I admitted, pulling a bag of snow peas from the refrigerator.
“Ever since you arrived, from what I hear.”
Perhaps she wasn’t such an improvement over Grimes after all. “Apparently it’s a longstanding island tradition,” I said, thinking of the skeleton the contractors had recently found at the lighthouse.
“How did you know Mr. DeLeon?”
“I’d just met him, actually. He handled the personal training portion of the retreat.”
“I understand he distributed supplements as well,” she said.
“Yes,” I said.
“Any idea what was in those supplements?”
“No,” I said, not entirely truthfully. “I’m sure there are some in his room, though; I saw a bag of them while I was doing turn-down service last night.”
“I’ll have to be sure to send some to the lab,” the detective said, making a note in her notebook. The warm light shone on her steel-wool-colored hair.
“Why are you asking about the supplements?” Charlene asked. “Do they have something to do with Dirk’s death?”
“I cannot discuss the details of the case,” Detective Rose said, focusing on Charlene and sniffing slightly. For a moment, I almost found myself wishing for Grimes again. The devil you know, I guess … “Were you acquainted with Mr. DeLeon?” she asked.
“We just met yesterday,” Charlene said, running a finger under her right eye to check for smudged mascara. There wasn’t any, of course—Charlene applied her Mary Kay makeup with expert precision. “We’d talked about having dinner, but things … well, he died before we could do it, obviously.”
“So neither of you met the deceased before yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Is that correct?”
“That’s correct,” I confirmed.
“When did you last see Mr. DeLeon?”
“Last night,” I said. “He came in
and told Vanessa—Vanessa Tagliacozzi, the other retreat leader—that he needed to talk to her.”
“What time was that?”
“Around seven, I think.”
“And what time did he leave the inn?”
I shook my head. “No idea. I didn’t know he was gone until this morning, when no one could find him.”
She wiped her wide forehead with the back of her hand and made a note on her pad. “Did anyone else leave the inn last night?”
“Not that I know of … except Vanessa.”
“The other retreat leader?”
“Yes. I was in the kitchen making myself tea at around one—I was having a hard time sleeping—and I heard the front door open and close. I went out to see who it was, and it turned out to be Vanessa. She said she’d gone out for a walk.”
“So she went out for a walk sometime last night and returned at approximately 1 a.m.,” Detective Rose repeated.
“Only I’m not sure she was walking. There was a car outside at about the same time, just before she came in.”
“Do you know whose car it was?”
I shook my head. “No; it was too dark.”
“If you’d like,” Charlene offered, “I can ask around and see who was out.”
Detective Rose gave her a sharp look. “Please leave the interrogation to the police, Miss …”
“Kean,” she reminded her, giving the officer a chilly look in return. “Charlene Kean.”
In my opinion, Detective Rose was making a huge mistake. If anyone could find out who was driving that car, it was Charlene, who could probably tell you what half the island had for dinner last night if you wanted to know.
“Where were you last night, Miss—it is Miss, right?”
“Ms.,” Charlene said frostily. “I was here for dinner, and then I went home.”
“On foot?” Detective Rose asked.
“In my truck.”
The policewoman’s left eyebrow shot up, and she jotted something down in her little notebook.
She asked us a couple more logistical questions, which we answered easily, before draining her coffee and standing up. She tugged her polyester trousers up over her ample middle—based on the two police officers I’d gotten to know so far, there must have been a whole lot of donut-eating going on back at the station—and said, “I’m going to begin questioning the guests now.”
“Is it all right if I head back to the store?” Charlene asked.
The detective nodded shortly. “You can go back to the store,” she said. “But please don’t leave the island for a couple of days. Either of you.” Her piercing gaze flitted from Charlene’s face to mine.
Lovely, I thought, as the swinging door shut behind her.
“So, do you think you can find out who was out and about last night?” I asked Charlene once I was sure Detective Rose was out of earshot.
“I don’t know,” she said, looking sourly at the door the officer had just exited through, “but you can bet I’m going to try.”
___
Lunch was a quiet affair. It had to be, really, since Detective Rose hadn’t finished questioning everyone, and nobody was allowed to talk. But the hush that fell over the dining room wasn’t entirely due to police procedure. Dirk’s death had put a pall over the retreat—not just of sadness, but of fear.
I had invited the officer to join us for lunch—after all, with the trainer out of commission, I had an extra fillet on hand—and she pulled up a chair at a table by the window, next to Megan and Greg, who were seated across from each other like an old married couple. Which they weren’t, I had to remind myself. Carissa and Bethany hadn’t emerged from their rooms, but everyone else was present, including Vanessa, whose oval face was ashen. Boots, Sarah, and Cat, who shared a table with the retreat leader, looked stricken as well, and as I served plates of fragrant teriyaki codfish with sautéed snow peas, everyone eyed their plates with reluctance. Which seemed strange to me until I heard Megan ask the detective something in a low voice.
“Poison?” Detective Rose answered loudly. “Let’s hope not. But even if it is, I doubt anyone would try it with officers on the premises.” She hacked off a slab of codfish and started shoveling it in; a moment later, everyone else reluctantly followed suit. It was a shame they were so worried about the food. The teriyaki fish was a killer recipe, even if it was low-cal, and it was frustrating to see it wasted on an unappreciative audience.
I retreated to the kitchen, hoping the cause of death turned out to be something other than lethal chemicals. A dead guest was bad enough. The last thing I needed was a detective suggesting my food might be poisoned. Gertrude Pickens of the Daily Mail would be on my doorstep in five minutes flat. And if they shut down my kitchen, the inn was finished.
Speaking of Gertrude, I was surprised I hadn’t heard from her yet. Usually she was one of the quickest off the mark when there was bad news to be spread.
As if on cue, the phone rang. I hurried to pick it up, hoping I hadn’t jinxed myself. But it wasn’t Gertrude. It was Charlene.
“What did you find out?” I asked quietly as I scooted behind the desk.
“I think I know who came by the inn last night,” she said.
“Who?” I asked.
“Don’t you want to guess?”
“No!”
“Tom Lockhart,” she said. “Ernie lives two doors down from him. He has a hard time sleeping, so he’s up nights a lot.”
“How does he know it was Tom?”
“He heard Tom’s truck go by at around one, headed up the road, in the direction of the inn. When he heard it on its way back, he peeked out the window—said he saw it pull into Tom’s driveway.”
“Did he see Tom?” I asked.
“No. But who else would it have been?”
“I don’t know. His wife, maybe?”
Charlene snorted. “Do you really think Vanessa would turn up in the middle of the night all rosy-cheeked because she’d spent an hour with Lorraine Lockhart?”
I sighed. “Should I tell Detective Rose?”
“You could, but I don’t know what it will accomplish. Besides, since I didn’t see it myself, I hate to get Tom involved just because Ernie thought he saw him.”
“True,” I said.
“Do you think they might have set something up while he was over at the inn yesterday?”
“Probably. They had a few minutes on their own, in the living room.”
“That must have been it, then. I know Tom had a crush on Vanessa when she used to spend summers here. Apparently he pined for her for years—Lorraine still gets upset if you talk about her. And he was pretty quick to show up with free lobsters.”
A pit opened up in the bottom of my stomach. Even-tempered, happily married Tom Lockhart, who was chair of the board of selectmen, president of the Cranberry Island Lobster Co-op, and one of my favorite people on the island. I could picture his blue eyes, twinkling merrily. I couldn’t imagine him as a murderer. “Are you saying you think Tom might have killed Dirk?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. “I’ve known Tom a long time, and I just can’t see it.”
“Me neither,” I said, relieved that Charlene agreed with me. “Then again, Vanessa does seem to have an effect on men.”
“We’re jumping to conclusions here, Nat,” Charlene said. “We don’t even know when he died. Or how. Or if it was homicide, even.”
I looked out the window at the lush spring grass, the dark blue water. It looked the same as it had that morning. But for me, everything had changed. “You’re right. But there is a detective here, asking questions,” I reminded her, “and suggesting it might have been poison. So the police must be thinking in that direction.”
“Let’s hope they’re at least slightly more competent than Grimes. Although I don’t get a great read off that Rose woman.” I hadn’t either, but I didn’t voice the opinion. “Do you think you can find out details from John?” she asked.
“Maybe,” I
said. “But then again, maybe not. With Vanessa around, things are a little chilly.”
“Maybe you could invite him over for a candlelight dinner.”
“Yeah,” I said sourly, looking out the window at the craggy mountains of the mainland. The peaceful scene was deceptive; in the last twenty-four hours, my life had been stirred into a maelstrom. “Fat-free chicken breast and steamed vegetables. How romantic.”
“Which reminds me—any chance of getting some of your mint bars down here? I’ve been getting a lot of requests.”
“I’ll see what I can do,” I said, wondering how I was going to be able to bake something as sinful as my Midnight Mint Bars with a starving horde of dieters on the other side of the kitchen door.
“I’ve got to go—half the island just walked through the door. Word must be out about Dirk.”
“Let me know what you find out,” I said, hanging up and walking into the dining room. The guests had been eating so quietly I had almost forgotten I still had lunch to clean up after. I was beginning to see the downside of running a full-service inn; you never finished cooking or cleaning.
I cleared the empty plates and began washing up the dishes in the kitchen, and an hour later, when everything was back in shape, I thought about the mint chocolate bars Charlene had requested. Did I dare make a pan of such sinful treats in an innful of hungry guests?
I debated briefly—and headed for the pantry. Diet or no diet, baking made me feel better—and delivering a pan of mint chocolate bars would give me an excuse to get out of the inn for an hour or two. And maybe steal a couple of tastes of chocolate while I was at it.
I grabbed the flour and sugar from the middle shelf, then retrieved a bottle of peppermint extract from the rack on the door. But when I reached for the baking chocolate, the box was empty.
Empty?
It had been full yesterday, when I’d made the meringues. How could it possibly be empty?
Unless I was mistaken, someone had been pilfering my pantry. I did a quick inventory, and discovered that a big bag of chocolate chips was gone, as well. The chocolate chips I could understand. But who the heck would eat a box of unsweetened baking chocolate?
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