Against the Claw

by Shari Randall

  Shelves stocked with linens ran down both sides of the room, linens and some huge old-fashioned serving pieces, soup tureens, punch bowls, and platters Verity would give her eyeteeth for. Tinsley went to the very end of the room and slid against the wall to sit cross-legged on the floor. She pointed right across from her. I sat, too. She grinned and inclined her head toward the wall.

  Not a radio. Voices. Eden’s and Detective Rosato’s. A wooden board leaned against the wall next to a black mesh panel, a concealed opening between the two rooms.

  My jaw dropped. Tinsley’s smile widened.

  Shock was my first reaction. Had Tinsley eavesdropped on my interview with Detective Budwitz? Of course she had. She was enjoying this.

  “Did you know Patrick Yardley?” Detective Rosato’s voice.

  “You mean the dead guy in the boat? No, never heard of him, never met him. Ever.” Eden’s last word was definite.

  There was a pause. The silence stretched. I remembered the way Detective Rosato’s black eyes held mine, how she put her little notebook on the table but didn’t write in it. Just aligned a pen with the book so it was perfectly parallel. The way she watched you during long silent pauses. For all the bravado in her voice, I wondered if Eden was squirming now.

  “You told Mrs. Lupo that you wanted to stay on the boat,” Detective Rosato said. “Why?”

  Tinsley’s chin rested on her hand, fascinated. Rings sparkled on her fingers. Her nails were painted bubblegum pink. She looked younger than me. Maybe twenty-one?

  With a jolt, I remembered what I’d heard about Tinsley. Wild child. Rehab. Was that why she had the nurse?

  Eden’s loud sigh interrupted my thoughts. “Some kids, fans, got into my suite here. Stellene made a big deal about all the security she had but it was garbage if those kids could get in my damn bedroom. I mean they were freaking teenagers. She had picked us up yesterday from Montauk on the boat, I just thought, nobody’s going to get to me on the boat. And since those kids probably told all their friends and posted pictures all over on social media that I was HERE in the house, I wanted to leave. Get it?”

  Tinsley raised her eyebrows.

  Detective Rosato’s voice didn’t change. “Last night you were on Mrs. Lupo’s yacht with Henry Small and two women.”

  “Yeah. Two sisters. Local. They were going to cook breakfast. You should be talking to them. They’re the ones who knew the guy, Yardley, whatever his name was.”

  My heart pounded. Yeah, she should be talking to us. And she would.

  “Did you know these sisters?”

  “No. Well, not really.”

  Silence.

  Eden said, “I saw Allie Larkin dance in Boston but we didn’t meet.”

  Tinsley made a clapping motion.

  Eden’s voice was tired. “Honestly, Officer, we, me and Henry, had no idea who that guy was.”

  “How long have you known Henry Small?” Detective Rosato asked.

  “We were in a band together—”

  The door eased open behind me. Stellene Lupo stopped short when she saw us.

  Chapter 22

  The force of Stellene’s displeasure and shock filled the narrow closet. Tinsley rolled her eyes but slid the wooden panel back into place. I sprang to my feet. Tinsley winced and shifted to her knees. I gave her my hand and helped her up.

  Stellene stepped aside, wordlessly, as we left the room and eased the door closed. She walked down the hall to the patio doors. Tinsley and I retrieved our shoes and followed.

  Stellene held the door for us, her shoulders back, her chin high, radiating disappointment.

  “Sorry, Mom, I—”

  Stellene shot her a look. Tinsley dropped her chin.

  Stellene smoothed her hair and sat on the chaise longue where Lorel had been just a short time earlier. Stepping from the cool marble hallways of the mansion into the humid July air was like walking into a wall. I squinted in the sun and shaded my eyes.

  I groped for something to say. “I should go see my sister.”

  Stellene patted the seat next to her in the shade where the cop had moved the umbrella. Tinsley walked back into the house, looping her hair around her fingers. Reluctantly, I sat next to Stellene.

  She turned toward the harbor and I studied her profile. Everything about her was slender and long—her nose, her neck, her hands, her feet in silver sandals. Tinsley’s round face, snub nose, and full lips must have come from her father. Stellene’s hair was a perfect blend of white-blond and silver. Silvery like steel. With her rigid posture, her name suited her.

  “I’m sorry about all—this.” Stellene waved a graceful hand. “This isn’t how I thought last night would be.”

  I couldn’t think what to say. Gee, the party on the boat was great until the dead guy showed up.

  “Did you—” She turned to me. “Was everything all right on the boat when you went over?”

  “Yes,” I said. “Wonderful. Actually, we all had a bit too much champagne. We went to sleep early.” Probably best not to mention Henry firing the gun. Oh my God, was that the gun that killed Patrick? My stomach clenched. I’d forgotten to mention to the cop that Henry’d actually fired it. How could I forget to mention that?

  Stellene’s lips turned up. Did she care that much about being a good hostess? I guess she did. She’d caved in to Eden’s demand to stay on the boat and look where that got us.

  “It’s a beautiful boat.” This small talk was excruciating.

  Tinsley came back outside carrying sunglasses. She handed them to her mother and sat on a low marble bench. “We were talking about taking Model Sailor on a cruise, right, Mom? To Greece.”

  Words from last night surfaced in my mind. That story about Tinsley’s party in Greece gone wrong, how she’d ended up in the hospital. Wild child. She didn’t look wild now. She looked young, literally keeping her distance from her mother.

  “We will.” Stellene put on the sunglasses and looked out over the harbor, past the tidy waterfront boathouse and manicured half-moon of sandy beach, tiny Cat Island to the east.

  In the distance, a Mystic Bay Police boat circled Model Sailor, probably to keep curious boaters away. Every boat had binoculars on board. Every beach cottage had a telescope. Everyone in Mystic Bay must know by now that Patrick Yardley’s dead body was just offshore in the boat tied up to Model Sailor.

  “Did you know Patrick Yardley?” I asked.

  Stellene’s jaw tightened.

  Tinsley nodded. “Yeah, he was a friend of—”

  “—A friend.” Stellene gave Tinsley a look that said Stop talking.

  Stellene waved gracefully, dismissing it. “Everyone knew Patrick. New Salt was the place to be, right? We went there for dinner, right, Tinsley?” Sunlight sparked on Stellene’s silver jewelry, a medallion at her throat, hammered silver hoops in her ears.

  Tinsley looked away.

  “You must be exhausted.” Stellene stood and turned back to me. “My driver will take you home. We’ll show you to the car.”

  Tinsley stood, hands clasped at her waist.

  “Tinsley, call the driver. I’ll go with you.” Stellene looped her arm through mine. Stellene took me around the house while Tinsley spoke into her phone.

  We walked to the garage across a parking area that looked like a luxury car lot. Mercedes. Range Rovers. A red Mini caught my eye. The license plate read THEBAY1. Mac Macallan was here? He’d stayed overnight?

  Stellene squeezed my arm as a Range Rover pulled up. “Give my best to your sister.”

  The backseat of the Range Rover was plush leather. I sank back against it, giving myself up to its cushy embrace. Tinsley stood rigidly behind her mother as we pulled away.

  My phone buzzed with a text from Hilda. I’d missed several Where are you? texts from Verity and Bronwyn.

  They sent Lorel home. Are you still with the police? Aunt Gully texted.

  On my way home. Done with police, I texted. At least I hoped so.

  My eyelids were
so heavy. I struggled to stay awake. As I drifted, I remembered the look Stellene and Tinsley exchanged on the patio, heard the frost in Stellene’s voice, the warning to Tinsley.

  A friend of a friend.

  What had Stellene not wanted Tinsley to say?

  Chapter 23

  A police car was parked in the driveway at Gull’s Nest. I thanked Stellene’s driver and ran to the front door where Aunt Gully was waiting. She wrapped me in a hug.

  “Lorel’s in bed. The doctors gave her a sedative.”

  I was glad Lorel was sleeping. My own shock and fatigue were enough. I couldn’t bear Lorel’s sorrow anymore.

  “What about the Mermaid?” I asked.

  “Hector and Hilda went to the shack to keep things going.”

  We went into the kitchen.

  “What!” My mouth dropped open upon seeing the police officer from Harmony Harbor sitting at the kitchen table with a soup bowl in front of him.

  Aunt Gully said, “Paul was going off duty but offered to take us home. Wasn’t that sweet?”

  I rolled my eyes. “So you had to feed him?”

  The police officer’s name tag read Gibson. He set his spoon down and jumped to his feet.

  “He looked hungry.” Aunt Gully blew her nose and patted my arm. “You poor thing. Two visits with the police in one week.”

  “Must be a record,” I muttered. Gibson’s eyes widened.

  “Two? Wait a minute. You’re the one who found the body in the bay? With the lobster lady?” he said.

  “Yep, that’s me.” I sank into a chair.

  The television blared. It was always on in Aunt Gully’s kitchen. The face of Leo Rodriguez, my least favorite reporter, filled the screen.

  “So, Paul, how about some cake?” Aunt Gully sliced into a coffee cake. Aunt Gully’s friend Aggie baked amazing coffee cake, aka the Food of the Gods. There was also a tinfoil-wrapped loaf of what was probably banana bread and an unidentified Crock-Pot on the counter. With a shock I realized Aunt Gully’s friends were bringing us sympathy food.

  Gibson looked at me, then at the cake. He was probably picking up on my just-get-out-of-here vibes. “Thanks, but I’d better go.”

  “Take some with you.” Aunt Gully wrapped the cake in plastic wrap and handed it to him.

  “If there’s anything you need, please give me a call.” Gibson handed her a card and edged out of the kitchen, giving me a wide berth. “I’ll show myself out.”

  Aunt Gully smiled at Gibson but her face was drawn, pale. Usually she had the sparkle of a Mrs. Claus, a role she often played at the Mystic Bay Women’s Club Christmas party. I noticed a wad of tissue peeking from the sleeve of her light yellow shirt.

  It dawned on me. Not only was Lorel devastated by Patrick’s passing, but one of Aunt Gully’s best friends was Darcie Yardley, Patrick’s mother. A wave of grief washed over me.

  “Oh, no. Aunt Gully, have you talked with Mrs. Yardley?” I rose and wrapped her in a hug.

  Her shoulders bowed. “I’ll go see her tomorrow. Her sister’s with her now and Hayden, too.” Hayden was Patrick’s brother. “I didn’t want to leave Lorel alone. What a terrible thing to lose a child, Allie. That poor woman. God knows Patrick gave her enough to worry about, always in trouble that one, just like his father.”

  Spar Yardley was what old-fashioned novels call a ne’er-do-well. Mrs. Yardley worked double shifts as a nurse while Spar did occasional work in the shipyard or marina, but mostly spent time drinking with his buddies. His troubles with alcohol were well-known in Mystic Bay. Mrs. Yardley was the glue that held that family together.

  “Poor Darcie.” Aunt Gully’s eyes brimmed with tears.

  A weight settled on my heart. I’d been so busy thinking of Lorel and myself. Aunt Gully worried about all of us—me, Lorel, Mrs. Yardley.

  My friend Hayden. He’d lost a brother.

  Aunt Gully and I held each other and sobbed.

  * * *

  All afternoon friends visited to check on Lorel. The murmur of conversation and the aroma of brewing coffee rose from the kitchen. I’d curled up on my bed and turned off my phone, hoping to rest, but my nerves jangled. Every time a car pulled up I jumped. Lorel had spoken with the police while she was at the hospital, but even though they’d let her go, I figured she’d be the one the police would focus on.

  I put on a swimsuit, grabbed a towel, and eased down the stairs, pressing close to the banister and straddling the creaky third step from the bottom so Aunt Gully’s friends in the kitchen wouldn’t hear me. I hesitated, then tiptoed down the hallway and opened Lorel’s door.

  We’d always shared a bedroom at Aunt Gully’s and at the Mermaid Motel growing up. We lived between the two houses; when Dad was away on long fishing trips we’d stay at Aunt Gully’s. On the rare nights we were both at Aunt Gully’s, we’d share the bedroom and chat as we drifted to sleep.

  I realized with a jolt that Lorel started staying in this tiny downstairs study/guest room since she’d gotten back with Patrick.

  Lorel lay under the pink quilt Aunt Gully’d sewn for her when she was in her Disney-princess phase. She was so still that for a moment I almost panicked, but then she sighed and shifted under the quilt.

  I eased the door closed and slipped out the front door, holding the screen door until it closed so it wouldn’t bang shut. A pack of kids on bikes rolled past, towels looped around their necks. We were all heading to the Kiddie Beach by the breakwater.

  I tossed my towel onto the sand by a couple of sunbathing teenagers, ripped off my ankle brace, and pushed through the waves to the deeper water. I plunged in and swam toward the raft, barely lifting my face for a breath. I had to move, to burn off the fear that felt like a rope around my throat.

  Salt water burned my eyes. I pulled myself up the ladder and flung myself on the rough planks of the raft. My ankle twinged. I was pushing my luck. Stupid, Allie, stupid.

  Two kids whooped and cannonballed off the side. My mind churned with memories of last night, a night that had begun so magically, champagne and music and a nighttime glide across the bay to a multimillion-dollar yacht with a star and a handsome musician.

  And ended with my sister smeared with her boyfriend’s blood.

  I rested my chin on my knees, tasted the salt water on my lips. With a shock I realized I still wore the blue leather bracelet, the gift from Tinsley. Water droplets flew as I wrenched the bracelet off and hurled it away. Its sparkle dimmed as it sank beneath the dark water. I wished I could throw away every memory of what happened on the yacht.

  More kids climbed the ladder, shouting, rocking the wooden raft. One little girl flung herself into the water. Her small body disappeared then resurfaced, her short black hair plastered to her face.

  Just like the dead girl on the lobster trap.

  I scrambled to my feet and dove back into the water.

  Back at Gull’s Nest, I showered away the sand and salt in the outdoor shower and threw on a bodysuit and yoga pants. I’d eat something and go to rehearsal. I was glad to have something to think about other than Patrick and Lorel.

  In the kitchen, Aunt Gully stood at the stove while the television murmured about the girl with the pitchfork tattoo. She’d been shouldered aside by this tragedy. Guilt added to the emotional weight I carried.

  Aunt Gully sautéed salt pork for her chowder. “May Strange is with Lorel,” she said.

  The door of Lorel’s room shut quietly. A middle-aged woman with curly salt-and-pepper hair came into the kitchen.

  May Strange had been our doctor since we were little girls. She looked at me over her half-moon glasses, looped around her neck with a rainbow beaded lanyard.

  “Allegra, how are you doing, honey?” She was one of the few people in Mystic Bay who always called me and Lorel by our given names, Allegra and Lorelei. I’d always loved my name, especially since I learned it was also the name of a great dancer, Allegra Kent. Lorelei, despite being a fan of the Gilmore Girls, disliked her fanciful name an
d preferred the more professional-sounding Lorel.

  “I’m okay.” I exhaled. “Worried about Lorel.”

  “This business with your sister.” Dr. Strange tsked and shook her head.

  Did Dr. Strange not know I’d been with Lorel on the boat? I didn’t feel like rehashing it. I stayed silent as I cut slices of coffee cake.

  “She’ll be up soon, Gully. I’d say make sure she eats, but I don’t have to worry about that with you.” Dr. Strange took off her glasses and rubbed them on Aunt Gully’s kitchen towel. “Her body’s fine. She’s a strong-minded girl, so she’ll get over the shock. Her broken heart—well, that’s not my department.”

  “Iced tea?” Aunt Gully raised a pitcher. “Coffee cake?”

  “Iced tea, please.” Dr. Strange jutted her chin at my ankle. “How’s your ankle?”

  “Much better. The doctor in Boston made me this cool, lightweight plastic brace.” I did a développé à la seconde, raising my leg high above counter height so Dr. Strange could see the plastic sheath on my ankle. “It’s waterproof.”

  She nodded. “It’s amazing the medical advancements possible with all this new technology.”

  Aunt Gully handed a glass of iced tea to Dr. Strange.

  “Thank you, Gully.”

  The term “medical advancements” made me think of a conversation I’d overheard at the party.

  “Dr. Strange, what’s a living donation?”

  “An organ harvested from a living donor. You can do a living donation with part of the pancreas, for example, or a kidney. You can live perfectly fine with just one kidney, so, aside from the usual rigors of any surgery, it’s possible to donate without too many ill effects.” She tipped her head and looked at me over her glasses. “You thinking about donating to someone?”

  I groped to remember the conversation. “Someone at the party was talking about Kurt Lupo. He’d had a kidney transplant. That’s why Stellene does a big fund-raiser for organ donation.”

  I bit into a slice of cake. Cinnamon and nutmeg heaven.

  “Was Stellene the donor?” Aunt Gully asked.

  Dr. Strange sipped her iced tea. “I remember when Kurt got his donation, years ago. No, Stellene wasn’t a match. Kurt had someone lined up, but then a young man at the same hospital needed a kidney, and unless he got it right away, he would have died. The young man was a match for Kurt’s donor, too. Kurt felt the neediest should go to the head of the line.”