by Jean Stone
“Have the abortion? No.”
Annie wanted to ask what everyone was waiting for. She knew from experience that it was essential to have one earlier rather than later. She also thought it would be in Lucy’s best interest to get it over with. Unless the girl had refused to have the procedure. Would a thirteen-year-old be allowed to have a say in such a huge decision?
“I don’t understand,” was all Annie could say.
John’s sigh was long and heavy. “She wasn’t pregnant after all. She says she thought she was because . . . oh, it’s stupid. The fact is, she’s still a virgin. Or she was until the doctor examined her. I don’t know if that counts. Jesus, Annie, I’m in way over my head on all this.”
“Did she . . . does she . . . have a boyfriend?”
“She thought she did. They did some groping . . . God, I can’t even talk about this, okay?”
“Yes, but . . .”
“But I have to stay a while longer. No matter what has or hasn’t happened, my kid is going through something painful. I need to be here to help.”
Annie chewed her lower lip. “Of course. Of course you do. Which is all the more reason you don’t need to worry about me. Or your mother, either.”
“It was really a mistake? That business about the gun?”
“A total mistake.” She hated to hang up. She hated that once she did, she wouldn’t know when they’d talk again. Still . . . “Well,” she finally said, “you’d better go.”
“Yeah. I should get back inside.”
So. He had been on the front steps or the back ones or sitting in his damn truck. As if Annie were the other woman, after all.
She said goodbye and rang off, then closed her eyes again. But this time sleep would not come, did not come until the dawn began to creep into the cottage and she simply was worn-out.
Chapter 21
“Did they say who owns the Porsche?” Fiona asked Annie the next day as they walked the side streets of the village toward the police station. “Colin lives in New York. Maybe he borrowed someone else’s car.”
“They didn’t say. And I didn’t ask. Frankly, I was more concerned that I was going to be arrested.” Her words sounded harsh as if she were annoyed, which she was. Fiona hadn’t asked if she was all right after the ordeal, nor had she apologized for dragging Annie into her mess. But Annie was older and supposedly wiser, so she tried to remember what Fiona had been going through and how she now felt alone. Until recently, Annie, too, had been alone—without a family—for years. Of all people, she should be empathetic.
They passed the sweet, small St. Andrew’s church, where the front doors were open every day, then walked by the Black Sheep mercantile and café (no relation to the Black Dog) and the thrift shop.
They turned onto Main Street, then went past the cinema where Annie and John had spent many snowy nights. She wondered if next winter she’d still be on the island, and if she and John would still be together. Despite her inquiries and ads, she hadn’t heard about another place to live. Maybe Taylor had spread the word that Annie Sutton was too fussy.
Passing the majestic Old Whaling Church, Annie and Fiona took a left onto Peases Point Way and finally made it to the station.
The man behind the glass window looked familiar, but Annie did not know his name; Fiona lagged behind, as if expecting her to take the lead.
“We need to speak with someone about a possible poisoning,” Annie said.
“Human or animal?” the cop asked.
“Human.”
“Me,” Fiona interrupted. “Someone tried to poison me. You already have the toxicology report.”
The officer stared at her for a few seconds, then said, “Wait there.”
They stood in silence for several moments. Then a side door opened and the cop waved them in. Annie drew in a breath: being in two police stations in two days was a new and not terribly pleasant experience.
He led them to a desk in a corner where Annie saw John’s friend Detective Lincoln Butterfield talking with a man who had his back to them. Lincoln was an older guy, married to a schoolteacher on the island, and they had three kids. Annie and John had been to their house for dinner a few times: It was a slightly cramped but inviting ranch out by Felix Neck, the Audubon wildlife sanctuary.
Lincoln stood and extended his hand. “Annie. Nice to see you again.”
She was surprised that he’d ignored whoever sat by the desk until the man turned around: It was Roger Flanagan, her landlord, at least for the next few weeks.
“Roger,” Annie said. She resisted the urge to say, “Fancy meeting you here.” Why on earth did he keep popping up?
“Hello, Mr. Flanagan,” Fiona said with a happy grin.
“Let’s get a couple more chairs,” Lincoln said. “I think we all should have a chat.”
The officer who’d brought them in rallied two more chairs and set them facing the detective’s desk. Roger adjusted his so they sat in a lopsided circle.
“So,” Lincoln continued after everyone was seated. Annie, for one, was perplexed by the convocation and was eager to hear what he had to say. “It seems that everyone is here for the same reason.”
Fiona blinked, then looked at Roger. “Mr. Flanagan, do you know who poisoned me?”
He ignored her and turned back to Lincoln. “As I previously said, I wish to speak to counsel.”
“A lawyer?” Fiona asked. “You want a lawyer? Are you the one who did it?”
Roger rotated his eyes up to the ceiling. “Exactly as I suspected.”
Lincoln rocked back in his chair. “Ms. Littlefield, apparently Mr. Flanagan is concerned that you might think he is somehow connected to the poison you ingested. He is worried you might bring a lawsuit against him by trying to suggest you’d been poisoned at his party.”
“It was not a ‘party,’” Roger said. “It was my daughter’s wedding reception.”
“But I was one of the bridesmaids!” Fiona cried, as if that was relevant. Annie put a hand on Fiona’s shoulder to try and calm her, though the gesture did not seem to help. “Why would I think you tried to poison me? I’ve known you my whole life!”
Again, Annie didn’t know what one thing might have to do with the other, but she did not want to interrupt. She couldn’t imagine how she’d react if she were in Fiona’s shoes. Flip-flops. Or whatever.
“He’s not concerned that you think he did anything on purpose. More like you might want to sue him for negligence in providing poisoned food. In which case, he is prepared to sue you for defamation of character.”
She swerved back to Roger. “But I told you I thought Colin did it!” Her eyes grew hazy; her thoughts must have felt even blurrier. “Now I think it might have been my sister, Sheila. Maybe they were in on it together. Why would I sue you? Why would you sue me?” She looked genuinely confused, though Annie wasn’t. In her experience, the worst part of having lots of money was that people tended to look over their shoulders as if expecting that someone would take it from them.
Roger’s thin lips seemed fixed in a closed position, as if he’d lined them with Gorilla Glue. Then he stood. “If you will excuse me, officer. I really don’t believe I should engage in this conversation until I have consulted my attorney.”
Lincoln remained sitting. “You won’t leave the island?”
“Not until after Labor Day. Same as always.” He glanced down at Annie as he began to leave. “Nice to see you, Annie,” he said, as if they were at a garden party. Politeness seemed to abound on the island. But that thought reminded her that Roger was one of the garden tour patrons whose name she’d typed into the program from the list in Claire’s pink file folder. He no doubt now knew she had filled in for Claire; she wondered if he expected Annie to say thanks.
Once he was gone, Annie spoke up. “This has become bizarre, Lincoln.” She told him it appeared that Colin had left the island, though they did not know how or when. She started to tell him about the Porsche, but Lincoln said he already knew about
her “encounter” with Officer Williams in the airport parking lot. A deep flush rose in her cheeks.
“Tell him the rest,” Fiona said, nudging her. “Tell him about the honey cake and how Colin and Sheila were on the boat when that woman gave them the cake made out of the poisoned honey.”
Annie sighed and related the entire story.
“Have you told John all of this?” he asked when she was finished.
She shook her head. “He’s away,” she said, as if Lincoln wouldn’t have known that.
Lincoln cleared his throat and tapped a pen on his big metal desk. “Well, Ms. Littlefield, as I see it, whether or not you were actually a target remains to be seen,” he said, looking squarely at her. “Anyone could have eaten the cake. No one force-fed you, is that correct?”
“Well . . . no, but . . .”
He raised his hand to shush her. “We’ve already checked, and there’s no record of your brother having left the island by ferry or by air. So he must still be here, unless he was a walk-on on the ferry or took off in a private boat or plane, over which none of us has any control or way of knowing.”
“He had a car,” Fiona interrupted.
“Precisely. So our best guess is he’s still here. Somewhere up island maybe. Your family has spent many summers here—I’m sure he has plenty of friends around. As for your sister, she has been seen at her house, though Seattle law enforcement hasn’t yet caught up with her. It seems unlikely that she’d have come all the way across the country to poison you, then race back, doesn’t it?”
“But . . . have you checked the airlines out of Boston and Providence? To see if Sheila was a passenger . . .”
Lincoln looked at her with a frozen stare. He didn’t need to vocalize that they hadn’t dropped the ball on this, but that it was summer and, yes, while they had better things to do, they were on top of things. He also did not remind her that no matter what had happened she was fine and had most likely not been in any real danger.
Annie squared her shoulders. “Will you at least talk with the people at Sweet Everything Farm? That’s where the cake was made. The owners later learned the honey was poisonous, most likely from nectar extracted from mountain laurel. Myrna at the farm said they made two cakes; what I don’t understand is how one wound up in the Littlefields’ kitchen.” If the police had already done so much groundwork, she was surprised that, busy or not, they did not seem to view the case as a priority.
Raising the shush signal again, Lincoln said, “You’ve obviously done some research, Annie. But, honestly, this appears to have been an accident. My bet is Colin saw the cake and brought it home to Fiona because he knew she likes them.”
“He does!” Fiona cried. “He knows I do!”
He narrowed his eyes. “But that isn’t everything, is it, Ms. Littlefield? What I mean is, this is not the first time you’ve reported that someone has tried to kill you.”
Annie sat up straight.
Fiona went as white as the paint on the Old Whaling Church. “That was a long time ago.”
“Three years is not so long.” His eyes flicked over to Annie. “According to Mr. Flanagan, Ms. Littlefield accused a coworker in New York City of trying to kill her in order to get a part in a play.”
“It wasn’t a play,” Fiona said. “It was Swan Lake. I was auditioning for Odette—the lead—for the first time. Mimi Hernandez cut the ribbon on my shoe. I know she did! I fell during the audition. . . .” Fiona started to cry.
Lincoln looked at Annie again. “Before Mr. Flanagan came in today, he’d already notified us about that incident. Apparently, he learned about it straight from you, Ms. Littlefield. He said he’d run into you at his daughter’s apartment in New York, where you were crying because you hadn’t gotten the part. Do you remember that? He also said you were upset because the police determined that ribbon had frayed, that it had not been cut. I spoke with the NYPD, who have corroborated that. As for the cake, while it might have contained tainted honey, as I said, no one force-fed it to you.”
“But . . . but Colin and Sheila have always known it’s my favorite. Even Dana knew. Like I already told you, every summer Colin and Dana made one just for me. . . .” She jerked her head toward Annie, then back to Lincoln. “Were she and Colin in on it together? But Dana is my friend! I was her bridesmaid!” Then she whined, “Oh, what on earth is going on?”
Lincoln shook his head. “I doubt that anything is ‘going on,’ Ms. Littlefield. Without further evidence, all signs point to it having been an unfortunate accident.” He stood up, a clear sign of dismissal.
* * *
As they walked back to the Kelley House, Annie gently told Fiona that the detective might be right. “I know it seems to you that it was intentional, but maybe it was merely a strange coincidence.”
Fiona didn’t answer right away, then she said, “You don’t believe me, either, do you?”
“I didn’t say that. But maybe there’s another side to the story.”
“So what am I supposed to do? Stay here and wait for something else to happen?”
Annie thought about it while they walked. She wished she were convinced that Detective Butterfield was correct—her life would be much easier if she told Fiona that, then sent her on her way, and returned to her own to-do list. But something about Roger Flanagan’s story seemed slightly out of sync—or, at the very least, the timing of it was suspicious. Then again, maybe Annie had been prejudiced by the fact that she now despised the man who had tossed her from her home. Maybe he was truly fearful that Fiona was out to get him for no logical reason. After all, no one else at the wedding had been poisoned, had they? But why would he think Fiona would want to sue him? Was his assumption based solely on an accusation she’d once made about another ballerina? And why would he threaten to sue her back? What was his real agenda? As they passed the ice cream shop and the bookstore, Annie said, “Fiona? Tell me about Dana.”
“You think she was in cahoots with my brother and sister? I thought she was my friend. I know I’m younger than she is, but when we were growing up she was always nice to me. When she asked me to be in her wedding party, I was so excited. Sheila thought it was stupid, though. She said that Dana only asked because she felt sorry for me.”
“Why?”
“I have no idea. Maybe because I’m almost thirty-four, and I’ve never been married? Dana was married and divorced twice before she married this new guy. The first wedding was an elaborate fête at St. Patrick’s in the city. The second was smaller, of course. It was at the Old Whaling Church here. This time she got married in her backyard. It was the only time I was asked to be a bridesmaid. So, yes, maybe she felt sorry for me. Or maybe she’d used up all of her other friends with her more glamorous weddings. I didn’t care. I was excited to be a bridesmaid.”
That was all news to Annie, not that it really mattered. But married for the third time? She was tempted to ask Fiona how young Dana had been when Jonas had been born. It didn’t seem that Jonas was Colin’s son, but if Dana had gotten pregnant by another guy while still dating Colin, then dumped Colin and married Jonas’s father, no wonder Colin would have bolted as soon as the ceremony ended. Then Annie wondered if the bride was as coldhearted about relationships as her father was about . . . well, about a lot of things in life. Except his precious grandson. Then Annie had another thought, one she suspected had come straight from Murphy. “Has Mr. Flanagan ever mentioned that he’d like to buy your property?”
Fiona thought for a moment, her flip-flops smacking staccato notes against the sidewalk. “No. Unless he talked to Colin or Sheila and they never told me. It would be like them not to tell me.” Then she stopped. “But Mr. Flanagan knows I don’t want to sell. I always thought he liked me, too. Do you think he’d try and buy the place out from under me?”
Annie refrained from saying that she would not put anything past her almost-ex-landlord.
Then Fiona gasped. “Oh my God. Did he want the property so badly that he tried to kill me?
”
“Whoa,” Annie said. “Don’t let your imagination run away with you the way mine always does.”
Fiona started to walk again, and Annie quickly caught up. “Tell me about your sister. Did the two of you get along when you were young?”
“Not really. I was born ten years after she was, seven after Colin. She used to say I was the ‘afterthought,’ the ‘runt of the litter. ’ She hated it when Mom or Daddy made her look after me because she was the oldest and she was a girl. She went to college in San Francisco to get far away from home. Then she settled in Seattle. I always figured she stayed away because of me.”
“But she must like it here if she wants the property to become a bird sanctuary.”
“I have a feeling it would give her a tax write-off. She’s always been good at knowing the ins and outs of money.”
“When was the last time she came to the Vineyard?”
“I don’t know. A few years ago. I don’t think she’s been here since our mother died, unless she came to see if Mom left any valuables. I’m not surprised that she’s in Seattle and didn’t show up for the wedding. Even if she wasn’t in on this stunt with Colin, she’s probably angry that Dana got married again. I think she’d always hoped Dana would have married my brother. Sheila had a crush on her from when they were little kids.”
“Sheila had a crush on Dana?”
“Long before any of us knew she was a lesbian.”
“What about your brother? He was in the marine corps, wasn’t he?” She wanted to ask if there was any chance he was Jonas’s father, but that felt more like gossip than something directly related to the problem.