Anchored Inn

by Karen MacInerney

  "Could be," I said. "Maybe he was offering up something about Brandon to get out of being blackmailed himself?"

  "Or at least lured him there on the pretense. I hate to think about it, though; I've known Tom for years."

  "Tom had a lot to lose," I said. "His family, his livelihood..."

  "His freedom," John said.

  "If Lorraine did the finances, there was no way he'd be able to pay a blackmailer without her knowing about it," I pointed out.

  "Which is a motive for murder, for sure."

  "Plus there was that new column with 'T' on it," I said.

  "I thought you said it had been erased," John said.

  "That's right." I sighed. "None of this makes sense, does it?"

  "It doesn't," he agreed.

  "We're missing something."

  "Other than what Murray's hiding?" he asked.

  "I think so," I said. I turned to John. "I keep thinking about Mandy. From what you know of Brandon, do you think it's possible he could have killed her?"

  "Like I said, I hardly knew him. And either he doesn't recognize me or is pretending not to."

  "Why come back to the island under a false name?" I asked.

  "I don't know," he said. "Again, none of this makes sense."

  "No," I said. "No, it doesn't.”

  "Maybe a good night's sleep will help jog something loose," he said.

  I had my doubts, but I was tired enough not to argue. Besides, there was nothing else we could do tonight.

  "I think that sounds like a great idea," I said.

  "And Catherine's doctor friend is going to check out Gwen tomorrow?"

  "That's the plan," I said. "And with any luck, we'll find out what happened to Tania."

  "The longer she's gone, the less likely it is we'll find her," John said after a long moment.

  "I know," I said. "But I'm still hoping."

  16

  Rain was lashing the window when the alarm went off the next morning. It had been a fitful night; I'd dreamed of money falling from the sky, and Tania trying to call but never getting through, and again, a young girl's hair waving in the dark water like seaweed, the ends caught up in a golden anchor.

  I threw on a pair of jeans and a wool sweater and padded downstairs, trying not to wake anyone as I started my morning chores.

  Soon, the smell of brewing coffee filled the kitchen, and I was assembling the ingredients for a breakfast casserole (gluten-free, since it used hash browns instead of bread, but not dairy-free). As I chopped onion and browned sausage in a pan, the wind whipped the trees outside, making the brilliant red leaves spiral to the ground. Fall color was gorgeous, but ephemeral; that's part of what made it such a special time of year, I reflected.

  As I beat the eggs for the casserole and greased the pan, I thought through the mystery of what had happened to Mandy—and to Steve. There were obviously a ton of connections just under the surface, but I couldn't see them. Why had Brandon/Brendan chosen to come back to the island?

  And had he lured Steve to his death?

  I was browning sausage in a pan on the kitchen stove, filling the whole room with a lovely scent, when I heard water running upstairs. A moment later, Adam came down, wearing the same jeans and flannel he'd had on yesterday. "Can we open the windows? The smell of sausage is bothering Gwen."

  "Oh, of course... sorry about that!" I said, glad I had put on a wool sweater as I opened one of the kitchen windows, letting in a gust of wet air. I put a towel down in front of the window to catch the rain; it wasn't an ideal situation, but I didn't want to make Gwen more uncomfortable. "How is she?"

  "Bad again," he said, looking out the window. "I hope Catherine's friend is able to make it to the island. It's rough out there; I don't want Gwen to have to make the crossing." As he spoke, a gust of wind blew a spatter of rain into the inn. As I looked out at the water, I could see he was right; it was frosted with whitecaps. It would be a turbulent crossing—not ideal for someone with nausea.

  "Did you sleep all right?" I asked.

  "I did; thanks for the cot," he said. "I just wish we could get her back on track again."

  "We'll get her squared away," I said, putting a note of cheery confidence into my voice. I needed to call Bridget and update her; Gwen's mom was worried. I decided to wait until we had some news to share before worrying her unnecessarily. As the sausages cooked, I grabbed a bag of frozen hash browns from the freezer and heated up more oil in a cast-iron pan. When it was hot, I put in the hash browns; soon, the smell of caramelizing potatoes joined the aroma of sausage in the kitchen. I sent a concerned look toward the stairs; I wished there was some way to keep Gwen from having to smell breakfast cooking.

  "At least it isn't bacon," Adam remarked.

  I laughed. "True. Want some coffee?"

  "I'm going to go back up to check on her, but I'd love some."

  "Help yourself," I said, nodding toward the pot.

  As he poured himself a mug of coffee and looked out at the water, he asked, "Any ideas on who it was I overheard the other day? Other than Murray?"

  "Our multimillionaire guest spent some time at Harvard. Maybe when he comes down for breakfast you can eavesdrop a bit?"

  "If we're still here," he said. "I don't like leaving my traps so long... but I don't want to leave Gwen."

  "I can take care of her today," I offered. I still hadn't asked her about the possibility of pregnancy; maybe I'd have a chance today? "I'll be around."

  "It feels wrong to leave her," he said.

  “We'll take care of her,” I reassured him.

  We spent a companionable ten minutes in silence as I finished making the casserole. The wind kept whipping rain into the room, and I was tempted to put a jacket on over my sweater, but keeping the windows open it was a small price to pay to keep Gwen from feeling too sick.

  I had just slid the casserole into the oven when Catherine appeared, dressed in yoga pants and a long-sleeved top. “Why are the windows open?”

  “Keeping the smell of sausage from making Gwen sick.”

  “Got it,” she said, heading to the coffee pot and pouring herself a cup.

  “Did you sleep okay?” I asked.

  “I did,” she said. “Thanks so much for letting me stay in the inn; it may be a while before I’m comfortable sleeping in the carriage house again.”

  “Of course,” I said. “You’re always welcome. Going for a jog this morning?” I asked.

  “I haven’t decided yet; it’s a bit damp,” she said, glancing out the open window at the stormy day. “How’s Gwen?” she asked Adam as she stirred stevia into her coffee.

  “Still not doing too hot,” he said. “Do you know what time your doctor friend will be here?”

  “She’s planning on coming over on the noon mail boat unless I tell her differently,” she said.

  “Oh, that’s awesome,” Adam beamed, looking relieved

  “I hope your friend will stay for lunch,” I said.

  “I hope so, too,” Catherine said, sitting down at the end of the table. “I’ll text her and invite her.”

  “I’m going to let Gwen know when she’s coming,” Adam said. As he disappeared up the stairs, I turned to Catherine, who was cradling her mug in both hands. “Did you get a chance to talk with Murray?”

  “I called him,” she said. “I’m going over there at ten; we’re going to hash it out.” She took a sip of coffee. “I’m nervous, but I don’t know why.”

  “You know you’re fine without him if it doesn’t work out,” I said. “And closure is good.”

  “Am I fine without him?” she asked, looking very young, suddenly, as she glanced across the kitchen at me. “I don’t know. I liked having someone.”

  “I misspoke,” I said, walking over to the table and sitting down next to her. “You’re not alone. You have John, and Gwen, and me, and everyone else on the island. If Murray is the one you want to make a life with, then great; make it work with him. If he’s not, then I know y
ou’ll find someone marvelous… if you choose to.”

  “I hope you’re right,” she said.

  “I know I’m right,” I reassured her.

  “But what if I’m wrong?” she asked. “What if Murray had something to do with what happened to that man I found beside the carriage house?”

  “Is that what’s bothering you?” I asked.

  “I just…” She put her coffee mug down and started turning it slowly. “My intuition tells me there was something going on there. I never understood why Murray kept Steve on, and why he treated him like he did… like someone to be kept happy, somehow, not just an employee.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “He was always asking him if he needed a drink, or a break to go to lunch… if Steve called in sick, Murray said it was no big deal.”

  “And that was different from how he treated other people?”

  “Oh, yeah. He’s such a stickler with everyone else who works for him, even if it’s just a contract job. I figured they used to be friends, way back when, but when I asked him about it, he changed the subject. I never thought much about it until Steve turned up dead.”

  “You think Murray might have killed him?”

  “I think there was something going on there. I intend to ask him today.”

  I didn’t know what to say to that. What if Murray was a murderer? Wouldn’t Catherine be putting herself in harm’s way, potentially, by asking? I wasn’t comfortable sending her there on her own to ask such a dangerous questions. But I couldn’t exactly offer to go with her, either, under the circumstances.

  “Will you come with me?” she asked. “And just stay in the van?”

  “Of course,” I said, relieved at this option.

  “I’ll take my phone with me. If it goes badly, I’ll text you.”

  “Should we ask John to come?” I asked.

  She hesitated. “No,” she said. “I think I’m more comfortable with you there.”

  “If you’re sure…”

  “I’m sure,” she said. “Please come.”

  “Happy to,” I told her. “Now. How do you feel about cutting up some fruit for a fruit salad?”

  “I can’t very well mess that up, can I?” she asked.

  I laughed. “You don’t mess much up, Catherine. Melon’s on the counter and there are berries in the fridge; while you do that, I’m going to whip up a batch of maple walnut coffee cake, since we ate the apple cake yesterday.” I’d come up with a recipe idea recently, and wanted to give it a try.

  “Sounds good,” she said as I gathered the ingredients.

  It didn’t take long to assemble the cake, which featured a yummy, maple-infused walnut streusel both in the middle of the cake, which was flavored with both vanilla and maple extract, and sprinkled on the top. The streusel was a mix of brown sugar and nuts, boosted with a bit of cinnamon. I popped it in next to the breakfast casserole; soon, the smell of maple joined the smell of sausage.

  Poor Gwen.

  As I mixed sugar and maple syrup together to make the icing, Charlene called.

  “What’s up?” I asked.

  “Tania texted me,” she said.

  “Oh, thank heavens,” I said, putting down the wooden spoon. “She’s okay, then.”

  “She seems to be,” Charlene said, “but I’m still worried.”

  “What did she say?”

  “Don’t worry about me, I’m fine. Can’t wait to share my surprise with you.’”

  “Surprise?”

  “I know. Did she elope? Is she… pregnant?"

  I didn't know what to say to that.

  Charlene continued. "I just don’t want her to throw her future away. She’s so young, and has her whole future ahead of her. I’ve been trying to get her to go back to school and get an education, and a career… I got her to take a few correspondence classes, but she hasn’t been too jazzed about them. If she went ahead and got married to some guy I’ve never met….”

  “If her boyfriend’s married, she can’t elope,” I pointed out.

  “Unless he’s a bigamist. What if he’s a bigamist?”

  “Let's not jump to conclusions. Have you texted her back?”

  “No. What do I say?”

  “Tell her you've talked to the police about filing a missing persons report,” I said, “and that you want to know where she is and that she’s okay. You’re worried about her.”

  “Okay,” she said. “Typing that in…” I waited as she typed. “It says it’s been delivered,” she said.

  “Great. Now we just wait for a response.”

  "She'd better respond,” she said.

  "Call me when you hear, okay? I’ll make sure my ringer’s on.”

  “You’ll tell John?”

  “I will,” I promised. “Let me know the moment you hear.”

  “I will,” she promised, and hung up.

  Brandon Marks—or Brendan Marksburg—came down before his entourage that morning, much to my surprise. It was ten minutes before breakfast was scheduled to start, and I was putting out the coffee mugs. I’d already set out the coconut oil and stevia, along with a carafe of fresh coffee.

  “Good morning,” I said. “Breakfast is in a few minutes; can I get you some coffee?”

  “Yes,” he said, still not looking at me.

  As I poured him a mug of coffee, I said, “I didn’t realize until the last few days that you used to spend summers on the island.”

  He looked up, startled. “How did you know that?”

  “Someone thought they recognized you. They looked it up.” He didn’t respond. “I’m surprised you came back, actually; it seemed you didn’t have a great experience here.”

  Still no response.

  “It must have been a shock to find the body of someone you knew right next to that U-Boat,” I said, watching his face. There was a flicker near his right eye, but no change of expression. “Were you and Mandy close?” I pressed.

  “No,” he said shortly.

  “Charlene tells me you wrote poems about her,” I said. I didn’t generally needle guests, but I needed to know if I had a murderer in my dining room. “And that she did not respond favorably.”

  He looked at me directly, his face expressionless. “My adolescent life is irrelevant to our relationship as customer and innkeeper,” he said in a tight voice. “I’d prefer not to have a history recitation over coffee.”

  “I understand that,” I said. “It’s just… I’m surprised you didn’t recognize John or Charlene.”

  “I have closed that chapter of my life,” he said.

  “Did you know Steve back then?”

  “Enough,” he said, slamming the mug down in front of him. Coffee splashed all over the table, but he didn’t seem to notice.

  “Steve was murdered. If you know anything about who might have wanted to kill him, I’d like to know,” I blurted.

  He arched an eyebrow and looked at me coldly. “You’re a police detective now, too. Well, Detective Barnes, I’d stick to coffee if I were you. And make it stronger next time.” He looked up and away, a dismissive gesture.

  I didn’t know what to say to that. Did his assistants know about his history on the island? I wondered. For the first time, it occurred to me that maybe Antoine had been taken along with the intent of killing Steve Batterly. But what did that have to do with what happened to Mandy? Did Brandon/Brendan suspect Steve of killing Mandy? Was it a revenge killing?

  “Breakfast will be out shortly,” I said in a curt voice just as Rebecca burst into the dining room.

  “Mr. Marks! You were supposed to wait for me!”

  “I needed coffee,” he said.

  “Coffee for you, too?” I asked her politely.

  “Yes, please.” She must have picked up on the undercurrent between her boss and me; she gave me an uneasy look before sitting down next to him.

  I poured her coffee and headed back to the kitchen.

  “What’s wrong?” Catherine asked me.

/>   “I just don’t like rude guests,” I said.

  “Brandon?” she asked.

  “Yup.”

  “I do wonder if he had something to do with what happened to Steve,” Catherine commented as she rinsed the cutting board she’d used for the fruit and stood it in the dish drainer to dry.

  “I do, too,” I said. “The timing is too coincidental.”

  “So he lured Steve to the inn. The only issue with that is… why do it at the inn? That would make him more of a suspect.”

  “Only if someone knew of his connection with the island. Maybe he was banking on that.”

  “Maybe,” Catherine said. “Well, I guess we’ll probably never know.”

  Not if I had anything to do with it, I thought as I grabbed plates from the cabinet.

  If Brandon Marks/Brendan Marksburg had anything to do with what had happened to Steve Batterly I planned to find out about it.

  Catherine was ready to go right at 9:50. She looked beautiful in a cornflower-blue blouse and jeans that hugged her trim figure. A strand of pearls completed the outfit.

  “You look terrific,” I told her.

  “You think?” she asked, a hand darting up to adjust her hair, which she’d pulled back into a chignon. A few loose strands framed her pretty face.

  “He’s going to melt,” I assured her. “Shall we?”

  “I guess it’s time to get it over with,” she said, and reached for the doorknob.

  It was a short ride to Murray’s, and very quiet. I parked in the same spot I had last time and killed the engine.

  “All you’re looking for is clarity,” I reminded her. “Whatever happens, you’ll be fine.”

  “If I’m not out in 30 minutes, come find me, okay?” she said.

  “Of course,” I told her, and reached over to give her a little hug. “I’ll be right here if you need me.”

  She took a deep breath. “It’s time,” she said, and opened the van door. I watched as she walked up the driveway and rang the bell at the massive front door. Murray opened it a few seconds later, and she disappeared into the massive house, the door shutting behind her. I was pretty sure she’d be okay, but I was still nervous for her.

  As I sat alone in the van, my phone rang. It was Max.