He shrugged. “I don’t know if he meant, like, physically. Anyway, Kory was thrown out—matter of fact, they all were thrown out—but not before Kory said . . .” He sighed heavily and shifted his shoulders. “Not before he said he’d kill Mario if he ever hurt Hallie.”
There was a stirring among the crowd; Constable Ng took Kory’s arm. On a wafting breeze floated the words You have the right to remain silent. Kory was being taken into custody. After what Sammy said, Jaymie wasn’t surprised. Was the fire set to conceal a crime? No doubt it would all come out in the following days. Kory was led away. Shortly after, Hallie retreated with her mom as the police cordoned off the burned-out smoldering shell of the cottage with police tape. The firefighters remained, as hot spots were detected and snuffed.
Jaymie and her friends walked back to the cottage. She made coffee. Dawn had broken, the sun rising to cast long shadows over the grove, where a damp chill hovered, mist clinging to the trees as the humidity of the day built. Valetta headed back to the mainland to check in on Denver and feed him, and make sure his catio was open so he could get outside, after which she was coming back to the island. Courtney and Gabriela were both late sleepers, so Jaymie couldn’t bustle around in the cottage much. Tiffany, apparently, had her half-hour shower—leaving little hot water for the others—and had moved on to her hair, which took a solid hour to coif. She seemed sturdily incurious about the morning’s affair, simply saying the fire was too bad.
Melody, with her book on Victorian death rituals, retreated to the shaded seating area in the grove with a blanket wrapped around her and a cup of coffee in hand. Brandi sat on the back deck of the cottage with her phone in hand and scrolled and tapped. Rachel, too, texted and scrolled.
Jaymie cleaned. The s’mores pan from the night before was sticky and congealed, with an edge of rust along the damp remains. It was going to take forever to clean. She scrubbed it, then set it out to dry thoroughly. It would need to be reseasoned, which reminded her . . . the pie irons had been cleaned, but it was necessary to season the cast iron one. Cast iron anything needed to be regularly seasoned, rubbed all over with oil, heated for a good length of time and allowed to cool. It was a pain, but in general cast iron cooking implements were worth it, lasting a cook’s lifetime and beyond.
Where had she put them? In the trailer? No. In the cottage kitchen? No. She stood by her friend on the cottage back deck. “Brandi, do you remember where I put the pie irons when I was done cleaning them the other night?”
Brandi looked up from her scrolling and shook her head.
Jaymie returned to the trailer and stood outside of it, looking around with a frown. “Mel, do you remember where I put the pie irons when I was done with them the other night?”
Melody looked up from her book. “Each one has a leather thong tied to a hole through the wooden handle. When you were done cleaning them you hung them from a nail on that pine over in the spot where the sun hits in the late afternoon.”
Jaymie bit her lip. Even on such a solemn morning, she couldn’t help but smile from her author friend’s habitual quick eye. “I remember now. Thank you.” She went to the pine and there they were. Or . . . at least two of them. The aluminum ones were there, but not the cast iron one she needed to season. Odd. Maybe a raccoon had absconded with it. She hoped not; it was the oldest of the vintage lot!
A cell phone rang and Brandi, on the deck, answered. Her eyes widened and she said something quickly, then jabbed the screen to hang up, but sat staring at her phone. She appeared upset.
Jaymie bustled over to her friend and looked up from the grassy slope beneath the back deck. “Bran, you okay? What’s up?”
Brandi shook her head and opened her mouth, but as Tiffany, perfectly coiffed and dressed in a trim pair of khaki shorts and a puff-sleeved blouse, stepped out of the cottage, she shut it again.
“I had the worst night of sleep in my life,” Tiffany announced. “That bed is too soft. And everything feels damp. Your air-conditioning sucks.”
Jaymie, taken aback, stared up at her. Was she supposed to apologize to an unwanted guest who had a bad night’s sleep?
“And that shower thingie! I mean, first you have no real shower,” she went on, hands on her hips. “And then . . . it has no water pressure! You should have that looked at. I wouldn’t stand for it. And the air conditioner is noisy. Maybe that’s why I didn’t sleep.” She stretched. “What’s for breakfast?”
“Whatever you make,” Jaymie snapped and whirled, descending the lawn back to the trailer. Out of the corner of her eye she caught Melody laughing and giving her the thumbs-up.
But inevitably, the payment for snapping was that she felt bad about it. Even an unwanted and uninvited guest was a guest. She compensated by making eggs and bacon over the fire in her largest cast iron frying pan, the one she could hardly lift.
As they finished up, Melody volunteered to wash dishes, since she didn’t cook and wanted to contribute in some way. After saying this, she shot a wicked look at Tiffany, who sat on a chair at the kitchen table, but that woman was checking her hair in a purse mirror and didn’t seem to notice. Gabriela wandered out of the bedroom, rubbing her eyes.
“Oh, hey, you’re all up? I guess I overslept.”
Rachel rolled her eyes and looked annoyed. She was not one who tolerated laziness, but she should cut Gabriela a break, Jaymie thought; it was vacation, after all, and being a mother was exhausting.
“Of course you did,” Tiffany said with a wide smile. “Like Logan always says, Gabriela could sleep through a hurricane or a brass band rehearsal!”
Gabriela blinked and slumped down in a chair.
Rachel jumped up. “I need to do something, go for a walk. How about I head over to Tansy’s Tarts and get some fresh-made butter tarts for today’s dessert? So you don’t have to do anything about that, at least,” she said to Jaymie, also shooting a look at the oblivious Tiffany.
“Would you mind some company?” Courtney said with a hesitant smile.
“I’d love it,” Rachel said.
Nine
The two set off, and Jaymie and Melody did dishes while Brandi stalked back and forth out on the grass, talking on the phone.
“Who do you think she’s talking to?” Jaymie asked.
Melody squinted. “Offhand? I’d say Terry. Online she is always complaining about him. It’s getting tedious.”
“Hmm. This surprises me. I thought they’d make it.”
Melody cast her an incredulous look. “Don’t you know . . .” she started, but then shook her head and closed her mouth.
Jaymie rolled her eyes and sighed. “I know what Brandi’s like, but I just . . .” She shrugged and sighed again. Brandi finally stabbed at the phone and slumped down in a chair, lolling with her legs over the arm.
Tiffany, sitting at the kitchen table drinking her fourth cup of coffee, checked her own phone and frowned at it, stabbing at it repeatedly. “Your wifi sucks,” she grumbled.
Jaymie and Melody exchanged looks. Jaymie was grateful for her friend; the writer’s bemused looks and laughs were helping her stay sane. She wouldn’t have minded all the changes in the vacation—from a week in the middle of August camping to a week to ten days at the end of August in her cottage—but it seemed that the few years when they had not been able to do their yearly trip had changed them all so very much. Or was she misremembering?
Tiffany exited, mumbling about going for a walk, and Gabriela, with a cup of coffee and her phone, went out to sit near Brandi, the two pointedly not talking.
“Was it always like this, or did we all used to have a lot in common and have fun?” Jaymie asked, handing a dripping plate to Melody to dry.
“A little of both. I guess I see it differently. I’m a few years older than you all, and I was never one much for partying, or hanging out, or talking about guys. I always sat back and watched, and I could see that for most of you, your similarities were superficial. Rachel was the super-studious one, but she went to
parties with the rest because you all shared a house. You were more into reading and cooking and spending time with your family, but you also partied with the others because . . . house. Brandi partied harder than anyone else, but I don’t think any of you thought that made her different . . . but it did. She partied not for you all, but for herself.”
Jaymie gave her a quizzical look.
“I’m not judging her,” Melody said with an irritated sigh. “I’m not. She can do whatever floats her boat. I write romances, so I get it, the dirty looks when women talk openly about sex. No judgment from me. But it’s true. Brandi is who she is, a party animal, and I think time tends to”—she frowned, looking for the right word—“harden our tendencies.”
“What do you mean?”
Mel shrugged. “The introvert becomes more introverted,” she said, pointing to herself. “The party girl parties harder,” she went on, pointing out to Brandi.
“I don’t know if you’re right about that. Some seek change. Rach, as you pointed out, was always studious and work-driven, true, but I think she’s questioning her career-life balance now, and maybe her career choices.”
“You’ve got a point,” Melody admitted.
“And Gabriela . . . she used to party as hard as Brandi, but she’s now a stay-at-home mommy. And she misses her husband and kid.”
“So much that she’s not rushing into town to see them, now that she knows they’re here?” Melody said with a cynical tone.
“She just woke up. You know how she always was; it took a lot of coffee to get her motivated in the morning.”
Her friend leaned back against the counter and wiped a plate. “I guess you’re right about that . . . some people do change. I’ve seen a lot of changes in you over the years.”
“How have I changed?” Jaymie glanced at her, curious.
“You were mousy, a bookworm. That’s why you and I got along. We could sit in the same room and read books and not need to talk. But you’ve gotten a lot more outgoing. After that loser, Joel, ditched you for that bimbo—”
“Heidi is not a bimbo! She’s a lovely person and my friend.”
“—and you did some soul searching, you had this burst of energy . . . you identified what you wanted and began to go after it. I’m proud of you, all the progress you’ve made.”
“Thanks, Mel. It started then, you’re right about that.” She turned the tap for more hot water. “I think before that I was grateful a guy wanted to be with me. But living alone after Joel left made me realize I’m good company even for myself and I’m a pretty good catch.”
“That you are. Jakob’s a lucky guy.”
As they finished the last dish, Jaymie heard raised voices outside. She hung the damp dishcloth over the tap and walked out back with Melody to find Brandi and Gabriela arguing.
“What’s up, guys?” Jaymie asked, leaning on the deck railing and looking down at them. The railing creaked and she straightened.
The two women looked toward them, but neither spoke, their faces both red, expressions mulish. There was something going on. “What’s wrong?” Jaymie asked.
“Nothing,” Gabriela said. “We were just—”
“Hey, all,” Courtney said, strolling toward them from the laneway and joining Gabriela and Brandi. She carried two bakery boxes.
“Where’s Rachel?”
Courtney looked up at Jaymie. “She’s still at Tansy’s Tarts. Hallie and Tansy had a fight yesterday and Tansy fired her, but forgot that her husband, Sherm, has a medical appointment in town today. Rach explained about Mario dying in that house fire this morning, and that even if she hadn’t let her go, poor Hallie wouldn’t be working today. Tansy was really upset; I guess she liked the girl, even though she fired her. She had been giving her advice, like to get life insurance on Mario for their baby’s sake, and so on.”
“Tansy seems like a tough nut, but she’s a softie inside,” Jaymie said.
“Anyway, Rachel and Tansy got on like a house afire, pardon the expression,” Courtney said with a rare smile. “Rachel offered to stay and help out for a few hours. She sent me back with an apology, but she didn’t think you’d mind because there wasn’t anything planned for the day.”
“No, I don’t mind. Of course.” Jaymie felt a welling of pity, remembering poor Hallie. She had lost so much, it seemed unfair that she had also lost her job. But she had not been cut out for the service industry, and how much longer could she work anyway, as close to her due date as she must be? Rachel, smart, efficient, and with her bright smile and winning ways, would be a much better fit, for the moment, anyway.
Brandi’s phone rang again, and she looked down at it. At the same time Gabriela’s chimed, her ring tone a snatch of John McClane’s profane yell in Die Hard. She looked at the screen, her eyes widened, and she took the call, but moved away. All they heard her say was, “Hello, hello?”
Jaymie frowned, examining her friends. Brandi and Gabriela . . . both seemed distracted and upset this morning, or was she projecting her own deep sadness on them? She watched Gabriela, who was standing staring down at her phone now, with a look of apprehension on her face. Was everything truly okay between her and Logan? She seemed no happier now, with her husband and child close by in town, than she had been when she was worried about not hearing from them. Jaymie was about to go to her to try to find out what was wrong when she heard, from behind her, a familiar voice.
“Hello, all!”
Jaymie looked over her shoulder. Bernie, in uniform, strolled toward them, a neutral look on her face. “Hey, Bern. What’s up?”
She had a notebook in her hand and flipped it to a fresh page. “I’m doing some canvassing in regard to the fire and death this morning.”
“What’s that about a fire?” Gabriela said, pocketing her cell phone and rejoining the group. She frowned and looked around at each person.
“I guess you didn’t hear,” Jaymie said. “You were sleeping.” Gabriela had a long history of not paying attention, so she had missed Courtney’s explanation of why Rachel was still at the tart shop. “Early this morning, before dawn, there was a house fire, a cottage near the Ice House. Someone died.”
“Oh, that’s terrible!” Gabriela, with her ready warmth, said. “Who was it?”
“Some guy named Mario something?” Brandi said.
“I came by to ask if anyone saw or heard anything unusual last night,” Bernie said, glancing in turn at each face.
Her gaze was assessing and level, but Jaymie noticed something in her eyes, some flare of interest. She glanced around at her friends, to see what had sparked that expression, but didn’t see anything. She turned back to Bernie. “I was sleeping in the trailer, and so was Valetta. She slept pretty soundly, but I kept hearing noises all night: shouts, banging, and it sounded like someone ran through my property, too. I got up and Mel and I had a cup of tea sitting outside.”
“What time was that?” Bernie asked.
“It was three thirty; I looked at my watch.”
Bernie nodded and jotted the info down.
“Did you hear anything, Mel?” Jaymie asked. “Other than what you’ve already said?”
“Besides Tiffany snoring despite her contention that she didn’t sleep at all?” She shook her head. “Nothing much.”
Bernie turned to her friend. “Jaymie, are you missing anything around here?”
“No, I don’t think so.” She watched her friend, head cocked to one side. Bernie was attentive but still waiting for more. “Like what?”
“Anything at all, even something inconsequential,” Bernie said. “Something you don’t think is stolen, you just think it’s missing.”
Jaymie stood for a moment, then slowly said, “I am missing a cast iron pie iron.”
Bernie nodded and walked away a few steps. She radioed her partner. It was almost impossible to hear all that she said, but the words that stood out were missing a pie iron.
Jaymie remembered that the police knew immediately that Mario
had been murdered and she felt a wave of sickness. Please, don’t let my lovely vintage pie iron be the weapon, she prayed. But if she had to bet, she would have bet that her prayers were too late to do any good.
Bernie returned to them and took Jaymie’s arm, pulling her aside. “I hate to do this, Jaymie,” she murmured, “but I’m going to need you to talk to the detective in charge. Detective Vestry is here investigating. She’ll come to your cottage shortly.”
It seemed as though her worst fears were being realized. “Don’t tell me my pie iron was the weapon!”
“We don’t know anything yet,” Bernie said, her tone soothing. “That’s what we’re going to try to figure out.”
“Was one found on the scene?”
“I can’t tell you any more than what I already have, Jaymie, I’m sorry.” Bernie’s dark brown eyes were kind and full of sympathy, but her words were firmly said.
Jaymie took a deep breath and nodded. “I can show you where they were; the other ones are still there. But I don’t know when the cast iron one went missing; I discovered it was gone this morning when I decided to season it. I used them two nights ago, cleaned them, and hung them on the tree to dry.”
“Can you describe the missing pie iron?”
“Sure. It was square, on a long handle, about thirty inches, and it was a Rome Industries pie iron.”
“Okay. One sec while I see when the detective will be here.” Bernie walked away and used her phone again.
The others had gathered in a cluster, heads bent, murmuring. Brandi was the first to straighten and stalked away from them. She confronted Jaymie, hand on her hip, one of Courtney’s cigarettes in her quivering fingers. She periodically gave up smoking and went back to it in times of stress. “What’s going on? We overheard; some detective is coming here? Why?”
Taken aback by her brusqueness, Jaymie examined Brandi’s face, her cheeks red, her eyes narrowed, her nostrils flaring.
“Slow your roll, chica,” Melody said, strolling over and putting one hand on Brandi’s arm.
Cast Iron Alibi Page 10