Murder On the Rocks (8 page)

“I’ll keep that in mind.”

Charlene yawned and stretched, putting some serious strain on the buttons of her denim dress. “I must have dried this dress last time I washed it,” she said. “It’s a bit snugger than I remember.” She might not be willing to admit it, but since I’d moved to the island and started to bake cookies, she was keeping pace with me in the weight-gain department. If I didn’t find some low-fat recipes soon, we were both going to have to buy new wardrobes. Large ones.

“So,” Charlene said, “do you think someone offed him? Or was he just out for a little walk and slipped?”

“How come everyone assumes it’s murder?”

“Nat, come on. Why would Mr. Namby-Pamby Katz be out on a cliff in the middle of a nor’easter?” She helped herself to a scone. “Not bad,” she said. “Needs tea, though. Want some?”

“No, thanks.” If I had another cup of tea at this hour, I’d be up all night. Charlene licked a bit of cranberry off her finger, then slid off her stool and walked over to the small kitchen area beside the counter.

“What did Claudette think about the whole thing, Eleazer?” I asked the back of the purple chair as Charlene poured herself a cup of Twinings English Breakfast. Eleazer’s gray head popped over the back of the chair again.

“Claudette?” The crumbs in his beard bobbed up and down as he said his wife’s name. “Oh, you know-she thought Katz got what he deserved.” He shook his head. “There’s a lot of folks she don’t take to, but she really had it in for that fellow. If I thought she had a violent bone in her body, I might think she’d pushed him off herself.”

The bell tinkled, and our eyes swiveled to the front door as Ingrid Sorenson stepped into the store. Her eyes registered Eleazer and me; she froze for a moment, then let the door swing shut behind her with a jangle. Her pale face looked sallow against the brown of her loose cotton sweater, and her short gray-blonde hair stuck out in spikes around her head. I was surprised. Next to Charlene, Ingrid was usually the best-coiffed woman on the island. Her blue eyes darted around the room; with her sharp nose, her face resembled a wary bird’s.

“Good afternoon, Ingrid,” Charlene said.

“Lookin’ to buy some golf balls, missy?” Eleazer piped up from his purple chair.

Ingrid thrust her chin into the air and marched across the wooden floor to the front counter. “Just here for my mail and a few groceries, thank you.” Charlene set down her teacup and retrieved a large stack of mail from one of the cubbies lining the wall behind the register. She thwacked it down on the wood countertop in front of Ingrid.

“Thank you” Ingrid scooped the stack of envelopes into her mesh bag and retreated to the dairy case at the back of the store.

“Piece of work, that one,” Eleazer grumbled.

I watched until Ingrid had disappeared behind the shelves. Then I told Charlene in a low voice, “The reason I wasn’t here earlier is that the police came by. They’ve closed up Katz’s roomthey’ll be sending in forensics if the coroner decides it was murder” A crash sounded from the back of the store. Charlene stood up.

“Everything okay back there?”

“Fine, fine;” Ingrid said. “Just dropped something. Everything’s fine.”

Charlene sat back down and turned to me. “So you can’t even rent out your priciest room?”

“I don’t have anyone to rent it to, anyway. But that’s not the worst of it,” I continued. “I think the police think I murdered Bernard Katz.”

“You?” Charlene pshawed as she poured cream and about a half cup of sugar into her tea. “Half this island wouldn’t mind seeing him dead. Why would the police pick on you?”

“Gertrude Pickens called from the Daily Mail this afternoon,” I said. “She knew Katz was planning on replacing my inn with a parking lot.”

Charlene froze with her teacup halfway to her mouth. “How did she find that out?”

“The only people who knew about it-except Katz’s crewwere Gwen and you.”

She looked affronted. “Like I’d pass that kind of information to the press!”

“Was anyone in the store when I called you and told you about it?

Charlene’s brow furrowed. “Well, there’s almost always someone here, isn’t there? Let me see, when was that-yesterday? Well, Tom Lockhart had come in for a mug-up with a couple of lobstermen-they’d just come from the co-op, made sure all the boats made it in okay.” She tilted her head to one side. “Eli was here, of course. Other than that, though, I can’t think of anybody.”

“I’d really like to know who leaked that bit of information,” I said.

She took a swig of tea and rolled it around in her mouth. “Are you sure it wasn’t one of the Katzes?”

“They didn’t include it on their presentation to the board, did they? I don’t think they were ready for it to become public knowledge.”

Charlene set her teacup down. “What about Gwen? Did she tell her art teacher about it? They seem pretty buddy-buddy, don’t they?”

“Even if she did tell Fernand,” I said, “why would he leak that to the press? From what Gwen tells me, he hated Katz every bit as much as I did.” I paused for a moment. “Disliked, I mean.”

Charlene’s eyes narrowed. “Maybe Fernand did him in and was trying to give you a motive to cover his tracks”

“Well, whoever did it, I’m not too excited about having the Gray Whale linked to Katz’s death in the paper.”

“Don’t worry about it,” Charlene said, wetting her finger and picking the crumbs up off her plate. “Most of your guests don’t read the local paper anyway-they’re from out of town, remember?”

“I guess that’s something,” I said. We stopped talking as Ingrid marched up to the counter with a dozen eggs and a bottle of milk.

“You sure took your time picking those out,” Charlene said. “Is that it?”

“That’s it.”

Charlene rang up her purchases, and Ingrid jammed them into her bag and hurried out of the store. The door slammed shut with a jangle.

“I don’t know what’s up with her,” Charlene said, helping herself to another scone. “Used to be, she was in here every day, chowing down and chewing the fat. Now she hardly talks to anybody.”

“Probably feels bad because she sold out the island,” Eleazer said.

“Why’d she do that, anyway?” Charlene asked. “A month ago, she told me she didn’t think a big resort was right for the island, then she turns around and hands it to Katz on a silver platter.”

Eleazer shrugged. “Maybe there was some money in it for her. A kickback, or something. People do funny things for money.”

“Maybe,” said Charlene, looking unconvinced. She took a bite of scone and glanced at the clock. “Almost time to close up shop. You want to go down to the lobster pound with me?”

I looked at Charlene in disbelief. I couldn’t imagine she was hungry after eating two gigantic scones, but my mouth watered at the thought of succulent fresh lobster meat with sweet corn and blueberry pie. My bank account, however, was in no shape to support a lobster feed. “No thanks,” I said with regret. “You might see Barbara down there, though”

Charlene perked up. “Oh, yeah?”

“She was looking for a place to eat, and I recommended the pound.”

“Miss Barbara,” Charlene said. “What’d she think of Katz’s death?”

“She figured he was down there bothering the nests, and that he deserved it.”

“Maybe what happened to Katz was what Barbara meant by alternate tactics”

“The thought crossed my mind too,” I said. “But I don’t know-she doesn’t seem the type. Besides, she looked surprised when I told her about it.”

“Uh-huh,” Charlene said. “Well, I’ll see what I can dig up on Ms. Eggleby tonight. You’re sure you don’t want to come?”

“Maybe next week.” I fished my grocery list out of my pocket. “By the way, could you add this to your next order? Let me know what I owe you.”

Charlene took the list from me and pinned it up on the corkboard next to the mail cubbies. “Oh yeah,” she said. “I almost forgot about your mail.” She handed me a stack that included several small envelopes and a large, heavy one. “The big one’s addressed to Bernard Katz. I doubt he’ll be interested, but I guess you can give it to his assistant.” I thanked her and headed for the front door.

“Say hi to Claudette and the goats,” I called over my shoulder to Eleazer.

“I will,” he said. “Although why she doesn’t just buy wool like normal folks, I’ll never know,” he grumbled as the door swung shut behind me.

I had just finished off a grilled cheese sandwich and was setting up the dining room tables for breakfast when Gwen came through the kitchen door with pink cheeks and windswept hair.

“How’d the sketching go?” I asked, shaking out a bright white tablecloth.

“It’s getting better every day.” Gwen’s eyes shone with excitement. “I’ve decided I want to major in art”

“Great,” I said, wondering how I was going to explain that to my sister Bridget. She hadn’t telephoned in about a week, and I knew another call was due soon. Bridget’s idea of a proper major was business or economics, and it was a safe bet she’d consider art “a waste of time and money.” I just hoped she wouldn’t blame me.

Gwen disappeared back into the kitchen as I shook out another tablecloth. As the white cotton floated down over the scarred wood table, I decided to deal with it when the time came. I had enough on my plate as it was.

“Is there anything to eat?” Gwen called from the kitchen.

“I know the larder’s kind of bare,” I called back. “I just gave Charlene the grocery order. There’s bread and cheese, though. And I left you a few scones.”

I finished laying out the last tablecloths, pulled a stack of plates out of the sideboard, and headed into the kitchen for silverware. Gwen was fixing herself a sandwich as I grabbed handfuls of forks, spoons, and knives. I paused on the way back into the dining room. “By the way, Gwen, did you mention what we found in Ogden’s room to Fernand?” I asked.

“You mean the plans that showed the Gray Whale Inn being axed?” A faint line appeared between her arched eyebrows. “I don’t remember saying anything about it. Why?”

“A reporter called asking about it this morning.”

“That’s weird. Where would they have heard about that?” She sliced a thick slab of cheddar and opened a bag of bread. “Didn’t you tell Charlene about it? Maybe she said something to somebody.”

“I was thinking maybe someone in the store overheard her end of the conversation, but I can’t think who it could have been.”

“I’m sure Charlene will find out soon enough,” Gwen said as she took out a couple of slices of bread and closed the bag. “She knows everything that happens on this island.”

I leaned against the kitchen door. “What was Fernand’s take on Katz’s death?” I asked, watching as Gwen layered a piece of bread with what must have been three-quarters of a pound of cheese.

She smiled grimly. “He said he hoped the same thing would happen to the resort.”

“He’s not the only one,” I said. “You know, I’ve been meaning to talk to him about putting together an artists’ retreat vacation package. Kind of a co-op promotion. When’s a good time to stop by the studio?”

Gwen slapped her sandwich together and took a huge bite, chewing laboriously before she swallowed. “It’s hard to say. When he doesn’t have a class, he’s usually out somewhere with his paints. You might try him around noon, though, after he’s done with the Bittles.”

“Thanks, I will.” I left her with her cheese sandwich and took the silverware out to the dining room. After arranging the last spoon, I stood back and surveyed the room. Everything was ready to go; I just needed to decide what to do for breakfast. I still had sausage and eggs, and unless Gwen fixed herself a second sandwich, I had cheese. A breakfast casserole with corn muffins on the side would fill the bill. What was I going to do for fruit, though?

I walked back through the swinging door and opened the freezer. After a few minutes of digging, I unearthed a bag of blueberries from beneath a frozen chuck roast. With maple syrup and a dash of lemon juice, the berries would cook up into a nice compote while the casserole and the muffins were baking. I closed the freezer and glanced at the kitchen table. After polishing off her humongous sandwich, Gwen had started in on the scones. The scones might be gone, but at least I’d have cheese for the casserole. I gazed at her full mouth and slim body with envy.

The golden light that had poured through the kitchen window most of the day had faded; the sun had disappeared behind Cadillac Mountain, leaving a glowing band of red on the horizon. Fatigue swept through me as my eyes swept across the last dregs of sunset. I had planned to dust and vacuum the parlor this evening, but it could wait until tomorrow. Bidding Gwen goodnight, I headed upstairs to draw myself a hot bath, and after a good long soak with a candle and a book, I climbed into bed.

Despite my exhaustion, the day’s events kept running through my mind like a looped film. When I realized my eyes had been glued to the same page for twenty minutes, I put on my slippers and a robe and padded down the stairs, figuring if I was wideawake and fidgety, I might as well get something done.

I grabbed a dust rag and a bottle of furniture polish from the utility room and tackled the parlor. Dusting was generally my least favorite task, but tonight the rhythmic rub of the cloth against the antique furniture soothed my overactive brain. I was polishing the mantel above the river-stone fireplace when a loud clunk sounded from above. I glanced at my watch-it was midnight. A little late to be moving furniture around. I listened for a moment, and when nothing further happened, I gave the mantel a final swipe with the rag and moved on to the coffee table.

I was just replacing the basket of silk flowers in the center of the table when there was a second clunk, louder than the first. I told myself it was probably just Ogden, but my heart began thumping against my ribcage as I set the rag down next to the flowers and climbed the stairs to investigate.

The upstairs hall was dark, except for the faint light from the parlor downstairs. I crept down the hall, pausing at Ogden’s door. Unless Ogden was moving furniture around in the dark, the noises were coming from somewhere else; no light shone through the narrow gap at the bottom of his door. A chill ran down my spine. Both the Bittles and Barbara Eggleby were on the first floor. The only other occupied room on the second floor belonged to Bernard Katz, and he was dead.