Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (17 page)

“I do, indeed,” Maggie said, finding herself liking Annie, despite the doll in the cradle.

“And I noticed you collect Fairyland Lustre. I don’t suppose you found that at garage sales.”

Annie glanced at her. “You know your antiques, Maggie. It’s pretty, isn’t it? Those pieces are just reproductions. But you came here for a reason.”

“You’re right. I came because I’m concerned about Diana Hopkins.”

“She seems like a sweet girl,” agreed Annie. “I’ve only met her a couple of times. How do you know her?”

“I’ve only known her a short time, too,” Maggie admitted. “I’m a friend of Gussie White’s; I came to Winslow for her wedding.”

“Wait.” Annie stopped scrubbing for a moment and turned around, drying her hands on a dish towel. “You’re the woman from New Jersey who found Dan Jeffrey’s body, aren’t you?”

“Yes.”

Annie’s smile had vanished. “What do you really want from me?”

“You’ve heard Cordelia was killed, too.”

“My husband’s the chief of police. Of course I heard. It’s very sad. But that doesn’t explain why you’re here.”

“Did he also tell you Diana’s his major suspect in her death?”

Annie looked back at her. “I’m his wife, not his detective. He didn’t tell me that. No.”

“That’s why I’m here. I don’t believe Diana’s guilty of killing Cordelia. Or of killing her father, which she’s also suspected of doing.”

“No. I don’t think so either.” Annie sat down.

“Diana told me you came to their house a couple of times to pay your respects after her father died.”

“Yes,” Annie said, softly. “I’m sure others did, too. Cordelia’s lived in Winslow many years.”

“She has. But most who came left flowers or food, and didn’t stay. You did. Diana appreciated that.”

Annie hesitated. “I’m glad. I got to know her father quite well when he was here.”

Maggie nodded. “That’s what I suspected.” She paused. “Diana also told me she came home once and interrupted you looking for something in her father’s room.”

Annie flushed and stood up. “Shit. I hoped she wouldn’t remember that.”

“When Dan disappeared, you were afraid the police would search his room as part of the investigation, weren’t you?”

“You’re not going to tell my husband, are you?”

“I’m not. But Diana might. In a strange bit of—luck?—your husband didn’t search Dan Jeffrey’s room until after his death. You found what you were looking for, didn’t you?”

“Maggie, you have to believe I had nothing to do with Dan’s death. You can’t let Diana say anything to my husband.”

“I can’t promise she hasn’t already talked to him about it. But help me to help you. What were you looking for?”

“Letters. Letters I’d written to Dan.” Annie turned back toward the sink, and nosily put one pan inside another. Then she turned back to Maggie. “He didn’t have a phone most of the time he was here. And it was romantic. He and I were lovers. Nothing serious, you understand. But if Ike knew it would ruin my marriage. My life. I was afraid he’d find out. So when Dan disappeared I panicked. I went to his house to try to find them.”

“Did you?”

Annie shook her head. “They weren’t there. I hoped Dan had destroyed them. If he hadn’t, then either Cordelia found them, or Diana did.”

Maggie hesitated. “I don’t think it was Diana. She would have said something. And why would Cordelia have kept them?”

“Maybe to try to blackmail Dan.”

“Blackmail Dan?” Maggie looked at Annie. “He didn’t have any money, did he?”

“That was the problem. She was tired of him living there and not paying her enough rent. The odd jobs he had around town—mowing lawns, substitute bartending—none of them paid much. I met him through Cordelia, and then he did some landscaping for us, and then, one thing led to another. He told me Cordelia complained he didn’t contribute enough toward his room and board. She was trying to force him to get a better-paying job.”

“I’ve wondered how she supported herself just making those dolls,” Maggie said, glancing toward the cradle in the living room.

“I don’t know,” said Annie. “Dan said a lot of people underestimated Cordelia. And then Diana arrived, and everything changed. I don’t know why; I only saw Dan once after that.”

Maggie looked at her. “Can you think of anyone else who knew Dan well?”

“He bartended at the Lazy Lobster sometimes. Men there knew him.” Her eyes filled up. “It’s all happened so fast. Diana arriving, and then Dan disappearing, and now Cordelia. I hope Ike’s able to figure it out. I miss Dan. But I can’t let Ike know what I was doing. Please, Maggie. Don’t tell anyone.”

“I’ll do my best,” said Maggie. “Thanks for talking with me.” She left Annie scrubbing her kitchen counter, tears smearing the makeup on her cheeks.

On Maggie’s way back to Six Gables she kept thinking about the Fairyland Lustre in Annie’s corner cupboard. She was no expert on china or pottery, but she’d always coveted that particular Wedgwood, probably because it was designed by Art Nouveau artist Daisy Makeig-Jones. Fairyland Lustre was gloriously colored in vibrant golds, blues, reds, and greens, and depicted magic creatures and the forests and fields in which they lived. Few pieces sold for under $4,000 or $5,000, and she’d read in one of the antiques newspapers recently that a large covered vase in the “Demon Tree of the Ghostly Wood” pattern had brought over $36,000 at auction. Not exactly within her budget.

As far as she knew Fairyland Lustre had never been reproduced.

Even if it had, it wouldn’t have the same glow, the same luster, as the original.

Those were original pieces in Annie Irons’ living room. Maggie was certain of that. But for some reason—maybe fear of burglary?—Annie hadn’t wanted to admit it. Well, she was lucky to have a collection like that.

Will was deep into his novel when Maggie got back to Six Gables. “You were right. That didn’t take long,” he said.

“How’s Aunt Nettie?”

“She sends her love,” said Will. “Tom’s taking good care of her, and Rachel stopped in to see her and brought them lobster bisque for tonight’s dinner and a ham in case there’s a power outage. The oil lamps are cleaned, the bathtub is filled. They’re set.”

“That’s right. You have a well, but the water pump is electric.”

“When the power goes, so does the water,” Will confirmed. “I’m thinking we should invest in a small generator. Enough power to keep the furnace and the pump going, and a few kitchen appliances. At Aunt Nettie’s age, if we had an ice storm and lost power for a week, I don’t think she’d cope well.”

“No power for a week in January in Maine? I’m not sure how well
I’d
cope,” Maggie agreed. “Sounds as though you should call for an estimate or two.”

“Next week,” said Will. “How’d your meeting go?”

“Educational,” said Maggie. “But I didn’t find out anything absolutely critical. I liked Ike’s wife more than I thought I would. Tell you what: why don’t we go and have lunch? If it’s open, there’s a place a lot of the fishermen around here eat. Not exactly gourmet, but it would be a bit of local color.”

“Do I sense another mission in the offing?” Will asked.

“Perhaps,” said Maggie. “But we do have to eat somewhere. Why not try this place? I’ve been there once, but just for a beer.”

“You don’t like beer,” said Will, raising his eyebrows.

“I’m flexible, remember?” said Maggie.

“What’s the name of this fantastic local establishment?”

“The Lazy Lobster.”

“A Mainer does not eat lobster on the Cape,” said Will, tapping her lightly on the head in reprimand.

“They have hamburgers, too,” said Maggie.

“With blue cheese and bacon?”

“It’s possible,” she said, as they headed out. The wind had picked up, and there was spitting rain in the air. But Hurricane Tasha was still 250 miles south of Cape Cod.

They had plenty of time.

Rip Van Winkle at the Village Tavern.
Wood engraving from
Harper’s Weekly,
September 20, 1873, by Felix Octavious Carr Darley (1822-1888), who usually signed his work F.O.C. Darley. He was the first well-known American illustrator and provided pictures for books by Cooper, Irving, Dickens, Hawthorne, Poe, Stowe, among others, during the first half of the nineteenth century. This engraving is based on one he did earlier for Washington Irving’s
Rip Van Winkle
. It shows shiftless Rip, beer mug in hand, being routed out by Dame Van Winkle. Other patrons of the tavern include an obese gentleman smoking an extremely long clay pipe, a boy reading a newspaper, and Rip’s dog, Wolf, his tail between his legs, who knows it’s time to head for home. 9 x 11.75 inches. $75.

The Lazy Lobster
was not only open, it was full. Of course, Maggie remembered. Fishing boats were not out. Harbormasters had required them to be dry-docked yesterday.

The storm was closing in, and most men in the Lazy Lobster had either finished storm-proofing their homes and those of their neighbors, or were taking a quick break before returning to their tasks.

One flat-screen TV above the bar was tuned to the Weather Channel. The other was focused on NECN, New England Cable News. Both stations alternated weather maps and scenes of crashing surf, trees bent over in the wind, and scrolling words warning that Hurricane Tasha was moving steadily northeast, and had diminished very little in power.

“Table today?” said a pert young woman who hadn’t been visible during Maggie’s previous visit. Her hair was pulled back in a ponytail, and she wore her white LAZY LOBSTER T-shirt proudly, and scooped low enough to hint at barely hidden cleavage.

“We’d prefer the bar, if there’s room,” said Maggie.

“You don’t usually like to sit at the bar,” Will said, as they followed their hostess to two stools at the far end.

“I like this one,” said Maggie. “We can see the weather reports better from here,” she added, guilelessly.

“Right,” said Will. “How could I forget your new-found addiction to the Weather Channel?”

“A girl can never hear too much about the weather. Especially when there’s a hurricane in the offing.” Maggie smiled.

“Nice to see you again, Maggie from New Jersey,” said Rocky. “What can I get you today? Another Sam Adams?”

“Sounds good. And the fried Wellfleet oysters,” said Maggie, pointing at the menu behind the bar.

Will ordered a Narragansett and a blue cheeseburger, extra rare, with bacon.

“You just ordered a coronary,” Maggie pointed out.

“Your fried oysters aren’t the healthiest choice in the world,” Will retaliated. “Especially since you added fries to your order when you thought I wasn’t listening. Now, what are we really here for?”

“I’m not sure,” Maggie said, under the noise of the crowd. “But Dan Jeffrey worked here sometimes. And Bob Silva, the guy who owns the hardware store, said the bartender here knows a lot about what happens in town.”

The waitress slid their lunch plates in front of them with a quick “Enjoy!”

“Speedy service, anyway,” said Will.

“Notice anything unusual about this place?” said Maggie.

“You and the waitress are the only females in here?”

“Right. And everyone’s a waterfront sort. No lawyers or bankers, at least by the look of them.”

“I’d say you’re right. Wide age spread, too. I’d guess from about sixteen—too young to be legally drinking and probably should be in school—up to the old guy in the corner. Maybe in his eighties?”

“Today schools may have closed early. But the afternoon I was here some high school kids came in, too.”

Will frowned. “Not a good sign. Even if kids aren’t ordering alcoholic drinks, towns usually frown on them hanging out in dives like this. Most proprietors throw them out. They don’t want to get in trouble with the parents or police. We had a place like this near the school where I taught in Buffalo. Ended up being closed down.”

“Because?” said Maggie, taking another bite of her oysters.

“The kids weren’t there to buy the beer and pizza. Or even just the pizza. The owner had another business going on the side.”

“The kids were buying drugs with their pizza.”

“Bingo.”

Maggie looked around. “What do you think about that possibility here?”

Will looked at her. “I have no idea. But if that’s even a small possibility you don’t talk about it here. You finish your oysters and fries, you smile, you leave a nice tip, and you get out.”

“You are such a smart man, Will Brewer,” said Maggie. “These are really good oysters, by the way. Nice and fresh. Want a bite?”

“I thought you’d never ask.”

Trouble Somewhere.
James Montgomery Flagg (1877-1960) illustration, 1900. Woman sitting alone and aloof in expensive car of the period, as man in fur coat stands, defeated, head down, by the side of the road. The hood of the car is raised, exposing the engine, and Cupid is standing on the car’s wheel, looking into the motor and holding a wrench. James Montgomery Flagg sold his first illustration when he was twelve. By the time he was fifteen he was on the staff of the original
Life Magazine
, published from 1889-1936 until it was purchased by Henry Luce. Other illustrators saw their jobs as stepping stones to fine art. Flagg wanted to illustrate, and did so all of his life. He’s best remembered for the World War I poster he did of Uncle Sam pointing at the viewer, saying, “I Want YOU for the U.S. Army.” 12 x 17 inches. Price: $60.

“The burger and beer
were fine in that place,” said Will, as they drove out of the Lazy Lobster’s parking lot. “But your oysters were definitely the best choice. I also could have done without everyone’s staring at us and wondering why we were there. Especially since I wasn’t sure myself. Now, where to? And what’s all this sudden interest in drugs?”

“Last spring, a boy here, the teenaged son of the owner of the hardware store where we bought the plywood yesterday, died of an overdose. The town pretty much freaked out. Everyone blamed everyone else.”

“Did they find the dealer?”

“No. But the boy’s father blamed Diana’s father. His rationale was that Dan was new in town and he helped out with one of the kids’ baseball teams. It got to the point that there was a fight—in the Lazy Lobster. The police broke it up, and after that Dan Jeffrey didn’t work at the Lobster, or at any of his other local jobs.”

“Pretty hard for the guy if he lost his jobs, especially if he wasn’t to blame for the drugs.”

“Right. And no one was ever arrested, so I’m assuming there wasn’t proof to charge him. Or anyone else.”

“Are the drugs still around?”

“Not so much. Or they’ve learned to keep it quieter. But drugs never go away, do they?”

Will grimaced. “They go underground.”

“Exactly.”

“What does all this have to do with Diana and Cordelia?”

“That’s what I want to know.” Maggie hesitated. “But I’ve run out of places to look. I can’t exactly go up to someone and ask if they’re dealing in drugs.”

“Good. Glad you see it that way.” Will reached over and patted her knee.

“It would have to be someone who could be with the kids and not arouse any suspicion, right?”

“Right. But I thought you were concerned about Diana, and about the deaths of her father and her cousin. The boy at the high school who died last spring doesn’t have anything to do with them.”

“I’m not sure, Will. I have a feeling that somehow all three deaths are connected. I just don’t know how.”

“Maggie, be realistic. It’s about,” Will glanced at his watch, “one in the afternoon. What time do those parties start tonight?”

“Seven.”

“So at seven tonight you and I will be heading out, in the middle of a hurricane, let’s not forget, to attend separate parties. Which I certainly hope don’t run late, because I’m considerably over the age of eighteen and I don’t get a real thrill out of being out in a storm with a bunch of drunk guys I don’t know. Or of thinking of you out somewhere else with some crazy cousin of Gussie’s who thinks she’s a witch. Tomorrow morning there’ll be wedding preparations, and early tomorrow afternoon your best friend in all the world—which is how you usually refer to Gussie—is marrying someone who’s a pretty nice guy. Plus, Maggie, and I do not say this lightly, the man you love, who you are rarely even in the same state with, is here. Now. With you. A situation which will exist for only another, say, forty hours.”

“Are you trying to tell me something?” Maggie asked, trying to look innocent.

“Lady, sometimes you have your priorities really messed up.”

“Stop at the hardware store again. Please. I’ll be really fast. I promise.”

Will sighed. “Let me guess. You want to get some candles in case the electricity goes out tonight.”

“I was thinking of flashlights. But candles might have to do if they’re sold out of flashlights,” she said as he pulled in. She leaned over and kissed him lightly before opening the car door.

Winslow Hardware looked as though the storm had already hit. Most of the supplies she’d seen there earlier were gone. Few customers were in the aisles. She suspected everyone was hunkering down at home before the storm. Any supplies they didn’t have now they’d do without.

Bob Silva was behind the counter. “Maggie, we’re getting to be old friends. What have you forgotten? I’m afraid we’re out of most hurricane supplies.”

“Flashlights?”

“The large ones are gone. I still have a few small ones, over there.” He pointed at a display of camping gear.

Maggie selected a light so small the entire case fit in the palm of her hand. “Are these any good? I mean, will they light a path in the dark?”

“They’re not exactly torches,” said Silva, “and I wouldn’t try to read with one, but they’ll be better than nothing. People put those in glove compartments or pockets so they can see a map or find a keyhole.”

“I’ll take two,” she said, reaching for her wallet. “And I’ve been thinking about what you said about your son’s death. Would you mind if I talked to a couple of the other boys on his baseball team?”

Silva stopped making change. “I don’t think it’ll do any good, Maggie. Either those boys don’t know anything, or they won’t talk. Ike Irons tried several times last spring. And you’re not from here. Why would they trust you?”

Maggie shrugged. “They might not. But maybe they’d talk to me
because
I’m not from here. And the situation has changed since last spring. If Dan Jeffrey was involved, they might say something now that he’s dead. I’d like to try to talk with them. If you wouldn’t mind.”

“I’ll give you stubbornness, Maggie Summer. I hope this Hurricane Tasha isn’t as persistent as you are. I hear it’s made a mess of the Connecticut shoreline. Here.” Silva reached for a pad and scribbled down two names. “These are the names of two of my boy’s best friends. If any of the kids on the team talk, they would. When do you think you might try to see them?”

“Will they be at home this afternoon?”

Silva paused. “Likely. Everyone’s home today because of the storm. Schools let out at noon. I’m going to close up here at two o’clock. Tell you what. Those boys probably wouldn’t talk with their moms and dads hovering over them. But they’re kids. They like to eat. The pizza place in town is staying open until four o’clock. I just sold my last sandbags to the guy who owns it. Let me call their moms and tell them you’re here for Gussie’s wedding. You’re a college professor, right?”

Maggie nodded.

“I’ll tell ’em you’re doing research on the effects of drugs on kids. You’d like to talk to their boys about how they feel about what happened to Tony, and you’ll buy the boys pizza if they meet you at two o’clock. No moms or dads. Just half an hour with you, and the kids get pizza.”

“Bob, that’s a fantastic idea! I love it!”

“I don’t know if it’ll work. But I’ll try. Sean Jacobs and Josh Sewall. Be at the pizza place at two o’clock and we’ll see if they show. Give me your cell number. If both families say ‘no way,’ I’ll let you know.”

“Thank you; thank you so much,” said Maggie, scribbling down her number.

“No one’s asked about Tony in months,” said Bob Silva. “You care. I don’t know why. But you do. If you can find out anything, I want to help. Let’s hope your idea works. If it doesn’t?” He shrugged. “Nothing ventured.” He turned. “I’ll make those calls now.”

Will didn’t look happy when Maggie got back to the car. “I was about ready to come in after you.”

“I got flashlights for us, for tonight,” said Maggie, showing him her purchases.

He picked one up. “Not exactly super-strength, are they?”

“They were the only lights left. A couple of hours before a hurricane you don’t have a lot of choices.”

“Not surprising,” said Will. “And now, back to Six Gables?”

“Yes,” said Maggie. “But I’m going to have to go out for a short time in about half an hour.”

“Where are we going then?” asked Will, his voice very calm. “More sleuthing?”

“Just me this time,” said Maggie. “I’m going to meet with one or two of the boys who played baseball with Tony Silva, the boy who overdosed last spring.”

“You’re
what
?” said Will. “I thought we were going to have a quiet afternoon. Resting. Spending time together. Saving our strength for the craziness of whatever this evening brings.”

“We will! I promise. You’ll just start your rest a little before I start mine. I won’t be long. The boys are only going to be at the pizza parlor for half an hour. That’s what we’ve promised their parents.”

“Who’s this ‘we’?”

“Bob Silva is calling their parents now, trying to convince them to talk with me.”

“And, let me guess. You’re bribing them with the pizza.”

“They’re teenagers. Of course I am.”

Will didn’t answer. He turned the key in the ignition, and headed the car back to the B&B.

The silence in the car would have been even denser if it hadn’t been for the winds that were picking up and swirling leaves and small branches on the roads and lawns. A few larger branches had already fallen. Will swerved around one that blocked part of the road.

When he pulled into the parking lot at Six Gables he turned to her. “Maggie, I don’t want you to go. The roads are getting worse.”

“I told you, Will. I’ve already made plans. I won’t be gone long. This is important.”

“More important than listening to me? More important than being with the man you love?”

“I love you, Will. You know that.”

“If you love me, why don’t you ever listen to me?”

“I do listen to you.”

“Then why don’t you ever take anything I say seriously? You always do exactly what you want to do, without thinking about how it might affect someone else. About how someone else might worry about you. About how someone else might have a legitimate idea sometime.”

“But I—”

“You get involved in one of these missions of yours to help someone, or to solve some crime, and there’s no stopping you. Sometimes I love you for it, Maggie. But I need you to make time in your life for me, too. I don’t want to spend my life waiting around for you to have an extra minute for me, when no one else needs you.”

He got out of the car, closed the door carefully, and went up the stairs into Six Gables, leaving Maggie alone in the front seat of Aunt Nettie’s car.