Shadows on a Cape Cod Wedding (18 page)

The American Base-Ball Players in England—Match Between The Red Stockings and The Athletics, Prince’s Ground, Brompton.
Wood engraving (black and white) full-page
illustration from
Harper’s Weekly
, September 12, 1874. View of field from behind catcher, where bats have been flung. “Boston” is clearly visible on the shirts of both the player at bat and one player waiting his turn. The Cincinnati Red Stockings became the first all-professional baseball club in 1869. In 1871 a pro club was organized in Boston. It hired away half the players from Cincinnati and called itself the Boston Red Stockings. That club eventually became the Boston Braves. Today’s Boston Red Sox was established in 1901. Early baseball prints are rare. 10.5 x 15.5 inches. $250.

This was not the way
Maggie had intended the weekend to go.

She wanted to follow Will into the B&B and explain. He didn’t get it. This was something that had to be done, and no one else was doing it.

Damn. It wasn’t as though no one else
could
do it. She wasn’t that egotistical. But no one else was. And there was a chance. Maybe a small chance. But still a chance, that she could help figure out who’d killed one, or two, or maybe even three people.

She refused to throw that chance away. Not even for Will.

She stalked over to her own van. After all, the hurricane wasn’t here yet. She wouldn’t be in any danger. She was only going to talk to a couple of high school kids. And she’d be back in, what? Thirty minutes. Forty-five minutes, tops.

She’d spend the rest of the weekend with Will.

If he couldn’t cope with that, then no wonder he didn’t want to be a father. He’d never be able to share her attention with a child. It was a good thing she’d found that out now.

She was pulling into the pizza parlor before she’d finished talking to herself. Only a few cars were there. Most people in Winslow were spending their afternoons at home, not ordering pizza.

A tall man came out of the restaurant carrying three pizza boxes, put them in the back seat of his car, and drove off.

Except for those who planned to nosh on pizza while waiting out the storm.

Almost two o’clock. Bob Silva hadn’t called. That should mean Sean and Josh were coming. Good for Bob; he must have been convincing. She’d been afraid the boys’ parents wouldn’t want them to come.

A man and a woman were standing at the restaurant counter, waiting for orders. Only one table was filled: a mother and pre-teen daughter starting on a veggie pizza. The girl was carefully picking the mushrooms and onions off her piece. The mom watched her for a minute, and then took the discarded vegetables and put them on her own slice. Neither of them spoke.

Would she be that way with her daughter? Had those two argued? Or were they so comfortable with each other they didn’t need to speak? Were they waiting for someone to join them? That large pizza looked like a lot for only two of them.

The restaurant door behind her opened.

“Are you Dr. Summer?” The young men who came in were both taller than Maggie; the taller of the two had an acne problem he’d tried unsuccessfully to cover with medication. The other had a tattoo of an anchor on his forearm. “The college lady?”

“I am. You’re Sean and Josh?”

They nodded. Josh was the taller one.

“What would you like on your pizza?”

They agreed on an extra-large pepperoni, meatball, and sausage pizza and large Cokes. And a large bag of barbecue-flavored Cape Cod potato chips to hold them until the pizza was ready. Maggie ordered two bags of the chips. She’d take one bag back as a peace offering for Will. For privacy, they sat at a table as far from either the cook or the mother and daughter as possible.

“Thanks for coming,” said Maggie. “I really appreciate it.”

“No problem. We were vegging out at Sean’s place anyway, since they canceled school this afternoon,” said Josh. “Free pizza’s good.”

Maggie smiled. Whatever worked. Pizza seemed appropriate under all circumstances in Winslow. “Mr. Silva told me you were friends of his son, Tony.”

The boys looked at each other. Sean shrugged.

“I’m not going to tell Mr. Silva anything you tell me. And if I tell anyone what we talk about, I won’t say who it was told me. Okay with you guys?”

Sean nodded. “It’s just that, Tony was okay and all. And we were on the same team, sure. But we weren’t exactly the closest.”

“Got it,” said Maggie. “Did Tony have any close friends?”

Sean looked at Josh and shrugged. Josh shook his head. “Not really. He wasn’t exactly the most with-it kid around.”

His dad had played baseball, and said Tony was getting better. “Could he play baseball?”

“He stunk,” said Josh bluntly. “Mr. Costa, the coach? He didn’t put him in too often. Tony struck out, and he couldn’t run fast. Part of it was, he had asthma, and he had to stop to use his inhaler. You can’t play baseball when you have to stop to breathe.”

“He was supposed to play left field. But most of the time he couldn’t catch fly balls, and when he did, he dropped them,” added Sean.

“His dad was always at the practices, yelling at him to try harder, and telling Coach to put him in, to give him another chance. But Tony was a disaster.”

Their pizza arrived and the boys lost no time digging in.

“He played baseball because his dad wanted him to?”

“For sure. He hated it. Some of the guys made fun of him for even trying.”

“Who wouldn’t hate being the reason we’d lose games?” added Josh, wiping tomato sauce off his chin. “He was an embarrassment.”

“What about the drugs? If you guys wanted to get drugs, where would you go?”

The boys looked at each other.

“I’m not asking if you use, or if any of your friends do. But in most schools, or towns, there’s a place or a person where you can go. I’m from Jersey; I don’t know Winslow. Where would someone go in this town? If a person were interested.”

Sean glanced around, as though someone else were listening. “You said no one would know what we said, right?”

“Right. I’m telling you straight. Did you know Dan Jeffrey?”

“Sure. Friend of Coach Costa. Helped with team equipment last year.”

“I heard he got killed a week ago,” said Josh.

“He did,” said Maggie. “Tony’s dad said Dan Jeffrey was the one who gave Tony the pills that killed him.”

Sean looked sideways at Josh. “Tony’s dad got that wrong. I never heard of anyone getting anything from Mr. Jeffrey. He was just a nice guy who liked baseball. He used to give us tips, sort of like a second coach. He helped me with my fast ball. He wouldn’t have done anything to hurt Tony.”

Josh shook his head. “Mr. Jeffrey used to talk to Tony about his asthma. Once I heard him tell Tony’s dad not to go so hard on him; to let Tony drop off the team and do something he was better at. Mr. Silva got real mad. He told Mr. Jeffrey to mind his own business.”

Sean said quietly. “It wasn’t Mr. Jeffrey who had pills.”

Josh elbowed Sean.

Neither of them said anything more. They both focused on their pizza. They didn’t look at Maggie or each other. No one said anything for several long minutes.

Then Maggie asked. “Who was it, then? Who had the pills?”

“We can tell her, Josh. It don’t make a difference anymore,” said Sean.

“I guess.” Josh didn’t look as sure. “But you won’t tell our parents? ’Cause Sean and me, we didn’t do pills. Honest.”

The two of them looked so young and so scared Maggie was almost certain they were telling the truth. But they knew something. “I won’t tell your parents. But I won’t lie to you. I might have to tell the police.”

“Just don’t tell our parents you heard it from us. It could have been a lot of people who told. Everybody knew,” bargained Sean.

“I promise,” said Maggie, hoping no one would else would break her promise.

Sean took a deep breath and looked around. Then he lowered his voice. “Maybe there were other places in town to get stuff, but kids I know got pills from that deaf lady who came to watch the games. Miss West.”

Silver Maple.
Chromolithograph published by Stecher Lithographic Company, Rochester, New York. c. 1890. Probably part of a sample book for use by nurseries and tree salesmen. Shows stately home, with tree in yard, elegant carriage beneath, and inset of leaf. “A very rapid growing tree, forming an open spreading head, has abundance of clean, healthy foliage and makes a fine shade tree” printed in small letters at bottom that could easily be matted over. Silver maples are common in the northeast United States; their leaves turn yellow in the fall. They do, however, have the disadvantages of shallow root systems and brittle wood, so are vulnerable in storms. 5.5 x 8.5 inches. $50.

Maggie drove the boys
back to Sean’s house through increasingly heavy rain. The wind was stronger, too. In the short time they’d been at the restaurant gusts had turned to gales. Maggie’s van rocked as she turned one sharp corner.

Hurricane Tasha might not have reached the Cape yet; forecasts said major winds wouldn’t arrive for hours yet. But she was definitely sending warnings that she was on her way.

The boys pointed at branches that had already fallen and excitedly speculated about how high the surf might get and whether anyone they knew had wetsuits and surfboards they could borrow.

Maggie was relieved when they reached Sean’s house and the boys ran for cover. Let their parents warn them of hurricane dangers. She’d have to cope with young people’s sense of invulnerability soon enough. Listening to them she’d been reminded of how fearless kids could be. And how hungry. In twenty minutes the boys had consumed an entire extra-large pizza, plus chips and large sodas. She was taking this as a personal warning that her food budget might have to change drastically in the near future.

She turned the van carefully, managing to miss a garbage can rolling erratically down the street. Luckily, the Six Gables Inn was only a couple of miles away.

Had Cordelia really been the kids’ source for drugs? Or at least one source, she told herself; there might have been another. Thinking about Cordelia as a drug dealer was totally changing the way she looked at Winslow, and the people who lived here.

Who would’ve suspected that the quiet deaf woman who took long walks along the beach and streets of Winslow, who stopped to watch children play, who smiled at everyone and never spoke was also the source of illegal pharmaceutical medications?

She tried to put it all together.

Those boxes Cordelia received from all over the country. And from other countries, the postmistress had said. She’d specifically mentioned Canada, Maggie was sure. Small quantities of prescription medications could be hidden and shipped, perhaps mixed in with the supplies she received to make her dolls. And those eBay sales she made, and the packages she sent out. Were they dolls, or was she sending drugs, too?

Gussie’d wondered how Cordelia managed to pay the high taxes on her house. Perhaps selling drugs had solved that problem.

A strong gust of wind sent the van shimmying across the road.

Maggie turned her windshield wipers on high and refocused on getting back to Six Gables. Rain was now hitting the van from all directions. The sky had darkened enough so she not only turned her headlights on because it was the law, but because she needed them.

If this was the prequel to the hurricane, what would tonight be like?

Maybe Sheila would come to her senses and cancel the party. It would be crazy to go out in weather like this.

Luckily, not many other people were stupid enough to be on the roads. Leaves that had been on the trees this morning now filled the air like rain. Or were they blowing up from the ground? Wherever they’d come from, they were sticking to the windshield. The wipers couldn’t get them all off.

Maggie slowed down even more.

Should she stop and remove the leaves? Or would stopping mean more leaves would get on the van?

She kept going, but even slower.

She crossed the downtown area. Main Street was empty. None of the stores looked open. Although if one were, she couldn’t tell and couldn’t take the time to look. No cars were parked on the street, which was beginning to flood. Leaves must be plugging storm drains. That happened this time of year in New Jersey. The center of Winslow looked like the set of a science fiction movie after all the humans had been vaporized. Prime for a Martian takeover.

Maggie smirked at her own fantasy. Those Martians had better be wearing heavy-duty L.L. Bean slickers, or they’d be mighty wet when they arrived to take charge. She made her way around the town Green and headed north.

Not far now. She slowed down even more. She didn’t want to miss the entrance. Thank goodness there were no other cars on the road.

Finally. There it was. She turned into the driveway with relief.

A police car was parked in front of the entrance to Six Gables.

Donovan’s Humble-bee and Great Humble-bee.
Delicate hand-colored steel engraving (1843) from Sir William Jardine’s forty-volume
Naturalist Library
, published by W.H. Lizar of Edinburgh. As with other engravings in the volumes, the subjects are carefully and vibrantly hand-colored; backgrounds are uncolored. The humble, or bumble, bee, is black with broad bands of yellow or orange. Humble bees often nest in the ground. Each nest has a queen, drones, and workers. 3.75 x 6 inches. Light foxing. Price: $50.

What business did
the Winslow Police Department have at the B&B?

Maggie’s thoughts were almost drowned out by the rain pounding on the van roof.

Why hadn’t she thought to bring a raincoat to the Cape? The door to Six Gables was only twenty steps away, but she’d be soaked by the time she got inside.

The rain and wind weren’t easing up. She hoped Will’s mood had. She grabbed the bag of potato chips she’d bought for him, opened the van door, and ran, splashing through puddles already an inch deep that filled her sneakers with frigid water. Sodden leaves made the driveway treacherous. By the time she reached the ramp to the porch her hair was soaked, and she could practically feel her favorite wool sweater shrinking as it clung to the dripping turtleneck beneath it.

Cold, drenched, and focused on thoughts of Will, hair dryers, and towels, she opened the door to the B&B. All four people standing in the lobby turned to look at her.

“Here you are,” said Mrs. Decker. “Finally. We were wondering when you’d get back. It’s blowing a gale out there.”

“It’s dreadful. I got here as soon as I could.” Maggie stood, dripping, on the mat inside the door. Will was in back of two other women, one of whom she didn’t recognize. He wasn’t smiling. “I’m sorry. I should have called, Will. But I got back as soon as I could.” She shook herself a little and carefully stepped across the worn oriental carpet to hand him the bag of barbecued potato chips covered with beads of rain. “Here; these are for you.” She wanted to add: a peace offering. But she wouldn’t say that in front of the others.

“I’m so pleased to meet you dear,” said an elegantly coiffed gray-haired woman she hadn’t met, putting out her hand. Maggie knew immediately who she must be.

“You must be Jim’s mother, Mrs. Dryden,” she said, taking the woman’s hand in her damp one. “Gussie told me you’d be staying here. I’m so glad to finally meet you. I’ve heard so much about you.”

“You must call me Lily,” she said. “Gussie and Jim said you and your friend,” she glanced at Will, “were staying here. Jim took me to see their new house, and then brought me here to rest and dress for the party tonight. Although I’m not sure the party’s going to happen. There were telephone calls going back and forth when he dropped me off. A number of guests who’d planned to come to Winslow tonight have wisely decided not to travel until tomorrow morning.”

So that left the questions no one had answered. Why was Annie Irons here? And why was a police car parked out front?

Maggie turned in her direction. “I didn’t think I’d be seeing you again so soon, Annie.” Mrs. Irons was wearing a Burberry trench coat. Maggie’d coveted one just like it at the Short Hills Mall in September, but its price tag had been higher than her mortgage payment.

“My husband heard the governor is probably going to ask all non-essential drivers to stay home tonight. The roads are getting more treacherous every hour, and Hurricane Tasha’s not due to hit here full force until early evening,” said Annie.

Yes? So the Winslow Chief of Police sent his wife to deliver a weather bulletin? That seemed unlikely. But no one else was here. She must have come in the police car.

“The car out front is yours, then?”

She nodded. “Ike will kill me when he finds I borrowed one of the station cars, but I enjoyed our talk this morning so much I thought maybe we could get together this afternoon to chat a little more. But your friend Will told me you’d gone out, and now the storm is so much worse. If the party does go on tonight, perhaps I could get Ike to pick you ladies up in the patrol car when he takes me? Police cars are heavy, and wouldn’t skid as easily on the leaves.”

“Why, that would be lovely, Annie; wouldn’t it, Maggie?” said Lily. “Wouldn’t it be fun to have a police escort?”

“Will’s given me your telephone number, so we can be in touch. We should be hearing from the governor’s office very soon now,” said Annie. “In the meantime I’d better get the car back to the station. Maybe I’ll see you later. For sure, I’ll see you all tomorrow at the big event!” She waved, pulled her coat’s hood over her head, and left.

Mrs. Decker shook her head. “Maggie, there’s a hair dryer in your room. Can I get you a cup of tea, or anything else right now? You need to get out of those wet things.”

Maggie shook her head. “Thank you, but no tea. I want to dry off, and maybe take a hot shower.”

“You’d better do that soon, dear. If we lose power, we lose hot water, too, and with that Hurricane Tasha getting closer all the time, you never know,” advised Mrs. Decker. “I’ll be downstairs if any of you need anything. And I’ll have sandwiches, and if the power holds, hot soup in the dining room for supper at six o’clock. No extra charge. A hurricane calls for special measures. I’m guessing none of you will be going out for dinner. I just checked. All the restaurants in town have closed.”

“You’re a wonderful hostess, Mrs. Decker,” said Lily. “I’m going to lie down and maybe turn the Weather Channel on in my room. I was up very late last night flying in, and tomorrow is a big day. I wouldn’t mind at all if this to-do tonight were cancelled, to tell the truth.” She went ahead up the stairs.

Maggie put her hand out for Will’s. “Coming?”

Will hesitated.

“We need to talk. Upstairs?”

Will nodded.

Behind their closed door she added, “Give me five minutes to shower and warm up. Then we’ll talk,” she promised. “And I apologize.”

“May I eat the chips in the meantime?” he asked, holding the bag out, “since you’re setting the agenda for the next hour or so?”

“Of course,” she agreed, stripping off her wet clothes and stretching the wet sweater out as best she could on a towel on the floor. “And I hope you’ll forgive me for being such an idiot earlier. And I do have news! That pizza was worth a lot more than its weight in information. But first I desperately need that hot shower!”

By the time Maggie rejoined him, one towel wrapped around her head and one around her body, Will’d finished about a third of the potato chips.

“Cape Cod does wonderfully well by chips,” he commented, taking another handful. “But we still need to talk.”

“Will, I’m sorry.”

“So am I. But I’m serious about not liking what happened. First, though, I know you’re dying to tell me your news, so go ahead. Talk. What did you find out that was so important?”

“Bottom line? The boys talked. They told me they’d never bought drugs.”

“Of course they hadn’t,” Will agreed. “That’s your news? I could have told you that before you left.”

“But, if they’d wanted to, guess who they said they could have gone to?”

“Haven’t a clue. The Wizard of Oz. Plus, I only know a handful of people in Winslow, and if you say it’s Gussie, I will be genuinely surprised.”

“Very funny. No, not Gussie. But almost as strange. They said it was Cordelia.”

“The deaf woman who was shot yesterday morning?”

“That’s what they said.”

Will was silent for a moment. “You’re right. That puts an entirely different light on her murder. And on Diana’s father’s, too.”

“Diana told me she’d seen guns in Cordelia’s room. Now the reason for the guns makes more sense. But when the police searched the house they must not have found drugs. And if they found the guns, no one mentioned them.”

“If the guns were registered, maybe they didn’t seem important at the time. Or maybe they were somewhere the police didn’t look. When they searched the house the first time they were looking for things related to Dan Jeffrey, weren’t they? Not related to Cordelia.”

“I’d think they’d have paid attention to several guns. Especially since Dan Jeffrey had been shot. And they’d definitely have noticed if they’d found drugs.”

“True. So if the boys were right, and Cordelia was dealing, then either she’d stopped, she had a really good hiding place, or her inventory was temporarily out.”

“That would have been almost too convenient,” Maggie said. “But even if Cordelia was dealing drugs, it doesn’t tell us who killed her. Or who killed Dan Jeffrey.”

“No. But it puts her in a position to have had some unsavory colleagues. She might have owed money to her supplier. Or maybe one of her usual customers wanted drugs, and for some reason she couldn’t get them for him. Anything to do with drugs can get nasty and violent quickly. It’s not a gentlemanly sort of crime. And because of that, now that you’ve stumbled onto something critical to these murders, you definitely have to tell the police, and step away. Because when you’re talking drug violence you’re in over your head.” Will reached over and drew her next to him. “And much as sometimes you drive me totally crazy, I do love that head of yours, Maggie Summer. I want it to stay intact, and attached to these beautiful shoulders.” He gently pulled the towel away from her hair, which fell, damp and wavy, down her back. He took one strand and twisted it around his fingers, and then bent down and kissed her neck. “I love the way you stride in, wanting to conquer the world and make everything right. But, truthfully, an hour ago I was ready to strangle you. There are times it’s best to leave law enforcement to the professionals.”

“Yes, Will,” Maggie said, looking into his eyes, which looked very blue.

“I don’t want to spend the rest of my life worried about what trouble you’re getting yourself into. If I wanted to marry a police­woman or a detective, I’d ask my friend Nick to introduce me to one of his colleagues. But I want to marry you, Maggie Summer. And I want us to have a wonderful, long life together.” Will reached down and picked up Maggie’s right hand and kissed the R-E-G-A-R-D ring he’d given her.

Maggie’s eyes opened wide and she leaned back slightly. For a moment she didn’t say anything. “Are you…”

“I was going to buy you an official engagement ring, but then I decided it would be more fun for us to buy one together. Is that horribly unromantic?”

Maggie stood up, holding the towel around her. “Will Brewer. Did you just propose to me?”

“I hope so. Would you like me to try again? I haven’t had a lot of practice.”

“No, no. I mean…”

“All you have to do is say ‘yes;’ it’s a one-syllable word. You’re usually good with words.”

“I know.” Maggie moved from the bed.

Will just looked at her. “You’re not going to say yes.”

“I love you. I want to say ‘yes.’”

“Then?”

“I have to tell you something first.”

“I know, I know. It’s complicated. You live in New Jersey. I live in Maine. There’s Aunt Nettie. I know we can’t get married right away. But we’ll work things out. We’ll make it work! We love each other, Maggie!”

“We do. But it’s none of those things. It’s something else.” Maggie sat on the bed, but not next to him. “Will, I was going to tell you this weekend. I still want to be a mother. I’ve applied to Our World, Our Children to adopt a child. My home study should be finished by Christmas. You remember—the agency we did the benefit for last spring.”

It was Will’s turn to be silent.

“You liked the people there, Will.”

“They were nice people. But a child, Maggie. That’s a lifetime responsibility. And you know how I feel about that.”

“It’s important to me. And if I wait much longer, I’ll be too old.”

“How could you do that without talking to me? How could you plan the rest of your life without discussing it with the man you say you love?” Will walked over to the window. He stood for a few minutes, looking out at the darkness, his hands clenched. “I’m sorry, Maggie. I can’t change that much. I’ve taken responsibility for Aunt Nettie. I’ve proposed to you. But I can’t take on parenthood. I can’t. And you can’t expect me to. I’ve never pretended I could do that.”

“In relationships everyone has to give up something; everyone has to change.”

He turned and looked at her. “Hell, Maggie. Don’t tell me I can’t change. In the past year I’ve changed almost everything in my life! I’ve given up my house. I’ve moved to Maine. I’ve changed the way I do business. I’ve taken on responsibility for Aunt Nettie. I’ve just proposed to the second person in my life I’ve ever loved. Don’t tell me I won’t change! What are you prepared to give up, Maggie? What are you prepared to change?”

Maggie didn’t answer.

“Think about it, then. Because it sounds to me as though you don’t want to change much in your life at all. Nothing that has anything to do with me, anyway.”