Clammed Up: A Maine Clambake Mystery Part 18

Even though I'd been expecting this, it hit me with such force I couldn't move. I sat in my mother's twelve-year-old Buick in a public parking lot and willed myself to breathe.

"Bob, as I've explained before, the five closed days are just one of many variables in the business plan. For example, if we were to exceed my very conservative revenue projections, we could absorb several more closed days and still make the agreed upon loan payments over the summer." Actually, my revenue projections hadn't been conservative at all, but I was fighting for my family's property and livelihood.

"This loan has already been renegotiated twice. I don't see my superiors going for a third time."

"Please, Bob. You know we're an important local business, part of what makes Busman's Harbor a tourist destination. Shutting us down at the start of the summer season will be a blow to the entire community."

He was silent for a moment, and I thought I had him at least reconsidering.

"I have a pretty good source in the police department," Bob said.

Of course he did. Everyone in town must be friends with at least one blabbermouth cop.

"I understand there may be a fugitive hiding on Morrow Island. I don't think you'll be allowed to open until he's captured and until arrests have been made for the murder and arson. If you knew when you were going to open, I could argue with the loan committee on your behalf, but as things stand-"

"Give me until tomorrow, Bob. Please. Just give me until tomorrow. If someone's arrested, I'll give you a new business plan. If I can't do that, give me the time to find a buyer."

"You think between now and tomorrow you can find a full-price buyer for your properties?" He sounded surprised. Evidently Tony hadn't told Bob he was also talking directly to us.

"I'm certain of it." Not full price perhaps, but enough to pay off the loan.

He whistled. "Tell you what. It's Friday and already late afternoon in Europe. No one will probably answer the telephone at HQ anyway. You have the weekend. Either the police make an arrest and you bring me a new business plan by first thing Monday morning or you bring me a confirmed offer from a potential buyer."

"Thank you. You won't regret it."

And he wouldn't regret it, though I feared very much that I would.

I b.u.mped down the barely paved road toward Quentin Tupper's house on Westclaw Point and turned into his driveway. No sign of his wooden-sided estate wagon. Oh, no. What if he's gone back to New York? I had no way to reach him there.

I sat in my car writing a note on the back of an oil change receipt when Quentin pulled his car up behind me. Thank goodness.

"Ho, there!" he called.

I jumped out of Mom's car. I didn't have time for pleasantries. "I think you should invest in my business."

Quentin's eyebrows flew up toward his sandy hairline. He put his hand on my upper arm and said gently, "I've explained. I don't get involved."

"Then if you don't want a part of my business, you should buy Morrow Island." If I couldn't save the business, I could at least get two buyers bidding against each other for the island and negotiate the best deal for my mother.

"I think you'd better come inside." He led me into the sleek interior of his house, sat me down at his gla.s.s dining table, and brought me an ice water without my asking. "Julia, I have no interest in anyone owning Morrow Island but you and your family."

"But what if we can't hold onto it? I'm doing everything I can, but I've run out of time. Do you want Tony Poitras to build a resort over there with helicopters coming and going or do you want peace and quiet?"

"How much has Tony offered you?"

"I'd rather you just make an offer." I wasn't going to tell him Tony's lowball number.

"Well, I'm not going to buy your island, so it won't hurt you to tell me how much Tony bid."

"One point five million. That's a quarter of the amount Ray Wilson mentioned to one of my employees less than a month ago."

Quentin folded his arms across his chest. "So if you sell to Tony now, instead of letting the bank take it, you can protect some of your a.s.sets?"

"My mother's house in the harbor. And the Jacquie II." I took a big swig of the ice water, but my throat was still parched. I couldn't take my eyes off Quentin. This had to work. What would he do?

"Am I correct in believing that you don't care who gets the island, you just want a higher bid to go back to Poitras with?"

"Yes," I admitted. If we lost the island, what did I care who got it?

"I won't be your shill, Julia."

My heart sunk.

"But you do have leverage. Remember what I told you. Tony needs very specific things. He needs to be out of cell range, yet close enough to civilization he can get his helicopters to the island easily. He needs water, electricity, and waste disposal. Given all the regulations about building on these islands, he probably needs an existing structure with a footprint big enough to create his resort. And he needs to be sole owner of the island. There are thousands of islands in Maine, but once you apply all those criteria, his choices are much more limited. Use that knowledge and go back to him with a strong counteroffer. I know you can do it."

The weight of the responsibility bore down on me physically. I heard what Quentin said, but I was still in a very weak position. Tony knew I was out of time. "You're going to end up with a fancy resort across the water from you." I stood to go.

Quentin got up, too, picking his car keys off the table. He'd have to move his antique Woodie so I could get out. "I'll take that chance. Good luck."

I certainly needed it.

Chapter 45.

I drove back to the harbor, put Mom's car in her garage, and walked down to our ticket kiosk to raise Etienne on the radio. Tony told me he'd seen Etienne and Gabrielle in the harbor on the night of the murder. What were they doing here? And much more important, why had Etienne lied repeatedly about their whereabouts that night?

Etienne's voice was weary when he answered. "Could you come out to the island? I don't want to leave her." I knew he meant Gabrielle. I a.s.sured him that I understood and would be out as soon as I could.

The problem was I didn't have a way to get there. I thought about who could take me. Sonny's dad would surely be out lobstering as would most of the working lobster-and fishermen in the harbor. I made a mental inventory of everyone I knew who might lend me a boat and kept coming back to one. On the one hand, he was the last person I wanted to see. On the other, I really needed to face up to him. Chris.

I headed over to the marina.

Neither his cab nor his landscaping truck were in the parking lot, but that didn't surprise me. During the part of the year when he lived on his boat he had to rent s.p.a.ce for his vehicles a fair walk away. For all I knew, the state police still had the cab.

"Ahoy!" I stood on the dock and tried to hale Chris. I'd never been on the Dark Lady and it would be impolite to board without an invitation. "Ahoy!"

Chris emerged on deck looking disheveled. And by disheveled, I meant dreamy. His shirt was off, his feet were bare, and he wore only a pair of dress pants.

I registered that. Pants, not jeans.

He had a s.e.xy two-day growth of beard.

"Oh, hi. This isn't a great time." He held up his razor to indicate he'd been about to shave, but I had a feeling he wasn't referring to a simple grooming task.

"That's okay. This won't take long." I jumped onto the Dark Lady, uninvited.

"Okay." Chris seemed surprised by my boldness.

Frankly, so was I. "I need to borrow your dinghy."

He looked relieved, like-was that all I wanted? "Where're you headed?"

"Morrow. I need to talk to Etienne and he can't come to town right now."

"That's a long way to go in my dinghy."

He was right. It was barely more than a rubber raft, but it had a hard bottom and an outboard motor. I knew it would get me there.

Chris handed me the key to unlock the little boat from the dock. "All set? 'Cause I'm kinda in the middle of something."

"You said you would help me keep the clambake open any way you could."

He nodded. "Yes, of course."

"But then you didn't tell me you were outside Gleason's Hardware the morning Ray Wilson was killed." I tried to keep the hurt, anger, and accusation out of my voice.

Chris gestured for me to take a seat on the banquette in the stern. He sat just around the corner, so close our knees were practically touching. Between my anger at him, my fear about where this conversation might be going, and his nearness to me, my heart beat so hard I was afraid he could see it thumping in my chest.

"So you know," he said.

"Michaela told me. She told Binder, too."

Chris stared down at his bare, tanned feet. "Lieutenant Binder and I have had several conversations about my movements that night. I'm certain we'll have many more."

"Why were you outside Gleason's?"

Chris still didn't look up at me. "I dropped Wilson at the Lighthouse Inn, just like I told you. As soon as he got out, I opened up my cab to inspect where he'd been sick. I was still in the Lighthouse parking lot when he came stumbling back out the side door of the inn. He started yelling into his cell phone, sounding demented. He hurried up toward Main Street.

"I followed him. At first I was afraid he'd hurt himself. He was in no condition to be wandering around town at almost one-thirty in the morning. But then, as he continued screaming into the phone, I started to be afraid he'd hurt someone else."

Chris finally looked into my eyes. He was so close that if I moved my knee a fraction of an inch, we'd touch. Hurt and angry as I was with him, I still longed to cross that chasm.

"If you've talked to Michaela, you know what happened next," Chris went on, seemingly unaware of my heart rate or my desire to touch him. "Wilson charged up the street toward Sarah Halsey's apartment. I waited outside. A couple minutes later, Sarah came down the stairs and let them both into Gleason's. I was still worried. Obviously they had private business. I didn't want to interrupt, but they were in a place filled with all kinds of potentially dangerous weapons and he sounded like he was off his rocker. So I waited to see what would happen. Then the bride came along and banged on the front door of Gleason's. Ray let her in and the three of them were yelling at one another. It was so loud, I could hear it from across the street. Not words, mind you. But noise."

So far, everything he'd told me agreed 100 percent with what Michaela and Sarah had said. "Michaela said you followed her and Ray back to the Lighthouse. And later, when she looked out the window of her room at the Snuggles, you were there, across the street."

"Wilson had calmed down by the time they left Gleason's. Michaela seemed to have the situation under control, but I didn't want to take the chance. I followed them to the Lighthouse. They split up in the parking lot and he went to get something out of his car. I followed Michaela to the Snuggles to make sure she got back okay. There was no one around and I didn't like the idea of her walking alone. Then I went back to get my cab. Wilson was nowhere to be seen. His car was there, and I a.s.sumed he'd gone inside."

Chris caught the look on my face and grimaced. "I know, bad a.s.sumption. Anyway, then I drove over here, got cleaning supplies, and cleaned up the blood and the puke, just like I told you."

But I still didn't understand why he hadn't explained all that in the first place. Especially since he had told me about the blood in the cab. "Why would you hide this from me? I thought we were in this together."

"I'm sorry. I didn't want to make things worse for you by telling you anymore about that night."

Worse for me? I was already in it up to my neck.

Chris took my hands in his. "This really isn't a good time. I have something I have to take care of. But there's one more thing I want to say. This is a small town. It's been a long time since you've lived here. Sometimes when two people are seen together a lot, people misunderstand the nature of the relationship. Town gossip says there's more than there is. I don't want you to be caught up in that."

Just like that, he broke my heart.

Chapter 46.

Somehow I stumbled my way off the Dark Lady and unlocked the dinghy. Chris's message was clear. Town gossips thought there was something between him and me. And they were wrong. There was nothing between us.

I sat in the little boat and took a deep breath, trying to steady myself and calm my racing mind. My pulse slowed just enough for me to start the motor and head out into the harbor.

The boat was small and the ride b.u.mpy. Once I got out beyond the mouth of the harbor, I had to fight for control, but from there the trip was short and soon I pulled up to our dock.

"Etienne! Gabrielle! I'm here." I tied up the dinghy and continued to call out. Etienne knew I was coming. Why didn't he come out to greet me?

I knocked on the screen door of their house. The sound echoed throughout the place. No answering call. No sign of anyone at all. The door was unlocked which was typical when Etienne and Gabrielle were on the island alone. Clambake guests had been known to wander into the house, use the facilities, and otherwise make themselves at home, so the door was usually secured when customers were on the island, but otherwise there was little point. At least, it had seemed that way until I'd opened the doors to Windsholme and found Ray Wilson's body hanging from the staircase. Could it have been just one week ago?

"h.e.l.lo!" I walked through the empty house. Gabrielle kept an immaculate home, but there were signs of life interrupted. Her knitting sat next to her chair, a business magazine, its spine splayed open, was next to Etienne's. I left the house, annoyed and worried. Etienne knew I was coming.

The next place to check was the pavilion and commercial kitchen. We weren't open for business today, probably never would be again, but I had faith in Etienne and Gabrielle's ability to keep busy-cleaning, fixing, improving. Neither of them were built for sitting still, and I imagined the forced idleness must have been driving them crazy. I called around the kitchen and dining area, but found no indication they were there or had been.

A breeze came in across the ocean as I walked out toward the lawn and I realized how preternaturally still the island seemed. How quiet. I walked over to Gabrielle's vegetable garden, which was br.i.m.m.i.n.g with bright green lettuce and peas hanging from their vines, needing to be picked. But no Gabrielle. No Etienne.

I hurried back to the playing fields and looked up at Windsholme. A shadow crossed a fourth floor window, the one in the center where Lieutenant Binder and I had found the clothing. Was it someone, or merely the reflection of the sun dancing on the wavy, old gla.s.s? That was the explanation behind most of the ghost sightings on Morrow Island.

"Etienne, I'm here!" I yelled up the lawn. If he was inside Windsholme, I wanted him to come out to greet me. But nothing happened.

I walked slowly toward the big front porch. "Etienne! Etienne!" I steeled myself to open the front doors, remembering that last time I'd been in the house just the day before. I'd walked through its entirety with Binder and felt completely safe . . . until we found the room with the neatly folded clothes. Then my family's property had again become alien. I reached for the doork.n.o.b and started to turn it.

"Julia!"

I jumped a mile. "Geez, Etienne. You scared me to death."

He'd come around the side of Windsholme, but there was no need to ask where he'd been. He was wearing swim trunks and carrying a beach towel. His chest was bare, revealing his slight potbelly and powerful shoulders. Water dripped steadily from his trunks onto the gra.s.s.

"We need to talk." How many times, in how many ways had I said that to someone over the last six days?

"Indeed."

He climbed the porch and we each sat in one of the wooden rockers.

"Where's Gabrielle?" I asked.