A Zen For Murder (Mooseamuck Island Cozy Mystery Series Book 1) (7 page)

“Well, I don’t think
butt in
is the right phrase. I just want to make sure Zambuco doesn’t arrest the wrong person.”

She thought she saw Kenneth’s face soften. “That’s what Benedetti said, too.”

“Yeah, I bet. So, what did you tell him?”

“Nothing, really. Because I don’t know anything. I went over to talk about the cabin and she seemed agitated.” He hesitated, then added, “Benedetti did seem rather interested when I told him Ben had been there.”

Claire’s brows mashed together. “Ben Campbell? You don’t think Dom could suspect Ben?”
 

Kenneth shrugged. “He is a little odd.”

“He’s not mentally capable of murdering someone. He’s almost like a child and one of the sweetest people I know.” Claire’s heart constricted thinking of the sweet, lovable Ben as a murder suspect. And what was even worse, Ben’s mother Anna lay dying in hospice. He was all alone in the world, except for Norma who was Anna’s best friend and cared for Ben like he was her own.
 

What if there was some odd piece of circumstantial evidence tying Ben to the murder, and Benedetti and Zambuco tried to pin it on him? Claire couldn’t let that happen, even if it meant joining forces and ‘playing nice’ with Dominic Benedetti.

Kenneth was staring at her expectantly. “Is that all you wanted?”

“Did you see anyone else there?” Claire asked.

“Yep. Like I told Benedetti, Shane McDonough was pulling in as I pulled out.”

“So, was Benedetti heading over to talk to Shane?”

Kenneth shrugged. “I guess so. Are you going to follow him over there?”

Claire didn’t like his snooty tone, but she didn’t bother to answer. She had already turned around and was heading for her car.

***

Luck smiled upon Dom as he drove through town on his way to the
Gull View Inn
. Shane’s truck was parked at
Chowders,
offering a perfect opportunity to question Shane about his visit to Zoila, tell Sarah how much he enjoyed the ricotta pie and find out more about Ben.

It was mid-afternoon, so the diner was practically empty. Dom went straight to the counter. From his vantage point, he could see Shane fiddling with the large, stainless steel oven in the kitchen. The carpenter was on his knees, his feet out behind him. Dom took the opportunity to make note of his shoes. They had a round toe, like the footprint, but he noticed something distinctive about them—the tread was almost all worn off.

Had the footprint in the zen garden shown no treads?
 

Dom couldn't remember whether it did or not, and he had a momentary pang of uncertainty about his detecting skills.
 
Back in the day, he would have had all that information catalogued in his sharp memory. Then again, he’d also had the advantage of being able to look at the police reports to refresh that memory whenever he wanted.
 

He caught Sarah’s eye. She smiled, and came to stand on the opposite side of the counter. “Hey, Dom. Did you try the pie?”
 

“It was
delizioso
!” Dom pressed the tips of his fingers to his lips and then spread them apart in the air.

“So, you think I should start serving it here?”

“I sure would buy them if you did. In fact, I wouldn’t mind ordering one special right now.”

“I’ll get right on that.” Sarah grabbed the napkin-wrapped silverware from under the counter and placed it in front of Dom. “What can I get you?”

“Well, actually I came to talk to Shane.”

Sarah’s brows ticked up and Shane looked back over his shoulder from his position in front of the oven. “Me?”

“Yes. I just have a few questions about Zoila.”

“Oh, are you investigating the murder?” Shane pushed himself up from the floor and wiped his hands on a kitchen towel as he walked over to the counter.

Dom shook his head. “Not officially, but I figured I could look into it in case Zambuco comes to the wrong conclusion.”

“Oh, well, that’s probably a good idea,” Shane said. “I don’t really see how I can help you, though.”

“Earlier this morning, you said you’d been out at her place yesterday.”

Shane narrowed his eyes. “That’s true. Like I said, she wanted an estimate on the chimney and some of the renovations on the camp.”

“And what did the renovations entail?”

“She wanted the kitchen modernized and that old fieldstone fireplace repaired. There were some loose rocks in it.” Shane’s voice took on an edge of agitation. “What’s that got to do with her getting murdered?”

“Probably nothing,” Dom soothed. “I’m just trying to be thorough.”

Shane ran his hands through his thick, dark hair. “Oh, well, I don’t see how this can help.”

Dom smiled. “I’m just trying to get an idea of what was going on on her last day. Did she seem upset at all?”

Shane’s eyes slid to the left, his brow creasing. “Upset? What do you mean?”

“Did she act angry or on edge?”

“No. She seemed fine to me.”

Dom pressed his lips together. “Kenneth said he saw her right before you and she seemed anxious.”

Shane looked at Dom strangely. “Kenneth Barrett?”

Dom nodded. “He was there right before you. Said he passed you on the way out, actually.”

“Oh, that’s right. I do remember seeing him drive by. I didn’t realize he was coming from Zoila’s.”

“What time were you there?” Dom asked.

Shane looked down at the floor, then back up at Dom. “I’d say it was around three thirty or four o’clock.”

“Are you sure?”
 

“Yep. I don’t watch the clock or anything, but I headed over when I was done at the Kirkpatricks’, and that had to be after three.”

Dom frowned. He could have sworn Kenneth said he’d seen Shane earlier. “And you were at the Kirkpatricks’ this morning?”

Shane’s eyes got even narrower. “No. And I don’t like what you are insinuating.”

Dom shrugged. “I’m not trying to insinuate anything, just trying to figure out where everyone was this morning. So, where were you?”

Shane’s neck reddened, but he held his temper. “If you must know, I was at the Durants’, repointing the brick on their chimney.”

Dom noticed Sarah intently watching the conversation, her eyes pivoting nervously back and forth between Shane and Dom. He turned his attention to her.

“And what about Ben?”

Sarah’s eyes widened.

“What about him?” Her voice rose defensively.

“Did he deliver sandwiches to Zoila?”

“Zoila? No, she never ordered from here.”

Dom’s brows shot up. ”Really? But Kenneth saw him peddling away from Zoila’s yesterday. Did he know her?”

Sarah and Shane exchanged a glance. “I don’t think so. I mean, not any more than anyone else on the island.”

“And Ben does do deliveryies for you, right?”

“Yes, he delivers between eleven thirty and one thirty every day, after he finishes his morning tasks in the kitchen. I could hardly run the place without him, now.” Sarah’s voice rose proudly, like a teacher praising the accomplishments of a favorite student.

“Where is Ben now? Doesn’t he usually work today?”

Sarah crossed her arms over her chest. “Yes, but he called in sick.”

“Oh, really? Does he do that a lot?”

“No, but when you’re sick, you’re sick.” Sarah glared at him, and Dom wondered if he’d be getting that ricotta pie after all. “I hope you’re not implying that Ben had something to do with this. He couldn’t. He doesn’t have a mean bone in his body.”

“Oh, no,” Dom held is hand up. “I don’t have any suspects, yet. I’m just trying to get the timeline straight.”

“Well, that’s good.” Sarah relaxed. “And besides, Ben couldn’t have done it.”

“Why not?”
 

“He visits his mother every Monday, Wednesday and Friday morning. I don’t even think he was on the island when Zoila was murdered.”

Dom’s eyebrows tingled. There were quite a few inconsistencies starting to appear in this case, between what he’d heard from Sarah, Shane and Kenneth. Someone wasn’t being totally honest, but the question was … which one of them was lying, and why?

Chapter Nine

The
Gull View Inn
was the quintessential Maine bed and breakfast. A sprawling, white Victorian with green shutters, it had a white trellised archway covered in lush rose vines that led to the generous, white wrap-around porch, also covered in rose vines. It was too early in the season for blooms, but the porch was alive in green leaves.

Dom sat in one of the white, wicker rockers on that very porch, being catered to by Velma and Hazel, the two spinsters who ran the Inn.
 

It was almost pleasant. Not like the interviews he’d conducted when he was on the job, Dom thought, as he gazed out over the vast waters of the Atlantic, watching the sun dance on top of the waves. The gulls cried in the distance and ice cubes clinked in his lemonade glass as he rocked lazily.
 

“I still can’t believe it.” Velma’s white bun bobbed as she shook her head. “A murder, right here on the island.”

“I know,” Hazel replied. “It’s disturbing.”

Dom studied the two women, thinking they looked more excited than disturbed.

“You don’t think we are in danger, do you?” Velma asked.

“Oh, no,” he assured them. “We’ll find who did it soon enough. In fact, you might be able to help.”

“Us?” Hazel wrinlked her brow, her green eyes sparkling. “Oh, I don’t see how.”

“I heard the two of you had seen Zoila for a reading yesterday,” he ventured.

Hazel looked at Velma who nodded. “Yes, we did. We saw her regularly.”

“Did she say anything unusual, or seem out of sorts when you saw her yesterday?”

Hazel shrugged. “No, I don’t think so.”

“What did you talk about?”

Velma held a plate of iced gingersnaps in front of Dom, who eagerly accepted. “Well, I hope you don’t think we’re odd, but we talk to my daddy through her … you know, about running the inn.”

“You do?” Dom knew the inn had been in Velma’s family for generations and that she’d inherited it when her father passed away decades ago.

“Yes, he still gives me great advice.”

“You didn’t see anything out of the ordinary when you were there?”

The two women looked at each other and shrugged. “Nope.”

“Did she act any different than other times you’d been there, or seem agitated or nervous?”

“She did have a hard time channeling Daddy. She said her energy wasn’t in tune or something,” Velma said. “But honestly, I don’t think she was a very good psychic.”

“Why not?” Dom asked

“Well, if she was, you’d think she would have been able to see her own death and takes steps to avoid it from happening.”

Hazel pressed her lips together. “I don’t think it quite works like that, Vel. Remember how she said only certain things were revealed, and sometimes she didn’t know exactly what they meant.”

“Oh, right, like the time she thought Daddy was telling us to serve fruitcake at Christmas,” Velma said.

Hazel chuckled. “Yes! But he really meant that your cousin Chris was a fruitcake!”

Velma nodded. “We had twenty fruitcakes we had to get rid of that year.”

They all laughed, and then Velma's laughter stopped abruptly as her eyes moved to something just beyond Dom's shoulder.
 

Dom turned around, his stomach sinking when he saw Zambuco standing behind him.

“Well, isn’t this nice.” Zambuco nodded at Velma and Hazel, then narrowed his eyes at Dom.

Dom smiled. “Detective Zambuco, it’s so nice to see you. What brings you here?”

Zambuco plopped down, uninvited, in a rocker. “Probably the same thing that brought you here.”

“Me? I was just drinking lemonade and chatting with Velma and Hazel.”

“Uh-huh.” Zambuco eyed the three of them suspiciously.

“Ginger snap?” Velma handed the plate to Zambuco.

“Don’t mind if I do.” Zambuco grabbed a cookie from the plate with his giant hands and bit into it, crumbs falling on his shirt, and Dom guessed he either didn’t notice or didn’t care since he made no move to wipe them away.

“Now, Hazel, where are our manners. Let’s get the detective a lemonade,” Velma twittered.

“Lots of ice, please,” Zambuco called after Velma, who had immediately sprinted for the front door.

The three of them were silent while they waited for Velma. Dom listened to the seagulls while Zambuco’s thick fingers tapped a rhythm on the arm of his chair.

Velma returned with the drink. Zambuco looked at it and nodded.
 

“Thanks,” he said, then chugged down most of it.

“Now, what can we do for you, Detective?” Hazel’s keen eyes watched Zambuco as he bit into another cookie.

“Well, if you haven’t given all the good information to Benedetti, I’d like to know what you can tell me about Zoila Rivers.”