Berried to the Hilt (11 page)

Gwen had the evening
off, so I set the tables myself, lighting candles at each of them. The smell of clam chowder permeated the entire downstairs—a warm, comforting aroma—and I found myself looking forward to the reactions of my guests. I crossed my fingers the
Times
writer wasn’t a fan of Manhattan-style chowder.

Rain began to lash the windows as I put the finishing touches on the tables. I had just lit the last candle when I heard the sound of a car bumping down the driveway. I extinguished the match and hurried back through the door to the kitchen, where I peered through the window.

It was Charlene’s truck. I shrugged my jacket on, grabbed an umbrella, and hurried out to help Claudette from the truck. The older woman looked stricken. Charlene caught my eye as I reached out a hand to help her out, struggling to hold onto the umbrella with my left hand. The visit to Eli must have been a difficult one.

When we’d installed Claudette in the kitchen with a cup of tea, I drew Charlene into the dining room. “What happened?” I asked.

She shook her head. “It was so upsetting to her—she’s convinced he’ll never come back to the island again.”

“Did she ask about the cutlass?”

“He says he came by late, but no one was here, so he left it at the front desk at the inn, with a note on it.”

“I never saw it,” I said. “Who was it addressed to?”

“He said he left it for Professor Morgenstern,” Charlene said. “Oh, Eli. Why couldn’t he just have held onto the darned thing?”

“The police believe he did,” I pointed out.

“And I would too, if I didn’t know him as well as I do. The whole story sounds fishy.”

“Did he mention if he left the scabbard?”

“He says he left both the cutlass and the scabbard here.”

“Well, then, that’s something,” I said. Assuming he was telling the truth, a little voice inside me pointed out. I quickly quieted it. “If we find the scabbard …”

“I assume you’ve checked the rooms?” she asked.

“I have,” I said. “Except for Gerald’s,” I said.

“Is it still cordoned off?”

“No,” I said. “But everything has been taken to the lab. From what John told me, the investigators didn’t find anything—certainly not a scabbard.”

“It was worth asking,” she said.

I glanced at my watch. “I’d better get going. Dinner’s in ten minutes.”

“What are we having?” she asked.

“Clam chowder and pie from Little Notch Bakery.”

“Mmm,” she said. “Do you have enough?”

“You may have to skip the bread bowl, but I’ve got plenty of everything else.”

“Count me in then,” she said.

“Let’s go check on Claudette first,” I said. “And the chowder.”

Claudette was sitting where we left her, her tea untouched, tears streaking down her pale cheeks. Charlene slid into the chair beside her and gave her fleshy shoulders a quick hug. “It’ll be okay, sweetheart. We’ll have dinner together, and then you can get some sleep.”

“But Eli …”

“He’s strong, Claudette. He’ll be okay. And he’ll sleep better knowing that you’re being strong.”

My heart ached for my friend, and I was glad Charlene was on hand to comfort her. I busied myself plating salads, and was adding cherry tomatoes to each plate when John appeared at the back door.

He greeted Claudette and Charlene, his voice strained; I could tell his efforts had not gone as well as he’d hoped. I abandoned the tomatoes and crossed the kitchen to give him a hug. The smell of him and the strength of his arms around me was a comfort—and underscored once more what Claudette must be going through.

“Any luck?” I murmured into his ear, already knowing the answer.

“No,” he said.

“I’ve got some new information that might help,” I said.

He released me, and gently grasped my shoulders, looking me in the eye. “None of this information came from illegal trespassing, did it?”

“I happened to notice a few things while cleaning the rooms,” I said primly.

He cocked an eyebrow. “I thought Marge was in charge of the rooms today.”

“She was,” I said. “I was just doing a quality control check.”

He rolled his eyes.

“Let’s hear it then,” he said, pulling up a chair at the table.

Claudette had perked up a little, and was eyeing me hungrily. As I retrieved a bag of fresh boiled shrimp from the refrigerator and added them to the salads, I gave a quick rundown of the discussion of the ship’s bell—and the race to identify the boat—as well as the book and photo I’d found in Audrey’s room.

“If it was a crime of passion, why would Audrey kill him at the wreck site and scuttle the boat?” John asked.

“We don’t know what happened to the
Lorelei
,” I said, finishing the last plate and popping a torn piece of shrimp into my mouth. “And maybe they went out for some late-night research, and she confronted him then and there.”

“It’s possible,” he said. “But why wouldn’t she just bring the
Lorelei
back here? And how did she get back to land if the boat sank?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe she used the
Lorelei’
s skiff, and then just let it go when she reached land.”

“To my mind, the loss of the boat points to the folks from the university,” he said.

“I don’t think we can completely discount Audrey,” I said, “but based on what I heard today about the race to identify the shipwreck, the loss of the
Lorelei
and Illiad’s main partner gives the university a real advantage.”

“And if Carl did find the cutlass, he could have used it and ditched the murder weapon to implicate Eli.”

“But what about the fingerprints?” John asked. “Eli’s were the only ones on it.”

Claudette whimpered.

“Maybe Carl knew what he was planning to do and used gloves,” I suggested.

“Maybe he followed the
Lorelei
out there in the
Ira B
, angry because he thought Carl was disturbing the site, or trying to beat him to the punch. He boarded the
Lorelei
, killed Gerald, scuttled the boat, and then got back on his own vessel and headed back to the inn.”

“But Eli didn’t see anything other than the body,” Charlene said.

“Maybe it happened a half hour before he arrived.” I looked at John. “Would one person be enough to crew either the
Lorelei
or the
Ira B
?”

“Tying up would be a challenge, but I suppose you could manage it in a pinch.”

“But the
Lorelei
never tied up,” I pointed out. “Or if it did, it was somewhere far away from here.” I thought of Ingrid’s son, Evan. “No word from Sorenson Jr. yet?”

“None that I’ve heard,” Charlene said, glancing at the clock. “It’s six-thirty, Nat. Isn’t that the dinner hour?”

“Need a hand?” John asked.

“All I’ve got to do is get everyone drinks and a salad, and then fill the bread bowls and serve the chowder,” I said. “If you’ll take care of everyone in here and then slice the pie for the dessert plates, that would be great.”

“I’m on it,” he said as I slipped through the kitchen door into the dining room.

The atmosphere was hushed; as usual, the Iliad crew sat at one end of the dining room, and the university duo was at the other, with the
Times
writer seated at a window-side table in between. She looked up as I approached.

“What’s for dinner tonight?”

“A salad with chilled shrimp and creamy French dressing, New England clam chowder in a sourdough bread bowl, followed by blueberry or raspberry pie.”

“Perfect fare for an autumn evening,” she said, and I smiled, relieved. “Do you happen to have a Chardonnay to go with that?”

“I’ll get you a glass,” I said, glad I’d thought to tuck a few bottles into the fridge that morning.

“Wonderful,” she said. Then she gave me a grin. “I hear you’re in the middle of a political maelstrom.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. What had she heard about the murder investigation?

“The bake-off, of course,” she said. “I walked down to the store today and overheard a few conversations. All the talk is of the shipwreck and the bake-off. You wouldn’t believe what people are saying!”

“What are they saying?” I asked.

“Oh, the usual,” she said. “That you’ll be biased, of course. That people are buying you off with free lobster.”

“They’ve tried,” I said.

“I believe it. I can’t tell you the number of things I’ve been offered for favorable reviews. Trips to the Caribbean, free spa weekends …”

“I’m afraid all I can come up with is seconds on pie,” I said.

She laughed. “No need,” she said. “This is a delightful little inn you’ve created. I think you’ll be very pleased with the review.”

“Thank you so much,” I said, glad there was some good news this week. Although with Eli alone in a jail cell and his wife sobbing behind the kitchen door, the feeling of pleasure was muted. If only Adam hadn’t pulled up that timber …

“I’ll be back with your Chardonnay in a minute,” I said. “If you need anything else, please don’t hesitate to let me know.”

I checked in with the other two tables, letting them know what tonight’s menu was and writing down drink orders. Audrey’s eyes were red-rimmed, and Frank seemed distracted, his hands fidgeting with the napkin in his lap. Carl was taut as a bowstring when I asked him if he’d like a beer or a glass of wine.

“Just water, please.”

“Did you make any progress with the concretions?” I asked politely.

“Nothing identifiable,” he said. “When we get back to the lab, we may have a better chance of softening them up and seeing what’s in them. We’ll be able to X-ray them, too. I wish we had the
Sea Vixen
here!”

“How do you manage to pull artifacts up?” I asked.

“Well, when the winch is working, we use that,” he said. “Otherwise, we use inflatable lift bags.”

“How much can they carry?”

“They come in a variety of sizes, but we usually use the 100-pound bags,” he said. “You hook the artifact to the bag; then the bag inflates and floats to the surface of the water. The only worry is that they can move up too quickly and drop an artifact. You have to be very, very careful—but Molly’s an expert with them.”

“Clever,” I said, aware of Molly’s eyes on me. So the lift bag under her bed was the right size after all. Something told me she hadn’t forgotten about it.

“We should have another batch of bags coming in tomorrow; I’ve arranged to pick them up early tomorrow on Mount Desert Island.”

“I hope they get here on time,” I said, and returned to the kitchen, where John was ladling chowder into bowls.

“You want one?” he asked.

“After I’m done serving, I’d love one.” I retrieved a bottle of California Chardonnay from the fridge and dug in a drawer for the wine opener. “I realized I forgot to tell you something.”

“What?” Charlene asked, looking up from her compact; she had been touching up her mascara. At my questioning look, she said, “I’ve decided to help you with the serving.”

I grinned, knowing her intent had little to do with helping me and a lot to do with checking out the archaeologists.

“You were going to tell us something, remember?” John prompted me.

“Oh, right. Anyway, you know those lift bags they use to pull up artifacts?”

“The inflatable ones?” John asked.

I lined up three wine glasses and nodded. “Carl said they were out of them, and needed to wait for a shipment to arrive tomorrow morning, but I saw one under Molly’s bed today.”

“That doesn’t make sense,” Charlene said.

“Unless she’s doing something else with those lift bags,” John said.

I told them about the other things I had seen in Molly’s bathroom.

“Why wouldn’t she store those things on the boat?” Charlene asked.