Berried to the Hilt (14 page)

“She said he was spending nights out of the house,” I said, “but her husband told her not to pry.”

John shook his head. “With Evan’s history? They’re nuts not to pry. Has she gone through his things?”

I nodded. “She went through everything—and while I was there, we looked again—but there was nothing to find. Not a name, not a phone number—nothing.”

“A dead end, then,” he said, grimacing.

“Looks like it,” I said. “I only found out one thing.”

“That’s something, at least.”

“It’s not much, though. She told me Evan was on the outs with Adam over the wreck, which we knew—but she did say that the night he disappeared, he was going to see a friend named Pete,” I said as we walked down the well-trodden path to the carriage house. I glanced down at the water; the only boats there belonged to John and me. I hoped Carl and Molly were having luck getting the ship’s bell up.

“Pete,” John said as he opened the carriage house door. “Pretty common name, unfortunately. But it’s something.”

I crossed the small space and sank down on the couch. “She also told me he was looking for a big payoff from the wreck—and was upset about something the last day or two before he disappeared.”

“Interesting,” John said.

“That’s what I thought. Do you think maybe Evan killed Gerald for reneging on the deal?”

“And took the boat?”

“Maybe,” John said. “But what would he do with it?”

“Escape to the Caribbean and sell it?” I said. “I don’t know.”

“It’s possible,” John said. “But if he did, how did the cutlass end up in the bushes by the pier?”

I sank back into the couch cushions. “That is a problem, isn’t it?”

“And it still doesn’t explain what happened to Adam,” he said.

“Coincidence?” I said, knowing I was reaching.

“Too bad we can’t ask Adam,” he said.

“That’s right. He’s got amnesia.”

“Does he at least remember who he was going to see?” John asked.

“Gwen didn’t say,” I said, feeling a glimmer of hope. “I’ve been meaning to call and check on Adam anyway; why don’t I see if I can find out?”

“It’s better than nothing,” John said. “I’ll call and see if there’s any change in the murder investigation.”

“Iliad is getting a sonar rig,” I said, “so if the
Lorelei
is anywhere near the wreck, we’ll know.”

“That would be one mystery solved, at least,” he said.

“Unfortunately, it doesn’t help Eleazer.”

“Or Evan—if he’s aboard,” John pointed out.

I shivered at the thought.

_____

The rest of the afternoon and evening were taken up by dinner preparations and clean-up. With Gwen off the island, the work fell to John and me. Everyone was cordial at dinner—the Iliad crowd looked quite cheerful despite the demise of their leader, and I was guessing it was due to the impending arrival of a new research vessel. Even Audrey was looking a little less morose. Was she a killer? I wondered as I refilled water glasses.

I wondered the same of Carl. “Any lift bags?” I asked as I picked up his salad plate.

“Not yet,” Carl said. “I can’t believe the shipment didn’t arrive. They sent a duplicate order out today, though; should be here first thing tomorrow.”

I was tempted to tell them Iliad’s news, but decided against it; I had enough trouble without stirring up more.

The
Times
writer was dining on the mainland tonight, so it was a small group for dinner. Charlene had called to tell me Claudette was staying home to keep her cats company, so once the guests went to their rooms, John lit a fire in the carriage house fireplace and the two of us snuggled in front of it, each with a glass of red wine.

As I leaned into him, he toyed with a strand of my hair. “We probably need to set a date, you know.”

“I know,” I said. “It’s just been so busy lately.”

“It should slow down soon,” he said, stroking my arm. “What do you think of a February wedding?”

“Cold,” I said.

“True,” he said. “But the inn will be dead—and the island will be a winter wonderland.”

“We’d have time to take a honeymoon,” I said.

“Maybe the Caribbean?” he said.

As much as I loved Maine, the Texas girl in me still longed for the sun in the dark months of winter. “If we can afford it,” I said.

“We may have a bit more income soon,” he said.

I sat up and turned to look at him. “What do you mean?”

“Apparently someone who’s big in the New York art world saw one of my sculptures at a friend’s house in Blue Nose,” he said. “She wants to see a portfolio.”

“John, that’s wonderful! Your work might be in a New York gallery?”

“Looks like it,” he said. “The gallery owner called me a couple of days ago. I told her I’d send her my portfolio next week.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” I asked.

“With everything going on with Eleazer … the time just never seemed right,” he said, shrugging.

“When will you know?”

“I’ve got to get her the portfolio first, Nat,” he said.

“So you might be able to devote all your time to sculpture.”

“And the inn,” he said, running his calloused fingers down my cheek and turning my face toward him. “And you.”

A February wedding, an opportunity for John to do the work he loved … two bright spots in the clouds. John’s lips were warm on mine, and we sank back into the couch together, the fire crackling at our feet, our arms around each other, the worries we carried left outside—at least for a little while.

_____

It was dark when I woke up. I was disoriented for a moment, then realized we were in the carriage house, John stretched out beside me, breathing evenly. A sliver of moon peeped through the window, and I was about to turn over and go back to sleep when I realized I had forgotten to take the bacon and cranberry bread out of the freezer.

An innkeeper’s work is never done.

I dragged myself out of bed and dressed quickly, borrowing one of John’s coats from the hook by the door before hurrying up the walk to the inn. I filled the sink with cold water and dropped in the bacon, then pulled my last loaf of cranberry nut bread from the freezer and set it on the counter. Then I turned off the light and headed for the kitchen door.

As I pulled the door shut behind me, a light flashed on the water near the shore, and the low purr of a motor reached my ears. I paused, curious who would be out in the middle of the night. The light grew closer as I stood on the porch step, and the little boat—I couldn’t tell what it was—came right up to the inn’s dock.

I made my way down the pathway as the engine cut off; I could hear the clunk of the boat against the bumpers. The slender beam of a flashlight illuminated little; I could make out a dark form crouched near the boat, tying it up to the dock. I was only a few yards away now, squinting to make out who was paying the inn a middle-of-the-night visit. Goosebumps crawled up my arms. I glanced up at the carriage house, wishing John was with me, and took another blind step forward, right into a hole.

The breath whooshed out of me as I fell, hitting the ground with a grunt. The flashlight bounced toward me; I heard a muttered oath, and then something hard crashed into my skull.

A stray thought flashed through my mind—
I need to invest in a helmet
. Then the sliver of moon dissolved into darkness, and everything went black.

It was the shaking
that woke me.

I sat up slowly, my head throbbing, my whole body shivering violently. The sky was slate-colored, with a milky rim over the mountains on the mainland—the moon was long gone.

And so were the boat and the flashlight.

I staggered to my feet, struggling to control the spasms in my muscles, and grabbed with numb fingers at the lapels of John’s coat. The short path up to the carriage house seemed to last for miles; when I finally got to the door, my fingers wouldn’t close around the knob. After the fourth try, I got the door open. By the time I pushed it shut, John was in the bedroom doorway.

“Natalie!” He closed the distance between us in a heartbeat. “What happened?” He touched my face. “You’re ice cold.”

“I saw a boat,” I rasped, my body still vibrating with shivers. “Someone hit me. I blacked out.”

He quickly inspected my head and peered into my eyes. I was shaking so badly I couldn’t keep my head steady.

“We’ve got to get you warm,” he said. Pulling the coat even tighter around me, he led me to the bathroom, where he turned the hot water tap on full. As the bathtub filled, he grabbed the comforter from his bed and wrapped it around me, hugging my body to his to warm me. When the tub was finally full, he peeled off my clothes—my numb fingers couldn’t manage the buttons and snaps—and helped me in.

The hot water felt like fire on my feet and legs.

“I can’t do it,” I said, trying to step out of the tub.

“It’ll get better,” he said. “We need to get the circulation going. You’ve got hypothermia.”

I sat down gingerly, trying not to scream. It felt like my body was covered in third-degree burns, with needles just under the skin. After what seemed like an eternity, the tingling, burning sensation faded, and I began to feel the ache of the cold in my bones.

“How long were you out there?” he asked.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It was dark, and the moon was still high.”

“It’s just now beginning to dawn,” he said. “There’s no telling how many hours you were out there.” He touched my head, and I flinched. “Where does it hurt?”

“All over,” I said, but pointed to what seemed to be the source of the throbbing. He grazed it lightly, and I cringed.

“It’s a bad bump,” he said, peering into my eyes again. “I don’t think you have a concussion. Do you have any idea who hit you?”

“I don’t know. It was someone tying up a small boat to the dock. I tripped and fell, and then whoever it was whacked me on the top of the head.”

He shook his head. “If you keep getting clobbered like this, I’m not going to let you out of my sight.” Another shiver pulsed through me, and he ran a bit more hot water into the tub. “What were you doing out there, anyway?”

“Defrosting bacon,” I said.

“Out at the dock?”

I laughed, which made my head hurt. “No,” I said when the pain subsided. “I woke up and remembered I hadn’t taken the bacon out to thaw. I was on my way back down to the carriage house when I saw a light (so I went) down to the dock to see who it was.”

“Well, whoever it was didn’t want to be seen,” he said. “Next time you see something strange in the middle of the night, come get me before you go investigating, okay?”

“We live on a small island. It’s supposed to be safe.”

“Well, lately, the opposite seems to be the case. Lucky for you you didn’t fall in the water. You’d be down in Davey Jones’ Locker,” he said.

“Like Gerald McIntire,” I said.

“Like Gerald McIntire,” he said gravely, leaning down to kiss me on the forehead. “And that I couldn’t bear.”

_____

John insisted on taking care of breakfast while I huddled in bed under several blankets and waited for the Motrin to kick in. It wasn’t until ten o’clock that he returned to the carriage house.

“Did everything go all right?” I asked.

“Just fine,” he said. “They were a little surprised when I served them raw steak instead of bacon, but other than that, no problems.”

“Oh, no! I defrosted the wrong meat?” I thought of the
Times
writer. “What did Cherry think?”

“Relax,” he said, leaning down to kiss me. “I was kidding. Everything went great, and Ms. Price was very happy. What’s on tap for the rest of the day?”

“I’ve got a grocery order coming in this morning,” I said, and outlined the menu for the rest of the day. “I should be able to manage, though. The headache seems to be fading.”

“You are ordered to take it easy,” he said. “I went down by the dock, by the way; no sign of a boat. No sign of anything, in fact.”

“I’m not surprised,” I said.

“I keep trying to figure out who it could have been.”

“Practically everyone on the island has a skiff. And the
Ira B
crew ties up their dinghy at the dock every night.”

“Do you remember where the skiff—or the dinghy—was tied up?”

“It was too dark to tell,” I said.

“You probably couldn’t tell if the
Ira B
was moored there, either.”

I shook my head. “It was too dark to see anything other than the flashlight. But if it was the dinghy, it didn’t come in directly from the
Ira B
,” I said.

“So either someone took the
Ira B’
s dinghy out and then came back, or it was someone else’s boat.” John shook his head. “But why tie up at the dock in the middle of the night? And why knock you out?”

“Maybe I scared him. Or her. Or whoever it was. I don’t think there was more than one person.”

“I scared you just the other day when I opened the kitchen door and you were chopping onions. You didn’t throw a French chef’s knife at me.”

“I’m not a murderer, though,” I pointed out. “Other than dispatching the occasional lobster, that is.”

He smiled, but his tone was serious. “Do you think what happened last night might be connected to Gerald McIntire’s death?”

“Whoever attacked me didn’t want me knowing what they were up to. So maybe it was—although I can’t think how.” I glanced out the window at the dark blue water. It looked so peaceful and serene this morning—but had seemed so sinister just hours ago. “On the other hand, they didn’t kill me, so maybe not.”

“Thank God for that,” John said, and lapsed into silence, thinking. His weathered face seemed more lined than usual, and I longed to kiss away his cares. But I couldn’t kiss away Gerald McIntire’s death—or Eleazer’s imprisonment.

“But there was no
need
to kill you,” he finally said, slowly. “They just needed to make sure you didn’t know who they were.”

“The facts just aren’t fitting together,” I said.

“What facts?”

“Oh, just … everything,” I said.

I told him about the “Rules” book and the torn-up photograph I’d found on Audrey’s nightstand.

“Did you dig through the rooms
again
?” he asked.

“No, just the once,” I said. “I just forgot to tell you about Audrey’s room.”

“Interesting,” he said. “She doesn’t strike me as the Southern Belle type.”

“Me neither,” I said. “Maybe she was desperate, though.” I’d used a few embarrassing self-help guides myself in the past.
The Smart Woman’s Guide to Finding Mr. Right
, which I’d bought after my former fiancé cheated on me, had been my bible for a few months, so I understood the impulse.

“But I don’t see what it has to do with Gerald McIntire’s murder.”

“I don’t know. It certainly provides a motive. How would you feel if someone you thought was in love with you suddenly got engaged to someone else?”

“I’d be upset,” he said, and there was an uncomfortable moment. Both of us were thinking of my former fiancé’s visit to Cranberry Island—and his attempts to woo me back to Austin. “But I don’t think it would drive me to murder.”

“I should hope not,” I said. “But it did look like a crime of passion,” I pointed out.

“The idea has some merit,” he said. “But unless whoever did it was already in possession of the cutlass, that would imply premeditation, not passion.”

“I wish there were some way to prove that Eleazer wasn’t in possession of that stupid cutlass,” I said.

“He claims he left it at the inn for the archaeologist,” John said.

“I know,” I said. Then I had a thought. “When did he drop it off?”

John shrugged. “That’s all they told me.”

“A time would help narrow things down, at least.”

“How?” John asked. “If he left it here with a note on it, anyone could have picked it up.”

I sighed. “Another dead end, then.”

John reached out and rubbed my shoulders. “So you found a self-help book and a ripped-up photo in Audrey’s room,” he said. “Anything else you forgot to mention?”

“Actually, yes,” I said. “And it was much stranger than a photo.” I told him about the plastic tubs and the car battery I’d seen in Molly’s room.

“I don’t see what’s strange about that. She’s a marine archaeologist. Why wouldn’t she have scientific equipment?” he asked.

“That part makes sense,” I said. “But why keep it in your room instead of in the boat? I don’t remember her unloading any of that stuff when she checked in.”

“Have you asked?”

“Of course not,” I said. “I wasn’t supposed to be in there. There was a ‘Do Not Disturb’ sign on the door.”

I glanced over my shoulder at him; he cocked an eyebrow at me, but I ignored it and continued. “But besides that, the car battery seems weird. So do the jugs of liquid. Plus, they’ve been delayed two days waiting for a lift bag—but she’s got one under her bed.”

“Did she forget about it, maybe?” He continued to knead my shoulders as he spoke—I had no idea they were so tense.

“I doubt it,” I said. “It’s not like they’re tiny or inconspicuous. And she must have put it there just a couple of days ago.”

“Why wouldn’t she bring it out, then? From what I understand, it’s a race against time to identify the boat.”

I nodded. “And they think they may have found the ship’s bell, which usually has the vessel’s name on it.”

“You’re right,” he said. “It doesn’t make sense.”

“Maybe she’s double-crossing Carl,” I suggested. “I thought she had a connection with Gerald—turns out they used to work together. Do you think maybe she was sabotaging the university?”

“If so, it doesn’t explain Gerald’s death.”

I leaned forward as he worked his strong, warm hands down my back. As wonderful as the massage felt, I was still frustrated. “Carl and Audrey obviously had motives, but it doesn’t explain everything else that’s happened. And the only other person I can think who might have murdered him was Frank.”

“Monetary gain, right?”

“If Gerald was going to restructure his will and the business once he got married, it would be to Frank’s benefit if Gerald died before that could happen. He certainly seemed relieved that Gerald hadn’t signed some papers before he died.”

“But Frank didn’t know whether or not Gerald had signed them?”

“Didn’t sound like it.”

“Weakens the motive, but it’s still interesting,” he said. “It’s certainly worth looking into.”

“The police aren’t going to be interested, are they?”

He gave me a sad smile. “I don’t know. But even if they’re not, it might provide something for Eleazer’s defense attorney to chase down.”

“We’re missing something,” I said. “I’m going to talk with everyone again, see if I can figure it out. I can sense it, just beneath the surface.”

“First we’d better get you well—and check up on Adam.”

“Adam!” I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten. “Where’s the phone?”

“I already called, my sweet. He still doesn’t remember anything about the beating, but he’s doing better. They’ll probably release him later today.”

“Thank goodness,” I said. “But the puzzle is still missing a big piece.”

“On the plus side, it sounds like Adam’s parents have really taken to Gwen.”