Berried to the Hilt (18 page)

“Maybe she’s secretly pulling up artifacts and selling them on the side,” he suggested.

“Who would buy them?”

“I’m sure there’s a market,” he said.

“It still doesn’t explain the car battery,” I said as John opened the door to my kitchen. The inn still smelled of baking, and I sniffed appreciatively.

“Too bad you can’t put that cake in the bake-off,” he said.

I groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.” I glanced at the calendar, and realized with a sick feeling that the big day was tomorrow. I also realized today was Marge’s day off. Which gave me a bona fide opportunity to check out the rooms, but also meant I was way behind on the day’s work. “I forgot Marge isn’t here today,” I said. “Can you take care of dinner tonight, by the way?”

“What’s on the menu?”

“Steak, which is easy,” I said. “I can’t believe I got the days mixed up!” With all of the excitement of the last week, my schedule had been thrown off. And with both Gwen and Marge gone, I was on my own. Except, thankfully, for John.

“No problem,” he said, kissing me on the forehead. “I’ll do set-up and clean-up, too, if you’ll take care of the serving.”

“Thanks a million,” I said.

“My pleasure. I’ve got a new salad dressing recipe I’ve wanted to try, anyway.”

“Just don’t make it too crazy,” I said as I headed to the laundry room to pick up a basket of cleaning supplies. “Remember—we’ve got a
Times
food writer staying at the inn.”

“No pressure,” he said with a grin.

I laughed, and after a last, quick kiss, headed upstairs to tidy the rooms.

_____

To my disappointment, there was very little of interest in the rooms—unless you count a bunch of dirty towels. The archaeologists—and Cherry—were all relatively tidy, and since half of them made their own beds out of habit, it was a breeze getting in and out.

Audrey’s laptop wasn’t in her room, so I couldn’t snoop there, and if Frank had any papers pertaining to the partnership, unfortunately, he didn’t have them with him. I finished my cleaning with no new information. On the plus side, at least I had time to spare.

After stowing my cleaning supplies and starting a load of towels, I checked on John, who was whisking together a delicious garlic vinaigrette.

“Need any help?” I asked.

“I need you to relax, my dear. I’ve got it covered.”

“What about dessert?”

“Chocolate pudding cake,” he said.

I felt my mouth start to water. “I hope you’re making a double batch.”

“Only if you go and take it easy for a few minutes,” he said. He shooed me out of the kitchen, and I retreated to the front desk to tidy the stacks and pay some bills. The answering machine light was blinking; there were two new reservation requests, both for next summer, which I promptly called back and confirmed. There was also a message from Gwen; she and Adam would be returning to the island tomorrow, and he was doing much, much better. I smiled, making a mental note to bake some cookies to welcome him home. One more reservation request waited for me in my e-mail box, also for the following summer. I had practically nothing booked for the next several weeks, and as I leaned back in my chair, I found myself grateful for the recent business. As stressful as the discovery of the wreck had been, it certainly had helped the inn’s bottom line. It was nice paying the electric bill without breaking a sweat.

Although I’d still rather have Eli safe at home with Claudette.

As I licked the last stamp and affixed it to an envelope, I realized I had forgotten to replace the dirty towels with fresh ones. I stacked the outgoing mail and headed to the laundry room, breathing in the heavenly garlic smell in the kitchen.

“Will there be enough for me?” I asked as John washed a head of lettuce.

“I’ll make a little extra,” he said.

“Can’t wait,” I said, and pushed through the kitchen door into the dining room, then hurried back up the stairs. It was great having someone else around to do the cooking—particularly someone as talented as John.

I replaced the towels in the first four rooms, and then let myself into Audrey’s room. After slipping a new bath towel onto the towel rack, I stepped back into the bedroom, doing a final check before going downstairs. The “Rules” book was no longer on her night table; she had either taken it with her or tucked it into a drawer. There were no personal effects anywhere in the main room; if I hadn’t known she was staying here, I would have guessed the room was unoccupied. The blue and white counterpane was neatly arranged on the bed, the crisp white curtains were open, and the floor was polished and gleaming. I nodded in approval and started to walk to the door when I noticed something sticking out from beneath the end of the bed.

I walked over and nudged it out with my foot, drawing in my breath when I saw it.

It was the missing scabbard.

“Come look what I
found,” I said breathlessly when I burst into the kitchen a minute later.

“What is it?” John asked, putting down the whisk.

“Just come and look,” I said, grabbing him by the sleeve and pulling him after me. A minute later, we both stood in Audrey’s room, staring at the scabbard.

“Is that what I think it is?” John asked.

I nodded.

A look of relief spread across John’s face. “So Eli wasn’t lying, after all. And it looks like Gerald McIntire’s death might have been a crime of passion after all. Wait until I tell the investigators about this.”

“What do we do with it for now?” I asked.

“I’d like to get a picture of it,” he said.

“My camera’s in the kitchen.”

“I’ll stay here; you run and get it,” he said.

I raced down to the kitchen and back, short of breath. He took a few shots and then untucked his shirt, using the fabric to pick it up off the floor.

“Making sure we don’t mess with the fingerprints?” I asked.

“Exactly,” he said.

“What do we do with it?” I asked.

“We put it where nobody can relocate it,” he said. “I’ll call the investigators tonight. And tomorrow, I’ll take it over to the mainland to check for fingerprints.”

“One thing bothers me,” I said.

“What?”

“This wasn’t here the other day.”

“How do you know?”

“I looked under all the beds.”

John looked at me, the scabbard dangling from his hand. “Are you saying someone might have planted it here?”

“It’s happened before,” I said, thinking not for the first time that I needed to do a better job hiding the skeleton key. “It would be interesting to see whose fingerprints are on it.”

John nodded. “It will be interesting. Even if nothing turns up, though, at least we have something that points in a direction other than Eli.”

“Hard to plant a scabbard from jail, isn’t it?”

“And Claudette hasn’t been here, either,” I said.

For the first time in days, I found myself feeling hopeful.

_____

It was a full house at dinner that night, and despite the tragedy earlier in the week, the mood was optimistic. Including mine; I couldn’t wait to hear what the investigators found on that scabbard.

“How did it go today?” I asked Audrey as I served her a plate of salad loaded with baby greens, spring onions, yellow grape tomatoes and tangy garlic dressing. Had she noticed that the scabbard was missing? I wondered. Or did she even know the scabbard was in her room?

She glanced toward the doorway, where Carl had just disappeared. “We mapped two of the cannons,” she said in a low voice. “And Frank got confirmation that the company now belongs to him.”

“The whole thing?”

“He certainly made a killing,” she said sardonically, stabbing a grape tomato with her salad fork. “If they hadn’t already arrested someone, I’d have to wonder.”

“Really?” I asked, watching as Frank sauntered back into the room, a smile on his usually worried face. Had he picked up the cutlass from the front desk and used it to eliminate his partner, then planted the scabbard in his employee’s room? The timing certainly was right. But if he did kill his partner, how did he get the body to the wreck site—and how did he make it back to the inn without a boat?

Every theory I came up with kept circling back to that same problem.

On the other hand, maybe nobody had planted that scabbard at all. Maybe Gerald’s death was a crime of passion—and Audrey just hadn’t had a good opportunity to get rid of the rest of the evidence. The only thing I couldn’t figure out was why she hadn’t ditched the scabbard when she got rid of the cutlass.

“Did you have a good day today?” I asked Frank as I set his salad plate down in front of him.

“Excellent, thank you,” he said. “The Sea Vixen arrived safely and is already mapping the site.”

“So I’ve heard,” I said. “And I understand you’re now in charge of Iliad?”

He lifted his eyebrows and glanced at Audrey, who busied herself with her salad. “I didn’t realize that was public knowledge.”

“Oh, was that confidential?” I said, glancing at Audrey, who looked uncomfortable. “I was just guessing, actually. I figured that since your partner was gone …”

The irritated look softened. “Ah,” he said. “Well, it was up in the air for a bit, and it’s still not been made completely official, but yes—it looks like ownership of Iliad reverts to me.”

“It looks like things are turning out well after all—except, of course, for the loss of your partner.”

“A terrible tragedy,” he said, shaking his head. “Who would have thought that tiny old man had it in him?”

“Some people still aren’t sure he did,” I said, watching Audrey. Her expression didn’t change.

“I’m sure the police will sort it all out,” he said, waving the issue aside. “But as for the arrival of the rig, I’ve been meaning to talk to you. I’m afraid it means this will be our last night at the inn.”

“I understand, but I’m sorry to see you go,” I said.

“I’ll be sorry to say goodbye to your excellent cooking,” he said, putting his napkin on his lap and picking up a fork.

“I’ll pass your compliments to the chef,” I said, and as he seemed more interested now in eating than talking, I drifted away from the table.

Cherry, too, was delighted by John’s artfully plated salad, and I found myself wondering how she had survived so many years in the cutthroat New York restaurant world, yet still seemed unjaded. “Where did you learn to cook?” she asked as she finished her first bite.

“Actually, I can’t claim responsibility for tonight’s dinner. My fiancé John is the chef this evening.”

“Well, tell him I want the recipe for this dressing.”

“He’ll be honored to give it to you,” I said, smiling at her before moving on to the next table. The Iliad crew might be checking out, but with a good review in the
New York Times
, I was hopeful that the rest of the winter season would be profitable.

Carl obviously believed he was hours away from uncovering the name on the ship’s bell. He dug into the salad as soon as it arrived, anxious to finish and get back to his work.

Molly gave me a speculative look as I set her salad plate down. “Any luck on the bell yet?” I asked Carl, ignoring Molly’s stare. The bubbly woman I had first met had somehow disappeared this afternoon, and I was more convinced than ever that Molly was up to something she didn’t want me to know about.

“We’re close,” Carl said, oblivious to his colleague’s change in demeanor. “Should have it by morning, with any luck.”

“They’re mapping the site,” I said in a low voice. “They’ve already found two cannons.” He might be a murderer, but I’d still rather the university lay claim to the wreck than a treasure-hunting company.

“Well, then,” he said, spearing two tomatoes and glancing over toward the table where Frank and Audrey sat. “We’d better get cracking.”

_____

When the dishes were done and the kitchen clean, John poured us two glasses of wine, and together we walked out onto the back porch overlooking the water. The night sky was awash in stars, and the crescent moon was rising, casting a pale reflection on the black water. The lights were burning in the
Ira B
’s wheelhouse, where I was sure Carl was still chipping away at the bell.

“I hope the university identifies it first,” I said.

“Me too,” John said.

I took a sip of wine and snuggled closer to John. The evening had gone from crisp to cold, and the warmth of his body was comforting. “Do you think Audrey killed Gerald?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said.

“I found something else tonight,” I said.

“What?”

“Remember how Audrey said she found out about Gerald’s engagement after his death?”

“What about it?”

“She lied,” I said.

“How do you know that?” I’m glad it was dark so I couldn’t read the expression on his face.

“I slipped upstairs during the main course and checked her e-mail,” I said.

He coughed. “Not exactly something I can share with the investigators,” he said. “But if they suspect her, I’m sure they’ll confiscate her computer and find out on their own. When did she find out?”

“The day before he was killed,” I said.

“Who told her?”

“Her sister forwarded the announcement to her,” I said.

John was quiet for a long time. “It still doesn’t explain how she got out there, killed him, hid the cutlass in the bushes and made it back to the inn,” he said eventually. “Or what happened to the
Lorelei
.”

“We can’t explain that for any suspect,” I said.

“Except Eli,” John said.

I stared out at the humps of the mountains on the mainland, barely visible in the faint light of the moon. “Maybe Gerald took a skiff out there with someone.”

“Why would he do that?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe it was a romantic outing with Audrey.”

“Could be,” John said, not sounding convinced.

“It would explain how somebody got out there, killed him, dropped the cutlass by the pier and got back.” A cold breeze swept off the water, and I snuggled in closer to John.

“It’s a possibility,” he said. “But what about the
Lorelei
?” he asked.

“Maybe Evan stole it.”

“On the same night?”

I shrugged. “It’s a theory. Speaking of theories, is there any confirmation that Eli’s cutlass was the murder weapon?”

“It’s suspected, but there’s no confirmation. The blade was clean, and the wound was damaged—nibbled at by fish—after death.”

“So it could have been something else,” I said.

“If it was, why get rid of the cutlass?”

“To throw suspicion on Eli. He’d threatened Gerald with it that afternoon, remember?”

“It’s a thought,” he said. We stood together in silence for a few minutes, both lost in thought. I was starting to get chilled and was about to suggest we go back inside when I noticed a flashlight on the
Ira B
. Someone was getting into the dinghy.

“What’s going on?” I asked, pointing toward the light.

The motor hummed to life, and a moment later, the dinghy was headed out, away from the
Ira B
—and the inn.

“Let’s follow her,” I said.

“Her? How do you know it’s Molly and not Carl?” John asked.

“Do you think he’s going to leave his ship’s bell? Come on,” I said, and abandoning our wine glasses, we ran down the path to the dock.

Mooncatcher
’s motor caught immediately, and John quickly cast off and turned the little skiff in the direction the dinghy had gone. It was colder still on the water, and I hugged myself, wishing I’d taken a moment to grab a jacket.

The faint light of the moon was enough to illuminate the wake of the dinghy; I could also see the beam of the flashlight searching the rocky cliff. John kept the motor low and the
Mooncatcher
at a good distance; close enough that we wouldn’t easily lose her, but not so close that we were obvious. Suddenly, the dinghy turned toward shore. John cut the engine, and we drifted, the waves splashing against the sides of the skiff.

“Is that the beach?” I whispered.

“Looks like it,” he said. We followed the beam of the flashlight. It was hurrying away from the water’s edge. After a moment, it disappeared. “What’s she doing?” he asked, still in a whisper.

“I don’t know,” I said. “Maybe that’s where she hid the equipment. Matilda and I saw something sticking out from behind a rock earlier today. We thought it was trash, but it could be something else.”

“Should we wait, or keep going?” he asked.

“I don’t know. Do you think this is her only stop?”

“Hard to know,” he said. “If we don’t move and she comes back this way, she may see us.