Island Blues (4 page)

Chapter Seven

The dishes had been carousing again. No matter how many Sabrina washed, when she returned home there was always a pile of them in the sink, passed out and dirty from their midday bash. The natural product of such behavior, of course, was that they propagated. The beaming plates presenting her with baby saucers, the proud glasses producing bouncing coffee cups. Was it a bad sign that her dishware had a more active social life than she did?

“I
have
a very active social life, Calvin.” Sabrina stacked the last steaming plate in the dish rack and looked to see if any dishes were hiding behind the plant, just waiting for a chance to jump in the sink and throw a kegger. “I have lots of friends,” she continued, and Calvin, who was sitting on the windowsill watching the soap bubbles, did not answer. “Well, I do, and just because Sally says I need to go out on a date, well, she also said bell bottoms would never come back in style, so why in the world should I listen to her?”

Calvin, her bright yellow parakeet, darted forward and stabbed an errant bubble, chattering in bloodthirsty glee as it burst with a wet pop.

“I shouldn't, that's why. I'm perfectly happy.” Which was true. After her successful first day as Comico Island's Ombudsman, everything seemed rosier and brighter this morning. She woke early in a frenzy to clean her apartment, skipping her normal morning peruse through her massive medical book, and after two sustained hours of catharsis, she could walk from the tiny bedroom to the living room/kitchen without tripping over anything.

Her apartment was small, the furniture and appliances old and worn, the kitchen a mere afterthought against the back wall. But the view out the large window made the cramped, dingy space worthwhile. Hurricane Harbor was revealed in all its morning glory as the sun flashed off the tall masts of the sailboats and sparked the wind-restless waves. Buildings lined the edge of the harbor, some ramshackle and suicidal in their tilt toward the water, the newer buildings on high stilts painted in a rainbow of colors. A large brick hotel stood out like a rotten tooth on the smile of the waterfront.

Beyond the public beach was Houseboat Alley, a motley collection of aging houseboats rocking gently on their tethers at the old ferry dock. A rusted metal fence past the houseboats blocked off the rest of the dilapidated docks from public use, though several fisherman had made their way over or around the fence to use the crumbling quay as a fishing pier.

Sabrina had talked to her real estate agent in Cincinnati, but the prospects of selling her mother's house—well, it was her house now, of course—were bleak at the moment. That meant she would be staying in the apartment for the indefinite future, and as she looked around the diminutive, gleaming space, and at the generous view beyond, the prospect did not seem as daunting as it did at first.

“Are you ready to go, Calvin? It's time to go to work.” It was almost eight-thirty, and Sabrina had big plans for the day. Now that she had sorted out the Hummer dilemma, it was time to get to work on the rest of the island's problems. She hoped to have them solved by dinner.

Last night she had gone through all the complaint letters in the bag the town council gave her. Many of them were emails and notes from phone calls, though the most mystifying were a few written in a sprawling hand saying things like “dumb jerk thinks someone should fix his hot tub” and “wants privacy and I told idiot he was crazier than a Mitchell's day fisherman.” Who wrote these puzzling missives?

She had organized the letters into two piles, the larger one from vacationers who were long gone. Those she would have to track down by letter and phone and at least apologize for their difficulties and see if there was anything she could do. The smaller pile contained complaints received in the last couple of days, including several from Gilbert Kane from Hummers International. These were the most urgent, and now that she had cleared up the Hummers' problem, she would move on to the next most pressing issue, which was the two break-ins.

Donning a raspberry shawl, she lifted Calvin to her shoulder and went out onto the narrow outdoor walkway that ran the length of the building. Doors to three other apartments lined the walkway, and at the far end were stairs leading down to the restaurant below. The air was cool and crisp, the wind brisk as it sloshed up white caps on the harbor and filled the air with the music of ringing sailboat rigging.

As Sabrina emerged into the restaurant on the ground floor, the smell of bacon and eggs made her stomach growl, despite the fact that she had made Grand Marnier sweet potato French toast this morning. Which reminded her, she needed to remember to put the batteries back in the smoke alarm.

“Sabrina, would you like some breakfast?” May, blowzy and spare, looked up from taking an order. Never afraid of hard work, the owner of the Blue Cam didn't hesitate to fill in when her waitresses called in sick.

“No thanks, May, I already ate.”

Sabrina looked around at the happy customers, the funky, nautical murals on the walls, and the colorful tables and chairs. Working as hostess at the Blue Cam was her first job when she arrived on the island. May had been on the verge of selling the restaurant, and Sabrina shuddered a little as she remembered the boring menu and the plastic checkered tablecloths on the tables.

“Well, you know you can eat on the house any time,” May called as Sabrina headed for the front door. “And any time you want your job back, just let me know. If it wasn't for you, this place would be out of business. I'll never be able to thank you enough.”

***

“Sabrina, hello!” Maggie Fromlin put down the knife that she was using to slice oranges and limes and came toward Sabrina. The small, round-shouldered woman looked a lot happier than she had a few days ago when Sabrina encountered her on the beach, still reeling from the break-in that had disrupted her vacation. Maggie ignored the proffered hand and clasped Sabrina in a warm hug, recoiling when she encountered Calvin's warm body under Sabrina's hair.

“Oh, it's a little bird!”

“His name is Calvin, and he's a budgerigar, more commonly known as a parakeet. He's rare because he's all yellow, except for the bit of white on his forehead and underside.”

Calvin chirped a greeting.

“I came by to see how you were settling in.” Sabrina looked around at the handsome, large room and the up-to-date appliances. Gale Teasley had done a good job of turning her home into a rental cottage. The house wasn't new, but it had character, and judging from the gazebo and the hot tub she could see on the back deck, Gale had added the amenities that the tourists would expect in a rental house.

“It's perfect! Everyone loves it. At first my mother-in-law was making snide comments about not being on the beach, but I told her she was welcome to go back to the Seas the Day Cottage and wait for the burglar to come back. You should have seen the expression on her face! And then the kids found the kayaks, and she hasn't been able to say anything bad about the place since.” Maggie grinned.

“That's wonderful.” Sabrina hesitated, loathe to bring up an unpleasant subject, but duty called. “I'm working as Comico Island's Ombudsman and—”

“Oh…how nice for you!”

Sabrina wondered if she would ever be able to say her title without seeing that momentary look of blank puzzlement on her listener's face. “Thank you. Anyway, it looks like your burglary was not an isolated incident and I wanted to ask a few questions to try to get to the bottom of the whole thing before the burglar strikes again and upsets someone else.”

“We already talked to the police, but…what did you want to know?”

“I understand nothing was stolen. Is that correct?”

“Well, none of
our
stuff was stolen. He may have taken something that belonged in the house, but we didn't notice anything obvious missing, like the TVs or DVD players. The police called the owner of the house, Sue Harrington, and she's going to come down and look the house over, just to be certain.”

“You said you saw the burglar?”

Maggie shivered and went back around to her cutting board. She resumed cutting fruit as she talked. “It was awful. I really don't remember much.”

“I know it's scary to think about. Why don't we pretend there was a secret surveillance camera in the room? Just tell me what it would have seen.” It was a memory-enhancing technique Sabrina had run across in one of her medical journals.

“Well…” Maggie looked doubtful, but she closed her eyes and began talking. “Doug and I are lying in bed. I must have heard something while I was sleeping, because I woke all of a sudden, like you do when you wake up from a nightmare and you're scared to move. But this time it was real. He went into the closet and I could hear him moving around in there, real quiet. I was afraid to even breathe, much less wake up Doug. Then he came out of the closet and started patting the walls—”

“Patting the walls?”

“Yes. Kind of like the way a police officer pats down a suspect on TV. Then, I must have moved or something, because he looked over his shoulder and I don't know whether he could see that my eyes were open or what, but all of a sudden he was running out the door. I screamed, and everyone woke up, but by the time I could get Doug to understand what was going on, the burglar was long gone.”

“Would you recognize this person again if you saw him?” Sabrina wondered if there was a way to do a lineup of all the men on the island. Perhaps she could throw together a men's beauty pageant with Maggie as one of the judges?

“Sure, I'd know him anywhere. He was big—at least, I think he was, but it may have been his shadow that seemed big, I'm not sure. He wore a black baseball cap and black clothes, so he kind of blended into the darkness. Let's see…I guess I really didn't get a look at his face, his hat was pulled down pretty low, but I'm sure I would recognize him again if I saw him.”

Sabrina smiled. Of course she could. “Anything else? Anything else that will help us find him?”

“Well, there was the piece of paper…I didn't see that it was important, but the police took it away.”

“Piece of paper? Did the burglar drop it?”

“I guess he might have, but who knows?”

“Was there writing on the paper?”

Maggie frowned. “Yes, but I can't remember what it said. I mean, it didn't make any sense.”

“Pretend that surveillance camera is aimed right over your shoulder at the piece of paper. Can the camera see what it says?”

Maggie grimaced, but once again closed her eyes. “The writing is kind of round and curly, and there are three…no four words. One on each line. The first and last one I can see pretty clearly. ‘Mit' and ‘Fred.'”

“Mit and Fred?”

“Yes. The other two words, the ones in the middle…they rhyme, I remember that, and they made me think of someone laughing. Hardy-har-har, you know? Oh wait! That's the first word. ‘Har.' And the second one was ‘Gar.'”

“So, in order, we have ‘Mit,' ‘Har,' ‘Gar,' and ‘Fred.' Is that right?”

Maggie nodded. “I told you it didn't make sense.”

And she was absolutely right. It didn't make sense. But Sabrina smiled gamely. “You never know what will help. Was there anything else?”

“No…oh, wait. Yes, there
was
something else.”

Chapter Eight

Bicycle Bob was sitting on the first step and humming as Sabrina approached Tubb's General Store.

“Hello, Bicycle, how are you?” She paused and looked down at him, but he kept his eyes on the ground as he hummed. His paint-stained fingers clasped a bottle of beer with fierce need. “Have you been painting today? I would love to see some more of your work. Everyone comments on the murals you did at the Blue Cam.”

It didn't matter that Bicycle never responded. One of these days she thought maybe he would. She put her hand on his sun-warmed shoulder, feeling the sharp bones through his shirt. She knew that his family and neighbors looked out for him, but they couldn't fix what a steady diet of alcohol did to the human body.

Sabrina mounted the steps and sat down in one of the rocking chairs under the chalkboard that read: “Funeral for Uncle Will on Friday.”

Where was Lima? It was rare that she came by here during the day and didn't find him.

A young girl, tall and red-headed, came out of the store to shake out a rug. Her direct gaze met Sabrina's and she nodded in greeting.

“Hi, Marilee,” Sabrina said, and Calvin added his own chirrupped greeting. “How do you like working here at the general store?”

“I like it fine, Miss Sabrina, though I'm looking to pick up another job if I can.” Marilee Howard's voice was country soft and confident. She was about sixteen, lanky and freckled, her extravagant red hair pulled back in a messy ponytail.

“Another job?” Sabrina frowned. “Don't you want to go back to school now?” Marilee had dropped out of high school last year to take care of her aging great-grandfather. He had died about a month ago, and Marilee had insisted that she wanted to stay in the family house by herself. It was a situation that would never work in the big city, but here it did. Family and friends looked after the teenager, and a small trust paid the bills.

“I got my GED.” The girl's voice was neutral but firm. It was none of Sabrina's business, her closed expression said, but she was too well brought up to say it aloud.

“I'm happy to hear that. Are you thinking about college, though?”

Marilee shrugged and moved toward the door to the store. Something made her pause and she looked back over her shoulder at Sabrina. “I always did want to be an FBI agent.”

“An FBI agent? Me too! Well, any sort of secret agent would have worked. You need to go to college if you want to join the FBI.” Sabrina pulled out a notebook and started jotting notes to herself. “Have you taken your SATs? We need to look into scholarships and grants. Maybe a fundraiser…” She muttered to herself as she mapped out Marilee's future.

“You really think it's possible?” Marilee stared at Sabrina with the instinctive awe reserved for schoolteachers and doctors. These people were capable of daily miracles, she knew.

“Of course! We need to get to work, though. We'll talk soon.”

Marilee nodded, her young face bright with hope. She raised her hand in farewell and went back inside.

“Sabrina! Aren't you a vision in pink. And yellow. And green. And—” Lima said as he came out of the store a few minutes later holding a Styrofoam cup of fragrant, homemade Brunswick stew.

A strangled, creaking noise came from the bottom step, and they both looked down to see that Bicycle was laughing.

“Well, call me a butt and slap me silly. I don't think I've seen Bicycle laugh in the twenty years he's been back on the island. Hey, did you know today was Mitchell's Day? I hope you're not planning to go out on the water.”

“Lima, that's an old wives' tale.” After several months on the island, she'd finally persuaded Lima to tell her the story behind the islanders' cryptic references to Mitchell's Day.

Lima snorted. “You live here long enough, and then you tell me it's an old wives' tale. You'll see. What have you been doing today, Sabrina?”

Sabrina ran through her morning: her talk with Maggie Fromlin about the strange behavior of the burglar, and then her very unproductive conversation with Mayor Hill Mitchell, who couldn't, or wouldn't, explain how he had known someone had been in his house while he was gone Friday night.

“That man's got so many screws loose he rattles when he walks.” Lima shook his head.

“You know, I wasn't going to say anything, but did you ever notice his yard doesn't have anything green in it? It's all rock. No grass, bushes, trees, not even a weed.”

“Yeah, I've noticed. He did that right after he retired from being a florist for thirty years. I guess he got tired of plants.”

“Hill said nothing was missing, and so did Maggie. She remembers a note that the burglar may have dropped, though, reading ‘Mit,' ‘Har,' ‘Gar,' and ‘Fred.' Ring any bells?”

“Yeah, the silent one that only dogs and loonies can hear.”

“Maggie also remembered that the thief was barefoot. What kind of thief breaks into a house barefoot and doesn't take anything?”

“Someone with more screws loose than Hill.”

“If only the bad ones
did
rattle when they walked, at least we would know they were coming.”

They thought about that for a while in the sleepy warmth of the noonday sun.

“Hey, Marilee,” Lima yelled through the window behind his rocking chair. “I'll take another cup of this here stew. Best thing old Tubbs ever did, hiring Marilee,” he said to Sabrina. “Stacy Tubbs did a great job behind that counter, but I didn't think Tubbs was ever going to find someone after Stacy left to go to college this past semester.”

“Well, don't get too attached to Marilee being here. I just talked to her about taking her SATs and going to college. Did you know she wanted to be an FBI agent?”

“No, but I'm not surprised. That girl has a lot of spunk, let me tell you. Never a word of complaint, as bad as it must have been taking care of that old bastard, her great-grandfather. Not that Booker was a bad fellow, but he got right religious in his old age, always wanting to shove the Bible down my throat.”

“It's never pleasant when someone tries to impose their religious beliefs on you.”

“No, I meant he actually tried to push the Bible down my throat. This is when he was into his nineties, you understand. We got in an argument one night after we'd both had a few—Booker liked his whiskey—and he came over the table with the book in his hand. Before I knew what was happening, he had my mouth open and was shoving that Bible into my mouth, doing his darnedest to get it past my teeth.”

“Oh, Lima!”

The old man shrugged, his eyes gleaming.

“Booker was one strange bird. Everyone says he was helping the bootleggers when he was on the police force back in the twenties. Some say he even helped cover up a murder.”

Sabrina leaned forward as Lima settled back into his chair in preparation for a nice, long story.

“Weeell, Booker was the one who found Gerry Lowry right after he shot himself. Booker was only seventeen, and looking for work. He was tired of fishing already, and what else was an island boy supposed to do to make a living? All around him, people were making it rich off the liquor that was flowing through this island like Shinola through a septic field.

“No one knows for sure what happened, but it's pretty common knowledge that Gerry Lowry ran afoul of the bigwig rumrunners on the island and was planning to take the run boat—that's the boat that ran between the islands and the mainland—off the island first thing in the morning. Then he decided to off himself that evening, after telling everybody he was leaving? It didn't make sense. Like I said before, it was Booker who found him, and his testimony was key at the inquest the sheriff held before Gerry's body was even cold. The sheriff was so deep in the rumrunners' pockets it's a wonder he didn't choke on pocket lint. If the rumrunners
were
involved, the sheriff sure wasn't going to call them on it. And Booker…well, Booker might have had his own reasons for not being entirely truthful about what he saw that morning. Soon after that, Booker was hired by the sheriff, and it's rumored Booker made hisself a fortune looking the other way. Who knows, but most people agreed that Gerry Lowry wasn't the type to kill himself, especially by shooting himself. You see, Gerry was shot by accident by his big brother when he was a kid, and after that he couldn't even look at a gun without getting squirrelly-eyed and sweaty.”

Neither had noticed Mary Garrison Tubbs until she spoke.

“Sabrina Victoria Dunsweeney, we give you a simple job, something even
you
can do, and you manage to muck it up in a gigantic way. I should have known, should have known!”

“Mary, you're one nasty bat, have I mentioned that today? What are you going on about now?” Lima rocked his chair angrily.

Mary took a deep breath and let it out in a delicious rush. “Gilbert Kane was found murdered over on Goat Island, that's what, and it's all Sabrina's fault!”