Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) (11 page)

John gave him a searching look. “Are you sure?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Sorry about that; I just forgot about it.”

“I still think we need to check it out,” John said. “Having a gas can is one thing; they don’t usually burst into flames. Besides, the insurance company will probably require an investigation.”

“It’s fine,” Zeke said, looking at John with a level eye. “It’s not a big deal. I’ll handle it.” There was a warning in his voice I’d never heard before.

“Just trying to help, Zeke,” John said, taking a step back. “Are you sure nobody would have wanted to vandalize your place?”

“Positive,” he said firmly. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to thank the folks who came out to help. Thanks for the offer to help me rebuild.” Then he walked away, leaving John and me to exchange puzzled glances.

“That was strange” Emmeline said quietly. She’d heard the whole exchange.

“I thought so too,” I told her.

Emmeline stepped away from Brad, then spoke in a low voice. “He’s an odd fellow,” she said. “Spends a lot of time in that barn of his, but he doesn’t have any livestock.”

“He told me he’s working on fixing it up,” I said.

She tsked and smoothed her pink dress. “I haven’t seen any building supplies.”

I looked at the barn, which he’d said was too dangerous to show me, and thought about his reluctance to call in an investigator. Was there more to Zeke Forester than he let on?

After a few minutes saying hello to our neighbors, we got back into the van and headed for the inn.

“That was weird,” I told John as he made a U-turn and headed back to the inn.

“He was lying about that gas can.” John’s face was grim. “And he sure didn’t want the police at his place.”

“That’s what I thought,” I said as we passed the little house of the lobsterman who had tried to give Charlene tourmaline earrings. Most of the rest of the island’s lobstermen were out on the water, but Fred’s traps were stacked up beside his small house. I still meant to talk to him about Derek; with everything that had been going on the last few days, I hadn’t made it over there.

As we passed the pier, I noticed the police launch moored at the dock. I pointed it out to John. “Looks like they’re back on the island.”

“I wonder why they didn’t give me a call,” he said. “Maybe they’re taking a second look at Derek’s house.”

“I’ve been thinking about Derek, and wondering if Ingrid’s son had anything to do with him,” I said.

“I found out why Evan came back to the island, by the way,” John said.

“Really?”

“I ran into Adam down on the dock, and we had a beer at the co-op. A few of the guys told me that Evan’s had a crush on Tania since high school; he just can’t stay away from her.”

I looked at John. “I hate to even suggest it, but that sure sounds like a motive for getting rid of Derek. Particularly with that note I found warning him to ‘stay away from her.’ Do the police know about this?”

He shook his head. “I haven’t told them yet. Besides, we can’t give them the note, so the connection is tenuous.”

“Still. It might be worth mentioning. Are they still focusing on Adam?” I asked.

“I haven’t heard about any other suspects,” John said, and my stomach knotted.

No sooner had we returned to the inn than the phone rang again. I picked it up, expecting it to be Charlene asking for details about the fire. As it turned out, I was half right.

“Natalie?”

“Charlene. I’ve been meaning to call you
…
”

“I’ve got terrible news,” she said.

My heart clenched. “What?”

“The police arrested Tania.”

_____

The world seemed to swirl around me. “What are you talking about?” The words seemed to tumble out of my mouth. “John didn’t know anything about it.”

“The officer said he didn’t want to alert John because he knew you and I were friends. He was afraid she’d run.”

I gripped the phone and sank down onto a chair. “What evidence do they have?”

“I don’t know, but they’re searching my house right now,” she said. I heard a muffled sob. “They say she’s into drugs.”

“No,” I breathed. I stared out at the mountains of the Mount Desert Island, but the serene view of the green slopes did nothing to soothe me.

“Derek was, too.”

No surprise there, from what I was learning about him. “Do you have an attorney?” I asked.

“No, but Murray recommended one,” she said.

“Let me talk to John, and I’ll be right over.”

I hung up and turned to John, who had a deep furrow in his tanned brow. His voice was urgent. “What’s going on?”

“They arrested Tania.” Just saying the words had a ring of finality.

His jaw tightened. “Johnson didn’t have the courtesy to tell me?”

“They’re searching her house right now,” I said.

John grabbed the keys from the hook by the door. “I’m going down to Charlene’s.”

“Take me with you, okay? I need to be with Charlene.”

“I hope she’s getting an attorney.”

“She’s calling one now.” I gave him a quick hug. “Call me at the store if you get back before I do.”

His face looked dark with anger. “Don’t worry, I will.”

twelve

Charlene’s eyes were red
and swollen, her mascara smeared across her cheeks. “Oh, Natalie,” she
moaned as I put down the plate of cookies I’d brought and took her into my arms. “I just can’t believe it.” There were a few other islanders at the bar; at a look from me, they retreated to the couches near the front. Eli was among them; so was Fred, who lingered at the bar f
or a moment.

“If there’s anything I can do to help, Charlene, I’m a phone call away,” he said, looking at her with longing in his eyes.

“Thanks, Fred.” She wiped her eyes. “Right now, I need to talk to Natalie, if you don’t mind.”

“I’m here if you need me,” he said, and followed the others to the front of the store.

“Let’s get you sitting down,” I said, guiding her to one of the bar stools. “Is Tania doing okay?” I asked in a low voice.

“They came with a search warrant,” she said in a low, trembling voice. “They found a bag of pot in her room.”

“I thought you said they were still searching the house,” I said.

“They are. I’m just praying they don’t find anything else.”

“Did Tania answer any questions?”

She shook her head. “I told her not to say anything until I got her an attorney. I called Murray for a recommendation—I didn’t know who else to turn to.”

“He found you someone?” As little as I liked Murray personally, I was glad he was willing to use connections to help Tania.

Charlene nodded. “She’s on her way down to the jail now. They’re holding her on the launch at the moment. I wish I could be with her
…
” Tears began flowing again, and I hugged her.

“Poor thing,” I said, thinking both of Tania and Charlene. I glanced over my shoulder at Eli and Fred, who were talking quietly and stealing glances back at us.

“Her mom is a wreck. So am I. What do we do if they sentence her to jail?” Charlene swallowed. “Or me?”

“We’ll find a way through this,” I told her, wishing I felt half as confident as I sounded. “Now. Sit down and let me get you some tea, and then I want you to tell me everything you can think of that might help her.”

“Okay,” she said, taking a deep, shuddery breath. “Okay.”

As I filled a mug with hot water from the pot next to the coffee maker, Charlene dabbed at her eyes with a napkin. I handed her a cookie and tossed a tea bag into the mug. When she had managed to pull herself together, I pulled up the stool next to her.

“Tell me everything,” I said. “What has she told you about Derek?”

She glanced up at me. “She was in love with him.”

“Do you think he’s the source of the marijuana?”

“I don’t know, Nat, but once she started dating him, she seemed so … different. Making bad judgments, moody. Just not herself at all.”

“She seemed almost scared the other day,” I said. “Do you think someone was trying to make her life difficult?”

Charlene’s mascara-smeared eyes widened. “Like setting her up?”

“I don’t know, but it’s possible.”

“Oh, Natalie.” She buried her face in my sleeve. “I’ve done such a terrible job of being an aunt. She was under my care, and now she’s going to jail.”

“She hasn’t been convicted of anything,” I said in a soothing voice. “Talk to the attorney,” I advised her. “And I’ll talk with John. You can stay at the inn tonight if you need company; I’ve got your favorite room open. You can join us for dinner, too.”

“Thanks, Nat. I can’t do dinner, because with Tania in jail
…
” She broke into tears again, and I stroked her back. When they subsided, she looked up at me with raccoon-ringed eyes. “I don’t know what I’d do without you. You always make everything better somehow.”

“I’ll try,” I said, trying to sound comforting, but praying I wasn’t giving her false hope.

_____

“How’s Charlene holding up?” John asked. I’d walked back to the inn to make dinner, and John had arrived a few minutes later.

“As well as can be expected.” I took a break from rummaging through the fridge and sat down at the kitchen table, feeling as if all the air had been sucked out of me. “They’re still searching her place. Any word on how they got a search warrant?”

“Someone called in a tip,” he said.

“Who?”

“Johnson didn’t know much, or wasn’t telling me. I’m going to head down to the station in person tomorrow.” He sighed. “I hope there wasn’t much of whatever they found.”

“Why?”

“It could be the difference between a misdemeanor and a felony.”

A felony. I felt like I’d been sucker-punched. “I wish she’d never gotten involved with Derek Morton,” I said bitterly.

“You think it was because of Derek?”

“That’s what my gut says. He was a shady type, and it seems to me the drugs had to come from outside.”

“Makes sense. Cranberry Island isn’t exactly drug central.”

“Exactly,” John said, nodding.

I looked up at him. “Most of the people here think getting high means climbing the stairs to the top of the lighthouse.”

Despite the dire situation, John cracked a smile.

“Maybe she was keeping it for him,” I suggested. “Did they find any at his house?”

He shook his head. “They didn’t find anything, but you were right about Derek and drugs.”

“What do you mean?”

“Detective Johnson told me there were track marks on his arms, and the autopsy results showed several drugs, including marijuana, in his system. And since she and Derek were close
…
”

I groaned. “I hope it wasn’t anything other than marijuana. I know it’s illegal, but it’s so much more benign than the others. Even if there’s not enough for a felony, if she’s addicted
…
”

“It’s a scary situation,” John concurred. “Even so, at least she’s still alive.”

“I suppose that is a silver lining, of a sort.” I got up from the table and headed for the cookie jar; times like this called for sweets. I took the lid off the cookie jar and reached inside, but the jar was empty. “Shoot,” I said, putting the lid back on. “No more Texas Ranger Cookies in the freezer, either.”

“We’ve got pecans and butter,” John said with a hopeful look in his eyes.

“Are you thinking about Turtle Bars?”

“They’re Charlene’s favorite,” he said in a cajoling tone of voice.

“And yours,” I pointed out.

“True.”

“I need to make dinner,” I said.

“Don’t worry about dinner; I’ll take care of it. You need some chocolate therapy.”

“All right,” I said, retrieving my recipe book and flipping through it until I got to the recipe. The page was dog-eared from frequent use. “Baking helps me think, anyway.” As I reached for the brown sugar and butter, I wondered aloud who might have called in a tip on Tania.

“A friend?” John suggested. “Someone who was worried about her?”

“Now she’s at risk of a police record, though; it doesn’t make sense.” I measured brown sugar and flour into the mixing bowl, combining them with a fork. “Why not confront her directly? Or talk to Charlene, or Tania’s parents?”

“Maybe whoever it was did talk to Tania, and thought it wasn’t working.”

“Or else they wanted to get her in trouble,” I suggested. “Someone connected with Derek’s death?”

“If she knew something about what happened to Derek, why would you want her in police custody, though?”

I unwrapped a stick of butter and sighed. “You’re right. It doesn’t make sense.”

“Did anyone have a grudge against her?”

“I’d have to ask Charlene about that.” I added the butter to the bowl and started the mixer, creaming the butter together with the dry ingredients. “Can you call and find out what they found?”

“They weren’t done with the search, and I couldn’t get specifics out of them. I’ll try again in a few hours,” John said. “Hopefully they’ll post bail soon—and it won’t be too high.”

“Bail?” I hadn’t thought about bail. Feeling slightly sick, I turned the mixer on low, scraping the sides of the bowl as the butter and dry ingredients combined into a crumbly mixture.

Before John could answer, Catherine breezed into the kitchen, looking like Jackie O. in dark glasses and a scarf. For the first few months when she came to the island, her wardrobe had moved from cashmere twin sets toward jeans and wool sweaters, but with the advent of Murray Selfridge, her sartorial selections were swinging away from the practical and more toward the decorative. At least it was tasteful decorative—and although she was in her seventh decade, she still had the figure to pull it off. I found myself tugging unconsciously at my waistband, which was a bit more snug than usual, and glancing ruefully at the bowl of butter and sugar. Weight gain is an occupational hazard of innkeeping, unfortunately. At least it was for me.

“I was hoping I’d find you two here.”

“Hi, Catherine.” I turned off the mixer and waved a wooden spoon in her direction.

“Terrible news today!” She perched the glasses atop her coiffed silver-blonde hair and took a can of sparkling water from the fridge. “Murray and I were just talking about your friend’s niece.”

“Tania?” I asked as I poured the crumbs into a baking pan.

“That’s the one.” Catherine tossed a few ice cubes into a highball glass and filled it the rest of the way with sparkling water. She used to be a Perrier girl, but since she’d had to cut her budget, she had started drinking the grocery store brand. I had still never seen her drink from the can, though. She took a sip and sat down at the table. “Poor dear was arrested, I hear.”

“We were just discussing that,” John told her. “Has Murray heard anything?”

She set down her glass and crossed her stockinged legs. “He knows the judge—they play golf at Kebo Valley on Mount Desert Island every Wednesday—and put in a good word for her character. It should help with bail.”

“That was awfully kind of him,” I said, impressed with Murray’s willingness to help—and hoping it would be enough. I patted the dough into the pan and began pressing pecans into it. How much are we talking?” I directed the question to John, who was the most likely of the three of us to know.

“I have no idea. Not a lot of drug busts in this part of the world, thankfully, but I think it depends on what—and how much—they found.”

“I hate not knowing.”

“I’m sure she’ll be taken care of,” Catherine reassured me. “And
although the situation is unfortunate, maybe it will scare her
straight.”

“As long as she doesn’t end up with a felony conviction, that would be great,” I muttered as I plopped the remaining butter into a saucepan with half a cup of brown sugar. “Please tell Murray thank you for interceding on Tania’s behalf, Catherine. And for finding her an attorney.”

“He’s a prince, isn’t he?” she beamed, then took another dainty sip of seltzer.

I glanced at John, who looked as if he were in pain. Like him, I was having a hard time believing Murray had somehow gotten in touch with his softer side; I suspected he was trying to impress Catherine. Still, there was no denying John’s mother was an excellent influence.

As I stirred the gooey mixture in the pot, Catherine stretched daintily. “Well, I’m off to go and change; do you need any help this evening?”

“No hot date?” John raised an eyebrow at her.

“A lady needs to have other engagements from time to time,” she replied with a glint in her eye. “Otherwise, her suitors won’t have an opportunity to miss her.”

“Suitors?” John teased. “Don’t tell me you’re dating Fred Penney, too.”

“Fred?” She raised a thin hand to her chest. There was a necklace there I didn’t recognize, I realized: a tasteful sapphire pendant. “The surly lobsterman who spends all of his time down at the store and hasn’t shaved since the Reagan administration?”

“That’s the one,” John confirmed. “Not your type?”

“Oh, John.” She gave him a withering look, but there was still a sparkle of amusement in her expression.

“You’re welcome to join us for dinner if you’d like,” I told her as I poured the caramel mixture over the pecans and dough in the pan, then put it in the oven. In twenty minutes, I knew, the caramel would be bubbling, and I could swirl milk chocolate chips over the top.

“Thank you for the invitation, dear, but I had a rather large luncheon today, so I think I’ll stay in and have something light. I’ll be happy to set up the dining room before I retire, though.”

“That would be great.” I was grateful for the help. Catherine might look as if she felt housework was something best handled by aproned maids, but she was always quick to pitch in. Although we still had our differences, and I often felt her mild disapproval at the high-fat, high-sugar fare I made at the inn (and tended to consume, as well), I had grown to like her a lot since she moved to Maine. For her part, she seemed more than happy to have me as a future daughter-in-law. Or at least she hadn’t expressed any opinions to the contrary.

“What delicious treat are you making now, anyway?” she asked, watching as I disposed of the butter wrappers. “My. Two sticks of butter?”

I sighed audibly. I was just going to have to get used to this.

“Natalie is just whipping up another batch of cookies for the guests,” John said, tactfully not mentioning the empty cookie jar in the kitchen. Gosh, did I love that man.

“Good idea; the plate in the dining room is almost empty,” Catherine said. “Those guests certainly do cut a swath through them, don’t they? I thought about whipping up some of my Oatmeal Delites this morning after breakfast, but I ran out of time.”

“It’s fine,” I said, perhaps a little too quickly. I had sampled her Oatmeal Delites once when John and I visited her in Boston, and they resembled nothing more than crispy sawdust patties. “I’ll just get these whipped up and then make a pan of blondies, and that should keep us for a few days.”

“Fabulous. I’ll go and put the dining room to rights and then head down to the house. Give me a jingle if you need me!”

“Will do,” I said, as she disappeared through the swinging door in a faint cloud of Chanel No. 5.