Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) (13 page)

“You know it’ll show up in there sometime,” I said. All the arrests were listed in the crime watch section—a part of the paper read with intense interest by everyone on the island.

“I know,” she said, with a sigh that seemed to deflate her.

“Go,” I said. “Your niece needs you. And your sister.” I knew Charlene was meeting Tania’s mother at the jail.

“Wish me luck,” she said, lingering at the door.

“Always.”

_____

The first half hour was peaceful; a couple of locals came in for milk or eggs, and I managed to wield the cash register without accidentally charging anybody $100 for a gallon of milk. At noon, I wandered down to the pier to exchange outgoing mail for ingoing mail, leaving Eli at the register, and spent the next half hour tucking envelopes into boxes. My mind kept returning to Tania, though. When there weren’t customers at the bar, I found myself fretting. To distract myself, I grabbed a week-old copy of the Portland paper, poured myself a cup of coffee, and settled onto one of the squishy couches in the front of the store.

It was easy sometimes to forget that there was a world outside of Cranberry Island, and after a few pages reading about congressional tussles, global warming, and gun violence, I was ready to close it up and rearrange cans of pear slices instead. On the other hand, maybe the outside world wasn’t so far away after all. Gun violence wasn’t exactly absent on Cranberry Island. Derek Morton had been shot to death just days ago.

I turned a page of the paper to an interesting article on the drug trade. Evidently Portland had had a recent resurgence of the problem, with major influxes of marijuana they suspected was coming from Canada. It was Prohibition all over again, complete with gangs and murders. Although I wasn’t interested in drugs myself, sometimes I wished they’d just legalize marijuana and tax the heck out of it instead of flushing millions of dollars down the drain trying to stamp it out. And turning young, foolish women like Tania into felons.

Was she going to be a felon? The thought made my stomach churn, and I put down the paper and walked to the phone behind the counter. John’s voiced answered on the third ring.

“Hey,” I said.

“How’s it going down there?”

“Quiet. Charlene told me that Tania’s bail hearing is at eleven, so I’m here for a while.”

“I just got off the phone with Johnson.”

My stomach clenched. “And?”

“The good news is, there wasn’t enough for a felony conviction.”

All the air seemed to rush out of me. “The bad news?”

He hesitated. “They found a gun.”

fourteen

“
Oh, no.” Silence hung
between us for a moment. “What kind of gun?” I had to ask, even though I dreaded the answer.

He let out a long, deep breath that answered the question before he spoke. “The same kind that killed Derek Morton.”

I sat down on a stool, feeling as if I had just been shot myself. “How could she have a gun? She’s not even old enough to have a gun! Don’t you have to be 21 or something?”

“They’re researching the registration papers and doing ballistics tests on the weapon.”

“How about fingerprints?”

“That, too. Even if they don’t find any, though, they’re going to be wondering what it was doing in the trash behind her house.”

“So it wasn’t in the house—it was in the garbage can?”

“The one by the back door,” he confirmed.

“Anyone could have put it there,” I pointed out. “What does she say?”

“I haven’t talked to her, but Tania claims she didn’t know anything about it.”

“Well, that’s something. If her fingerprints don’t turn up on it
…
”

“It was still at Charlene and Tania’s house. And she might have used gloves. I’m worried they’re going to come after Charlene, too, Natalie.”

I gripped the phone. “John. You really don’t think either of them had anything to do with Derek’s death, do you?”

He sighed. “No, I don’t. Just because I don’t, though, doesn’t mean the detectives will agree with me. In any case, I’m afraid it’s going to make bail a challenge.”

The bell over the door rang, and my eyes swiveled to the front of the store. Ingrid Sorenson was walking in. “Can I call you back?” I asked.

“Love you.”

“Love you too,” I said, hanging up and smiling at Ingrid.

“Hi, Ingrid.”

“Natalie.” She lifted her sunglasses and blinked in surprise. “What are you doing here?”

“Filling in for Charlene. She went to visit her niece.”

“Oh, yes. I heard she’d gotten into some trouble. I hope everything gets worked out,” she said, not sounding entirely convincing as she disappeared into one of the aisles.

“Me, too,” I said, playing with the phone cord.

Fred, who had come in a few minutes earlier, slouched toward the register with a six-pack of Pabst Blue Ribbon and a giant bag of Doritos, I turned to him with a smile. “Surprised to see you here, instead of out on the water.”

“Where’s my mermaid?”

“Off on the mainland this morning,” I said. “You’re stuck with me, I’m afraid.” As I rang up his purchases, I asked, “What’s your buoy color, anyway?”

He gave me a wary look from under heavy brows. “Why do you want to know?”

“I always like to look for them,” I said. “It’s fun knowing who’s who.”

“Black and white,” he said grudgingly.

“Original,” I quipped as I tucked the beer and chips into a bag. “Do you need to get your mail?”

“Why not?”

I reached under the counter for the keys and turned back toward the bank of mailboxes. “What number?” I asked.

“316.”

I unlocked the brass box and withdrew two envelopes: one from the electric company, the other, hand-addressed, from an address in Portland.

“Here you go,” I said, turning back to the counter. He just about snatched them from my hand. “It’ll be $11.37 for the purchases.”

As he pulled out a battered wallet and laid a ten and two ones on the counter, I noticed a smudge of orange paint on the cuff of his canvas jacket. I counted out his change and dropped the coins in his hand. “Have a good day,” I said as he turned and stumped toward the door.

“Tell Charlene I’ll be looking for her,” he said.

“Of course.”

I rang up Ingrid, who wasn’t too inclined to talk, despite my many questions about her son. She scuttled out the door, clutching her bag of orange juice and milk tightly.

As I sat back on my stool, I thought about my conversation with Fred. I hadn’t seen a whole lot of black and white buoys around the island, I realized. But I had seen an orange one.

Hmm.

_____

Charlene was a wreck when she got back to the store around half past two. Black mascara streaked down her cheeks, and her eyes were red.

“How’s Tania?” I asked, rounding the counter in a hurry. I was thankful the afternoon mug-up group had exited the store a few minutes earlier. The news would be across the island before dinner—that is, if it wasn’t already spreading. Charlene had, after all, come and gone on the mail boat.

“They set bail at $500,000,” she said. “On account of the gun.”

“I was afraid of that. John called after you left.”

“They can’t charge her with murder.” Charlene jutted out her chin. “She barely knew him!”

“Did she hire the lawyer?”

“Yes, and I’m covering the cost,” she said.

“What about her parents?”

She shook her head. “They’re down on their luck right now.”

“But Charlene
…
” Although Charlene wasn’t poor, I knew she wasn’t making money hand over fist, either. Few of us who lived on the island were.

“I was saving for a college fund for her.” She lifted her chin. “Now it’s her defense fund.” Her lower lip trembled. “It’s still not nearly enough to get her out of jail.”

“Poor thing,” I said, wrapping my arms around Charlene.

“We have to get her out of there,” she said. “I’m sure someone framed her.”

“Me too.”

“We’ve solved other crimes, haven’t we?”

I nodded. “We have. And we’ll do everything we can to solve this one. Did she tell you who might have wanted to get her into trouble?”

“I didn’t get a chance to ask. We only had about ten minutes together.”

“Maybe next time, then.”

“I’m going back to see her the day after tomorrow,” Charlene told me.

“Be sure to ask her then.” I glanced at my watch. “Actually, I hate to run, but I’d better get going.”

“What do you mean?”

“I promised to stop by Eli’s and take a look at a skiff he finished. I’ll check in with you later, okay? We’ll make sure Tania’s okay.”

“I just hope they don’t arrest me too,” she said gloomily.

_____

“
Natalie!” Eli greeted me with a gap-toothed smile as I walked up the lane to the house he shared with his wife, Claudette.

When I arrived, Claudette’s goats, Muffin and Pudge, were straining at the tire they were chained to, attempting to get to a particularly tasty geranium on the Whites’ porch. I knew Claudette prized both her goats and the wool she gleaned from them, which she knitted into mittens and hats for the long Maine winters. I also knew the neighbors were less than enamored of her ravenous ovine duo. Many a rosebush had fallen victim to their insatiable appetites.

“Sorry I missed tea,” I said. “Between the murder and Tania’s arrest, it’s been a bit chaotic.”

“No worries,” he said. “Poor little Tania. Wouldn’t hurt a fly. I’ve known her since she was a babe in arms.”

“I know,” I said. “I’m doing everything I can to clear her name.”

“Rum business, it is. Now, then. Are you here to see Claudie, or your new skiff?”

I sighed. “You really think the
Little Marian
is toast?”

He eyed me from under his cap. “You’ve been lucky twice. Do you want to try for a third time?”

“Well, when you put it like that
…
” I shivered. “On the other hand, maybe I just need to stay out of Smuggler’s Cove.”

He grinned. “That would be a good plan, too, lass.”

I followed him into his workshop, which like the yard outside, was cluttered with bits of boat: oars, curved boards, rudders, and seats he had salvaged from other boats.

As he closed the workshop door behind him, I glimpsed an old buoy in the grass, which made me think of the mysterious lobster boat that had been hanging around lately. “I’ve been meaning to ask you; has anyone seen a lobster boat with a turquoise and orange buoy hanging around the island?”

“I know that boat, and I’ve seen her a few times. She’s called the
Green Zephyr
.”

“I haven’t seen any turquoise and orange buoys around, though,” I said.

“That’s because she belongs to a friend of mine in Southwest Harbor. Couldn’t say why he’s hanging around Cranberry Island. I wonder if someone’s been taking out the
Zephyr
on the sly.”

“Where was she when you’ve spotted her?”

“Not too far off the point,” he said. “Near the lighthouse.”

And Smuggler’s Cove, I thought. “Did she have a dinghy on her?”

“That she did.” He eyed me. “You think she’s up to funny business in the cove?”

“I don’t know,” I said, “but I’ve seen her there at low tide. And I think there was a lobster boat hanging around when we got rammed.”

Eli shook his head. “Shady business.”

“Yeah,” I said.

His eyes glinted. “You know, we need to take this skiff of yours out for a ride. Want to go visit the
Zephyr
?

I hesitated, thinking of all the things I should be doing—after all, I’d been at the store most of the day—and then decided to go ahead. “Why not? I need a skiff, and I want to see the boat.”

“Well then, we’ll be off,” he said. “I put her in the water yesterday for a trial run, and she’s tied up down at the cove; let’s head down and see how she goes!”

“Terrific,” I said, and followed him down the wide path to the water.

It was a beautiful day for a boat ride. There had been rain overnight, and now everything seemed washed clean.

“Here she is,” he said, pointing to a pretty white skiff painted with gray-blue accents. She was about the same size as the
Little Marian
, but practically sparkled with the new paint. “Brand new motor,” he said. “Plenty of horsepower, and I designed her to be extra-steady.”

I laughed; he knew I would always be a landlubber. I couldn’t count the number of times I’d almost pitched over getting in and out of the
Little Marian
.

“She’s beautiful,” I said, admiring the smooth paint job. “How much?”

“Why don’t you try her out for a few weeks, and we’ll talk?”

“But Eli
…
”

“No buts. I know you don’t have a skiff right now, and with this one just finished, it was meant to be. You ready to test her out?”

“Absolutely. She’s so cute!” I said as I stepped in and sat down in the front.

“No, no. You’re the captain,” Eli said, pointing me to the back of the boat.

“Are you sure?” I always felt like a rank amateur with Eli in the skiff with me. Largely because I was.

“I’ll navigate,” he said, hopping into the front with the agility of a mountain goat and untying the little skiff.

We pulled away from the island quickly, the little boat cutting through the sapphire waves. It was cooler on the water, but also freer, somehow. I watched as a little group of ducks bobbed past us, unconcerned by our passing. “Where am I going?” I asked.

“Make for Southwest Harbor,” he called back to me, and I steered the boat away from the island and across the water that separated us from Mount Desert Island.

fifteen

The little skiff ran
like a dream, and it seemed no time at all before we were pulling into the picturesque harbor, which was dotted with pleasure yachts and working boats and lined with mansions the locals called “cottages.” I had spotted a few turquoise and orange buoys on the way across the water; evidently we were in the
Zephyr’s
territory.

“Do you see her, Eli?” I asked as we entered the crowded harbor.

“Over there,” he said, pointing to a lobster boat nestled among the yachts, close to the dock.

I squinted at the name on the back of the boat. Sure enough, the words
Green Zephyr
were painted in peeling script letters, and it sported the familiar turquoise and orange buoy. A dinghy was tied just off the stern; either the captain had replaced it, or this wasn’t the same lobster boat I’d seen outside the cove the other day.

I slowed the engine as we approached the boat. A short, burly man was coiling ropes on the deck, and Eli hailed him.

“How’s the fishing, Mike?”

“Eli! Haven’t seen you in ages, my friend!” The man adjusted his cap, and his weathered face split into a smile. “Lobstering’s good this month. Want a couple?”

“Only if you can spare ’em,” Eli said.

“I’ll get two for you in a moment,” he said, and his eyes turned to me. “Who’s your lady friend?”

“This is Natalie Barnes,” Eli said. “She owns the inn over on Cranberry. Natalie, this is Mike Donavan.”

“Nice to meet you, Mike.” I smiled up at him, squinting into the sun.

“Care to come aboard, or are you heading into town?”

“We came to talk to you, actually.”

“I can guess why,” he said darkly. “Come around the stern, and I’ll help you tie up.” I guided the skiff to the back of the lobster boat. Eli put out the bumpers, and Mike and I tied it to the bigger craft and stepped up onto the
Green Zephyr.

“I’d shake your hand, but I’ve been filling traps all day,” the short lobsterman said. It was a small deck, and smelled powerfully of salted herring, the bait used to catch lobsters.

I smiled at him. “I understand; my niece’s boyfriend is a lobsterman, too. Nice to meet you.”

He grinned back and adjusted his cap. “You here about the craft that’s been borrowing the
Zephyr’s
name, I suppose.”

“Is that what’s been going on?” Eli asked. “We wondered if someone had been taking the
Zephyr
out on the sly.”

“No, no one’s been on her but me,” Mike said. “But I’ve heard reports that I’m in lots of places I never go.”

“Like where?” I asked.

“Cranberry Island, for starters. And farther out to sea, too.”

“How long has this been going on?” I asked.

“Since the spring,” he said. “She’s been in Northeast Harbor, too, from what I hear. She usually runs at night.”

“We’ve seen her during the day on the island,” I said. “Right near Smuggler’s Cove.”

“Somebody’s up to something,” Mike said darkly. “And I don’t like them pretending to be me, either. I may not keep my boat clean, but I always keep my nose clean.” Despite his assertion to the contrary, the boat looked pretty darned spotless to me.

“I think you’re right; somebody’s up to something,” I told him. “I don’t know what, though. I went into the cove the other day, and there was nothing there. Someone’s been using it, though.”

“How do you know that?” Eli asked.

“Fresh mud on the floor. And someone rammed my skiff on my way out.”

Eli nodded. “Bad business, whatever it is.”

“I’m convinced it may be connected with Derek’s death,” I said.

“Young Derek Morton?” Mike said.

“You know him?”

“Knew him, more like. That young man was trouble. He sterned for a friend of mine here in Southwest a few months back. Always showing up late, and hung over. He took the boat out once without permission, and that was the end of him.”

“He did the same thing on Cranberry Island,” I said.

“Got himself killed, I hear,” Mike said. “Did they figure out who did it?”

I swallowed and glanced at Eli. “They’ve arrested a young woman, but I don’t think she’s the one who did it.”

“Terrible shame. Two young lives.” The stout lobsterman shook his head angrily. “And now that damned boat is going around pretending to be the
Zephyr
.”

“Have you talked to any of the harbormasters?” Eli asked.

“I’m about to,” he growled.

“If anyone knows where she’s docking,” I said, “we’d be interested to know.”

“If I hear anything, I’ll give Eli a jingle. Now, before I forget
…
” He opened a hatch and reached in. “How many do you need?”

Eli turned to me. “Want any?”

“No, thanks. You’ve been help enough, Mike,” I said.

“You sure?” Mike asked.

I smiled. “Positive.”

“We’ll take two then,” Eli said. “One for me and one for Claudette. We owe you one, Mike.”

“No problem, Eleazer. Thanks for stopping by. How’s the missus, anyway?”

“Enjoying the grandkids,” Eli beamed. “We’ll have to have you and Pat over sometime.”

“I’ll have the wife ring Claudette up,” Mike said, then handed Eli the two lobsters—good two-pounders, it looked like.

Eli thanked him and clambered down to the skiff with his dinner. “Let me know if you find out anything.”

“I’m on it,” Mike said, and a moment later we were motoring back toward Cranberry Island with two lobsters crawling around on the floor of the skiff. Thankfully, their claws were rubber-banded shut.

“Why would someone pretend to be the
Zephyr
, do you think?” I asked as we motored home. A few rain clouds were forming far over the water, and a loon bobbed to the right of the boat, taking flight as the little skiff neared it.

“Trying to keep something secret.”

I thought about that for a moment. “Where’s the tide right now?” I called over the thrum of the motor.

“About a half hour away from low tide,” he replied.

“Do you mind stopping by Smuggler’s Cove?” I asked.

He glanced back at me, a bushy gray eyebrow cocked. “You think this fake
Zephyr’s
using it?”

“Maybe,” I said. “It’s been hanging out nearby lately.”

“That’s a bad luck place for you, Miss Natalie,” he warned. “You sure you’re up for it?”

I nodded. “I think so.” My voice sounded more confident than I felt. “As long as you’ll take us in.”

“Ayuh,” he said. “Can’t hurt to have a look-see.”

The storm clouds had come closer by the time we reached the little black cavern on Cranberry Island. Although the water was studded with multicolored lobster buoys, there was no sign of a lobster boat.

“I’ll hand her over to you now,” I said, idling the motor as Eli and I switched places. He slowly approached the cove, deftly guiding the little skiff around the submerged rocks we both knew littered the water around it.

“Ready?” he asked.

“Let’s do it.”

I gripped the sides tightly as he urged the little skiff forward, using just enough power to keep her moving past the rocks, but not so much that we’d approach the rocky, dark mouth of the cove too fast.

The sound of the little skiff seemed to be magnified a hundred times as we entered Smuggler’s Cove, the thrum of the motor ricocheting off the rock walls. I realized as soon as we passed into the cove that I had forgotten an important thing: a flashlight. As I opened my mouth to tell Eli we had to go back, a narrow beam of light came from behind me, darting across the rocky shelf.

“Where did that come from?” I asked, relieved. It was hard enough to maneuver in the cove with light; turning the skiff around in the small space without it would be treacherous.

“Always carry one on my keychain,” he answered as I scrambled to put out the bumpers and tie the little skiff up to the rusted iron loops that had been there for decades. Maybe longer. “Never know when it’ll come in handy.” He hopped up onto the rock shelf first, nimble despite his years, and reached out a hand to help me up.

“Let’s take a look.” His calm voice helped soothe my jangled nerves, and I followed him through the little opening into the larger cave.

“Muddy,” he pointed out, scanning the rough floor with his penlight. It was impossible to tell if the cove had been used since the last time I’d been here, or if the mud was old. “Not much else here, though.”

“Think they stopped using it after they saw me going in here?” I asked.

“Was there anything in here then?”

“Just mud. Same as now.” He swept the floor with the light again, and I spotted something. “Wait. Point it back over here.” I moved toward a crevice near the back, where I’d spotted something shiny.

He moved the light over the area until it caught on something that looked like crumpled plastic. I reached for it; it was a sandwich bag. It looked empty at first, but then I took a closer look. Little bits of green clung to the inside, and when I opened it, my suspicions were confirmed.

“Marijuana.”

_____

Eli made a “tsking” noise. “Probably some high school kids,” he said. “Up to no good. Used to be liquor they filched from their parents’ houses, but nowadays …”

“Let’s look and see if there’s anything else.” While I listened nervously for the sound of an approaching boat, Eli carefully ran the light over every nook and cranny of the cave, but came up with nothing.

“Looks like they’re using the cove for a smoke,” he said, resignation in his voice.

“That doesn’t make sense, though,” I replied. “The window of time for getting in and out of here is too small. Surely there are enough hidden-away places on the island that would be better.” I pushed my hair back behind my ear. “Besides, why go to the trouble of disguising a lobster boat just to have a smoke in Smuggler’s Cove?”

“People do odd things. But in the meantime, unless you’d like to spend the next twelve hours in here, we should think about heading back out.”

I shivered. I didn’t relish the thought of doing that again. Particularly if that lobster boat decided to make a return visit. I tucked the bag into my shorts pocket and followed Eli back to the skiff, untying the ropes as he revved the engine. At my request, he paused in the mouth of the cove. Wherever the fake
Zephyr
was, she wasn’t here today, though, so as the water crept up the sides of Smuggler’s Cove, he zipped through the opening and turned the boat toward home.

_____

“So,” Eli asked when we pulled back into the dock behind his house a half hour later. “What do you think of her?”

I looked down at the beautiful white skiff and grinned. “I love her. How much?”

He grinned at me. “Consider her an early wedding present.”

“Eli, it’s too much
…
”

“You’re one of us now, Natalie,” he said. “And if you’re going to be an islander, you need a boat.”

I reached over and hugged him. “Thank you, Eli. Thank you so much.”

“When is that wedding going to be, anyway?”

“There may be some news on that front very soon,” I said. “We thought we were getting married in Florida, but there may be a change in plans.”

“Oh, really? What do you have in mind?”

“It’s still a secret,” I said, grinning at him. “I’ll let you know as soon as I can.”

“Well, let us know,” he said. “If we can make it, we will. Got time for a cuppa? The missus is dying to see you.”

My heart expanded until it filled my chest. “Absolutely, Eli. Absolutely.”