Romeow and Juliet (8 page)

“What are you doing in here?”

I turned around to find Camden Bradford standing in the doorway with a bat in his hand.

“Don’t kill me,” I blurted out.

“Why would I kill you?” He lowered the bat.

“You’re holding a bat,” I pointed out.

“I heard a noise and thought it might be a prowler, which I guess it was. What are you doing in here?”

“Looking for proof.”

“Proof of what?”

“Proof that you killed Francine.”

“What?” He looked both shocked and confused.

“You heard me.” I tried to appear both taller and braver than anyone was ever going to believe.

“Why do you think I killed Francine?” Mr. Bradford asked.

I explained about looking for Romeo and what I’d seen the previous night.

“You think Francine is wrapped up in that rug?” He glanced toward the rug.

“Isn’t she?”

“Of course not.”

Mr. Bradford walked across the room and unrolled the rug. It was empty.

“Then where’s Francine and why are you at her house?”

“Francine is a good friend of my mother’s. My mom is having some personal issues. I’ve tried to help her out, but quite frankly, she’s making me nuts. I asked Francine if she would be willing to go visit her to see if she could help her through this difficult time. She was happy to do so, but she’s planning a Founders Day party and had already scheduled a cleaning crew to come in and take care of some things, like cleaning the floors.”

“So you volunteered to move the rug.”

“Exactly.”

“I heard you say you would take care of her. What was that about?”

“Juliet. I’m supposed to take care of Juliet.”

“Oh.” Unfortunately, it all made sense. “So where’s Juliet?”

“Francine dropped her off at a friend’s because she had to leave in such a hurry. I went to pick her up this morning and brought her back here. I’m going to stay here at the house until Francine gets back.”

“Oh.”

“Why would you think I killed Francine in the first place?”

“Because it made sense after I figured out it was you who killed Keith Weaver.”

I have to admit the man didn’t even blink. Maybe he was getting used to my random thoughts and behavior. “I didn’t kill Keith Weaver.”

“His body was found in your building,” I pointed out. “The lock wasn’t damaged. Whoever killed him either has a key to the building or the code to the lockbox. In my book, that narrows the suspects down to you.”

“Keith had a key to the building because he was handling the sale,” Bradford explained. “He might even have been showing the building to a prospective buyer when he was killed.”

“But if you didn’t kill him who did?”

“That’s a question I’ve been asking myself since his body was found.”

“So let me get this straight,” Tara said the next morning as we sat on the deck in front of my cabin, having coffee after our exercise class. “You broke a window and snuck into Francine’s house in order to prove that Mr. Bradford was guilty of murder?”

“Sounds about right.” I poured cream into my coffee as Romeo napped in the swing and Max trotted around the yard, where several of the cats from the sanctuary lounged on the lawn.

“You promised me you’d leave this alone,” Tara reminded me. “We could have lost our only chance at a loan. We could have lost our dream.”

“But we didn’t. Cam wasn’t even mad that I’d broken in, or that I’d accused him of murder.”

Tara picked up the kitten she’d had her eye on when it wandered over. Tara’s the type who likes to think things through rather than making rash decisions, but the kitten and I already knew she’d be taking him home any day now.

“Cam?”

“He told me to call him Cam,” I informed Tara. “I told him he could call me Ms. Hart.”

“You didn’t.”

I shrugged. “It was a joke. He knew it. It’s all good.”

“So you are off the idea that Camden Bradford is the killer?”

“Not at all,” I answered as I watched one of the pair of bald eagles that had been hanging out in the area land on a rock exposed by the low tide. “I said the guy was nice; I didn’t say he was innocent.”

“But you said he explained everything,” Tara pointed out.

“He explained Francine’s absence and his presence in her house. That doesn’t mean he didn’t kill Keith.”

“If you do anything to mess up our loan . . .” Tara warned.

“Don’t worry,” I said with more confidence than I felt. “It’s in the bag.”

“I hope so.” Tara nuzzled the kitten to her cheek. “Did Maggie make it to Seattle okay?”

I nodded. “She had an appointment to meet with a doctor today. I have to admit I’m anxious to hear what he finds.”

“She’s going to be fine,” Tara reassured me as a flock of seagulls noisily flew overhead, causing Max to jump up into the air as if he were trying to catch them.

“I hope you’re right. It just doesn’t seem like she should be sick for this long.”

“How long will she be gone?” Tara asked.

“She’s planning to come home on Monday, but I guess we’ll see how it goes.”

“And you’re filling in at the Bait and Stitch?”

“Yeah, in the afternoons. I probably should think about going in and getting ready to go into town. I have to rework the whale watching tours for the weekend as well. Danny had a couple of large groups sign up for Saturday, so he’s juggling the smaller groups to fit everyone in.”

“I can do it,” Tara offered. “I’m not busy today.”

“Really? That would be great.” Tara had helped out before and knew what to do. “I’ll e-mail you the file. If you have questions just call Danny. I’ll text him to let him know you’re helping out. Thanks again.”

“I’m happy to help. I turned in the proposal we reworked yesterday, so I’m free the rest of the week if you need me to fill in until Maggie gets back.”

“That would be really helpful. The tourists from the mainland are starting to come over to see the whales now that they’re back, and I know Danny’s going to be swamped. I’m sure he’ll really appreciate the help. How did the proposal turn out anyway?”

“I’m really happy with it. If you ask me, I think we have a good shot at making a go of this. I spoke to a couple of contractors who can start work as soon as we get loan approval. It’ll be tight, but I think we can be open before the holidays. I’ve given this a lot of thought and I really believe if we . . .”

I looked out over the ocean as Tara rambled on. Most people wonder why we became friends in the first place. I love Tara like a sister, but even I have to admit that we’re very different people. She’s organized, calculating, and precise, and I’m disorganized, spontaneous, and casual to the point of sloppiness. Sometimes I think that her tendency toward obsessive control balances mine toward impulsivity and vice versa. Whatever the explanation for our bond, I know I’d be a lot worse off without her. Although I have two brothers and two sisters, Tara is as close to me as anyone.

“So what do you think?” Tara asked.

“Think?”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“Of course. You were talking about the cost of having all the supplies we’ll need shipped over on a barge.”

“Two topics ago. I’ve been talking about inventory control procedures for the past five minutes.”

“I’m sure whatever you come up with will be fine.”

“Don’t you want to be part of the decision making?” Tara asked.

“Do I actually get to make any decisions?” I knew the real answer to this question was a resounding no, but Tara would never come right out and say so.

“Sure. We’re a team,” Tara assured me.

“Then I think we should paint the walls blue to match the sea.” I pointed to a spot in the distance. “That blue, to be exact.”

“I like blue,” Tara agreed.

“See?” I smiled. “I’m helping, and as long as I’m helping, I’m going to head inside to get the box and litter you’ll need.”

“Box and litter?” Tara asked.

“For Bandit.”

“Bandit?”

“That little charmer who stole your heart.”

Tara looked down at the kitten, who had fallen asleep in her lap. “You think I should?”

“I do, and so does he.”

By the time Max and I arrived at the Bait and Stitch the women’s quilting circle was at full cackle. Again. Personally, I think the group does more gossiping than quilting.

Although many of the women who were present today were different from the ones who were there the previous day, the topic of conversation seemed to have picked up where it left off with Keith Weaver’s death and its effect on the community as a whole. Most of the members of the circle were longtime residents who opposed the condo development. A good 90 percent of the women supported Maggie as candidate for the upcoming seat on the island council as well.

“Cait, your timing is perfect,” Doris Rutherford, the self-appointed queen bee of the island gossip hotline, commented the moment I walked into the shop. “The girls and I were just discussing the special election.”

“Special election?” I asked. I guess it made sense that they’d hold one to fill Keith’s seat on the island council, but this was the first I’d heard of it. Of course, Irma Farmer, one of the other quilting regulars, lived next door to Mayor Bradley, who was also a member of the council. She was friendly with his wife, so she was often in the know about what was going on long before the general population.

“I would have thought Maggie would have been notified,” Doris answered.

“She’s in Seattle,” I informed the group. “There may be a message on her answering machine. I forgot to check it this morning. So about this election . . . ?”

“Bill Powell is demanding that the council vote on his project in June, as originally planned. It’s a well-known fact that the four remaining council members are split down the middle, which would result in a tie. The council decided to hold an emergency election to fill Keith’s seat.”

“Before June?”

“The election will be held the third Tuesday in June and the vote will take place at the council meeting in July,” Irma confirmed. “I guess the council figured we already had four qualified candidates who’ve been campaigning for weeks to choose from, so why wait? Gary asked that they go ahead and fill his seat at this time as well, giving us four candidates for two seats.”

I frowned. Gary Pixley already had been planning to retire from the council, but it seemed odd that he’d bail out early when there was such an important decision before the board. Gary opposed the development, which would surely send those members of the community who didn’t want the condos to become a reality into a frenzy.

“Did he give a reason for dropping out early?” I asked.

“His hardware store has been struggling and the family plans to close up shop and leave the island,” Irma said. “Maybe he saw the special election as a way to move up the timeline.”

I considered the ramifications of this particular piece of news. Two seats of the five-member council were now open. Of the remaining three members, both Mayor Bradley and Grover Cloverdale were pro development, while one member, Byron Maxwell, was con. There were four candidates for the two seats. Both Aunt Maggie and Francine Rivers were con development, while Drake Moore and Porter Wilson were pro. In order for the proposal to be defeated, Maggie and Francine would both have to win the special election and, conveniently, both of them were out of town. Coincidence? I thought not.

“Can the council even hold a special election on such short notice?” I said.

“I wondered the same thing myself,” Doris answered. “I took a look at the bylaws, and unfortunately, they’re very vague. Basically, the section relating to open seats in the middle of a term states that they can be filled by any means necessary in order to meet the needs of the council. Technically, they can simply appoint someone to fill Keith’s position, which is what a couple of the members wanted to do, but there wasn’t consensus on who should be appointed, thus the special election.”

“Doesn’t this all seem just a bit too coincidental?” I asked.

“How so?” Irma asked.

“Keith dies just prior to the vote, opening the door for not one but two pro development council members to be elected.”

“You think someone killed Keith to sway the vote?” Irma asked.

“It’s the only thing that makes sense.”

“Personally, I would take a look at Keith’s personal life over his role as a member of the island council,” Doris commented.

“His personal life?” I asked.

“There’s a rumor that Keith had been having an affair. Popular opinion is that he planned to leave his wife for this other woman.”

“Keith has been having an affair? Where have I been?”

“That’s the scuttlebutt,” Doris confirmed.

I frowned. If Doris’s piece of news was true, perhaps his wife had been the one to kill him. The thing was, if his wife was the killer, why do the deed in the old cannery? I knew Doris’s tidbits could sometimes be nothing more than idle gossip, so I decided to remain focused on Keith’s role in the upcoming vote and the impact his death would have on the outcome.

“Have you heard from Maggie?” Marley asked after she completed the transaction she’d been involved in when I’d come in and wandered across the store to join us.

“Not yet. I know Siobhan planned to take her to the doctor today. I hope one of them will call me when they know something, but if they don’t, I’ll call Siobhan at the apartment tonight.”

Aunt Maggie refused to carry a cell phone, so calling her directly was impossible.

“I do hope they can figure out what’s wrong,” Marley fretted. “It’s not like her to be down for so long.”

“It seems like her symptoms began around the same time she decided to run for the island council,” Doris said. “Do you think it could be stress that’s making her ill? She’s taken on a lot as of late.”

“Maybe,” the group agreed.

“What do you know about the new district manager for the bank?” I asked them. If anyone had the scoop on Camden Bradford, it would be this group.

“I know he isn’t really a banker,” Doris commented.

“What do you mean, he isn’t really a banker?” I asked.

“Six months ago his brother-in-law was in a serious automobile accident,” Doris shared. I had no idea where she got her information, but she generally tended to offer interesting tidbits. “The brother-in-law was the district manager at the bank before his accident, and although it appears he’s going to be fine, his recovery has been slow. The bank was willing to keep his job open for a short time, but they were clear that if his injuries resulted in a prolonged absence they’d need to replace him. I guess Camden Bradford was some sort of high-profile investment banker before he quit and disappeared. The bank agreed to hold his brother-in-law’s job indefinitely as long as he agreed to sub for him.”

“What do you mean, he disappeared?” I asked.

Doris shrugged. “I’m not sure what he was doing, but it appears he quit his job a couple of years ago without any apparent reason, sold his penthouse apartment, and simply faded from society. He didn’t reappear until after the accident.”

“Why would the bank agree to let him fill in?” I wondered.

“I imagine they realized they were never going to get anyone even half as qualified as he is for the money they were offering,” Doris theorized.

“I heard that Bradford’s brother-in-law is close to returning to work,” Ruth offered. “So Camden Bradford will probably disappear from the island as abruptly as he appeared.”

My phone rang. I looked at the caller ID. “It’s Siobhan,” I commented before answering.

The group whispered quietly as I spoke to my sister. I could see that Marley was almost as tense as I was as she waited to hear the fate of her best friend in the entire world. I don’t know what I was expecting Siobhan to report, but of all the things I anticipated might be wrong with Maggie, the truth was so much worse than I feared.