The Maine Mutiny (25 page)

Mort shook his head. “Nope. Maureen picked these up for me at Charles Department Store. I can take them back if they don’t fit.”

He slid his feet into the new shoes and sat back, a beatific smile on his face. “Ah, much better.” He stood, turned in a circle, then sat again, still smiling. “Now, what can I do for you? Must be important for you to come out in this miserable weather.”

“This is Abigail Brown,” I said. “She has some information I think you’ll find interesting.”

Abigail related to Mort the same story she’d told me. Having confessed once, she found the retelling of it easier, and was able to keep the tears at bay, although her voice was still full of emotion.

Mort listened carefully and took notes. When she was finished, he had her repeat her narrative to Deputy Jenkins in the next room. I knew he would compare her first telling to the second one, looking for discrepancies, but I doubted he’d find any. The information she provided him was identical to what she’d told me.

While Abigail gave her statement to Jenkins, I took the opportunity to catch up with Mort on another issue. “Have you gotten back the postmortem on Henry Pettie?” I asked.

“Knew you’d want to know about that eventually,” he said. “I have the report right here.” He rifled through some papers on his desk and drew out the one he sought. “The toxicological results will take a few weeks, as you know, but the coroner says it looks like Pettie expired from a blow to the head,” Mort said, reading from the paper. “ ‘An examination of the skull revealed a single horizontal fissure below the median nuchal line of the occipital bone on the posterior of the cranium.’ Back of the head,” he said, chopping at his own skull with the side of his hand.

“Must have been a heck of a blow.”

“It was enough to kill him, assuming he wasn’t poisoned as well. Not likely, I’d say. And you were right: The body was probably moved. There were scuff marks on the back of the heels of his cowboy boots. Likelihood is, he wasn’t killed on the
Done For.
”

“I’m not surprised at the scuff marks,” I said. “But Pettie liked to put his feet up on his desk, and that could explain them. However, I’m pretty sure I saw the killer carrying his body onto the boat. So I agree. He must have been killed elsewhere.”

“Too bad you didn’t see who it was toting the body.”

“I was way too far away. Besides, it was very dark. What kind of instrument would make such a horizontal mark?”

“Could be anything,” Mort said. “He might not have been standing upright at the time. You didn’t see anything on the boat that could have been the murder weapon?”

“No. And I didn’t see anything that might have been used to hit me, either.”

“The killer probably threw it overboard.”

“Together with Pettie’s notebook and wallet. His pockets were empty.”

“What notebook?”

“Mary Carver told me he kept a record of the money people owed him in a small black notebook. I saw Pettie mark something down in it the day I went fishing with Levi and Evan. It wasn’t on his person when I checked the body.”

“I wonder how many people owed him money,” Mort said.

“Just about everyone, according to Mary.”

“Spencer, too?”

“Could be, but I don’t know. Does the report indicate time of death?”

“Coroner estimates between seven and midnight.”

“That’s a pretty wide span,” I said.

“The body may have been chilled by the water, so it makes it harder to narrow the time.”

“Of course. How foolish of me. I should have realized that.”

“You’re probably not up to snuff yet, Mrs. F. How are you feeling? I saw the doc yesterday, and he wasn’t too happy with your not staying home.”

“I am a testament to the curative powers of fourteen hours of sleep,” I said. “Not to mention a hot bath. Seth was right: I tried to do too much too soon. But today I’m one hundred percent improved over yesterday.”

“You’re going to take it easy all the same, though, aren’t you?”

“I’m going to follow doctor’s orders, and listen to my body.”

“Glad to hear it.”

Abigail knocked on Mort’s door after having given her report to Harold Jenkins, and Mort walked us outside. We stood next to Abigail’s car, the rain pelting down on the green umbrella Seth had given me.

Mort raised the collar of his slicker. “I’ll need to confirm your story with Evan Carver before I can release old Spencer,” he said to Abigail. “But I want you to know that I think you’re a very honorable young lady, coming forward to vouch for Durkee even if it might cost you the pageant. I’m sure your parents will be proud of you.”

“I told her the same thing,” I said.

“I hope you’re both right,” she said. “I’m going to talk to Gwen Anissina right now. Then I’ll go home to tell my folks.”

“You do that, dear,” I said. “I’m sure Gwen will understand, too.”

We waved as Abigail drove off.

“Need a lift somewhere, Mrs. F? The cruiser is right here.”

“Ordinarily I’d say no, Mort. I’m only going over to Mary Carver’s to see if she needs any last-minute help. But given this foul weather, I wouldn’t mind a ride.”

“Hop in,” he said.

I folded the umbrella and climbed in the passenger seat of the police car.

“Are you going to tell Mrs. Carver about Abigail and Evan on the beach?” he asked.

“No. I think that news is better coming from Evan.”

“He’s going to have a lot of explaining to do. They tampered with evidence.”

“Go easy on him when he comes in to give you his version,” I said. “He was only trying to protect Abigail. I don’t think they ever expected Spencer would be arrested if the bottle wasn’t found.”

“I gotta say, Mrs. F, I really thought Spencer did it. But you believed he was innocent, and it looks like you’re right. Asking the paper to call for witnesses was a brilliant stroke. Still, Pettie was planning to see him that night. Now we have to figure out who he actually met.”

The rain was still coming down when I knocked on Mary’s kitchen door and let myself in. Her twelve-year-old daughter was standing at the sink eating a peanut-butter-and-jelly sandwich folded in half. Drips of jam from the open jar, as well as crumbs from a half-eaten loaf of bread spilling out of its packaging, were scattered on the counter, together with a milk carton and an empty glass.

“Hi, Anna,” I said. “Is your mother home?”

“She just ran to the store, but she’ll be right back. You can wait, if you want.”

“Thank you. I think I will.” I crossed the room to sit at Mary’s oval table, taking care not to step on Anna’s sneakers, which she’d left on the floor by the baker’s rack.

Anna looked around the kitchen at the mess she’d made. “I better clean this up before Mom gets back, huh?”

“It wouldn’t be a bad idea.”

“That’s what I thought,” she said, screwing the lid onto the jam jar and dropping the dirty knife into the dishwasher without rinsing it. “You want some coffee? Mom has some left in the pot.”

“No, thank you. I just had breakfast a little while ago,” I said. “I understand you’ve been watching the pageant rehearsals. How are they going?”

“It’s going to be awesome. But it sucks that it’s raining, don’t you think? It would be way cooler if we could be outside.”

“The rain may let up tonight. There’s still hope for dry weather tomorrow.”

Anna put away the bread, jam, and milk, swiped a sponge over the granite countertop, rinsed out the sink, and wiped her mouth with the dishtowel hanging by the window. “There,” she said, grinning at me. “Perfect, huh?”

“What about those?” I said, cocking my head at her sneakers.

“Oh, gawd, thanks. She’d kill me if she saw I’d left those there again. My pop almost took a switch to me the other night.” Anna flopped onto the floor next to the baker’s rack and pulled on the high-tops one at a time, carefully loosening the laces so they wouldn’t drag on the ground if she didn’t tie them. Finished, she lay on her back and sighed.

“Tough day?” I asked, smiling.

“Yeah. Wow. Everybody’s so nervous about the festival. They’re fightin’ all the time. But rain or not, it’s going to be awesome. Really awesome. What do you think?”

“I agree,” I said. “A little rain won’t make the day any less memorable.”

“Mom says all the guesthouses are filling up. I’m really excited.”

She rolled to her side to get up. “Hey, what’s this?” she said, reaching under the bottom shelf of the rack. She sat up cross-legged and examined the object she’d found. “It’s an earring.”

My hands automatically reached for my ears, but my earrings were in place. “I’ve never seen your mother wear earrings,” I said.

“She doesn’t.”

“May I see it?” I asked.

Anna scrambled to her feet and dropped the gold disk into my palm. I turned it over and over, examining the outer surface, where a set of initials had been engraved.

“No, it’s not mine,” I said, “but I think I know the person it belongs to. May I keep it for a little while?”

“Sure. But let me know if there’s a reward for finding it. My friend Emily Corr—she’s Katherine’s sister—she found a diamond ring in the bathroom at Mara’s once, and the lady who claimed it gave her ten whole dollars.”

“If there’s a reward, I’ll be sure to pass it along,” I said.

The kitchen door swung open and Mary bustled in, her arms full of packages. “Anna, run to the car and bring in the cake box. Hello, Jessica. Hope I didn’t keep you. You wouldn’t believe what Sassi’s is like this morning. Lines out the door.”

“My heavens,” I said, relieving Mary of one of her shopping bags and placing it on the counter. “What’s going on?”

“It’s the visitors. There’s not a room to be found in Cabot Cove. The guesthouses are full, and all the motels and hotels out by the highway are completely sold out. The mayor put out a call asking anyone who can accommodate guests in their spare rooms to sign up at town hall.” As Mary talked, she unpacked her groceries. “We have Ginny’s old room we can rent out. She and Pete were going to come for the festival, but they can drive over. It’s less than an hour. I’m stocking up in case we get called upon.”

“Looks like the festival is going to be a big success,” I said, handing her a box of cereal from one of the shopping bags.

“Yes, thanks to you.”

“Me! Why?”

“All the papers and the TV stations covered the murder, and you being found alive”—Mary imitated an announcer’s formal voice—
“only days before the Cabot Cove Lobsterfest.”

“Oh, my.”

“The mayor said the phones haven’t stopped ringin’ since. I hope Levi won’t mind if we rent out Ginny’s room. We can use the extra cash. Anyway, I bought a lovely coffee cake for the continental breakfast we’re supposed to provide. Do you think it’s all right to serve eggs at a continental breakfast?”

“I’m sure any guests of yours will be delighted with your breakfast,” I said.

“Mom, can I have one of these cookies?” Anna asked, lifting the corner of a cake box she’d brought in.

“No, those are for visitors. Take one from the cookie jar instead.”

“But these have chocolate on the outside.”

“You may take one, but if I see you sneaking more, I’ll tan your hide.”

Anna extracted a long oval cookie with chocolate on both ends and wrapped it carefully in a napkin. “I’m going to share it with Emily. We’re meeting at the gym. Okay if I go now?”

“Yes, off with you, but be back early.”

“Okay. ’Bye, Mom.” She kissed her mother’s cheek. “ ’Bye, Mrs. Fletcher. Don’t forget my reward.”

“I’ll remember,” I said.

“What is that girl going on about?”

“Mary, why did you buy cookies when you’ve got homemade ones?” I asked.

“There are only a few in the jar,” she replied, folding the grocery bags and putting them away. “All the ones in the freezer are for the festival bake sale tomorrow. I won’t have time to make a new batch before then. Too much to do.” She stopped and took a deep breath. “It’s so exciting. I’ve got coffee. Want some?”

I shook my head.

“Tea?”

“No, but you go ahead.”

Mary poured herself a cup of coffee and we sat at her table.

“Are you still on duty for tomorrow?” she asked.

“I was signed up to cover the used book sale,” I said, “but the library director left a message saying that in light of the recent incident, they’d gotten a replacement for me.”

“That was smart of her. You shouldn’t be on your feet so much. But you look a lot better today than yesterday.”

“I feel a lot better, too. Thank you for the beautiful roses, by the way. It was so thoughtful. A lovely surprise to come home to.”

“That was Levi’s idea,” she said. “I would’ve sent you a casserole, but he said you probably had a dozen of them already.”

“People have been very generous,” I said. I hesitated. Perhaps now wasn’t the time to ask about the wine bottle. Everyone was in a holiday mood. The festival was upon us. Why bring up accusations and suspicions? I conducted an internal debate. Should I wait until the Lobsterfest was over to continue my investigation? Who would suffer if I waited a few days? What would be the right thing to do?

“Mary, I have a question for you.”

“Yes?”

“I saw a pretty heart-shaped bottle at Charles the other day. David said it was from homemade blueberry wine, and that Levi gives him a bottle every year.”

“I know exactly what you saw.” She jumped up, pulled out a step stool, climbed on it, and reached the top shelf of the cabinet over the refrigerator. “You mean this, don’t you?” she said, coming down and placing a full bottle of blueberry wine in front of me. It was the same shape and color as the bottle with the wildflowers in it, only this one had a label on it with an elaborate drawing of blueberries and glasses intertwined. In calligraphic script, it read CABOT COVE BLUEBERRY WINE, VINTAGE 2004.