Boiled Over (A Maine Clambake Mystery) (2 page)

I spun back toward the Claminator, then back to Richelle. My brain felt like it would split in two. Richelle was probably alive. There was no hope for the thing that had fallen out of the clambake fire. I ran toward Richelle.

Before I reached her prone body, she was surrounded by firefighters. Three cops materialized out of nowhere. An ambulance pulled up at the entrance to the pier. Seeing she was well taken care of, I headed back toward the Claminator.

Sonny had doused the fire. He stood with the hose in one hand and his other arm was around my sister Livvie, whose auburn head curled into his powerful neck. Her body shook and I could tell she was crying. I put my hand on her back and patted gently, wishing my boyfriend Chris were there to put his arms around me.

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is,” I whispered.

“It’s exactly what you think it is,” Sonny answered through clenched teeth. He nodded toward Livvie’s shaking back, indicating he didn’t want to say more.

A police car and a county sheriff’s car blocked the end of the pier, leaving a narrow corridor for people to get out. Two officers stood taking contact information from each person as they left. Several people stopped to tell their stories, gesturing and pointing. I looked up at the balcony of the Lighthouse Inn where the photographer had been. He was gone.

“Julia, are you okay?” Jamie Dawes, my childhood friend, now a rookie on the Busman’s Harbor force, appeared beside me. Things had been strained between us since that spring when we’d sort of accidentally, drunkenly kissed. My sister maintained it hadn’t been so much of an accident—he wanted more from me than friendship, but I was head-over-heels for Chris Durand.

“How’s my friend, Richelle—the woman who fainted?”

“Alive,” Jamie said. “Though it looks like she has a serious head injury from falling on the curb.”

A siren brup-brup-brupped as the ambulance inched its way through the crowd.

“And the . . . thing?” I couldn’t bring myself to say foot . . . or to look. I pointed vaguely in the direction of the charred body part.

“I have to secure the scene,” Jamie said almost apologetically.

“Do whatever you have to,” I reassured him.

When I stepped back out of his way, I became aware of a voice keening above the hubbub of the crowd. Bunnie Getts stood behind the microphone on the little stage, wailing. Jamie noticed her, too. Gesturing to his partner to stay with the Claminator, Jamie moved toward the stage as quickly as the crowd allowed. I was right behind him.

“It’s over, over, over!” Bunnie howled. “All my hard work. Ruined!”

“Ms. Getts, maybe if you could—”

But Bunnie had spotted me coming toward the stage. “You!” she shouted, pointing dramatically. “This is all your fault!”

Heads spun in my direction.

“Ms. Getts,” Jamie insisted, using his all business, police officer voice. Most people paid attention when he spoke that way.

But not Bunnie. “You don’t
see
dead people,” she spat toward me. “You
attract
them!”

She had a point. Only eight weeks earlier, someone had been murdered on our island. And now there was a bare human foot, a shin, and, I shuddered, maybe more in the wood fire under the Claminator.

Jamie finally grabbed the mike and turned it off.

But that didn’t slow Bunnie down. “It’s ruined,” she cried. “Everything I’ve worked so hard for. Ruined.”

I realized she might be right. What was going to happen? The town was filled to bursting with tourists. Would they all check out of their hotels and melt away?

“Founder’s Weekend isn’t ruined,” I said. “Right, Officer Dawes? There are lots of places other than this pier to watch the windjammer parade.” The magnificent sailboats were already in place just outside the mouth of the harbor, ready to begin their stately progression. “The art show is set up on the town common. And the concert and fireworks are in Waterfront Park tonight. We don’t need to use the pier for any of those activities.”

“Julia, we barely had enough officers before this happened.” Jamie gestured toward the crowd. “Look at the number of people.”

“Can you get more help? The state police will be here soon to investigate the, um, thing. Can you request more backup from the neighboring towns? You know what Founder’s Weekend means.”

Jamie had lived in Busman’s Harbor his whole life and knew everyone in town was in some way dependent on tourism. Founder’s Weekend should have been the busiest days of the summer. “All right. I’ll talk to the chief. We’ll figure it out.”

Bunnie wasn’t mollified, but at least now she had a mission. She scurried off to tell the other committee members the show might go on, more or less as planned.

Jamie’s partner appeared at the edge of the stage. “Lieutenant Binder’s on his way.”

Lieutenant Binder of the State Police Major Crimes Unit.

“He wants to meet with us as soon as he arrives. You, too, Ms. Snowden. The lieutenant wants to see you right after he’s finished with us.”

The first state police officers to arrive at the scene commandeered the pizza joint that backed onto the pier as a makeshift headquarters. I paced under the watchful eyes of a trooper until Lieutenant Binder and Sergeant Flynn arrived from Augusta. While we waited, the Claminator was cordoned off with crime scene tape. The police cars at the end of the pier moved out of the way and the ambulance sped off with Richelle, running its siren full-out as it reached Main Street.

At the entrance to the pier, Bunnie argued with a uniformed officer. I imagined her telling him she was much too important to be stuck there. The cop held up his palm, signaling for her to be patient. I saw my boyfriend Chris on the other side of the barricade. He seemed to insist he had to get onto the pier. It warmed me to see he wanted to be with me. I waved to get his attention, but he didn’t see me.

Finally the Major Crimes Unit arrived. I paced some more while they met with the local cops. Then I was called inside.

Lieutenant Jerry Binder and Sergeant Tom Flynn stood in the noisy room, a little apart from the uniformed officers and crime scene techs who bustled in and out. “Ms. Snowden. We meet again,” Binder said.

Indeed. When we’d had a murder on our island in the spring, Binder and Flynn had been the principle investigators. For the most part, I liked Binder. He had an even-handed, methodical way about him, which I’d come to appreciate, though it had been more than a little aggravating when my family’s property and livelihood had hung in the balance. He had warm brown eyes over a ski-slope nose. What was left of the hair ringing his head was medium brown.

Flynn was more difficult to know. His hard body, bearing, and short hair suggested a military background, but our conversations had been all business, so that was pure speculation on my part. It was obvious from their relationship that Binder had total confidence in Flynn, and that gave me confidence, too, despite Flynn’s closed-off manner.

Binder indicated one of the restaurant’s tables and we sat down. “How are you?”

“I was better an hour and a half ago.”

“I know. It’s tough. My understanding is the remains were found in a wood fire you were using for your clambake.”

“That’s correct. At least I assume it’s correct. All I saw was a foot, an ankle, and a bit of calf. Was it a whole body?”

“There was more than what you saw, but we won’t know how complete the remains are until the medical examiner finishes,” Binder answered.

“Do you know who it is?”

“No,” Binder responded. “Do you?”

“I think it’s Stevie Noyes.” My answer popped out before I could stop it. While I’d waited, I’d wondered who the person attached to that foot might be. It was so odd that Stevie wasn’t at the opening ceremonies. He’d been looking forward to Founder’s Weekend for months. Somehow, my worries about Stevie’s absence had combined with the foot’s presence to convince me the foot belonged to him.

Flynn fixed me with a level gaze. “Why Noyes?”

“No reason. Except he wasn’t at the opening ceremonies. And he should have been. He was on the committee and loved the idea of our first Founder’s Weekend.”

“Where does Mr. Noyes live?”

“Just up the peninsula. He owns Camp Glooscap, the RV park, and lives on the property.”

Flynn wrote in his notebook.

“Did you build the clambake fire this morning?” Binder asked.

I shook my head. “My brother-in-law Sonny did. Or I assume he did. With his assistant Cabe Stone. I didn’t get to the pier until much later. I’m on the Founder’s Weekend committee and had other things to take care of.”

“When the body was discovered, where were you?” Binder asked.

“About thirty feet away, standing on the curb next to Richelle Rose.”

“The woman who was injured? Did you see her go down?”

“No, by then I was running toward the clambake.”

“Who else had access to the fire?” Binder asked.

“There were maybe six hundred people on the pier.”

“No, I mean earlier. During setup.”

“‘I’m sorry. Like I said, I wasn’t there.” I was beginning to feel less than useless.

“What about”—Flynn glanced at his notes though I had a feeling he didn’t actually need to—“this Cabe Stone, the person who was assisting your brother-in-law?”

“He’s the new guy, so he had to work with Sonny today. Most of our employees have the day off.” The town clambake, unlike the sit-down meal we served on the island, was strictly buffet, which meant a rare holiday in the middle of the high season for our employees.

“What did Stone do when the body was discovered?” Again, I felt like Flynn was asking a question he already knew the answer to.

“He left.”

“Left the fire?”

“Left the pier.”

“Walking? Running?”

“Jogging.” In my mind’s eye, I saw Cabe loping away, just before the local cops appeared.

“What do you know about Mr. Stone?” Binder asked.

“He’s a hard worker. A good person.” I wanted to make sure Binder and Flynn understood that.

“Yes. But what do you
know
about him? For example, where does he live?”

I shook my head.

“Where did he work before?”

I shook it again.

“Is he a native of Busman’s Harbor? Does he have people in the area? Do you have any idea where he might likely go?”

“No, not that I know of, and no.”

“This guy works for you full-time?” Binder’s eyebrows rose, indicating either he didn’t believe me or I was an absolutely terrible employer.

“Yes, but my brother-in-law supervised him at the fire pit. You’ll have to ask Sonny.”

“Great.” Flynn didn’t look like he thought this was so great. Sonny had been less than forthcoming with the cops the last time they’d been in town.

“Do you have anything in your employee records with his address or phone number on it?” Binder asked.

“Maybe his employment application. I’ll look.” A flush crept up my neck. I was certain Binder and Flynn noticed. I couldn’t remember exactly what information I’d collected from Cabe, but I had a terrible feeling it wasn’t much. At the time, I was desperate for a warm body.
Ugh. I’ll never use that phrase again
.

“Is there anything else you can tell us that might help?” Binder asked.

“Just one thing. It’s tiny, really.” I wasn’t even sure if I should mention it, but I was struggling to find some way to be helpful. Both officers looked interested. More interested than my information warranted. “There was a man on the balcony of the Lighthouse Inn. He was taking photos of the activity on the pier using a big lens. I wonder if he might have captured something.”

“Was he out there early this morning?” Flynn moved forward in his seat like it was new information.

“Like I said, I didn’t get to the pier until later. Do you think that’s when the . . . body . . . was put in the firewood?”

“We don’t know yet. Where was this photographer exactly?”

I squinted to bring back the scene. “Lighthouse Inn, third floor, second balcony from the left.”

“Thanks. You’ll still have to make a formal witness statement. The officer over there will take it.” Binder pointed in the direction of the officer.

“I understand.”

“Oh, and Julia, I’d like you to keep your ears open and keep us in the loop. You live in town. You’ll pick up things we won’t.”

So I was
Julia
now, was I? This was apparently as close as Binder was willing to go in acknowledging my help on his last case. The one he wouldn’t have solved without me.

“Absolutely,” I said. And meant it.

Binder directed me to a business-like state police detective who methodically took notes while she walked me back over the ground I’d just covered. When we were done, she sent me out the pizza parlor’s front door onto Main Street.

Outside, I blinked in the mid-afternoon sunshine. Gangs of tourists laughed and called to one another as they ducked in and out of shops. It seemed so incongruous given the grim scene on the pier behind the buildings.

I wanted to ask Sonny all the questions Binder and Flynn had asked me. When had he and Cabe set up the Claminator, and who’d been around? And find out if he, who worked side by side with Cabe, knew any more about him than I did. But Sonny and Livvie were still on the cordoned-off pier, waiting their turns with the state police. There was no way to get back to them and it wasn’t a conversation I wanted to have over our cell phones.

Meanwhile, Founder’s Weekend went on around me. My next scheduled committee job was to check on the art show already in progress on the town common. I headed up the hill.

The common was mobbed. A steady breeze billowed the tops of the white tents where the artists displayed their wares. Around me I heard comments—“I love it,” “I hate it,” “It matches the couch,”—and bargaining, “I’ll give you forty dollars for it.” The happy sounds of commerce.

“At least something’s going right.” Bunnie stood on the path, trapping me between two tents.

“Bunnie. They let you off the pier.”

“Yes, the police finally took my information and told me I could go. I’m surprised they were done with you so quickly. After all, it was your contraption that cooked that poor soul. And the killer was your employee.”

“The killer? I’m not aware anyone has been arrested.”

“The young man. What’s his name? He hasn’t been arrested, yet, but it’s just a matter of time, I hear.”

“His name is Cabe Stone. Who told you he was going to be arrested?”

Bunnie waved a hand, taking in the entire common. “Everyone. I heard he was a juvenile delinquent with a record as long as your arm. And he ran away from the pier as soon as the body was discovered. I saw it with my own eyes.”

“That’s ridiculous.”
Is it?
“Why would Cabe kill Stevie Noyes?”

The color drained from behind Bunnie’s makeup. “Stevie? Who said the victim was Stevie?”

“No one,” I admitted. I couldn’t believe I’d blurted out Stevie’s name again, this time to Bunnie, of all people. “I just find it terribly odd he’s not here today.”

A bit of pink returned to her cheeks. “Oh, is that all? I don’t think it’s odd he’s not here. People let you down, Julia. They let you down terribly. When you’re older, you’ll know.” She paused. “You shouldn’t spread gossip. It can be very hurtful. The last thing we want is Stevie’s friends hearing unfounded rumors of his death.”

I had to admit she had a point. Her emphatic tone gave me hope Stevie was safe and sound at the RV park.

Bunnie hurried off to boss someone else around. I stood for a moment in the crowd, listening more carefully. Sure enough, below the happy chatter about the watercolors of lobster buoys and the oil paintings of crashing waves, there was a low throb of commentary from the local people on the other side of the tables.

“They say it was the boy, the one who ran away.”

“I heard he’s wanted by the police up in Washington County.”

“I heard he escaped from prison.”

“I heard he’s a serial killer.”

“What was a person like that doing working for the Snowdens?”

And always, the refrain, “If he didn’t do anything, why did he run?”

Sometimes I frickin’ hated living in a small town.