Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) (19 page)

twenty-two

The air in the
kitchen felt as brittle as hard candy when the phone call came later that evening. Zeke answered, then handed the phone to John.

“What happened?” he asked the moment he picked up the phone.

I watched his face as he listened, but it was unreadable. “Where is he now?” he asked.

She spoke a bit more—it sounded like Catherine—and then he thanked her and hung up.

“Well?” I asked.

“You were right,” he said. “Fred turned up in his lobster boat to make a pick-up.”

“What happened?”

“He got in, and got back on the boat. There was a long chase, but then …”

Something about the way he trailed off made me fearful. “What?”

“Well, he had a heart attack,” he said.

“A heart attack?”

“He lost control of the boat and it ran aground on a rock. They got on and got him off, but he’s in bad shape.”

“I knew he had a heart condition,” I said. “Charlene told me about it. The stress must have brought it on.” I looked at John. “Did they find the marijuana?”

He nodded. “They don’t know where it came from, though. At least not yet.”

“And he hasn’t said anything about Derek, either,” I guessed.

“He can’t speak,” John said. “It’s a pretty bad attack.”

I looked at them both. “Should we just let this go, maybe?”

Zeke stood up. “No,” he said, putting an arm around Brad. “I have to confess.”

“What about Brad?”

“I won’t be gone forever,” he said, “and I’ll use what money I’ve earned to find him a good place to stay till I’m back.”

“Where you going, Zeke?” The worry on Brad’s face made my heart break.

“I don’t know yet, Brad.” The farmer put a work-roughened hand on his brother’s pale one. “I may have to go away for a little while, but I’ll come back.” My stomach churned. A little while could be decades, I was guessing. “And I’ll make sure you’re taken care of.”

“Are you sure you want to do this?” John asked levelly.

Zeke nodded. “I won’t be able to live with myself if I don’t take responsibility for my actions. Besides, I might be able to help them clear up this ring. Keep kids from being involved.”

“Sleep on it,” John said, surprising me.

“No,” Zeke said. “I want them to hear it from me first.” He looked at me. “I hate to ask this, but could you take Brad back to the inn with you? Just in case …”

“Of course,” I said gently. “If you’re sure.”

“I’m sure,” he said, his face grim. “And I’d like to get it over with.”

_____

As I settled Brad into bed, he looked at me with his trusting eyes. “When will Zeke be back?”

“Soon, I hope,” I told him. “Now, why don’t you get a good night’s sleep, and tomorrow morning I’ll make blueberry muffins.”

“With sugar on top?”

“With sugar on top,” I promised, then plugged in the night light and returned to the kitchen, where Catherine was waiting with a cup of warm milk spiked with rum. John had gone with Zeke to the mainland, to be with him as he made his confession.

“You doing okay?” Catherine asked, compassion in her blue eyes.

“I guess,” I said. “I’m worried about Brad, though. If his brother goes to jail, I’d hate to see him institutionalized.”

“I’ll ask Murray to find him a good attorney,” she said. “Maybe if he gives them information to help break up this drug ring John was talking about, they’ll give him a reduced sentence.”

“I hope so,” I said, and the two of us sat and waited.

John called at just before midnight.

“How’d it go?” I asked.

“They took him into custody,” he said. “He’s doing everything he can to help out, though.”

My heart sank. “How about Fred?”

“He’s still not able to talk,” John said. “He’s in the ICU right now.”

“Poor man,” I said. I didn’t like what he’d done, but I still hoped he’d recover.

John sighed. “This whole thing has turned into a giant mess. And we still don’t know who killed Derek.”

After all the excitement of the day, I’d almost forgotten about Tania’s issue. “Zeke didn’t think Fred would kill Derek.”

“Nope, and he’s right.”

“What do you mean?”

“They checked on his alibi. Evidently he was in a bar in Bar Harbor when Derek died. Playing in a poker tournament.”

“So we’re back at square one,” I said.

“Looks like it,” he said. “I love you.”

“I love you too,” I said, and hung up the phone feeling empty. Both Tania and Zeke were likely to be convicted and imprisoned. And there was nothing I could do to help them.

“What’s going on?” Catherine asked.

I told her what John had shared with me—including Fred’s alibi.

“Do you think it could have been someone he was working for?” she suggested.

“Maybe,” I said. Something was niggling at me, though. “Or maybe I’ve been following a false trail all along.” I told her about the threatening handwritten note that had turned up in Derek’s pocket.

“And there was something Fred said to me,” I continued. “He said that Derek was involved with someone on Seal Point Road.” All of a sudden I remembered the woman I’d seen crying near the blueberry patch the morning Derek was found … and the woman I’d seen at his house. I was almost sure it wasn’t Tania; and I thought I knew who it was. There was only one piece that didn’t fit.

“What time is it?” I asked.

“After eleven,” Catherine said.

Too late to confirm it tonight. “If I prepare everything ahead of time, can you serve breakfast tomorrow morning?” I asked.

“I suppose so,” she said. “Why?”

“I have an errand to run,” I told her. “I won’t be long, though.”

_____

It was raining the next morning when my alarm went off. I leaned over and kissed John, who hadn’t gotten in until after two, and padded downstairs to put breakfast together. I had finished my second cup of coffee and slid two pans of blueberry muffins in the oven when the phone rang.

“I heard Zeke Forester got arrested last night,” Charlene said without introduction.

“Yeah. He confessed to growing pot in his barn; he’s going to try to help the police break up the drug ring.”

“What about Brad?”

“He’s staying with us for now.”

“What happens if Zeke ends up in jail for twenty years?”

“I don’t know. I guess we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it.”

“And no help for Tania, either,” she said. “This hasn’t been a terrific week.”

“No,” I agreed, looking out the window at the blue water, which was glittering in the morning sun. I decided to keep my suspicions about Derek’s killer to myself; no use getting Charlene’s hopes up before I was sure. Ever since that one morning when I’d gone blueberry picking, everything had gone awry.

“There’s one good bit of news, though,” she told me. “I heard Derek’s aunt and uncle are expecting a baby.”

“Did they want one?”

“They’d been trying for years,” she said. “Jeff came down to the store and bought drinks for everyone yesterday. He’s so excited that Turtle’s pregnant.”

“Who’s pregnant?”

“His wife. Her name is Elizabeth, but she used to be called Turtle when she was a kid; she was really shy.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen her,” I said. “She’s got a lovely garden, though.”

“Anyway, they’ve been trying for a couple of years. Fertility treatments and everything; they’d just about given up.”

“Well, I’m glad there’s a bit of good news,” I said, trying to sound casual. “Particularly after they lost their nephew. Was he related to him, or her, do you know?”

“Derek was Jeff’s sister’s son,” Charlene said. “Funny how these things happen, isn’t it? The doctor said they should give up and adopt. God works in mysterious ways, I suppose.”

I pulled the sugar canister out of the pantry. “Let’s just hope God manages to get Tania off the hook, too.”

“I know,” she said. “Well, I’ve got to run. Let me know if you need help with Brad.”

“Thanks, but you’ve got enough on your plate as it is,” I told her.

As I hung up a moment later, my mind was whirling. I was dying to get these muffins finished so I could follow up on my hunch.

A moment later, Catherine appeared in the kitchen, dressed in slim-fitting khaki pants and a cashmere sweater.

“What can I do to help?” she asked.

“I’m so glad you asked. I have a quick errand to run. Muffins are in the oven and fruit salad is in the fridge,” I said. “If you could whip up some scrambled eggs and sausage and serve the guests when they come down, that would be terrific.”

“I can do that much,” she said. “When will you be back?”

“I should be back in time to do the dishes.” I grabbed my windbreaker and headed for the door, adrenaline pumping through me.

Catherine’s voice had a suspicious edge. “Where are you going?”

I told her.

“Can’t John go with you?” she asked, giving me a searching look.

“He’s still asleep,” I said. “I’m just going to see if I can lay eyes on her.”

“Do you want me to join you?”

“No, that’s okay. If you’ll take care of the guests, that would be great.”

“Are you sure this is a good idea?”

“I’m just going to take a look,” I said. “If I’m right, I’ll come back and tell the cops.”

She narrowed her eyes at me. “You’re a grown woman, so I can’t stop you. But If you’re not back in an hour,” she said, “I’m waking John and calling the police.”

_____

I parked the van at the end of Seal Point Road, on the shoulder, and got out into the cool summer morning. The dew glistened on the blueberry bushes on the side of the road, and the breeze off the water was fresh with salt mingled with the scent of pine, but I
barely noticed it as I hurried down the road toward my destin
ation.

The little house was as pretty as it had been the day I first saw it. The geraniums still bloomed cheerily in their window boxes, and the roses near the fence bloomed. It looked like a storybook house, but if what I suspected was true, it hid a darker tale.

I turned off the road and plunged into the damp bushes, my eyes trained on the house. There was a light on toward the back. I pushed through the bushes toward the back yard, which was fenced in with a white picket fence and lined with roses. As I peered over the fence into the lit room—the kitchen—I hoped I was right. If I was able to confirm my suspicion, I’d hurry back home and tell John everything, and the police could take it from there.

The thought that I could be wrong flitted into my head, but I decided
to banish that until I knew one way or the other.

There was a person in the kitchen, but the leaves of the rose bushes obscured my view. I moved around a bit, hoping to get a better view, but between the filmy lace curtains and the roses, I couldn’t get a clear line of sight.

There was a garden gate, though, flanked by hydrangeas and white roses. If I could get a little way farther into the yard—I spotted a rose bush that would make a good vantage point—I’d get a better look.

I crept up to the gate and pushed it open. There was a small beeping sound, like a cardinal chirping, as I closed it behind me and scuttled into the yard, positioning myself behind a rose bush. The person in the kitchen disappeared for a moment. Then there was the squeak of a door, and a woman’s voice said, “I don’t know who you are, but I’ve got a gun.”

twenty-three

I recognized her immediately.
Elizabeth Abingdon—T
urtle, to her friends. The woman I had seen crying by the blueberry patch the morning Derek Morton turned up dead. The woman who had been in Derek’s house the day I was there. The woman who had been seeing Derek secretly—and possibly gotten pregnant by him. She held what looked like a shotgun in her hands and was staring at me from wide brown eyes. She was a pretty woman—or would have been, in different cir
cumstances.

“Sorry to bother you,” I said lightly. “Your roses were so beautiful, I thought I’d take a closer look.” Lame, I know. But it’s tough coming up with reasonable excuses on short notice. Particularly when someone’s pointing a shotgun at you. “Would you mind, uh, putting away the gun?”

She didn’t lower it a millimeter. “That’s not why you’re here.”

I pasted on a quizzical look. “What do you mean?”

She didn’t answer.

“Did I set off some kind of motion detector?” I asked, still trying to sound casual.

She didn’t answer.

I struggled to keep my voice conversational, which was a challenge with a gun pointing at my head. “I hear you’re expecting your first child. I can understand your desire to be safe. Your garden is gorgeous, by the way.”

“What do you know about Derek and me?” Her voice quivered, and she bent over a little bit, as if the name hurt her.

“He’s your nephew.”

“He was.” She narrowed her eyes at me. “You saw me that morning. You were out with a coffee can.”

“What morning?” I swallowed. “Oh. The other day, when I was picking berries?”

“You know what morning,” she said, looking scared. “When he died.” She glanced around the back yard. “In the house. Now.”

With my hands still up, I walked up the path to the back of the house and into the kitchen, with Elizabeth behind me. The door shutting behind me reminded me of a coffin lid slamming shut. Thank God, Catherine had told me she’d call the police. I glanced at the clock on the wall; I had thirty minutes to stall. Why had I been such an idiot and gone through the stupid gate?

“Sit down,” she said, pointing me toward a white painted chair. It was stenciled with blue and red designs that went well with the tile backsplash, which was white with blue windmills. It was not what you’d expect from a murderer’s kitchen. “How did you figure it out?”

I glanced at the clock. Twenty-nine minutes to go. “You must have had a challenging relationship with your nephew,” I said slowly. “His death must be very upsetting to you.”

She sank down into a chair across from me. She was still holding the gun in one hand, but the barrel pointed toward the floor now. The other arm curled around her stomach. “Yes,” she said in a hollow voice. Her eyes were ringed with shadows. “He was a bad man. That’s why Jeff sent him away the first time. I didn’t understand it then … but he was right.”

“Did your husband find out that you and Derek were lovers?”

She was silent for a moment, as if she were wavering. Finally, she nodded. “He suspected, but he didn’t know.” She looked at the floor.

“And Derek came back to be with you,” I said. “He must have really cared for you.”

“I thought so,” she said, eyes welling up with tears. She dabbed at them with her apron, but still kept one hand on the gun. “But he was seeing that other girl. And then …” She took a gasping sob. “He turned on me.”

“He’s the father of your baby, isn’t he?” I asked gently.

“Yes.” Her voice was soft and ragged.

“And he was threatening to tell your husband,” I guessed. When she didn’t contradict me, I continued. “Was he blackmailing you?”

“Yes.” The words sounded like they’d been torn out of her, and her hand went to her stomach as if she were in pain. “He told me he’d tell Jeff everything about us. Tell him he was the father of the baby.” Tears streaked down her face as she clutched at her stomach. “It would have killed Jeff. He would have killed me, maybe.” She glanced over her shoulder. There was a gun cabinet in the mudroom, right behind the kitchen.

“You asked to meet him, didn’t you?” I asked. “Where was your special place?”

“By the blueberry field,” she said. “There was an old house back in there.” She sniffed. “His house was too close to the pier. I was afraid Jeff would find us here, so we had another place.”

“Did you plan to kill him?”

She shook her head. “I don’t know why I took the gun. I guess maybe I had a feeling I might need it, but I thought I could talk sense into him. I thought he’d care enough about me to let me go.” Her eyes filled with tears.

“He wanted more money, didn’t he?”

“Yes.” It was a whisper. “And if I gave it to him, we’d be broke. Jeff would find out. I’d have to tell him. And then I’d lose everything. My husband, my baby’s future … my home.” She burst into tears.

“How did it happen?” I asked gently.

“He started toward me. He was angry. Called me a … a stupid bitch. And I just … the gun went off in my hand, and he was dead.”

“Why did you put him in the skiff?”

“I was afraid,” she said in a small voice. “I was hoping it would drift out to sea, and no one would find him.”

“Why Adam’s skiff?”

“I knew where it was,” she said. “And Derek had the key with him still; he had a copy made. I went and got the skiff and then put him in it. I didn’t know what else to do.”

“And the gun?”

“I put it in that slut’s trash can,” she said, her voice sharp for the first time.

“Tania’s, you mean,” I clarified. She nodded. “Did you call in the tip, too?”

Her brows knitted in confusion. “What tip?”

“Someone called and said she had drugs. That wasn’t you?”

“No,” she said, shaking her head. Then she seemed to take stock of the situation, and raised the gun. “Now you know everything,” she said. “But you’re going to tell.” She bent over again, as if she were in pain. She cried out and doubled over, and the gun dropped to the floor.

Her dress was stained with blood, and a small puddle was forming at the bottom of the chair.

“Elizabeth,” I said, leaping up from my chair to catch her before she keeled over.

“The baby,” she wailed.

“Lie down,” I said, easing her to the floor. “I’m going to call emergency services.” I pushed the gun away with my toe, sending it skittering across the kitchen floor.

“But if Jeff finds out …”

“All that matters right now is that you’re okay,” I said, tucking a chair pillow under her head and then reaching for the phone.

_____

I’d been sitting beside Elizabeth for fifteen minutes, holding her
hand and stroking her forehead, when the front door opened. A man’s
voice
called out, “Turtle?”

“In here,” I called.

He stopped short in the doorway to the kitchen, and his ruddy face paled. “Oh, Turtle …” He crossed the kitchen floor in three short steps. “What’s wrong with her?” he asked.

“I’m afraid it may be a miscarriage,” I said, and he looked as if I’d punched him. “Emergency services are on their way.”

“What are you doing here?” he asked. “And why is the shotgun out?”

“It’s not important now,” I said.

“Jeff,” Elizabeth said. “I’m a terrible wife. You never should have married me.”

“Hush now,” he told her. “Don’t say another word. Just take care of our baby.”

She convulsed again at his words, and he looked at me helplessly.

“All we can do is keep her calm,” I said. “They’re on their way.”

We sat on the kitchen floor together, Elizabeth sobbing, Jeff stroking her head and comforting her, until the paramedics arrived.

_____

“They found an empty spot in one of the gun cases,” John said, “and Jeff Abingdon identified the gun.”

“So Tania’s free to go?”

“She will be shortly,” he said. Charlene slumped into one of my kitchen chairs, relieved. “I’d say that calls for a brownie.” The sun shone through the windowpanes, making her caramel-streaked hair glow.

I’d called Catherine while we were waiting for the paramedics to come, and John had raced home as soon as his mother had gotten in touch with him. Charlene had come over shortly afterward, and we’d sat in the kitchen, eating muffins and waiting for news ever since. Brad had popped in from time to time, but Catherine had asked him to water the flowers in the back yard, and we could see him happily filling the watering can and taking it from window box to window box.

“What about the baby?” I asked.

John shook his head. “I’m afraid she’s lost it.”

“Poor thing.” I looked out the window toward the mainland. “Does Jeff know it’s not his yet?”

“I think so,” he told me. “It’s got to be a terrible day for him.”

I sighed. “You were right, Charlene. Derek really was bad news. He got his aunt pregnant, and then blackmailed her to keep it quiet.”

“Very chivalrous,” Catherine observed, adjusting her pearls around her neck. “Murray would never do that.”

Charlene licked a crumb from her finger. “Thank God Tania didn’t get pregnant. It’s bad enough that she’s in jail.” She looked at John. “When can I go and get her?”

“They’ll call as soon as she’s cleared,” he told her. “I’ll go over with you; I’m so relieved she’s going to be freed.”

“Will she be? Elizabeth—Turtle—confessed to me, but what do they have for evidence?”

“She might confess on her own,” John told me. “And there’s a good chance we’ll find her fingerprints at Derek’s house—and on Adam’s dinghy. Why did she take Adam’s dinghy, anyway?”

“Because Derek had a copy of the key,” I said.

“That makes sense. There’s one more outstanding question, though.”

Charlene looked up at him. “What?”

“Who called in the tip on Tania? I mean, if it wasn’t Turtle, who was it?”

John leaned back in his chair. “Someone else who had a grudge against her?”

A light clicked on in my head. “I know who had a grudge against her. I’ll bet you dollars to donuts it was Ingrid who made that call. I heard her telling Evan she was a bad influence, and I think she wanted to get rid of her.”

Charlene perked up. “That makes sense. And it was just bad luck that the gun was there.”

“Not entirely bad luck,” I pointed out. “I think Turtle was jealous of Tania.”

“Jealous because Tania was dating her bum of a nephew?”

“Love makes people do strange things,” I said.

“But she didn’t want to leave her husband,” John said. “She was willing to kill Derek to keep that from happening.” He shook his head. “She must have loved them both, somehow.”

“I hope he’s able to forgive her.” I took a bite of muffin. “He was the one who wrote the note threatening Derek. He told me that was what he and Derek had an argument about.”

“So it wasn’t just about a lobster license.”

“Apparently not. I wonder about Evan, though. He’s got prior convictions for drugs.” I took a bite of muffin. “Did Zeke turn him in?”

John shook his head. “He said he just worked around the farm. It depends on whether or not Fred decides to give him away. I haven’t heard anything about it yet.”

Catherine crossed her legs and brushed a crumb off of her pants leg. “Fred? I thought he’d had a heart attack and couldn’t speak.”

“He came to this morning,” John said. “The police offered to reduce his sentence if he’ll help them crack the drug ring, and he agreed. They found the skiff that rammed yours at his property, by the way.”

“Good,” I said.

“I’m hoping he’ll be the key they need to break up the ring. Marijuana’s one thing, but they were transporting some dangerous drugs like heroin and cocaine.” John sighed. “He confirmed that Derek’s the one who was dealing to kids at the school.”

“I figured as much.” I glanced at my watch. “I hope they let Tania out this afternoon.”

“She’ll still have to answer to the drug charge,” John warned me, “but it shouldn’t be too serious, and I hope it will teach her a lesson.”

I sighed. “I hope she’s back for tomorrow, at least. Adam’s picking Gwen up in a few hours; she’ll be here for dinner.” I looked at John. “Any word on Zeke?”

“He was cooperating with the police. He may be able to get a reduced sentence if he testifies.”

“What’s he looking at, anyway?”

“Maximum sentence is ten years and $20,000,” he said.

“Better than I expected, but it won’t help Brad.” I tucked two muffin pans into the oven. “If you get a chance to talk to him,
tell him we’ll take care of Brad until he has things figured out, okay?”

“Of course,” John said.

Catherine took a sip of tea. “I’m so glad all this got wrapped up before Gwen arrived,” she said. “Are your plans still a go for the weekend?”

I was about to answer her when there was a knock at the kitchen door, and Beryl peeked through.

“Hi, Beryl. Everything okay?” I asked.

“I’m sorry to interrupt, but we just got back from talking with Matilda, and she’s got the most exciting news,” Beryl said. “We were going to wait until dinner to share, but we decided we just couldn’t.”

“Come on in,” I offered, and she and Agnes trooped into the kitchen. “Have a muffin and join us.”

“Oh, thanks so much,” Agnes said, reaching for the plate.

“What did you find out?” I asked.

“Well,” Beryl said, “Matilda has a friend who specializes in the Prohibition era, and she just called her this morning.” Her eyes sparkled with excitement. “It turns out there was a rum runner in Nova Scotia who was known for transporting whiskey over the border to Maine. He had a whole network of people to smuggle his wares, and was ruthless with people who tried to cut him out of their distribution networks.”

“She thinks that’s who your grandfather’s contact was??” I asked.

Beryl nodded. “Guess what his nickname was?”

“What?”

“The Bishop,” Agnes said.