Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (15 page)

The siblings both started talking at once, peppering Mark with questions he couldn’t answer, poor guy. I felt sorry for him – coming to Nantucket to find the perfect place to marry Jenny, and being drawn into another mysterious death.

Which, unfortunately, I was involved in as well.

We all sat in the inn’s hallway for what seemed like hours, but what was, in reality, less than half an hour. I wanted to check out the police activity directly below us, but Mark had warned me, in no uncertain terms, to stay put.

So, I did. After a quick trip to the bathroom, which, as you may recall, got me into this mess in the first place. I swear, I will never go to sleep without doing my nightly ritual again.

I snuck a look at Skip. Although he was making an effort to be stoic, I saw tears in his eyes which he was unsuccessful in hiding.

JoAnn, on the other hand, looked…well, to be kind, let’s just say that she wouldn’t be shedding any tears for Tiffani. Though, to give her credit, at one point I did see her give her brother’s hand a quick squeeze.

Finally, the initial examination of the…corpse…was complete, and Tiffani was placed on a gurney and moved to a waiting emergency vehicle. I didn’t know if Nantucket had a morgue – not something that would be on an ordinary tourist’s sightseeing tour. Maybe they’d take her off-island to do…whatever they were going to do.

I was so tired. I leaned back against the back of the chair and started to close my eyes and drift off to a wonderful place. And then I heard my name called.

Lucky me. I was the first to be interviewed. Jim gave me a big hug before I headed downstairs. “Now, don’t be nervous, Carol. They’re just doing their job. I imagine they’ll spend a lot of time with you because you’re the person who discovered…ah…Tiffani.”

Don’t be nervous, hah! That was easy for him to say.

“Don’t volunteer any additional information,” Mark cautioned me. “Just answer the questions as clearly and briefly as you can. And above all,” he gave me a piercing look, “don’t start talking about your own limited experience solving murders, offer to help in the investigation, or ask the police your own questions.

“Got that, Carol?” Humph. I was insulted.

Of course, I wasn’t going to interfere.

The Nantucket police had set up shop in JoAnn and Skip’s office, adjacent to the inn’s lobby. I knocked timidly, then heard a female voice call, “Come in.”

Well, a woman. That boded well. I wasn’t as nervous now.

“I’m Detective Sweet,” the woman said, gesturing me to a chair in front of JoAnn’s desk. “I just want to ask you a few questions about what you saw tonight. I’m sure you’re exhausted, and upset, and I don’t want to add to your stress. But it’s important for us to get your impressions right away, while the event is still fresh in your mind.”

I tried not to be flippant, but I couldn’t help but respond, “Believe me, Detective Sweet, the event will be fresh in my mind forever. I was absolutely terrified. I was afraid I was looking down on my daughter’s body.”

Detective Sweet remained silent. I guess she was waiting for me to continue my story about the night’s terrible events. But, if you know me, it won’t surprise you that I (stupidly) steered the conversation in another direction.

“Do you have children, Detective Sweet?” I heard myself saying. Oops. I didn’t mean to do that. Ask her a question, right off the bat, I mean. But I just couldn’t help myself. I felt so much more at ease talking to another woman than a man.

By the way, I should tell you that my first impression of Detective Sweet was of a no-nonsense woman in her late fifties. In fact, she reminded me of one of my very favorite actresses, Helen Mirren.

“Has anyone ever told you that you look like that British actress, Helen Mirren? I just love her. I remember her in
The Queen
. She gave a wonderful performance. I think she won an Academy Award for that movie.”

Detective Sweet gave me a look. The kind that I’ve been known to use to strike fear into my kids when they were small and had done something wrong.

I got the message. Just the facts. ma’am.

“I’m terribly sorry, Detective Sweet. I guess I’m nervous. Or maybe I’m in shock. Unfortunately, when I’m nervous, I tend to talk and make no sense whatsoever. I promise, I’ll just stick to answering your questions from now on.”

She gave me a thin-lipped smile and addressed another detective who was sitting in the shadows behind me. “Do not write any part of this previous exchange down, Patrolman Bennett. We’re going to begin the official questioning now.”

Then, to me, “Please, Mrs. Andrews, tell me everything you saw, even if you think it isn’t important.”

So, I did. I started with meeting Tiffani at the bridal show, how she’d been hired by Jenny and Mark to organize their wedding, how we were here on Nantucket looking for a place to have the wedding, and so on. And so on.

I didn’t share my observations about Tiffani’s busy love life, however. And I didn’t mention anything about Bob Green and his involvement with Tiffani. (I hope I get points for that.)

I had to tell Detective Sweet that I thought I saw a man standing over Tiffani’s body. I had no idea who he was. And it was dark. I was upset. My eyes could have been playing tricks on me.

I was so vague when I got to this part that I almost convinced myself

I hadn’t seen anyone.

I hoped Detective Sweet believed me, and wouldn’t ask me any more questions about that part. And I
really
hoped I wasn’t helping a murderer escape.

I know. I was being stupid.

By the time I reached the end of my story, I noticed that Detective Sweet’s eyes were glazed over. Well, she had asked me to tell her everything I saw. That took a while. I looked at my watch, and realized I’d been talking for half an hour.

Detective Sweet leaned forward in the office chair and clasped her hands together. For a minute, I thought she was going to give me a round of applause for being such an observant – and thorough – witness.

Instead, she said, with just a hint of irony, “You certainly don’t mince words, do you, Mrs. Andrews? I’m not sure Patrolman Bennett was able to keep up with your story.”

I decided to take her remark as a compliment, although most of me knew she didn’t mean it that way.

“Let’s go back to one thing that you said. Are you absolutely sure that you can’t identify the man you think you saw in the lobby tonight? I know you said he was in the shadows. It’s very important that you think back and remember if you got even a quick glimpse of his face. Whoever he is, he has to still be on Nantucket, unless he has his own boat or plane. Because the regular ferry and air service doesn’t start again for several hours. If nothing else, he could be a material witness to what happened here. We need to bring him in for questioning.”

Rats. I felt like a deer caught in the headlights of a fast-approaching car. What could I do? I had to tell the truth.

I cleared my throat, stalling for time.

Ignoring the fact that I had been maid of honor at his wedding to my very best friend more than thirty years ago, I heard myself say, “It’s possible that I did get a quick glimpse of the man’s face. But everything happened so fast. I may be wrong.”

Detective Sweet nodded at me, encouraging me to go on.

“Well, the man looked very much like Bob Green, someone I know well. From Fairport, Connecticut. That’s where I live with my family. Bob is married to my very best friend Nancy. They live in Fairport, too. In fact, I was the maid of honor at their wedding years ago. But it was so dark, I can’t tell you for sure that it was Bob I saw, or if I really saw anyone.”

I licked my lips. When did they get so dry?

“In fact, I’m probably wrong. I shouldn’t have mentioned it. I don’t want to accuse anyone.

“In case I’m wrong,” I repeated weakly.

Detective Sweet looked at me like she knew exactly why I was waffling in my answer. “Don’t worry, Mrs. Andrews. We just want to talk to Mr. Green. It’s very possible that he saw something tonight that could help us in this investigation. I’ll need a description of him from you. We need to find him immediately and bring him in for questioning. He’s not being accused of anything.” Yet.

I guess that Detective Sweet was trying to ease my conscience. But it didn’t work.

I wondered if this was how Judas felt?

Chapter 20

If 60 is the new 40, is size 14 the new size 6?

When Jim and I dragged ourselves into the Grey Gull Inn dining room the following morning – no, correction, later the same morning – just a few people were still having their breakfast. As we walked through the room, I could hear the other guests whispering about us.

“That’s the woman who found the dead body,” said one man to his breakfast companion.

“If I found a dead body, I don’t think I could face food for a year. How can she be hungry now?” was the rude response from his tablemate. “Ignore them,” Jim said, squeezing my elbow and guiding me toward a table in the corner of the dining room.

I was surprised that he’d heard a whispered comment from the other side of the dining room. He never heard me when I asked him to take out the garbage, even when we were both in the same room.

Skip came through the swinging doors from the kitchen. He was in even worse shape than I was. In fact, he looked like he hadn’t gotten to bed at all. A day’s worth of stubble was on his face.

On Skip, however, the scruffy look was attractive. Not like when Jim doesn’t shave for a few days. Of course, Jim’s unshaven look was usually paired with baggy sweatpants and a stained sweater with holes in the elbows. Clothes that most wives dream of throwing away when hubby isn’t paying attention. And usually get caught doing it.

Skip arrived at our table bearing a coffee carafe in one hand and a plate of fresh muffins in the other. Everything smelled terrific and I could feel my taste buds – my whole body – perk up. (Sorry about the pun.)

So, sue me. No matter what happens, it doesn’t diminish my appetite. As my waistline constantly reminded me.

Skip plunked the carafe down in front of Jim, spilling a few drops of coffee on the snowy white tablecloth. I noticed his hands were shaking. “Helluva night,” he said. “Helluva thing to happen.” Skip’s eyes glistened. I could see he was having trouble keeping his emotions in check.