Marriage Can Be Murder -- Every Wife Has A Story (A Carol and Jim Andrews Baby Boomer Mystery) (16 page)

Jim gestured for Skip to join us, and he smiled gratefully.

“JoAnn and I are trying to keep things as normal as possible here at the inn,” Skip said. “We haven’t told the other guests too much about what happened to…Tiffani.” His voice broke when he said her name. “Just that there was a terrible accident, and someone died.”

“Someone must have mentioned that Carol was the person who discovered Tiffani,” Jim said. “As soon as we walked into the dining room this morning, other guests started buzzing about her.”

“It was very embarrassing,” I added. “And upsetting.” Normally, I enjoy being a center of attention. But not in this particular instance. “I’m sorry that happened,” Skip said in a low tone. “We tried to keep the details private. Detective Sweet insisted on discretion while the police investigate what happened. But we had to tell the other guests something, especially if the police are going to be around here asking questions.”

Skip pushed the plate of muffins toward me. “Please, help yourself. And if you need anything else, just let me know. We’re serving a limited breakfast menu this morning, but if you want eggs, or a simple omelet, we can manage that.

“I’d better get back to the kitchen.”

I put my hand on his arm to stop his exit. “Are the police here now, Skip? Do you know if they’ve found the man I thought I saw in the inn foyer last night?”

Skip shook his head. “I don’t know anything about a man, Carol. And the police have left for now. But I’m sure they’ll be back. Oh, God, what a mess.”

He turned and fled to the safety of the kitchen.

Skip was right. This was a mess, all right. I just hoped it wouldn’t affect the wedding plans.

Then I realized how stupid I was. Tiffani was helping Jenny and Mark plan their wedding, and now, she was dead. Of course, her death would affect the wedding. But it was not going to ruin it. Not if I had anything to say about it.

“I wonder if Jenny and Mark have been downstairs yet,” I said to Jim. “As upsetting as this is for Skip and JoAnn, and for us, it’s even worse for the kids. They were depending on Tiffani to plan the perfect destination wedding. Would you be a sweetie and go check on them? I want to be sure they’re all right. Jenny, particularly.” After all, Mark was a detective. He was used to dealing with dead bodies. For my daughter, it was a newer experience.

Jim rose to his feet, nice guy that he is. “That’s a good idea, honey. I’ll be right back.”

I took a quick sip of coffee and directed my attention to the array of muffins. But while I was dithering over my breakfast choice, the rude couple who’d been gossiping about me made a beeline in my direction.

Double rats. Just what I needed. And I had no husband to run interference for me.

I’ve heard that attitude is everything. And I had a bad attitude, which was getting worse all the time. I ignored them, choosing to focus my attention on a warm blueberry muffin which I sliced into dainty, bite- sized pieces.

“Excuse me,” the man said. “My wife and I don’t mean to disturb you.”

“Well, you are,” I shot back, glaring up at them.

The female half of the couple, a tiny birdlike woman, had the good grace to blush. But that didn’t stop her from saying, “We’ve never been at the scene of a possible crime before. It’s very…upsetting. But thrilling at the same time. And we wanted to ask you, how did it feel? To find a dead body, I mean.”

I sat there, perfectly still. I hope you’re all proud of me. What I wanted to do was take my blueberry muffin and smash it into her face. But that would have been a waste of a perfectly good muffin, and my mother taught me never to waste food.

They continued to stand in front of me. And I didn’t say anything. Instead, I carefully chewed a bite of my muffin.

Then another.

I chewed slowly. And deliberately. Then I took a sip of coffee. And ignored them.

Sheesh. Couldn’t these twits take a hint?

Go away, you stupid people.

I mentally flipped through
Of Maids and Manners
to see if it contained advice on how to deal with idiots like this. This little pamphlet was The Last Word about proper behavior for Catholic high school young ladies way back in the last century. I think we even had pop quizzes on some of the situations.

Those nuns took good manners very seriously. It was years before I was comfortable crossing my legs in public.

Nope, I was sure nothing in the pamphlet covered this kind of situation. I was on my own.

I decided that the only way to get rid of these idiots once and for all was to get up and leave the dining room. I folded the remains of my muffin in a napkin and rose from my chair. As regally as I could manage.

But I couldn’t resist a parting shot.

“You asked me how I felt, finding a dead body,” I said, glaring at the woman. “It felt terrible. Scary. Unbelievable. I was absolutely terrified.”

I paused for maximum effect. “Especially since I thought the dead body was my own daughter. I hope that satisfies your curiosity.”

I didn’t give the stunned woman a chance to reply. I turned and stalked out of the dining room.

But I didn’t get very far. Mark met me in the lobby. And he didn’t look happy.

“Carol, Detective Sweet just contacted me. The Nantucket police have found Bob Green. He was at the airport, trying to get on a flight to the mainland. He’s been taken in for questioning.

“Detective Sweet wants you to come to the police station and see if you can identify him as the man you saw here last night. There’ll also be someone from the State Police present this time.”

“State police!” I yelped. “Why?”

Don’t panic, Carol. Don’t panic. You haven’t done anything wrong.

“Don’t worry, Carol,” Mark said. “That’s standard procedure on Nantucket. The state police have a presence here, and they’re always involved in cases like this. You’ll feel a lot better when the questioning is over, and I’ll be with you. I already told Jim and Jenny where we were going. There’s an unmarked car waiting outside the inn for us.”

He touched my arm, gently but firmly. “Let’s go.”

Chapter 21

I don’t want a phone that’s smarter than I am.

You won’t find the new Nantucket Police Station (it opened in 2010) included in any regular tours of the island. But the structure is so beautiful, it should be.

Actually, from what I found out later, the expansive brick building, located just a few miles from the center of town, is not just for the police. Truly a community center, it also houses the Registry of Motor Vehicles, and provides a meeting venue for several public boards and commissions. The building is very high-tech – public meetings can be streamed over the Internet or broadcast over the public access cable channels, providing everyone on Nantucket with an opportunity to hear the discussions. Plus, the community spaces are also available to private and nonprofit groups in need of meeting spaces. (I don’t think a wedding has ever been held there, though. And I decided not to ask.) All in all, it’s a nice place to visit, I guess. But I would have just as soon skipped it. And I never would want to live there, even if HGTV came and completely redid my cell.

I never dreamed BJR – Before Jim’s Retirement – that I would become so familiar with police stations. Not that I’ve
personally
been arrested, you understand. But, well, just say that the local Fairport police and I have more than a nodding acquaintance. And I’m not just referring to my son-in-law-to-be.

Although, come to think of it, Mark and Jenny’s wedding was a direct result (ok, maybe direct result is a bit overstated) of my (and Jim’s) recent collaborations with the Fairport police. I do “help them with their inquiries” when those inquiries involve some of my nearest and dearest. Which seem to be happening with alarming regularity SJR (Since Jim’s Retirement).

And now my collaboration skills (I think snooping is such a harsh word, don’t you?) would extend to the Nantucket police as well. Who would have thunk it?

The short ride from the Grey Gull Inn to the police station had not calmed my nerves. If anything, I was even more on edge by the time we arrived.

Mark must have realized how nervous I was. I hadn’t said a single word since we left the inn. He knows that’s totally unlike me.

I sat back in the car and closed my eyes for a minute, trying to channel some courage, inner peace, anything that could get me through this ordeal. Unfortunately, the face that popped into my mind on my way to inner peace was Nancy’s. And she did not look happy.

And if I did what I knew I had to do – you get that sentence structure, right? – she’d probably never speak to me again.

“Ready?” Mark asked me. Was he joking?

“I’ll never be ready,” I responded. “But the sooner we go in, the sooner we can leave. I wonder if there’ll be a line-up, like there used to be on all those old television shows.”

Mark looked at me and raised one eyebrow. I got the message. Don’t kid around.

“Just tell the truth, Carol,” Mark said, holding the police station door open for me. “And don’t embellish your answers with opinions or theories, the way you sometimes…”

I shot him a look. “I know!” I said. B
ut don’t forget that my theories have often been right, buddy. And have helped you out more than once.

I didn’t really say that last part, of course.

“I hope you’ll be able to sit in on this interview with me, Mark,” I said, rising above his criticism like the trooper I was. “It’d make the questioning much easier if you were there.”

“I’ll see what I can do,” Mark said as we entered the lobby, which was painted in a tasteful shade of grey. (Of course.) It looked more like a corporate office lobby than a police station’s. I had to admit, I was impressed. So far, the building looked welcoming, not threatening. But it was so quiet. Like a library.

“Wait here.” Mark gestured toward a comfortable looking bench and headed toward the window marked “Information.”

I only had a millisecond to think about what I was going to say during the interview. Or, to be more accurate, how I could dodge the questions, not identify Bob Green, and still tell the truth. A tall order, even for me.

I practiced opening my eyes wide and looking guileless. Probably not my best look, but what the heck.

I’m not sure this is the man I saw. It was so dark. I could be wrong.

All too soon, Mark was back, accompanied by Detective Sweet (again wearing grey) and another man introduced as Lieutenant Finn from the Massachusetts State Police.

I’m not going to bore you with the details of what happened next. Except to say that when I left the building, shoulders slumped, I felt like a traitor.

But in case you were wondering, identification procedures in real life are nothing like what you see on television. Instead of bringing a witness (that would be me) into a room with one-way glass, then presenting a lineup of possible felons to see if one of them ran the recognition bell, witnesses are presented with a variety of photos of possible perps. (I know, I’ve been hanging around police stations too much and it’s affecting my choice of language.) I looked at each one carefully, praying I wouldn’t see Bob’s photo among them. But there he was, big as life. Or, not as big as he used to be, but still, unmistakable. I had to identify him as the person I saw crying over Tiffani’s lifeless body. I had no choice.

I consoled myself with the fact that I didn’t offer any additional damaging information about Bob and Tiffani during the identification process (because I wasn’t asked, thank God). I did not say that Bob and Tiffani had a romantic relationship. Nor that he and I had run into each other (quite literally) on the ferry to Nantucket the previous day. (I couldn’t believe only 24 hours had passed since we arrived – it seemed like an eternity.) Nor did I mention Bob’s harebrained plan to surprise Tiffani. And I especially didn’t talk about the fight Jim and I had witnessed in the lobby of the Grey Gull Inn the afternoon before, when Tiffani pretty much threw Bob out on his ear. Or whatever body part was handy.

I didn’t speculate, didn’t offer any additional facts, and certainly didn’t offer any opinion. I answered the questions as succinctly as I could. And as fast as I could.