The Body in the Birches (15 page)

More birds had joined the flock on the pilings and she could hear their cries as they landed. Not “Nevermore,” but a noise like a pig grunting. A pig in some pain.

No, she didn't envy Paul McAllister at all.

The kitchen at the Lodge was always warm, but today it was bearable. The servers had to wear the green polo shirts and khaki
pants, but the kitchen crew could wear what they liked, except sandals or other open shoes. This meant Ben had donned a much lighter shirt and thin river pants to come to work.

Mandy had been quiet on the way to pick up Tyler, and once he was in the car, the conversation was mostly between the two guys. Ben thought Mandy looked tired. And she must have felt chilly. She was wearing a turtleneck and over it a sweatshirt with the Lodge logo.

She'd smiled, as she always did when he got in, but it wasn't her usual smile. More like a worried one. As soon as he got to the Lodge he started working fast. He wanted to get the breakfast dishes washed plus the pots done so he could help her set the tables for lunch.

“What's the rush, bro?” Tyler asked.

“Thought we could give Mandy and the others a hand.”

Tyler eyed him keenly and nodded. “Excellent idea.”

Ben felt himself turn red. He did
not
have a crush on Mandy. He just liked her, liked her a lot. As a friend. She was eighteen! Three years older, well, two and a half.

But since they'd met he'd been getting a strong vibe that she needed looking after. Okay, it sounded kind of lame when he thought about it, but there was just something about the way she was acting . . .

Saturday night he had been sure she didn't want to go off with Rory Proctor. He could tell from the way she was standing, pulling back, putting some distance between them. But the asshole kept at it—the way he had when she'd been his server at the Lodge—telling her what a great party she'd be missing and walking closer and closer. Ben hadn't even realized he'd swung at the guy until Rory pushed him against the wall. He could still hear Rory's laughter. Don't think about it, he told himself. It was a dumb thing to do. No, it wasn't. Yes, it was. No . . .

He started the last load in the dishwasher.

“Ben, go see if you can find Derek. He's not in his office or
anywhere in the Lodge, but his car is out back. Check the grounds. Even the beach.” The annoyance in Zach Hale's voice was clear.

“Yes, Chef,” Ben said.

“Tell him I need his signature on these orders like yesterday.”

“Will do.” Ben slipped off the clear vinyl dishwasher's apron he was wearing and hung it up to dry.

“Don't worry, we're almost done. I'll help Mandy,” Tyler said softly, adding, “think the big boss is in T-R-O-U-B-L-E.”

As Ben searched the rec hall, the gardens, and other areas nearest to the Lodge with no success, he realized he really hadn't seen much of the boss since he'd started working here. Chef Zach seemed to be running things—and not just in the kitchen. Maybe this was the deal? Only if it was, why was the chef so pissed off at Derek all the time? Ben had long ago stopped calling his employer Mr. Otis or anything but Derek in his mind. The guy seemed pretty young to have the responsibility of a business like The Laughing Gull Lodge, but then Ben remembered his mother had started her successful catering business when she was way younger than Derek.

He'd have to go down to the beach. Maybe Derek was checking the kayaks they had for the guests. There were a couple of large Old Town canoes, too. The Lodge also owned a yacht, but so far Derek hadn't gotten around to hiring someone to take people out on day sails. It was still in storage down at Billings Marine.

Today was what everybody always called “a Perfect Maine Day,” Ben thought. Blue sky, no clouds, warm but not too warm. He'd didn't mind an occasional foggy or rainy day, though. Except some summers when they'd had almost nothing but. Guess that's why the ones like today were called perfect. No flaws. Mandy's face was like that. Smooth, like some kind of polished stone. Faint pink. Rose quartz. He laughed at himself. Good thing Tyler couldn't overhear these thoughts.

A steep gravel drive led to the beach, which was one of the
prettiest and largest on the island—a long curve that ended in a tumble of granite boulders and ledges leading up to the woods on either end. There were only a handful of public beaches on the island. Used to be more, Freeman Hamilton had told Ben, until rich people started buying up all the waterfront natives couldn't afford to keep because of the hike in the taxes. These beaches had been spots where families had had reunions, Fourth of July and Labor Day picnics for generations. Now they were off-limits with chains across the road and big
NO TRESPASSING
signs. Up until a court case in the 1980s, you couldn't own a beach in Maine, Freeman had explained, but people had still limited themselves to the public ones where there was no question of access. “To avoid a ruckus,” Freeman said.

Ben wished he'd grabbed his cap. The sun was blinding. He put his hand on his forehead and looked up and down the full length of the beach and out at the water. Maybe Derek had gone kayaking. The water was flat; no breeze disturbed the surface and no paddle. The beach was empty as well. It was just after the turn of the tide and it had been a high one. Easy to spot anyone walking on it. He turned to go back and report his lack of success.

Then he saw two legs sticking out motionless from behind one of the largest rocks. He closed his eyes briefly. The sensible thing would be to run to the Lodge for help. Call 911. He ran without giving it any more thought. Ran to where the body was.

It
was
Derek. And he was breathing. Snoring, in fact. Ben felt himself go limp. He called out to his employer, “Hey, Mr. Otis. The chef wants to speak to you.”

Derek Otis sat up. He didn't seem to take in where he was for a moment. As he got closer, Ben wished he could cover his mouth and nose. At some point, Derek had tossed his cookies and much much more from his stomach.

“Bob,” Derek said.

“It's Ben, sir, and the chef . . .”

“Ben, run up to the Lodge and get me a cold can of Coke, no, better make it two, and in the top drawer of my desk there's some Tylenol. Bring me the bottle.” He stretched out again.

“What should I tell the chef, that you'll be coming soon?”

“Whatever. Now hop to it.”

Ben hopped.

Happily Chef Zach wasn't in the kitchen. Tyler looked questioningly at him when he grabbed the Cokes from the bar fridge. Ben mouthed “Later” and went into the office. The Tylenol was in the top drawer just where Derek Otis had said it would be—along with a whole bunch of other pill bottles. Prescription pill bottles.

Captain Robertson—and Sylvia—was picking up Puffins 101 where they left off.

“Males and females are identical, and since it is breeding season they both display the same distinctive beaks,” Robertson said.

“Not like other birds where the male gets to sport the better accessories.” Sylvia almost sounded like she was chirping. “And they make their nesting burrows together. Equal partners.”

The captain was nodding. “The female produces only one egg and they take turns keeping it warm tucked under a wing until it hatches into a puffling, as the chicks are called. Know for sure my wife, Kandi, would have liked me to take over during the nine months before our kids were born. Especially the first and last parts.”

Everyone laughed. The mood was ebullient as the group trained binoculars and cameras on the little birds covering the cliffs on the island and even closer to the boat in the water. The Petit Manan lighthouse, the second tallest in Maine, jutted into the cloudless blue sky.

Amy and Daisy were taking turns with the binoculars Faith had brought; she was content to watch the scene from afar. The lighthouse looked like a version of the Washington Monument,
and it struck an incongruous man-made note in the midst of the birds—not only the puffins, but also several types of gulls, razorbills, terns, eider ducks and black guillemots. She'd learned to reliably identify all of them from Pix, especially the guillemots, with the striking white patch on their glossy dark wings. Sylvia's remark about accessories was apt. When the guillemots were in flight, their ruby red legs were revealed, the perfect touch of color for the outfit. The air was filled with a cacophony of bird cries, the gulls dominating. Laughing Gull Lodge. She hoped Ben's day was going well—and that he was keeping his temper. Soon she'd have two teens. She was so not ready for it.

For now she was glad that Amy had made a friend who was not racing into adulthood—much less than Amy, in fact. When the Fairchilds moved back to their cottage, Daisy could come spend time at that house. Faith hadn't had a chance to get over and check on the progress since she and Tom had last been there. Over a week ago, she realized, sighing inwardly. This had not been what she had blithely hoped would be an easy, uneventful summer. She wondered if it would be too rude to take the girls back to the island and skip the picnic. She had had enough of the Proctor family's obvious friction, dissipated for the moment by the entertaining birds and the captain's commentary, liberally sprinkled with jokes and what she assumed was a Maine accent even thicker than his normal one? No, she couldn't cut out early. Sylvia, the birthday “girl,” was Daisy's mother. Faith would have to stay.

Sophie's first thought was that the Beanie puffin had looked larger and more like a puffin than the real ones bobbing about in the water. Forbes handed her his binoculars and there they were! Chubby and more adorable than any reproductions. The bright sun made their beaks into works of art. Their little triangular eyes did indeed make them look like clowns. Sad clowns. She would never have pegged Autumn as a bird lover, but when she wasn't
glued to a pair of binoculars she was asking the captain questions and squealing with delight at the sight of more fauna. She also seemed to be adept at spotting schools of dolphin and seals popping up in the water that Sophie was just a second too late to see. If they had been there at all, of course.

Her cousin was leaning against Will Tarkington and had grabbed his Bulldog gimme cap earlier, which she was wearing backward now. Her golden hair streamed down her back, and Sophie had to admit that Autumn would look gorgeous no matter what the cap or how she wore it. She was still bundled up in several layers of clothing. She had gotten so thin, she must feel the cold more than other people. Sophie had peeled off her sweatshirt and was enjoying the feel of the sun on her bare arms.

Warmth. She closed her eyes and indulged in the memory of lying in Ian's arms. That warmth, the feeling of not knowing where she left off and he began. The sense of security. Entwined together forever. Except, she opened her eyes, that's not what had happened.

How long were they going to stay out by the island? she wondered. She wished she wasn't driving the car that held the most people. Otherwise, she'd make some sort of excuse—the food shopping—and leave her clan to fend for themselves at the birthday picnic. There were crab rolls in one cooler, Sylvia's kale salad and other veggie offerings in another, plus a third one with cold drinks and dozens of the cupcakes Sophie and Marge Foster had made. Faith Fairchild had brought a container filled with deviled eggs and another of dilled new potato salad (see
recipe
) for those who didn't care for crab, to go along with it, or just to fill in the cracks. There was plenty of food. And plenty of people to pass it around. Could she switch cars with someone?

Captain Robertson was telling everyone to take final photos. They'd be heading back by way of an osprey nest on a tiny island and the cormorant nesting grounds on a larger one. It couldn't be too soon for Sophie, and she closed her eyes to try to doze.
Really, someone should tell Will and Autumn to get a room. She was almost in his lap. Not that Sophie cared. It just struck her as extremely inappropriate, especially in front of children like Daisy and Amy. The two were giggling again, heads together, and Sophie was sure it was about the ridiculous behavior occurring in front of them.

“Who owns that big house? Some billionaire?” Sylvia's question woke Sophie. She
had
fallen asleep.

The captain slowed the boat to an idle. “Now, this is an interesting story. The whole island's owned by one family, bought originally in the 1920s. The house started small and got added onto. There are some other structures you can't see, too. After a while there were a bunch of family coming—a colony—kids having kids and so forth. A lot of group decisions being made. They figured out some thirty years ago that the only way they could hold on to what they had and let everyone who wanted to use it was to form a family association. Think there were some lawyers in the family, which saved dough. You buy in, pay your yearly dues, and if you want out, you have to sell your share to a family member. The property can't go on the open market. I provide the lobsters for their annual meeting, and it's some shindig.”

The awkward silence that greeted his answer may have surprised him—or not. In any case, he gunned the engine and they took off. The pier and float where they would be tying up was in sight in minutes.

A family association. That would be the perfect solution. Could she get her mother to agree? Sophie wasn't sure. Babs was all about control. And so was Simon. Sylvia. Forbes, Felicity, Deirdre, too.

As she stepped onto the float and started toward the ramp going up to the pier and parking lot, Faith was glad she'd come along
after all. She had a sudden urge to fill the cottage with puffin pot holders, puffin coasters and place mats, little carved puffins . . . These delightful, intrepid creatures would be returning to the sea and their journey to colder waters in August, but maybe she could come back with the whole family before then. Captain Robertson had told them about the decrease in the colony's population due to a marked decline in their major food supply—herring—displaced by the increase in the ocean's temperature. Better try to come back soon, she thought.