A Crabby Killer (6 page)

T
he Gull View Inn
was a short walk from the docks, so Dom and Claire headed there next. As they huffed up the steep hill toward the Victorian-style bed and breakfast, Dom said, “At least we can cross one person off our suspect list.”

“You mean Donovan?” Claire asked.

"Yes. It would seem he has an alibi if went to his sister's at ten. Unless he wasn’t telling the truth.”

Claire thought about that. She’d been watching Donovan carefully during their conversation and she hadn’t noticed any body language to indicate he was lying. Not only that, but she could tell by the open-faced grin that spread on his face when he talked about his nephew that he adored the boy, which made him an even less likely suspect in her book. “It will be easy enough to find out if he was lying. We can just ask Sally. And we also need to talk to Bob Cleary again in person, given what we just discovered.”

Dom nodded. “Did you get any indication he had something to hide when you talked to him before? How did he sound?”

“He sounded hungover. Not guilty of anything. But he did say he didn’t remember what happened that night. I guess he could have drunk enough that he blacked out and didn’t remember, so then he wouldn’t have any guilty feelings.” Claire tilted her head and gazed out at the slice of blue ocean that appeared between two houses. “But if he was that drunk, you would think Blunt would’ve been able to ward him off. Strangling someone takes strength and I would think it would be pretty hard if you were drunk.”

“I was thinking that, too. Maybe Bob had some help or maybe Blunt was drunk or incapacitated in some way,” Dom said as he opened the latch on the white picket fence and gestured for Claire to precede him up the flower-lined brick walkway.

Claire had a hard time believing it was Bob, and she hated to think another islander, also probably a friend of hers, had helped him. Then again, she was glad that Dom hadn’t mentioned that Mae and Tom had motives, so she figured she’d let this line of questioning play out. She was still rooting for the mysterious stranger.

They ascended the steps to the wide porch. Claire paused for a moment to take in the fantastic view of the Atlantic Ocean that peeked at her from between lush, pink roses that trailed along the porch railings. Set on the hill, the Gull View Inn had been a bed and breakfast for over one hundred years. It had been handed down through several generations to the current owner, an elderly spinster named Velma who now ran it with her friend, Hazel.

They opened the front door and stepped into the lobby, which boasted a honey-colored, ornate woodwork stairway that matched the polished, wide-board floors. The stairway was rounded and a heavy, oak semi-circular reception desk that followed the shape of the stairs sat directly across from them. The air was spiced with the scent of lemons and roses.

Velma looked up at them from behind the desk where she was bending over the guest register.

“Hi, Claire and Dom. What brings you here? Surely you don’t need a room?” Velma joked.

Claire leaned across the desk and lowered her voice. “We have a question about one of your guests.”

Velma’s thin, snow-white brows quirked up with interest. “Really? That sounds juicy.” She slipped out from behind the desk and, in an exaggerated motion, glanced around furtively to make sure no one was watching. She jerked her snow-white bun toward a door marked private and tiptoed over, opening the door and gesturing for Claire and Dom to enter.

The room was a spacious office overlooking the large back deck which was an extended part of the Gull View Inn restaurant. Dozens of round tables ringed with blue-cushioned chairs and shaded by colorful, blue and white striped umbrellas dotted the deck. It was past the lunch hour, but some patrons lingered over their meals, enjoying the view of the harbor. Claire’s stomach growled.

Velma indicated for them to sit on a pair of delicate, needlepoint chairs. Dom eyed the chairs dubiously. Claire figured he was wondering if the chair would break when he sat in it because she was actually wondering the same thing. She perched on the edge of the seat cautiously.

Velma leaned her thin hip on the corner of a mahogany partner’s desk. “Now tell me, is this part of the murder investigation?”

“Sort of,” Claire hedged. She didn’t want to alarm Velma that a murderer might be staying at her inn, although she had the suspicion the older woman would find it more intriguing than alarming. “The victim was seen fighting with a blond man and someone said they thought he might be a guest here.”

Velma slipped off the edge of the desk and went around to the other side. Opening a red leather book, she flipped to a page in the middle and ran her index finger down the length of the paper. “Oh, yes, that’s right we do have a blond-haired man here. Mr. Naughton. A young guy, right?”

“That’s right.” Dom inched forward in his chair. “Is he still here?”

Velma’s finger slid over to the right. “Yes. He’s still here. But he couldn’t be involved in the murder. He’s such a nice young man.” She indicated a dainty, blue-flowered porcelain candy dish filled with what looked like acorns. "See, he brought us these caramel root beer acorns from the
Harbor Fudge Shop.
Said they were his favorites and they are quite tasty.
"

Velma plucked an acorn out of the dish and popped it into her mouth as if to prove the point.

Claire didn't think the combination of root beer and caramel sounded tasty at all, and it certainly didn't mean that Mr. Naughton wasn't a killer. They’d put quite a few ‘nice young men’ who gave old ladies candy in jail for murder in their day. They both knew that most killers didn’t go around acting mean and nasty. In fact, many of them hid behind a façade of nicety.

“Do you know what time he came in the night before last?” Claire asked.

Velma's cheek puffed out as she transferred the acorn candy there so she could answer.

“You mean the night of the murder?" She paused, swishing the candy around in her mouth as she thought about it. "I’m not sure. He ate dinner here. We had Hazel’s famous beef stew. And then he went out … but I don’t know when he came back. We go to bed at nine sharp and leave a key under the mat for those who come in later. He wasn’t back when we turned in at nine.”

Dom patted his left eyebrow. “Do you happen to know why he’s here? Is he alone?”

Many people came to the island on vacation, especially when there was an event like the Crab Festival, but they usually didn’t come alone. If the stranger was here alone, that would seem to indicate his business was not that of a vacation. Then again, if he was the killer, why would he still be here?

“He
is
alone at the hotel.” Velma's lips puckered as she sucked on the candy. “But I don’t think he plans to be alone for long. And I doubt he is your killer. It seems he might be here to court a young lady.” Her eyes sparkled with the thought of young love.

Claire smiled at the old-fashioned notion. “Really? What makes you say that?”

“Well, late last night I couldn’t sleep.” She leaned forward and lowered her voice. “Don’t tell Hazel, but her chicken gumbo gives me heartburn. Anyway, I got up to take some Maalox and I happened to see him in the rose garden with someone.”

Claire leaned forward in her chair, her full attention on Velma. A suspicious, mysterious stranger having a clandestine meeting in the middle of the night? Sounded like suspect material to her.

“Who was it? What did she look like?” Claire asked.

“Did you hear what they were saying?” Dom added.

Velma straightened. “I don't know who it was. I’m not in the habit of eavesdropping on my guests. I only looked out for a second and the bushes were in the way, but by the way they had their heads bent together and the urgent whispering, I could tell that they must have had something very important to discuss.”

“
W
ho do
you think the stranger was meeting with?” Claire asked in hushed tones as they retreated down the brick walkway toward the street.

Dom’s brows itched. This new development was interesting, but there was no evidence indicating the stranger was meeting with someone about Blunt. “I have no idea. We need to look into this Mr. Naughton.”

“Indeed. And let’s not forget that Shane drove Bob Cleary home. Bob and Naughton are high on my suspect list.”

“Surely you don’t think Shane had something to do with the murder?” Thinking of Shane gave way to thoughts of Sarah and the twine behind her counter. All circumstantial, but uncomfortable thoughts, nonetheless. Dom glanced over at Claire. A pang of guilt gnawed at him for not telling her about the argument he’d seen between Sarah and Blunt.

He had a gut feeling that Sarah was no killer, but since when did he let gut feelings figure into his cases? He operated on logic and physical evidence. Maybe he’d been hanging around with Claire too much.

“The stranger could have been meeting with anyone,” Dom pointed out.

“Velma said it was a woman,” Claire said.

“She said she
thought
it was a woman,” Dom corrected her. “But her eyesight is not that great and she could only hear whispers.”

They paused at the white picket gate. “It would make sense if the person he was meeting was a woman, especially in light of the fact that he was heard telling Blunt he would ‘finish what
she
started’.”

“You think the woman he met with is this mysterious
she
? Looks like we need to figure out who she is. It could be someone from the island.” Dom lifted the gate latch and swung the gate open, his thoughts turning to their one female suspect—Mae Biddeford. Could she be connected to Naughton in some way? Perhaps he was a nephew. But if so, wouldn’t Claire and Velma recognize him?

Squeak. Squeak-ity. Squeak.

“What is that?”

Dom turned in the direction of the noise to see Jonathan Kimmel peddling in their direction on a sparkling green sting-ray. The bike was a little big for him, but judging by the grin on his face, he didn’t mind.

“That’s Donovan’s nephew,” Claire said. “We should ask him if his uncle really did sleep over the night before last.”

“Whoa, there.” Dom stepped out into the boy’s path. “Sounds like the chain on your bike is rubbing.”

Jonathan stopped. Leaning to the side, he balanced on his right foot, looked down at the side of the bike and nodded. “It’s been doing that for a few days. Uncle Donny fixed it for me, but it’s started up again.”

“Let me see,” Dom said.

Jonathan kicked out the kick-stand and hopped off while Dom bent down and fiddled with the chain.

“I heard your uncle Donovan stayed over Friday night,” Claire said.

Jonathan’s face broke into a smile. “Yeah, Uncle Donny came over and surprised Momma. She wasn’t very happy, but I was ‘cause I got to stay up later since I was just about to go to bed when he came over.”

“When is your bedtime?” Claire asked.

“It’s usually nine o’clock,” Jonathan grinned at Claire proudly. “But since it was Friday night, Mommy let me stay up an hour later to watch TV.”

“So you got to stay up until ten, then?” Claire said as if it was the most scandalous revelation she’d heard all day.

Jonathan nodded.

“And your uncle was still there in the morning? I bet that was fun.”

“Yep. I jumped on him and woke him up.” Jonathan frowned. “He didn’t like that as much as I thought he would.”

Claire laughed. “I don’t imagine he would.”

Dom finished with the chain and stood up. “There. I think that ought to work. The screws that hold the chain guard were loose and the chain was rubbing. That should hold for a while, but the screws are almost stripped so I think your uncle needs to reattach the chain guard with new screws or it’s gonna just keep happening.”

“Thanks, mister!” Jonathan gave Dom a big smile, hopped on the bike and headed down the hill, leaving Dom looking at his grease-stained fingers.

“Looks like we can cross Donovan off our list,” Claire said.

“Yeah, sounds like he really was at his sister’s.” Dom gladly accepted the napkin Claire had produced seemingly out of nowhere and he used it to wipe his fingers, methodically brushing the grease from each finger one at a time as they started back down the hill. “So that leaves Bob, Tom and Mae as our suspects.”

“And the stranger,” Claire added.

“Right. Let’s not forget about him.”

Claire sighed. “I’d like to think it was the stranger, but I have to admit it’s not looking good for Bob.”

“One big clue is the murder weapon. The twine. Who had access to that?” Dom tried not to think about the twine behind Sarah’s counter.

Claire tried not to think about the twine around Mae’s jam jars. “We could ask Marj down at the country store. I think anyone could buy it, but do you really think the murderer bought it special to kill Blunt with?”

“No. I doubt it. It was probably just something that was handy.”

“And who had brown twine handy?”

“Bob.”

They were three quarters of the way down the hill now and had a bird’s-eye-view of the pier and dock. Claire looked over at the spot where Bob docked his fishing boat. It was empty. “Bob’s still not back, so we can't talk to him. And besides, I just don’t think it’s in his nature to kill.
Anyone
could have grabbed twine off his boat. I saw that he keeps those nets unsecured in the back. It would be easy enough to reach in and grab some.”

“True,” Dom said. “But we need to go by the facts here, not supposition.” He glanced at Claire out of the corner of his eye. “And not feelings.”

Claire stiffened. “I think my
feelings
helped us with a few cases back in the day and besides, we don’t really have any concrete clues to go on.”

Dom sighed. “You have a point there. This is a lot harder than when we had access to police information. Maybe we should pay that visit to Robby.”

“Maybe we won’t have to.” Claire nodded toward the dock where she’d been watching Robby come off Donovan’s boat. He had his head down. His police cap hid the expression on his face, but the way he was walking so purposefully down the dock indicated he was deep in thought.

They picked up speed, but weren’t quick enough to intercept him before he reached the end of the dock and turned in the opposite direction.

Claire jogged toward him. “Robby? Robby!”

Robby spun around, apparently surprised to see his aunt running after him. The manila folder slipped from his hand. Photographs scattered all over the dock.

Claire and Dom bent to help pick them up. Dom froze when he recognized what they were—photographs of the giant crab boil pot and the dirt area around it. The crime scene.

Claire must have noticed, too, because she slowed her normally quick movements, purposely taking her time picking up the photographs so she could study them, just like Dom was doing.

The first thing he noticed was a lot of footsteps in the dirt. There were many different types of shoe prints. He knew one of those must be of Blunt’s killer. The others were of Blunt and whoever had walked over there in between the murder and the time the police closed the area down. With a start, Dom recognized his own shoe print and he realized some of those prints would be his and the other committee members—they’d walked all over the area before the police had come.

One photograph stood out from the others. This one had the usual footprints, but there was one clear area where no footprints had fallen. It was in an unusual shape that Dom couldn’t quite make out, but that looked almost like part of a crab claw holding something long and jagged.

It wasn’t really the shape that struck him. It was the fact that no footprints were on
top
of the shape. Someone had picked that item up after everyone came on the scene and before the police started taking pictures. Dom’s eyebrows tingled … he was sure that what he was looking at was a clue.

Robby grabbed the pictures from them and shoved them in the manila folder. They all stood up. “Hi, Auntie. What are you doing here?”

“We were just out for a stroll. What are
you
doing here?” Claire asked. “Something to do with the case?”

“I was interviewing Donovan. I guess it’s no secret the victim was opening a tour boat operation.”

“We heard that,” Dom said. “Seems like he had a lot of things going on that would hurt businesses and people on the island.”

“He did, but I hate to think that one of
us
would have killed him because of that.” Robby looked over Dom’s shoulder at the Atlantic. “Although he did pull some nasty tricks to get what he wanted like the tricks he pulled on Mae.”

Claire’s brows tugged together. “What do you mean ‘what he pulled on Mae’?”

Robby blanched. “Oh, I guess I probably shouldn’t have said anything.”

Claire gave her nephew a stern look. “Come on, now. You can’t leave us hanging or we’ll imagine all sorts of things.”

“Okay,” Robby said. “I guess it’s not a secret anyway and you could find out from Mae, but Blunt ratted her out to the health inspector. Blunt seemed positive her kitchen where she makes the jam wouldn’t pass inspection.”

“Did Mae know this?” Claire asked.

Robby nodded. “She must have known. She had the inspection yesterday morning.”

Dom’s brows went into tingling overdrive. He turned to Claire. “That must have been why she was late to the Crab Festival committee meeting on the dock.”

“Yeah, but it’s odd that she didn’t mention it or that she knew Blunt.” Claire chewed her lip nervously.

“Unfortunately, that’s what Zambuco thinks, too,” Robby said. “He said something about how Blunt unleashing the inspector on her would put a dampener on her little jam business and
that
gives her a compelling motive in his book.”

“That’s ridiculous. Mae isn’t much taller than five feet. She wouldn’t be able to reach up and strangle a big guy like Blunt,” Claire pointed out.

“Sure, she wouldn’t be tall enough to strangle him when he was standing, but Blunt wasn’t strangled when he was standing.”

Dom’s eyes widened. “What? What do you mean he wasn’t standing?”

“He was hit on the head pretty hard with something heavy, knocked unconscious and
then
strangled. He was lying on the ground, so even a person of Mae’s short stature could have done that by herself … but Zambuco said he wouldn’t be surprised if she had a little help.”