A Matter of Time (20 page)

As for the whereabouts of the murderer, it was safe to assume that whoever did it was still on the island. Only six flights
had left since the victim was presumed drowned, and no cruise ships. The names on the manifests of the departing flights had
all been checked and matched with ticket-holders’ arrival cards and photo IDs. Since September 11, at least this part of their
work was easier. All were accounted for, and all appeared to be legitimate tourists or business persons.

Cochrane smiled. Murder was no more difficult to commit on Bermuda than anywhere else. The tricky part was getting off their
tight little island. There were only two ways. If they had an idea whom they were looking for, and he was not a local whose
cousins might hide him, all they had to do was put people at the airport and the cruise ship terminals and wait.

If
they had an idea whom they were looking for.

24
  
  
a froggy would a-wooing go

Late Tuesday afternoon a fire crackled in the hearth of the dark, rough-timbered pub known as The Frog & Onion. When Bartholomew
asked how the pub got its name, Ron explained that the original owner had been a Frenchman who’d fallen in love with a Bermudian.
Or maybe it was the other way around.

A favorite hangout of West End locals, much as East Enders favored the White Horse, it had lighting so dim that the fire was
the best illumination for reading the menu. But as Dan and Brother Bartholomew squinted at it, Ron assured them everything
was good.

Anything
would be good, as far as Bartholomew was concerned. He could not believe how much he was looking forward to this. Dan had
remembered his promise of a rain check, and now they were here. He could already taste the rack of lamb.

“Did you hear about the murder?” Ron asked him.

“Hard not to,” he replied with a smile, “what with the police cars and the ambulance over at Sandys Cove. Father Francis filled
me in when he told me about Dan’s
call. He said that one of the guests at Sandys House had found the body.”

“Actually it was someone from the Red Lion,” Dan said. “A young woman, down for a quickie vacation.”

Ron smiled. “Some vacation.”

Bartholomew looked at Dan. “What do you think?”

Dan smiled. “I’m glad it’s someone else’s problem.”

They both laughed, recalling the wild ride they’d had two years before. And the year before that.

Momentarily puzzled, Ron smiled. “Oh, yeah, you guys were involved in that diamond thing over on East Bluffs.” His eyebrows
rose. “
And
the thing at Teal Pond!” He looked at the two of them with new respect. “Holmes and Watson! Which of you is Holmes?”

Dan and Bartholomew each pointed at the other, and they all laughed.

“Not even a little curious?” Bartholomew teased his friend.

“Nope. Just glad to be down here fishing.” Dan raised his pint of Bass Ale to Ron.

“Well, I am,” admitted Bartholomew.

“Am what?” asked Ron.

“Curious.”

“Thought you were on a personal retreat.”

“I was,” the monk admitted. “It ended yesterday.”

“So you’re open for business?”

“You mean, back to normal?”

Dan nodded.

“Well, I’m sitting here, aren’t I?”

His friend thought for a moment. “When are you going home?”

“I’m not sure,” Bartholomew answered honestly. “Soon, I think.”

“You want to come out with us tomorrow?” asked Ron.

Bartholomew hesitated.

“He likes fishing,” Dan explained. “He just doesn’t like small boats.”

Ron frowned. “How can he like fishing, and not—”

At that moment the waitress arrived with their dinner. Short and slight, she nonetheless handled the tray with well-practiced
ease. “Careful of the plates,” she warned them, “they’re hot.”

Bartholomew looked at his entree and started to laugh.

“What is it?” asked Dan.

“You’ve no idea how much better this is than what I’ve been eating!”

“You haven’t tasted it.”

“Don’t have to.” He took a bite, chewed, and sighed.

Dan chuckled. “I was going to ask you if you wanted to ask the blessing, Friar Tuck, but since you seem to have your mouth
full—” he glanced up at the dark ceiling. “Thank you, for this, for us, for everything.”

“Amen,” agreed Ron.

“Mmm,” concurred Bartholomew.

Later, as they were finishing dessert, Bartholomew asked Dan, “I really am curious; what’s your take on it?”

“Are we back on the murder?”

Bartholomew nodded.

Eastport’s Chief of Police reflected. “Well, they’re doing it by the book. Just what I’d do, interviewing anyone who might
have seen anything.”

“Did they interview you two?”

“You bet,” offered Ron. “Soon as we got back. An Inspector Cochrane.”

“What did he ask?”

Dan turned to Bartholomew, mildly surprised. “I thought you were the reluctant dragon when it came to crime-solving.”

Bartholomew smiled. “That was only when I was afraid it would interfere with my call.”

“Your call?” asked Ron.

“Being a brother.”

“And now?”

“Nothing can interfere with that now.”

Dan smiled. “Sounds like a good retreat.”

“The best. Ever.”

Ron, who’d been watching the door, now softly exclaimed, “Oh, no! Don’t look now, Dan, but M&M have just arrived.”

“Who?” asked the Chief.

“You know, Maud and Margaret from Sandys House.” He groaned. “They’re coming this way.” He turned his gaze to the fire and
studied it.

“Hi,” said Dan politely as the two ladies approached. “Nice fire,” he added, nodding towards it. He pointedly did not introduce
their guest or invite them to join their table. They took the other table near the fire, and the men went back to their conversation.

“What did the inspector ask you?” Bartholomew persisted.

“The usual,” replied Dan, with a shrug. “What were we doing, why had we come, how was the fishing. And had we seen anything
at all unusual in the last couple of days, particularly at night.”

“What did you think of the inspector?”

Dan assessed him from memory. “He’s good. Didn’t waste any time. Covered everything. And—he was
watching us all the time as we answered, to see what our bodies might say beyond what our words conveyed.”

Bartholomew smiled. “Like you do.”

“Yeah,” smiled Dan, “I guess.”

Bartholomew turned to Ron. “Our Chief conducts all interviews himself, if possible.” He turned back to his friend. “So, he
is good.”

“Yup,” admitted the Chief. “And he saved the key question for last, almost as an afterthought. He’s a pro.”

Ron frowned. “Which reminds me: Why anything unusual at night?”

“Because you can’t very well haul a stiff out there and stuff him under a reef in broad daylight.”

They all laughed.

“Not too easy to go stiff-stuffing at night, for that matter,” noted Dan. “He—or they—must have used one of those underwater
lights that scuba divers strap on their heads for hands-free work.”

Bartholomew, gazing into the fire, did not seem to hear him. “There
was
something unusual Sunday afternoon,” he mused.

The Chief looked at him. “You mean, Eric taking off like that?”

Bartholomew nodded, and the Chief turned to Ron. “What did you make of all that?”

“You mean, when the boy finally came home? I thought he looked—strung out. And I’ve never seen a kid get from the front door
to his room faster, with fewer words.” He paused. “Except my own kid.”

They laughed.

“You think there’s a connection between Eric and the murder?” Bartholomew asked.

The Chief frowned and slowly nodded. “I’ve been
wondering about that. I get the feeling he may be involved with drugs. And if the murder turns out to be drug related….”

“Is there anything either of you can do for him?”

Ron sighed. “I’m going to call his father. If it was my kid, I’d want someone to call me.”

“I’m sure Nan’s been talking to him,” Dan observed.

“Yeah, but you know how men discount what their wives tell them.” He smiled. “I don’t mean you and Peg. Anyway, I’m going
to call Ian first thing in the morning, before he gets those Blue Water Anglers out on the bay.”

Dan noticed Bartholomew had not taken his eyes from the fire. “There’s something else, isn’t there,” he asked softly.

Bartholomew nodded. “When he came into the bar Sunday—it seems like a week ago—he was fine, at first. Then he saw something,
and it spooked him. And he took off like a bat—”

“Some-
thing
? Or some-
one
?”

They were startled; the question had come from the next table.

“
Maudie!
” hissed her friend, scandalized.

“Well,
they’re
talking about it, and
we’re
talking about it. Why don’t we talk about it together?”

Margaret turned to them, genuinely embarrassed. “I’m sorry, I can’t do a thing with her when she gets this way.”

“Gets what way?” Maud snapped at her. “Everybody eavesdrops in restaurants; I’m just honest about it.”

Margaret shook her head. “I’m really sorry.”

“And stop apologizing for me! I can apologize for myself, if it’s called for.” She turned to the other table. “I want to know
what that one thinks,” she declared, pointing at Bartholomew. And sensing the resentment emanating
from the group of men, she added, “And
I
saw something yesterday morning that I think
you’ll
be interested in. I was there!”

That got their attention. “You were one of the snorkel-ers?” asked Dan.

“We both were.”

With a sigh, Ron waved to the two women to come join them, and ordered a round of Fra Angelicos.

“What’s that?” asked Maud.

“Trust me.”

“All right, ladies,” said Dan, when they’d pulled up their chairs, “let’s hear it.”

“Boys go first.”

“
Maud!
”

“I’m just being funny.” She turned to Bartholomew. “But I do want to hear what you think.”

He turned to Dan, who simply shrugged. So he said, “I think there was something—or someone—in the room that freaked him out.”

Maud nodded. “I think so, too,” she said. “And I think I know who it was.”

That
really
got their attention.

When all eyes were on her, Maud opened her purse and extracted one of her very long, very thin cigars. Ron, who smoked, flicked
open his Zippo and lit it for her. She inhaled deeply, and then slowly let the smoke out. This was her moment, and she was
milking it for all it was worth.

Then in meticulous detail she related the morning’s adventure. Which was interesting but hardly arresting, until she got to
the part about the girl being sick.

“You remember I said that the other two from our place were a honeymoon couple?” she asked Bartholomew,
who nodded. “Well, the bridegroom, Buff MacLean, puts his arm around the girl from the Red Lion’s shoulders to comfort her.
And he leaves his arm there—a little longer than was necessary.”

Margaret turned to the men and said, “She’s got an imagination like the Dismal Swamp.”

“And how often does it turn out I’m right?” Maud scowled at her friend. She turned back to the others. “This Buff character’s
been married, what, all of two days? And all of a sudden he’s hitting on this other woman. With his new bride standing right
there! Or maybe—” she stopped to take another deep drag on her super-slim cigar.

At which point the waitress arrived with five snifters, cradling a honey-colored liquid. More delay. Then Maud exhaled into
her snifter, filling it with a cloud of smoke.

“Or maybe—what!” Ron almost shouted.

“Or maybe—he already knew her. Which could explain why he was so antsy to get out of there, Saturday night.” She turned to
Dan. “Yes, Chief, I noticed it, too. He’d left the table about half an hour before he actually got up and left.”

Dan nodded. “And never came back.”

“And we stayed with his poor bride long after you two went to bed,” chided Margaret. “Finally, we saw her to her room. He
wasn’t there, either.”

“He’d told her he was going to get a surprise for her. Some surprise!” snorted Maud. “If you ask me, he was down the road
at the Red Lion, romancing Miss I-can-hold-my-breath-for-a-minute. Or maybe—” she took a swallow of the liquid. “Hey, this
is good!”

“Or maybe—
what?
” shouted Ron. He looked around and was relieved to see no one else in earshot.

“Or maybe—he was busy murdering someone and sticking them in the cove.”

They all thought about that.

“Why would he go snorkeling there the very next morning?” asked Margaret. “Wouldn’t that be the last place he’d want to be?”

Bartholomew traced the rim of his water glass. “Not if he was interested in establishing an alibi,” he said thoughtfully.
“Of course, he’d be hoping the body would never be found. But if it
was
, that would the last place anyone would expect the murderer to be.”

Maud looked at him. “I like you. You have a devious mind. What do you do in real life?”