Clammed Up (11 page)

Tuesday was one of the days I’d been eating lunch at Gus’s regularly with Chris Durand. It wasn’t something we ever talked about or planned. I was always there Tuesday, Thursday, and Saturday at 1:00 and so was he. It was a little later than most working people in the harbor ate, so by the end of the meal we usually had the place to ourselves.

I’d expected that by the start of clambake season our lunches would have been over, I’d have been spending every day on Morrow Island, and Chris’s landscaping and cab businesses would have been going full swing. But that Tuesday, I wasn’t on the island, so I was thrilled to see Chris’s cab parked outside Gus’s door.

Chris was already in “our booth” with his food when I walked in. “Hey, beautiful,” he called.

Once again I looked down at my work boots, sweatshirt, and jeans, and grimaced. “Let me order,” I said.

Gus was grilling a burger and had his back to the counter, so I waited. You didn’t talk to Gus’s back. He had us all trained to wait until he turned around. And he didn’t turn around until whatever was on the grill was perfectly cooked and in its little checkered cardboard boat.

“I’m sorry about the fire, Julia,” Chris said when I finally sat down. “What did Ditzy say?” Chris had sat across from me and listened to me rant and scheme about our financial situation for months, so leave it to him to cut right to the important question.

“What could he say? We have five down days built into the schedule. We’ve only had two so far.” I said it with far more confidence than I felt.

“Still . . .” Chris let it hang there. We both knew the down days were for bad weather, not for murder. The bad weather would still come.

“How about you? Has Lieutenant Binder let up any?”

“I haven’t seen him yet today. Makes a nice change.”

“Before the fire, Binder told me he didn’t think the murder had anything to do with Morrow Island. He thought the body was put at Windsholme to upset the bride.”

“Upset? More like terrorize. But that’s good news. I mean for you. Not for her.”

“For you, too. Why would you want to hurt a woman you never met? Anyway, with the fire, I’m afraid Binder may be back to thinking Wilson’s death has something to do with the island.” Talking about the fire reminded me about the cleaned-up playhouse, which reminded me, I wanted to ask Chris—

“Julia Snowden!” Gus shouted, his usual method for letting people know their food was ready. As I walked into the front room to retrieve my lunch, I saw a car pull up behind Chris’s cab. An official Maine state police car. Binder and Flynn.
What are they doing here?
If ever I wanted Gus to invoke his “no strangers” rule, it was right then.

Binder and Flynn made their way down the steps and came through the door.

“Christopher Durand,” Flynn yelled.

The few other diners in the booths looked around.

“Here.” Chris jumped up from our booth.

“We’ve got a warrant to search your vehicle.”

“Sure.” Chris fished in his pocket for his keys.

“Let me open it for you.”

“Not here,” Flynn said. “State lab. We want to search it micro-scop-ickly.”

“Oh.” Chris looked confused. “You want me to drive it there?”

“No. We’ve got a tow truck coming.”

“Sure.” Chris stood tall, but the color had drained from behind his tanned face and his hand shook ever so slightly as he gave Flynn his car key.

I could tell by the flicker of his eyelash that Binder hadn’t missed the slight tremor, either. I realized both my hands were clenched at my sides. So unfair. First they’d taken away my livelihood by closing down the clambake. Now they were taking Chris’s by impounding his cab.

A tow truck came and took Chris’s cab away. Binder and Flynn said they’d drop Chris at the parking spot where he kept the pickup he used for his landscaping business. When they left, I felt a little dizzy. Chris had nothing to do with the fire at Windsholme. He had no reason to want to upset Michaela. He didn’t fit into either theory of the case Binder had said they were pursuing. Why would they take his cab?

I wanted to call out to Chris to get a lawyer, but I didn’t want to say anything in front of Binder and Flynn. Besides Chris was a grown-up. He’d know what to do.

Gus cleared his throat and I looked over at the counter where my clam roll and fries sat in their cheery paper boats. I shook my head. I couldn’t eat anything now. Gus quietly threw them into the trash. “No charge today.”

My cell phone beeped. Sonny. “Where are you? Etienne and I are waiting at the dock with the building inspector.”

Building inspector? Man.
The most important thing going on in my life and I’d completely forgotten about it.

Sonny, Etienne, Jamie, and a pudgy, middle-aged man I didn’t know were waiting on our Boston Whaler when I scurried to the dock.

“At last,” Sonny called in a voice that could be heard for blocks. “Glad you could be bothered.”

I glared at him and put out my hand to the stranger. “Julia Snowden.”

He introduced himself as the Busman’s Harbor building inspector.

I turned to Jamie. “You coming, too?”

“Hi, yourself.” He smiled politely in the face of my rudeness. “Lieutenant Binder asked me to come along. Still technically a crime scene.”

Sonny steered the boat away from the dock. “What kept you?”

“I ate lunch at Gus’s.” That was an exaggeration, since I hadn’t actually eaten anything. “The cops . . . er”—I stole a glance at Jamie—“state police impounded Chris’s cab.” There was no reason not to tell them. Jamie, for sure, already knew, and the news, including the nugget that I was there when it happened, would be all over the harbor by the time we got back.

“Tough break,” Sonny said. “But if anyone knows how to behave when the cops are taking an interest in you, it’s Chris Durand.” Sonny and Etienne shared a laugh about this, and I thought I saw some amusement in Jamie’s eyes, too. Sonny loved making references to the sketchy part of Chris’s life I never saw, the part that had been in trouble since high school.

Jamie moved toward the stern and I followed. “Chris isn’t really a suspect, is he?”

“You know I can’t tell you that.”

Impounding Chris’s cab still didn’t make sense to me. “I know the desk clerk at the Lighthouse Inn saw Ray
after
he got out of Chris’s cab,” I said to Jamie. “I know Michaela called Ray from the Snuggles and left in the middle of the night to meet him. I know Tony probably didn’t sleep in his bed the night of the murder, either. How does any of this add up to Chris being involved?”

Jamie looked horrified. “Julia! What the heck have you been up to?”

“The state police are going to make me lose my family’s business. Am I supposed to just sit and wait?” I channeled Gus’s flinty Maine independence.

“The state police didn’t murder anyone on your family’s island. If this murder made your financial problems worse, that’s on the killer, not the police. And yes, you are supposed to sit and wait. That’s exactly what you’re supposed to do.” Jamie exhaled after he finished his little lecture.

Glancing past him I was relieved to see Morrow Island come into view. When you don’t do all the seal-and-lighthouse ogling, it really is a short trip from the harbor.

As we climbed onto our dock, Gabrielle came out of her house. Something passed wordlessly between her and Etienne and he put an arm around her.

“They were here all morning,” she said. I understood she meant the arson team. “They took many, many photographs and took away some burned boards.”

“Standard procedure, if they suspect arson,” the building inspector said. “The boards will be tested for accelerant.”

We walked toward Windsholme. In the daylight, the damage to the porch looked worse than it had the night before. The inspector walked around, taking photos and making notes on a form.

“Do you see evidence of accelerant?” I asked.

“Yes,” the inspector and Etienne answered simultaneously, and I remembered I was in the presence of not one, but two men who really understood fire.

“It’s hard to figure how it could have burned so fast and hot without it,” the inspector said. “Even though firefighting is a challenge out here, you people jumped on it right away. This really burned.”

Gabrielle headed back to her house, sniffling slightly at the sight of the ruined porch. The rest of us went around to the front of Windsholme. Jamie opened the security device on the big front doors and let us in. The inspector went straight through the great hall to the dining room. Its interior smelled heavily of smoke and at the east end of the room there was water damage to the hand-painted wallpaper. The French doors to the side porch were a charred mess, with half the upper panes gone. But the room was intact.

“Doesn’t look bad,” the inspector admitted. “I’ll have to see the floors above and below to make sure there’s nothing structural.”

Together, we trooped around the house while he poked and prodded. The inspector focused only on the far left side of the mansion by the porch, so even though there were four floors to view, it didn’t take him very long.

“You had some electrical work done here recently, as I recall,” the inspector said.

“Two rooms on the main floor,” I confirmed. “We were going to use them as dressing rooms for weddings and such.” What a dream that seemed like. “Did the electrical work cause the fire?”

The inspector shook his head. “No. Nice job. I inspected it this spring.”

A little later, I found myself alone with Etienne in the top floor hallway while Sonny and Jamie looked over a bedroom with the inspector.

“How’d it go at the station this morning?” I assumed his interview with Binder had gone forward despite the events of the previous night. “It’s rough the way Binder’s interviewed you so many times. Why won’t he take your word that you didn’t hear anything that night?”

Etienne hesitated. I thought he wasn’t going to answer, but then, keeping his voice low, he said, “You might as well hear this from me. Binder is interested because I was here the night of the murder. But he’s also questioning me because, well, because I met Ray Wilson before. Before the day he died.”

“Shhh.” But it was too late. My involuntary shout had attracted Jamie’s attention and he moved toward us. With a quick shake of his head, Etienne ended the conversation.

Suddenly, I felt like the wind was knocked out of me. The hallway closed in. I gasped, trying to get some air, but couldn’t. I swayed on my feet, dizzy and unable to breathe. The tightness in my chest was so intense, I thought my heart would burst.

Next thing I knew, Jamie was forcing my head down to my knees, commanding, “Breathe slowly, into your hands.”

Blood rushed to my head. I thought I might pass out. For the life of me, I couldn’t breathe.
Please, please don’t let me pass out in front of these guys.

“Julia, breathe into your hands,” Jamie commanded.

I cupped my hands over my mouth and nose and inhaled. Miraculously, air entered my lungs and my heart slowed down. After what felt like an hour, but was probably less than a minute, I stood up unsteadily.

“You okay?” Sonny asked.

“Fine,” I lied. I was lightheaded and exhausted. As the adrenaline surge from the panic attack ebbed, it left me without physical resources, weak and trembly. I wanted more than anything in the world to get out of there, but when I tried to move my feet, I found I couldn’t. I stood, shivering through a brief, embarrassing discussion about who was going to carry me down the stairs.

“I can walk.” I could barely talk, but I figured if I could convince them, I could convince myself. Etienne looped a strong arm under mine. The journey down the grand staircase was excruciatingly slow.

At last, we were back outside and Jamie secured the doors behind us.

“What do you think?” I asked, glad to be outdoors and on firm ground. “Can we open the clambake?”

No one said a word about what had just happened.

“That’s really more than one question,” the inspector answered. “Since you don’t use the mansion in your business, you can open as soon as you tear down what’s left of the porch and find a way to secure it so none of your customers have access. As far as I’m concerned, you can open as soon as you get that done. Then it’s up to the police.”

“So we can reopen as soon as the police give us the go ahead?” I clarified.

“Yes, and as soon as you get rid of that porch and secure the house.”

“Do we need a permit to pull the porch down?”

“Lady, this ain’t Manhattan.”

Despite the physical effects of the panic attack, I felt elated. I just had to convince Binder, and we could open the day after tomorrow.

Etienne dropped us at the town dock. After our hallway conversation, I’d never gotten him alone again. I was shocked by what he’d told me—that he’d met Ray Wilson while he was alive. How could that have happened? In what way could their lives have possibly intersected? And why hadn’t Etienne told me this before? There had been so many opportunities—aboard the
Jacquie II
the day of the murder, Sunday when I’d met him on the town dock, or even the day before at the clambake when he’d told me Binder wanted to interview him again.

When we got to town, I walked alongside Jamie.

He finally realized I was going the same place he was. “You coming to the station?”

“You heard the building inspector. The town isn’t my problem. Binder is. I figure it won’t hurt to beg.”

“Julia, I’ve made Lieutenant Binder aware of your situation.”

“And I appreciate it, but asking directly still has to be the best thing.”

Jamie looked concerned. “Are you sure you’re up to doing this right now?”

“Yes.” And I was. My body felt like I’d run for miles, but otherwise I’d been fine since we’d gotten out of Windsholme.

It wasn’t my first panic attack. I’d had them before, though not for months. I thought I’d left them behind in New York. But then again, the last several days had brought nothing but stress. I’d had a pervasive sense of unease about Windsholme since the moment I’d seen Ray Wilson’s body hanging from the staircase—and no wonder. That had to explain my panic attack on the top floor.

At the police station, even more law enforcement people were crammed into the cubicles than there’d been just two days before. Arson investigators, I imagined, had joined the bustling team. The civilian at the front desk took me straight into the conference room to see Binder. “Wish me luck,” I called to Jamie as I left him.

About half a dozen officers were in the room, though I didn’t see Detective Flynn. Binder stood up from behind the table and cleared his throat. “Can you give us a minute?”

The other officers scattered.

“Ms. Snowden.” Binder remained standing. At first I thought he was being polite. Then I realized he stood because he wanted to keep the meeting as brief as possible.

“Lieutenant, I’ve just met with the building inspector and he says I can open as soon as you give the go ahead,” I exaggerated slightly.

“Did he now? I want to hear what the arson team tells us about the presence of accelerants in your fire.”

“But why? You told me you didn’t think the murder had anything to do with Morrow Island.”

“And then there was the fire, and now we’re rethinking.” He stood with his sports jacket open, a pen in his left hand. The very model of reasonableness. His calm detachment probably made him a good cop, but it was making me crazy. Why couldn’t he understand how important this was to my family and me? Why didn’t he feel the same urgency I did?

“I’m not sure you understand—”

“Ms. Snowden, I do. But I let you start up the clambakes too soon the last time, and now I regret it. We have some great leads. Let us wrap this thing up, then you can open.”

I could tell he wasn’t going to budge. “Can you at least give us permission to demolish what’s left of the porch, so we can open right away when you give us the go ahead?”

“I’ll check with the arson investigators and see what I can do.”

As I opened the station door to leave, I ran right into Chris Durand coming the other way.

“Julia! I’m so glad to see you.”

“What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged and stepped back so I could get outside.

“If you’re here to plead for your cab, it probably won’t get you anywhere. Binder doesn’t care if he destroys your income, believe me.”

“No, nothing like that.”

As we moved outside into the sunlight, I noticed he looked pale and worried. I longed for his usual, “Hey, beautiful.”

Chris cocked his head toward the bench on the green across the street from the police station. We walked the short distance to it and sat down. He put his head in his hands and said, “I’m here for another interview.”

“What? Why? I don’t get this,” I fumed. “I know the desk clerk at the Lighthouse saw Ray
after
you dropped him off.”

“And then saw him leave again.”

So Chris knew that, too.

“Anyway, I’m sure this meeting is about what they found in my cab.”

“What could they have found in your cab?”

“For one thing, I’m sure they found that my cab’s been cleaned. Very thoroughly. Recently.”

“So what? So you keep a clean cab.”

“Not that kind of cleaning. And for another, I’m pretty certain they found blood in my cab. Wilson’s blood.”

It was the second shocking revelation of the day, after Etienne’s admission that he’d met Ray Wilson when he was alive. I wasn’t sure how much more I could take. But I was also sure, deep in my bones, Chris hadn’t murdered anyone. I was as certain of his innocence as I was of my own. “How did Ray’s blood get in your cab?” I asked.

“Wilson was really drunk when I took him back to his hotel from Crowley’s. He got sick in the back of my cab. I was angry. For one thing, it meant I couldn’t pick up any more fares, and the bars were just closing. He’d cost me a bundle. So I drove to the marina, grabbed a bucket and some rags off my boat. It wasn’t until I opened up the back door of the cab that I saw his vomit was full of blood. I held my breath and scrubbed. It was really bad, so I took all the seats out and scrubbed some more. Anyway, I’m sure that’s what they want to talk to me about.”

I flashed on the image of Ray Wilson hanging from the staircase, blood all down the front of his pink polo shirt. “Did you tell the police about the blood when they interviewed you before?”

Chris shook his head. “I never thought it would go this far. I thought they would catch whoever it was long before they got around to searching my cab. I guess I’ll be telling them now. I know it looks bad. I feel like an idiot.”

“What happened after Ray was sick?”

“Exactly what I told you the other day. Wilson got out of the cab and went into the Lighthouse Inn. Like a lot of drunks, getting sick seemed to make him feel better.”

“Did Ray go into the hotel lobby with his shirt covered in blood?” Surely Clarice Kemp would have mentioned it, if that were the scuttlebutt.

“He had a windbreaker with him. He put it on. He was so drunk, he couldn’t zip it up. I got out of the cab and helped him. The zipper stuck, and I caught my finger.”

“Are you saying your DNA is on Wilson’s jacket?”

Chris nodded. “Could be. Was he wearing the jacket when you, you know . . .”

“When I saw him hanging from the staircase? No. Just a pink polo shirt with blood down the front. No windbreaker.”

We sat on the bench for a moment, each absorbed in our own thoughts. It was so wrong that Chris was mixed up in this.

“Julia, I can’t believe what a mess this has turned into. I’m scared about what could happen.”

Scared? I couldn’t imagine Chris scared. Yet there he was, telling me it was so. Him confessing his fear rattled me more than anything else in the conversation.

Chris stood and turned toward the station. “Here goes nothing.”

“I think you should get a lawyer.”

“A—I can’t afford it. B—I didn’t kill the guy. I’ll just have to trust in the system.”