Mortar and Murder (13 page)

Melissa and Tony the Tiger would be going to upscale Waymouth Tavern for dinner, so Derek and I decided to head in the opposite direction, geographically and economically, to Guido’s Pizzeria.

It’s a small cinderblock building not too far from Becklea Drive, which again isn’t too far from Barnham College. As always, Guido’s parking lot was full of beat-up trucks and economy cars with out-of-state license plates and college parking stickers, and the neon sign in the window flickered HOT-HOT-HOT, like a strip joint.

Inside, there was the usual hubbub. Floor-to-ceiling college kids, loud music, louder conversation, and a couple of waitresses in tight jeans and midriff-baring tops carrying pizzas over their heads through the throng.

As it often was, the big table in the back was occupied by people we knew: Shannon McGillicutty, Kate’s daughter; Josh Rasmussen, Wayne’s son; and their friends, Paige Thompson and Ricky Swanson.

Josh and Shannon have been best friends since Shannon moved to Waterfield seven years ago. Now, of course, they’re step-siblings, as well. Add to that the fact that Josh is crazy about her while she seems totally oblivious, and you have the makings of a fine tragedy, comedy, or both.

Not that anything tragic seemed to be in the offing. All four of them greeted us with smiles and invitations to join them.

“So what’s this about a body in the ocean?” Josh asked, scooting closer to Shannon. I slipped in beside him.

“Hasn’t your dad told you?” Derek wanted to know, sliding in next to Ricky on the other side of the table.

“I don’t see him as much now that we’re not living together. Brandon came around with a photograph earlier today to see if anyone at Barnham knew her, but he didn’t tell me much. Just that you’d found her in the water.” Josh shrugged.

Josh is tall and lanky like his dad, with the same curly, dark hair, and bright eyes behind round glasses. Up until Wayne and Kate’s wedding, he and his dad had shared a condo on the outskirts of Waterfield. Now he was living there alone. At one point, Shannon had been talking about moving in—to get away from the newlyweds and the B&B—but I guess once we’d turned the carriage house into a romantic retreat for two and Kate and Wayne had moved out there, Shannon decided just to stay in the Waterfield Inn.

“I don’t know that there’s a whole lot more to tell,” Derek said. “She was floating in the water halfway between Moosehead Island and Rowanberry a couple mornings ago. Dead from exposure. The water’s cold.”

“She was young,” I added. “Around twenty-five, maybe. Short, like Paige and me. Long, blond hair. She was dressed in a white summer top and a pair of Gloria Jeans.”

“I’ve never heard of those,” Shannon said, flipping her black cherry hair over her shoulder. Shannon is gorgeous, with her mother’s Playboy Bunny figure and her father’s compelling dark eyes.

“They’re Russian. You can find them in New York if you know where to look, but mostly they’re for sale in Eastern Europe.”

“So is the girl Russian, too, then?” This was Paige, her little-girl voice soft. She’s a tiny thing, no taller than me and ethereal-looking. We’re both short blondes, in other words, but where I’m sturdy, with rosy cheeks and bright hair, Paige is translucent; her hair is pale and her skin almost colorless, her body waiflike inside an oversized sweatshirt. She looks like a strong wind could knock her over.

“They’re not sure yet,” Derek said. “Brandon can’t find any record of her.”

I nodded. “I saw him at Shaw’s Supermarket just now. He said he had sent her fingerprints to ICE, since he hadn’t been able to find a match on his own.

“He was with Daphne,” I added, “the canine handler from the state police in Augusta. You know, the one who brought her dog down to sniff the yard on Becklea Drive this fall. And who came down to sniff Peter Cortino’s auto shop in December.”

Derek nodded. “Hans. I remember. And Brandon told you he sent the fingerprints to Immigration and Customs?”

“He did. I guess they’re going on the assumption that if she was wearing Russian clothes, she might be Russian. Are there any Russian girls going to Barnham College?” I looked around the table.

The four students exchanged glances.

“None I know of,” Shannon said.

“We didn’t recognize the photograph,” Paige added.

“If she’s twenty-five, she’s too old for Barnham, anyway,” Josh contributed.

Ricky nodded. He doesn’t usually say a whole lot. But at least these days he looks you straight in the eye, instead of peering furtively out through curtains of dark hair, the way he used to do. Or usually he does; now I thought he might be avoiding my eyes.

Before I could pursue the thought, Derek had continued. “Brandon probably asked you if you knew of any party-hardy students who may have had something to do with this, right? Like, a boat party with alcohol a few days ago?”

“Barnham isn’t really a party school,” Josh offered. “I’m sure there are people here who have a few drinks, or a few bottles of beer, on the weekend, but campus security almost never has to break up loud frat parties or anything like that.”

“And I haven’t noticed anyone acting strangely,” Shannon added. “You’d think if someone knew something, even if it was an accident and she just fell off a boat, whoever was with her would be freaking out.”

“You’d think.” I turned to Ricky. “What about you? Have you noticed anyone acting weird?” The girl would be closer to Ricky’s age than the others’, since he was a couple of years older than they were.

Ricky hesitated before replying. “I don’t know who she is—or was—and I haven’t noticed anyone acting weird, but there’s a guy in my class—his name is Calvin—who was going on about Russian women before Christmas. Russian-bride websites and all that. You know, how women from Eastern Europe are dying to come to the U.S.?”

The obvious pun didn’t seem to strike him, and I didn’t have the heart to point it out.

“Really?” I said instead. “Did you tell Brandon?”

Ricky shook his head. “I had no idea about the Russian thing until now. Brandon didn’t mention it.”

“You should tell Dad,” Josh said, fumbling for his cell phone. “I’ll call him.” He pulled the phone from his pocket. But before he could dial, the waitress appeared next to our table, the same girl who usually waited on us when we were here.

“What can I get you?” She looked from me to Derek, where recognition seemed to strike. “Oh, it’s you again.” She dimpled.

“Hi, Candy.” Derek dimpled back. He gets a kick out of the fact that at thirty-five he’s still got what it takes to charm the co-eds. What he doesn’t seem to realize is that it isn’t just the co-eds, it’s every woman between the ages of three and ninety-three. He’s just a charming sort of guy.

“What can I get you to drink?”

Derek ordered a beer, I ordered a Diet Coke, and we all ordered pizzas to share. Candy was just about to tuck the order pad into the waistband of her skintight jeans and swish off, when Ricky spoke up.

“Is Calvin here tonight, Candy?”

“Calvin?” Candy wrinkled her adorable nose. “That nerdy guy in computer science, you mean?”

Ricky and Josh, both of them computer science or information technology majors, nodded. Ricky kept a straight face, but Josh smirked. Candy tossed her ponytail.

“I think he’s over there by the door. You want me to go get him?”

Ricky and Josh looked at me. I shrugged. I wouldn’t mind meeting Calvin and hearing what he had to say. Normally it wouldn’t occur to me to encroach on Wayne’s turf, and I definitely thought Josh should call his dad and tell him what Ricky had said, but . . . well, we were here, after all.

“Please,” Josh said. “Tell him Josh and Ricky have a question.”

Candy nodded and sashayed off, popping a pink bubble-gum bubble as she went.

Derek looked resigned. “You’re gonna get involved,” he said, “aren’t you, Tink?”

“Surely it can’t hurt to talk to him. In case he knows something. He might be more forthcoming with us than he would be with the police. And I’ll tell Wayne what he says. Plus, I’m already sort of involved. Because of Irina.”

Derek shook his head, but he didn’t argue.

“Is Calvin really a nerd?” I turned to Shannon and Paige.

They exchanged a look, amused. “I don’t know if I’d call him a nerd,” Shannon said, “but he’s different.”

“He grew up on one of the islands,” Paige added. “Without a lot of people around. I think he must have been in high school before he started associating with other people on a regular basis.”

“He’s not a bad guy, though,” Shannon added. “Just a little socially backward.”

“And he’s a good programmer,” Josh said. “Here he is now.” He waved.

I followed the direction of the wave and saw a young man make his way toward us, twisting his body through the teeming masses, making apologies left and right as he bumped his way through the overpopulated room.

He was on the tall side, if not as tall as Josh, and almost painfully thin, with big feet and a pointy nose, soft, light brown hair flopping over his forehead, and the beginnings of a fuzzy mustache on his upper lip. He looked a little bit like a stork, or maybe a heron. When he saw the girls, he flushed to the roots of his hair, and after that, he kept his attention firmly on Josh and Ricky. “What?”

“Question,” Josh said.

“Ah-yup?”

“This is Derek Ellis and Avery Baker. And you know Shannon and Paige?”

Calvin nodded. “What’s up?”

Josh indicated Ricky. Calvin shifted his attention to the other side of the table. “Rick?”

Ricky was silent for a few seconds, probably trying to decide how to form the query, out of the blue like this. “A couple of months ago,” he said slowly, “I heard you talking about Russian women. What was that about?”

Calvin flushed an even more painful shade of crimson, all the way to the tips of his (large) ears. “Nothing,” he muttered, looking down, shuffling those big feet.

“You sure?”

“Sure I’m sure. I was just talking.” At this point, Calvin’s ears were burning so bright I could practically feel the heat coming off him in waves. When nobody at the table said anything, he must have felt compelled to continue. “I heard somebody saying how it’s easy to find Russian women who want to come to the U.S., and I was just thinking, you know, that some of those Russian women are pretty hot. Sorry.” He glanced around the table.

“Who was talking about Russian women who want to come to the U.S.?” I asked.

Calvin shrugged, avoiding my eyes. “Just a couple guys on the ferry dock.”

“Which ferry dock? Here in Waterfield?”

He shook his head. “Boothbay Harbor.”

“Do you know who they are? Where they’re from? Had you seen them before?”

But Calvin couldn’t help me. “They were just guys, you know. And it was January, so they were wearing parkas and hats and scarves and suchlike. I didn’t get to see ’em real well.”

We couldn’t even get a good description of body type, since heavy winter parkas can make even the skinniest guy look like he’s packing on weight. Nor would it help me to ask him to describe the parkas, hats, and scarves, since they were surely in storage somewhere by now. When the snow melts and the ground thaws, Mainers can’t wait to shed their winter clothes and get into something lighter.

I thanked Calvin for the information, and he slunk away, without another word.

“That’s interesting,” Josh said when Calvin was gone.

I nodded. “Wayne definitely needs to know about that. I don’t know how much good it’ll do, when Calvin doesn’t know who the men are. But at least Wayne will know that someone on one of the islands has been discussing Russian women.”

Derek nodded. “Josh’ll let him know. Let’s talk about something else for a while, OK? Pretend that we haven’t landed in the middle of yet another criminal investigation.”

“Fine with me,” I said happily. “What do you want to talk about?”

“I don’t care, as long as it doesn’t have to do with dead bodies. Or Russian women. Or the weather.”

Josh grinned. “Tell us about this house you’re renovating, then. What’s it like? Can we come see it?”

“If you want to brave the elements. You’d have to walk across the island from the ferry dock to get there. Unless you can get your hands on a boat. But you’re welcome to come check it out sometime, if you’d like.”

I didn’t doubt they’d all end up coming to visit. All four of them had stopped by the house on Becklea Drive while we were renovating it, and Josh and Shannon had been frequent guests in Kate and Wayne’s carriage house cum romantic retreat while it was under construction. Not surprisingly, since it was where their parents would be living after the wedding.

Soon Candy appeared with the pizzas and with Derek’s and my drinks, and we got busy stuffing ourselves. The conversation wandered off into innocuous territory and didn’t return to the girl in the water or the men on the ferry dock. I wasn’t worried that Josh would forget to call his dad and tell him about Calvin and the conversation the latter had overheard, though. Josh is not only very intelligent with a good memory, but he sees himself joining the police someday, too, once he’s finished college. According to Kate, he wants to become Waterfield’s first cyber detective, thus relieving Brandon of the task of matching fingerprints and searching databases for missing people. That would leave Brandon free to become Waterfield’s first bona fide forensic tech. Nothing would make Brandon happier than to be able to mess with his blood spatter, DNA, and fibers without interruption.

On the way home in the car, I told Derek about my brief conversation with Miss Barnes in the produce section at Shaw’s. “Apparently she snacks on overstuffed Oreos. And she said she might have some information about our house. Seems there’s a connection to Waterfield.”

“We’ll have to stop by the Fraser House sometime to see what she’s got,” Derek said calmly, steering the truck down the dark road toward downtown and the Village. “Not tomorrow, though. We didn’t get much done today, between you being gone all morning and Melissa breathing down our necks all afternoon. We’ll have to try to do better tomorrow.”