Murder Most Maine (7 page)

“Oh my God,” Charlene
breathed beside me as Vanessa stumbled up the path and dropped to her knees beside an inert form.

“What is it?” asked Boots from behind us.

I stared at the still form Vanessa was bending over. I recognized the thatch of blond hair.

“I think it’s Dirk,” I said, feeling sick.

“Vanessa,” John called, following her up the path. He pressed two fingers to Dirk’s neck, checking for a pulse. Then he turned to Vanessa, pity in his eyes. “I’m sorry, Vanessa. He’s gone; there’s nothing else you can do for him.”

“No,” she wailed. “No, no, no.” Her voice was hollow with despair. “Dirk! Answer me!”

“Vanessa, please move away from him,” John said quietly, in his deputy voice. “We have to call the detectives so they can find out what happened here.”

“But he can’t be dead!” she sobbed. “He was alive just last night!”

“I know,” John said, and pulled her in to his chest. One hand cradled her dark head and the other stroked her slim back. Charlene shot me a glance.

As Vanessa wept in John’s arms, I glanced at the inert form on the path. Dirk’s sightless blue eyes stared at the matching sky. After a moment, my own eyes flicked to the lighthouse behind him. Had last night’s light been an omen after all?

“Natalie.” John’s voice was calm. “Please go to the nearest house and call the police. Then take everyone back to the inn.”

“Sure,” I said, glancing back at the group. Bethany looked stricken; tears coursed down her pale cheeks. A stray thought flitted through my mind. What was she going to do now that the center of her universe was gone?

Boots, Sarah, and Cat were murmuring among themselves, shaking their heads at the tragedy, but watching with the avid interest of rubberneckers passing an accident. Megan had taken the opportunity to grip Greg’s arm, and he was patting her hand absently while Megan’s daughter, Carissa, stared slack-jawed at the dead trainer, a trace of something that looked like chocolate visible on her pale lower lip. Elizabeth quietly snapped shots of the body with her digital camera, then tucked the camera away and pulled out her notebook. To her, I realized, this was a benefit. A murder made for a much better story than a bunch of people trying to lose weight.

I turned back to where Vanessa was still clutching John and weeping.

“I’ll take the group back to the inn,” I said. “But what about Vanessa?”

He touched her chin gently and tilted up her tear-stained face. “Vanessa,” he said. “I think you should go back with Natalie. She’s going to call the police.”

“But … I can’t leave him!” she wailed.

“Sweetheart, you need to. Think of the retreat. You’ve got to keep it together.”

Sweetheart
? I could feel my jaw tighten.

“You’re right,” she said, straightening her shoulders and taking a deep breath. A moment later she wiped the tears from her face and faced the group. “Okay, everyone. We should probably head back to the inn so we can …” Her face crumpled, and she burst into tears again.

“Come with me,” I said, more shortly than I meant to. As I held my hand out, John helped her stumble across the trail toward me. I looked at him. “I’ll send Charlene to the store to call the police while I take your sweetheart back to the inn,” I said.

His green eyes flickered briefly. Then he said, “Fine. I’ll stay here with the body until the police arrive.”

“Right.” I took Vanessa’s skinny arm. “Charlene, will you head down to the store and call the police?”

“Sure,” she said, her blue eyes glued to the trainer’s body. As were everyone else’s. After the initial gasp of shock, it had been eerily silent, except for the sound of waves crashing against the rocks, and the occasional mournful call of a gull. “Let’s head back to the inn,” I called to the retreat participants, who shuffled back down the path, away from the lighthouse—and from Dirk.

Vanessa kept looking over her shoulder as we followed the group back to the road. “I can’t believe he’s dead,” she whimpered. I squeezed her thin arm and said nothing.

___

“What do you think happened to him?” Elizabeth asked as we sat in the inn’s dining room forty minutes later. Once we got back, I’d brewed Vanessa a cup of chamomile tea; she’d taken it and retreated to her room, probably in part to avoid Elizabeth, who kept peppering her with questions. Bethany had disappeared as well, after traipsing back to the inn looking like the love of her life had just died. Which, in a way, I guess, he had. Despite my anger over John’s behavior toward Vanessa, I was more than a little concerned for both of them.

I took a sip of my sugarless hot chocolate, wishing I’d spiked it with brandy—I could use a little fortification right about now. I had broken down and snagged a small stack of gingersnaps, figuring since I’d just seen a dead body and heard my so-called boyfriend use a term of endearment to address his ex-girlfriend, it was completely warranted.
Sweetheart
, he’d called her. I knew I should be more upset about Dirk’s untimely demise, but right now I was feeling numbed by what had passed between John and Vanessa.

“I don’t know what happened,” Megan said from her chair by the window. She had managed to lower the zipper of her sweatshirt so that it exposed a good inch of cleavage, I noticed. Her daughter had disappeared—probably, like me, to find solace in something sweet—but Greg hadn’t; he was seated just inches away from her. “I didn’t see any blood.”

“Me neither,” said Boots.

“I didn’t look that closely,” said Cat. She shuddered. “Maybe he had a heart attack or something.”

“What I want to know is, what was he doing out there?” asked Sarah. “I mean, we have like six exercise sessions scheduled a day.”

“He is … was … pretty fit,” Cat said, swinging a heavy leg. “Maybe he was one of those exercise addicts, and it finally caught up with him.”

“The big question is, what does this do for the rest of the retreat?” Sarah complained, crossing her arms over her ample stomach. The sun gleamed on her pale, gray-blond hair. “Now that the trainer’s gone, do we get our money back?” And I thought
I
was crass for being upset about John and Vanessa.

“I’m more worried that there may be a murderer on the loose,” Megan said, inching closer to Greg. The wedding band on her left hand glinted in the light from the window, and I found myself wondering what Carissa thought of this new coziness between her mother and the portly man in sweats.

“We don’t know he was murdered,” I reminded them. “Like Cat said, it could have been a heart attack or something.”

“If he was murdered, that will probably change the slant of your article,” Boots said to Elizabeth.

She gave us an enigmatic smile and said, “Perhaps.”

There was a knock at the front door, and all of us jumped. A moment later, Charlene joined us.

“Who’s manning the shop?” I asked.

“Tania’s taking over for me. I wanted to come and help out.”

“Marge is doing the rooms for me,” I said, “but I need to start on lunch. Why don’t you keep me company?” I asked.

“Sure,” she said.

“If anybody needs anything,” I said to the group in the dining room, “I’ll be in the kitchen. Just knock.”

When we were safely behind the kitchen door, I fixed Charlene a cup of hot chocolate and pulled a package of cod fillets from the refrigerator. I hadn’t had the heart to cook the fish John had caught, and had ended up tucking it into the freezer. “Okay,” I said, turning to my friend. “What’s the scoop?”

Charlene sighed and toyed with her spoon. “I haven’t heard anything yet, but I know the police are on their way. What a waste, though. Another gorgeous man, dead.” She looked up at me. “Do you think I’m jinxed?”

“Of course not,” I said. “You thought he was attractive, but it wasn’t like you were dating or anything.”

“Actually,” she said, “I asked him to come over for dinner some night this week, and he agreed, so technically that may not be true.”

“But you hadn’t actually gone on a date yet,” I pointed out as I minced some ginger and garlic.

“True.”

“Did you hear anything about how he died?” I asked as I added orange juice and a touch of brown sugar to the aromatic mixture. I could already taste the teriyaki marinade in my head; it would be light on oil, but heavy on flavor.

“They’re still working on that,” she said. “Tania’s supposed to call me if she hears anything down at the store. And I’m hoping John will tell us.”

“I’m not sure I’m speaking to John,” I said as I pulled a bottle of sesame oil from the pantry.

Charlene winced. “That sweetheart thing was a pretty big slip.”

“Yeah,” I said, my heart squeezing. “Maybe too big.”

“Natalie, it may not be what you think. Maybe he was just trying to calm her down. A heat of the moment kind of thing.”

“Brought on by the lighthouse where they shared all those special summer moments,” I said sourly. Then I shook myself. A man had just died, and here I was worrying about a lovers’ squabble. “There’s nothing I can do about it now, though. I need to focus on my job.” Although if we did break up, having John live next door would put a big damper on the enjoyment of my new life.

I had mixed the soy sauce and a dash of sesame oil together with the ginger mixture and was pouring everything over the fish when the phone rang. I sloshed a bit of marinade onto the counter in my haste to pick it up.

“Gray Whale Inn,” I said into the receiver.

“Natalie, it’s John.”

My heart seized in my chest. “Oh. Hi.”

“I wanted to let you know the police are on their way over to the inn.”

“Why?”

I could hear him suck in his breath. “They haven’t done the autopsy yet, but it looks like Dirk’s death was suspicious.”

“What does that mean?”

“It means we could be looking at another homicide investigation.”

I closed my eyes and sank against the counter. “Wonderful.”

There was silence for a moment. Then he said, in a tentative voice, “How’s Vanessa?”

“I don’t know,” I snapped. “You can ask her yourself when you get back.”

And then I hung up on him.

Charlene was staring at me. “What was that all about?”

“It looks like it was murder,” I said, feeling my stomach sink.

“That’s what I figured,” she said, grimacing. “Do they know how he died?”

“They haven’t done the autopsy yet. But I do know they’re sending the cops over to the inn.”

“Better toss in a few more fillets then,” she said. “If I remember correctly, Sgt. Grimes looked like a pretty big eater.”

I groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”

The doorbell rang just
as I slid the bowl of cod into the fridge. I rinsed my hands at the sink and ran to answer it.

To my surprise, it wasn’t Grimes; it was a stout woman with a Brillo pad of hair and a shiny badge glinting from beneath her blue coat. Her eyes were icy gray under a wide, oily-looking forehead. “Miss Natalie Barnes?” she asked.

“That’s me,” I said.

“Detective Rose,” she said. “You and your group found the body, is that right?”

“Yes,” I said. “I heard you’d be stopping by. Won’t you come in?”

“Thank you,” she said brusquely, not bothering to wipe her shoes before stepping into my entry hall.

“I understand you’re running a retreat of some kind here,” she said.

“That’s right. A weight-loss retreat.”

“Are the participants still on the premises?”

“As far as I know, yes,” I said.

“I’ll need to question them, then.”

I stifled a sigh. This week was looking like it might be a total disaster. Still, there
had
been a death, and the police needed to do what they could to find out what happened. I was glad it wasn’t Grimes here to do the questioning; otherwise, there was a good chance I’d already be the prime suspect for a murder nobody was sure had even been committed. “Can I take your coat?” I asked.

“Thank you.” She shucked the blue coat off, and as she handed it to me, I got a strong whiff of Ivory soap. Which was a definite improvement over the cigarette aroma of Sgt. Grimes.

“Where are the individuals who were with you when you discovered the body?” Detective Rose asked, looking past me to the living room, where several of the guests were already staring at the police officer.

“Some are in the living room,” I said, “and the rest are in their rooms.”

“I need them all to stay in their rooms until I’ve had a chance to speak with them individually,” she said.

“Some of them have roommates,” I pointed out.

“Even so, they are not to discuss the case.”

That horse was already out of the barn, but I decided not to mention it. Instead, I led her to the living room and allowed her to share the unpleasant news that everyone was to be quarantined to their rooms. The guests filed out of the living room with wide eyes when she informed them it was a murder investigation. I tried to keep a smile on my face as she told everyone they were confined to the premises while she conducted the questioning. House arrest, essentially. Just what my guests were looking for out of a high-priced luxury weight-loss retreat.

“I’m getting things ready in the kitchen,” I said to the detective. “Would you like a cup of coffee to warm you up while you’re waiting for the other officer to arrive?”

“It’ll just be me today,” she said, following me toward the kitchen, where Charlene sat perched on one of the kitchen chairs. “But thanks, coffee would be good.”

“This is my friend, Charlene Kean,” I said as we pushed through the swinging door. “She runs the Cranberry Island Store; she was with us when we found the body.”

“Detective Rose,” the police officer said, extending a hand abruptly to shake Charlene’s hand before sitting down at the opposite end of the table. She pulled out a notebook as I poured her a mug of coffee from a carafe and fixed a plate of gingersnaps to go along with it. Like Grimes, Detective Rose looked like an officer who enjoyed her food. Speaking of Grimes, where was he? As I set the mug of steaming coffee in front of the detective, I inquired after him.

“Sgt. Grimes took a leave of absence,” Detective Rose said shortly, adding a spoonful of sugar and a glug of milk to her coffee. I breathed a sigh of relief at the news. But the relief was short-lived. “I understand you’ve been mixed up in a number of investigations over the past year,” she said, her hawk-like eyes focusing on me in a way that made me distinctly uncomfortable.

“Unfortunately, there have been a number of tragedies on the island in the past year,” I admitted, pulling a bag of snow peas from the refrigerator.

“Ever since you arrived, from what I hear.”

Perhaps she wasn’t such an improvement over Grimes after all. “Apparently it’s a longstanding island tradition,” I said, thinking of the skeleton the contractors had recently found at the lighthouse.

“How did you know Mr. DeLeon?”

“I’d just met him, actually. He handled the personal training portion of the retreat.”

“I understand he distributed supplements as well,” she said.

“Yes,” I said.

“Any idea what was in those supplements?”

“No,” I said, not entirely truthfully. “I’m sure there are some in his room, though; I saw a bag of them while I was doing turn-down service last night.”

“I’ll have to be sure to send some to the lab,” the detective said, making a note in her notebook. The warm light shone on her steel-wool-colored hair.

“Why are you asking about the supplements?” Charlene asked. “Do they have something to do with Dirk’s death?”

“I cannot discuss the details of the case,” Detective Rose said, focusing on Charlene and sniffing slightly. For a moment, I almost found myself wishing for Grimes again. The devil you know, I guess … “Were you acquainted with Mr. DeLeon?” she asked.

“We just met yesterday,” Charlene said, running a finger under her right eye to check for smudged mascara. There wasn’t any, of course—Charlene applied her Mary Kay makeup with expert precision. “We’d talked about having dinner, but things … well, he died before we could do it, obviously.”

“So neither of you met the deceased before yesterday afternoon,” she said. “Is that correct?”

“That’s correct,” I confirmed.

“When did you last see Mr. DeLeon?”

“Last night,” I said. “He came in and told Vanessa—Vanessa Tagliacozzi, the other retreat leader—that he needed to talk to her.”

“What time was that?”

“Around seven, I think.”

“And what time did he leave the inn?”

I shook my head. “No idea. I didn’t know he was gone until this morning, when no one could find him.”

She wiped her wide forehead with the back of her hand and made a note on her pad. “Did anyone else leave the inn last night?”

“Not that I know of … except Vanessa.”

“The other retreat leader?”

“Yes. I was in the kitchen making myself tea at around one—I was having a hard time sleeping—and I heard the front door open and close. I went out to see who it was, and it turned out to be Vanessa. She said she’d gone out for a walk.”

“So she went out for a walk sometime last night and returned at approximately 1 a.m.,” Detective Rose repeated.

“Only I’m not sure she was walking. There was a car outside at about the same time, just before she came in.”

“Do you know whose car it was?”

I shook my head. “No; it was too dark.”

“If you’d like,” Charlene offered, “I can ask around and see who was out.”

Detective Rose gave her a sharp look. “Please leave the interrogation to the police, Miss …”

“Kean,” she reminded her, giving the officer a chilly look in return. “Charlene Kean.”

In my opinion, Detective Rose was making a huge mistake. If anyone could find out who was driving that car, it was Charlene, who could probably tell you what half the island had for dinner last night if you wanted to know.

“Where were you last night, Miss—it is Miss, right?”

“Ms.,” Charlene said frostily. “I was here for dinner, and then I went home.”

“On foot?” Detective Rose asked.

“In my truck.”

The policewoman’s left eyebrow shot up, and she jotted something down in her little notebook.

She asked us a couple more logistical questions, which we answered easily, before draining her coffee and standing up. She tugged her polyester trousers up over her ample middle—based on the two police officers I’d gotten to know so far, there must have been a whole lot of donut-eating going on back at the station—and said, “I’m going to begin questioning the guests now.”

“Is it all right if I head back to the store?” Charlene asked.

The detective nodded shortly. “You can go back to the store,” she said. “But please don’t leave the island for a couple of days. Either of you.” Her piercing gaze flitted from Charlene’s face to mine.

Lovely
, I thought, as the swinging door shut behind her.

“So, do you think you can find out who was out and about last night?” I asked Charlene once I was sure Detective Rose was out of earshot.

“I don’t know,” she said, looking sourly at the door the officer had just exited through, “but you can bet I’m going to try.”

___

Lunch was a quiet affair. It had to be, really, since Detective Rose hadn’t finished questioning everyone, and nobody was allowed to talk. But the hush that fell over the dining room wasn’t entirely due to police procedure. Dirk’s death had put a pall over the retreat—not just of sadness, but of fear.

I had invited the officer to join us for lunch—after all, with the trainer out of commission, I had an extra fillet on hand—and she pulled up a chair at a table by the window, next to Megan and Greg, who were seated across from each other like an old married couple. Which they weren’t, I had to remind myself. Carissa and Bethany hadn’t emerged from their rooms, but everyone else was present, including Vanessa, whose oval face was ashen. Boots, Sarah, and Cat, who shared a table with the retreat leader, looked stricken as well, and as I served plates of fragrant teriyaki codfish with sautéed snow peas, everyone eyed their plates with reluctance. Which seemed strange to me until I heard Megan ask the detective something in a low voice.

“Poison?” Detective Rose answered loudly. “Let’s hope not. But even if it is, I doubt anyone would try it with officers on the premises.” She hacked off a slab of codfish and started shoveling it in; a moment later, everyone else reluctantly followed suit. It was a shame they were so worried about the food. The teriyaki fish was a killer recipe, even if it was low-cal, and it was frustrating to see it wasted on an unappreciative audience.

I retreated to the kitchen, hoping the cause of death turned out to be something other than lethal chemicals. A dead guest was bad enough. The last thing I needed was a detective suggesting my food might be poisoned. Gertrude Pickens of the
Daily Mail
would be on my doorstep in five minutes flat. And if they shut down my kitchen, the inn was finished.

Speaking of Gertrude, I was surprised I hadn’t heard from her yet. Usually she was one of the quickest off the mark when there was bad news to be spread.

As if on cue, the phone rang. I hurried to pick it up, hoping I hadn’t jinxed myself. But it wasn’t Gertrude. It was Charlene.

“What did you find out?” I asked quietly as I scooted behind the desk.

“I think I know who came by the inn last night,” she said.

“Who?” I asked.

“Don’t you want to guess?”

“No!”

“Tom Lockhart,” she said. “Ernie lives two doors down from him. He has a hard time sleeping, so he’s up nights a lot.”

“How does he know it was Tom?”

“He heard Tom’s truck go by at around one, headed up the road, in the direction of the inn. When he heard it on its way back, he peeked out the window—said he saw it pull into Tom’s driveway.”

“Did he see Tom?” I asked.

“No. But who else would it have been?”

“I don’t know. His wife, maybe?”

Charlene snorted. “Do you really think Vanessa would turn up in the middle of the night all rosy-cheeked because she’d spent an hour with Lorraine Lockhart?”

I sighed. “Should I tell Detective Rose?”

“You could, but I don’t know what it will accomplish. Besides, since I didn’t see it myself, I hate to get Tom involved just because Ernie thought he saw him.”

“True,” I said.

“Do you think they might have set something up while he was over at the inn yesterday?”

“Probably. They had a few minutes on their own, in the living room.”

“That must have been it, then. I know Tom had a crush on Vanessa when she used to spend summers here. Apparently he pined for her for years—Lorraine still gets upset if you talk about her. And he was pretty quick to show up with free lobsters.”