The Postman Always Purls Twice (19 page)

Charles arrived a few minutes after nine. It looked as if he'd come straight from the office. With a brief stop at a wine shop. He opened the bottle and they sat down in the living room for appetizers—olives, cheese, and a fresh rosemary baguette, with a little bowl of herbed olive oil for dipping. Maggie had gone out of her way to pick up the bread at a special bakery, but it was well worth the trip and the calories.

“I know everyone is going gluten free. Jennifer Todd acts as if flour and sugar were poison now, too,” she said. “But I do love a good piece of freshly baked bread now and again. It used to be called the staff of life.”

“Everything in moderation. Including moderation,” Charles replied with a smile. “Thank goodness I'm not a movie star. I couldn't stand it.”

“Me, either,” Maggie agreed. “I heard that you had some very esteemed visitors at the police station today. Trina Hardwick and the film's new director.”

“Oh right . . . Sam Drummond.” Charles popped an olive into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

“Did you take their statements?” she asked curiously.

“We already got Hardwick's and Theo Pullman's.”

“Theo Pullman was there? Lucy didn't mention him.”

“Yes, he was in the delegation. Sort of a fifth wheel, seemed to me. They came to see how we were progressing with the investigation. I think it was more of a publicity stunt myself. But we humored them. The producer had a lawyer along. Not that she needed one. Just wanted to rattle my cage, I guess.”

“Maybe she always travels with a lawyer. I don't think you should take it personally,” Maggie advised.

He shrugged. “I knew they'd be on top of us. I wasn't surprised.”

“But you have made progress. You found the bottle Nick drank from,” Maggie reminded him.

He gave her a sharp glance. “Who told you that?”

A bite of bread nearly stuck in her throat. She covered her mouth with a napkin as she coughed. “I heard that in town . . . in the fish store,” she fibbed, saying the first thing that came to mind.

Dana had told them not to repeat the information, or say where they'd heard about that evidence. Maggie was embarrassed she'd slipped.

“The fish store?” he squinted, not really believing her, she could tell.

“Everyone in town is talking about what happened. You must know that.” Maggie shrugged. “I couldn't decide between shrimp or flounder. Maybe I should have asked if you were allergic to anything.” A transparent bid to change the subject, Maggie knew, but he seemed to buy it.

His expression softened. “I'm not allergic to anything. Whatever you decided on smells delicious.”

“It's almost done. I'll check it in a minute. Jennifer told me that Theo stands to get a larger credit for the screenplay, now that the script needs so much rewriting.”

Charles selected another olive. But didn't reply.

“But he probably didn't poison Nick. That's just too obvious.” She paused, hoping he'd jump in here and say if they suspected Theo, or didn't. But he didn't say a thing, just listened with a blank expression. “And why would he want to hurt his father?” she continued. “I got the impression Nick was giving his son a leg up on this project, trying to help Theo's career.”

“Possibly,” Charles said simply. His look suggested she could talk all night about the investigation, but he wasn't going to slip up and tell her anything.

“It is interesting, though, that Theo didn't go to Mass General today with Jennifer. Not that she mentioned it. And he wasn't there yesterday, either,” Maggie added. “Jennifer told me that he's been working ever since Nick fell ill. But don't you think he'd want to see his father at some point? I didn't see him follow the ambulance on Thursday night, either. He didn't go with Jennifer—or in the car with Heath and Trina,” she recalled.

“Maggie . . .” Charles shook his head. “You are a very intelligent, observant, lovely woman. But I've been at this all day and was hoping for some diversion. Not shop talk,” he said honestly. “You know I'm not allowed to talk about it anyway.”

Maggie felt contrite. “I'm sorry. I get carried away. Let's not say another word. It was inconsiderate of me to go on like that. Let's see, there's a good film coming to the arts cinema. Nobody under investigation is starring in it. But it might be worth seeing. Next weekend maybe?”

He laughed. “That sounds like a plan. Provided this investigation is done.” He paused and then sighed. “Okay. I will tell you one thing. The other night at your shop, Theo Pullman followed the ambulance in another car. He said O'Hara and Hardwick had left without him. Does that make you feel any better?

“Thank you. Yes, it does.” She was grateful for at least one question answered. He smiled and shook his head, as if confounded by her interest in these details.

With all the flashing lights and activity in the street Thursday night, she obviously had not noticed Theo's car leaving. That was the problem with Theo. He was easy to overlook, so quiet and nondescript, easily blending in with the background. Especially among the flock of movie stars competing for attention. Lucy hadn't even noticed him walking into the police station today, eclipsed by the other celebrities.

Maggie didn't really suspect Nick's son of the heinous deed. Though it was true that most criminals hurt someone with whom they shared a close relationship, patricide required an awful lot of hatred and passion. Theo didn't really strike her as such a seething personality. Though it was often said that “still waters run deep” and she guessed it must have been hard to grow up in the shadow of a titanic figure like Nick Pullman, with his artistic sensibilities and hair-trigger temper. No wonder the young man was more comfortable laying low.

Who had poisoned Nick Pullman? Maggie only knew one thing for sure: She wasn't going to find out from Charles. Even if he did harbor some suspicions by now.

M
aggie had hoped to sleep late on Sunday. But the ringing phone jarred her awake. She peered at the clock on the side table as she fumbled for the receiver. It was barely six.

“Hello?” Her voice came out in a croak and she felt a dull headache, right between her eyes. The consequences of enjoying too much good wine and conversation with Charles. But they'd definitely enjoyed a perfect evening—after she'd stopped asking about his work.

“Maggie . . . did I wake you?” Suzanne was using her Minnie Mouse voice, a playful, apologetic squeak. Maggie could just picture her pinched expression.

“Of course you did . . . it's six in the morning. On Sunday.”

“Is Charles there?” Suzanne asked in a mouse whisper.

“Suzanne . . . I can't believe you just asked me that.” Maggie propped herself up on an elbow. “Wait . . . let me check . . .” She glanced over at the other side of the bed. “Nope. He's not here. I'll check under the bed, if you like.”

“You know what I mean . . . sorry. I knew he was coming over for dinner, that's all.”

Maggie sighed. “Is that why you called me? Sunday morning bed check? Did my house turn into a dorm in an all-women's college in 1952?”

Suzanne finally laughed. “I'm calling because Lyle Boyd is afraid of you.”

“Afraid of me? Why on Earth would he be afraid of me?”

“Well . . . he's a nice guy and he knows how the movie using your shop as a location has not exactly gone as planned. And he knows how the contract said that they only needed it for one day and how that turned into two. But . . .”

“Saints preserve me, you're not trying to say that they want to come back to film again, are you? Please don't ask me that.”

“They'd come over today and they'll leave by midnight. They really need to finish shooting that scene with Jennifer and Trina they were working on when Nick got sick, and two more they'd planned for the location shots. They'll be working at the beach house tomorrow and will leave town on Tuesday. Lyle said they'll pay you extra for the day,” Suzanne added. “But if they have to shoot it back in the studio in California it will cost a lot to reproduce the interior—”

“You sound like an expert now,” Maggie cut into Suzanne's speed-talk sales job. “Are you planning on ditching Plum Harbor for the Boulevard of Dreams?”

“Don't tempt me. The assistant director already told me I have ‘unbelievable eyes.' He wants to use me in his next movie.”

“They all say that. I'd watch myself.”

“No danger. He looks about . . . thirteen,” Suzanne clarified. “So, can I tell them it's okay? Think of Jen, all she's been through. She's involved in the business end of this movie, too. You'd be making it easier for everyone if you just say yes.”

Maggie sighed and ran a hand through her bed-head hairdo.

“All right . . . do they still have a key?”

“I'm not sure. But I know where the spare is. I'll let them in. He said it's fine if you want to go over today and visit the set again. He'll put your name on the list. I might drop in around noon, after my appointment.”

“I don't think so. Thanks. But you'd better warn Phoebe they'll be there. She's liable to wander down in her Hello Kitty pj's, snitching yarn for her sock orders.”

“Will do,” Suzanne promised.

At least she didn't have to make that call. Phoebe would be a cranky little cat, woken up at this hour.

“Thanks again, Maggie. You're a good sport.”

“So they tell me.”

Suzanne said good-bye and ended the call.

Charles walked into the room, carefully carrying a mug of coffee with two hands.

“I noticed you were up, so I brought you this.” He handed her the mug and sat on the edge of the bed.

“Thanks. That was very thoughtful.” Maggie smiled at him. She couldn't remember the last time anyone had brought her a cup of coffee in bed. “Maybe I will get up. It looks like a nice day. I can always take a nap later. I don't have much planned,” she mused aloud.

“Good idea. I love to nap on Sunday. While reading the newspaper. Too bad I have to work, I'd join you.” He smiled and flicked a curl off her forehead with his finger.

“That is too bad.” She meant it, too. She smiled as he came to his feet. Fresh from a shower, he had shaved and dressed. But hadn't put his tie on. He still had to run home and get some clean clothes. He was due at the station by seven for his shift.

“You can have a rain check . . . even though it's not raining.”

“I'll remember that.” He leaned over and kissed her quickly. Then smiled into her eyes again. “I'll call you later.”

“Try my cell. I'm not sure where I'll be . . . Have a good day. Catch some bad guys,” she added.

“I'll do my best.”

She heard his footsteps on the stairs and the front door snapped shut. Then she heard him turn the knob, testing that it was locked. He was a police officer. Very security minded. Very caring, too.

She leaned back on the pillows and took a sip of coffee. Which was just right. He already knew how she liked it.

This relationship was advancing faster than she'd expected. But so far, it was just right, too.

Maggie had fully expected her friends to weasel that important information out of her via email or phone calls. Or even a surprise attack at the shop. But they must have been too busy on Monday to worry about her social life. Maybe because they'd all lost so much time the week before with their star gazing.

It was still cloudy on Tuesday morning, and a light rain fell. Maggie would have liked some sunshine, but reminded herself that her garden needed a good soak in order to bloom more.

Despite the wet weather, Lucy appeared with her canine pals in tow, marching down Main Street. The dogs were actually towing her. Nothing unusual there. Maggie watched from the porch as she unlocked the shop, then waited.

She and Lucy went inside together after Tink, the ever-panting golden retriever, and Wally, the three-legged chocolate Lab, were tied to a porch rail, and left to lap at a portable water bowl or snack on chew toys stuffed with treats.