Death and a Pot of Chowder Read online

  “Oh, Anna.”

  “Izzie, we have to figure out who killed Carl. Burt can’t stay in jail!” How was he coping now? I hated thinking of what was happening to him. Could I visit him?

  “I agree. We can’t waste any time.” Izzie paused. “That’s why I stopped to talk to Rose Snowe on my way home.”

  “You did?”

  “You told me she sometimes worked at that clinic near the school. When we drove by earlier there weren’t any cars there. But when I came out of the school with Jake’s backpack I saw Detective Preston leaving the clinic, and two cars were in the parking lot outside the clinic. I’d only met her that once, down at the pier, but I knew you were involved with Jake, and I decided to see if she’d talk with me.”

  “And?”

  “She was alone at the clinic; the doctor was over at the school with boys on the baseball team. Rose was really shaken, since Preston had just been questioning her. She said she’d just kept repeating she didn’t know anything about Carl’s death. Then I told her Burt had been arrested and you were talking with Jake. She agreed Burt wouldn’t have killed Carl. She wasn’t sure anything she knew would be helpful, but she was willing to talk with me.”

  “I’m so glad! We need to talk with several people, but she was first on our list.”

  Izzie nodded. “We talked in that little reception room at the clinic. Since I didn’t know her, I could ask questions you probably knew the answers to.”

  “Like?”

  “She and Carl started dating last year. She even knew the date: March 18.”

  “Over a year then,” I replied. “Did you ask her about his apartment?”

  “She said she’d fixed it up; she thought that would prove how much she loved him, and how good a wife she’d be.”

  “Well, that confirmed what I’d thought.”

  “Rose was pretty emotional about it all, though. She said that all she’d done for Carl wasn’t enough; that she thought he might be seeing someone else. For whatever reason, he broke up with her about a month ago, on their first-year anniversary. She’d made him a special dinner, and a cake.”

  “Ouch! That sounds awful. She must have been devastated.” I’d suspected Rose had “set her cap” for Carl, as Mamie would have said. She hadn’t made a secret of it. But I also knew Carl had never let any woman tie him down.

  “I think she still is. She was crying about half the time I was talking with her.”

  “Carl didn’t tell Burt or me that he and Rose weren’t together anymore.”

  “I think she’d hoped he’d change his mind and come back to her. In fact, remember we saw her down at the wharf with everyone else, waiting for word? You invited her to come here for dinner.”

  “Right. I was worried about her. I didn’t think she should be alone,” I said.

  “Well, guess what she did instead of coming here?”

  I shook my head. I had no idea.

  “She went to his apartment; she still had a key. She said she wanted Carl to come home to a place that showed him how important she was to his life. She cleaned the apartment and did his laundry and made those cookies we saw in his kitchen.”

  “Incredible,” I said. That explained the condition of Carl’s apartment.

  “She was there when you called to tell her they’d found his body.”

  “I had no idea.”

  “I wanted to make her feel better. I said maybe he would have changed his mind. That he was lucky to have had her. But she said her sister Cynthia told her Carl wasn’t the kind of man who’d ever settle down. He couldn’t commit, she said.”

  Maybe Cynthia was right. But that probably didn’t make Rose feel any better.

  “It must have been a difficult conversation. Thank you so much for doing that, Izzie.”

  “It wasn’t easy. You’re right. Clearly, she loved Carl. But as she talked I kept thinking that also gave her a motive: anger, at his rejection, and jealousy, if he was seeing someone else. So, I asked Rose where she’d been the morning he was killed.”

  “I’ll bet she didn’t like that question.”

  “She freaked a little. Kept saying she couldn’t have killed the man she loved. But she did say she and her sister were both hunters; they had rifles. So, even if one of them was guilty, they wouldn’t have needed Burt’s gun.”

  “So where was she Saturday morning?”

  “At the hospital on the mainland, working a ten-hour shift, from six in the morning until four in the afternoon.”

  “That covers her. What about Cynthia? Where was she?”

  “She was scheduled to be at the clinic most of that morning. Rose even looked through a log book they kept there to check. She said Cynthia had been there in the morning, but then had left. Dr. Neeson usually closed up about noon, but he came back in mid-afternoon. He was the one who called Cynthia and asked her to be available in case Carl needed medical care, and Cynthia called Rose to tell her what had happened.”

  I sat back. “So. That covers both Rose and Cynthia Snowe.”

  “They both have motives,” Izzie pointed out. “Unrequited love.”

  “I suppose Cynthia could have left the clinic and gone to the lighthouse to shoot Carl.”

  “Her rifle could be the same model as Burt’s. Although how would she have known where he’d be that day?” Izzie shook her head. “I think we can cross Rose off any suspect lists, but Cynthia is still a possibility.

  “I agree. Rose didn’t kill Carl. But love makes people do strange things,” I said. “She wanted to help him. None of the rest of us even thought of his apartment.”

  “And now we know who decorated it,” Izzie pointed out. “One mystery solved.”

  “But not the important one. I wish Jake would come home. I almost went to find him, but he knows so many paths on the island I might miss him. I just need to wait until he comes home. I’m hoping he’ll have some more answers for us.”

  “While we’re waiting, we should draw up a timeline. Maybe we’re forgetting something. Or someone,” Izzie suggested. “We need to know who was where, and when.”

  She was right. I retrieved the pad of paper we’d had in the car. We hadn’t used it then. Now was the time. I needed to feel productive.

  Izzie followed me to the kitchen. “You know everyone on the island. I don’t. I only have first impressions. Why don’t I write, while you talk?” Izzie sat at the pine table where we seemed to be spending a lot of time and I handed her the pad and a pen engraved “Agway.”

  “Fine. But your impressions could be important, too. I’ve known everyone for so long, I take them for granted. I may not notice something important.”

  “Motive, opportunity, and means.” Izzie made a column on the paper. “We know now the police think Burt’s rifle was the one that killed Carl. It might not be, but let’s assume for now that they’re right. It was missing for a while.”

  I winced. “I hate to start there. But, all right. So that’s the means.”

  “So … who could have taken it?” Izzie posed her pencil, ready to take notes.

  I counted on my fingers. “Burt, of course, and me, and Jake. We live here. Plus, our neighbors: Lucy, Dolan, and Matt. They’re in and out all the time. Or Mom and Mamie. Or Carl.”

  Izzie wrote that down. “I doubt Mamie took the rifle. But we’ll put her name down for now. We need to consider all possibilities. You don’t lock your house door, right?”

  I winced. “No one on the island does, except sometimes in summer when a lot of strangers are around.”

  “So, in theory, anyone on Quarry Island could have taken Burt’s rifle any time since last fall.”

  “Except,” I put in, “that I’m here most of the time, and nothing else is missing. I don’t think it was a burglary. The gun case was under Burt’s and my bed, for heaven’s sakes, not out in plain sight.”

  “And you’re sure no one else but you and the neighbors knew where it was? Could Burt have mentioned it to anyone else?”

&n
bsp; “It’s been under our bed for years. Who knows who he mentioned it to in all that time?” I paused. “When I first told Jake his dad’s rifle was missing, he didn’t say anything. But when I told him the police had found it and thought it was the murder weapon, he freaked and ran out of here. I suspect he knows something about it.”

  “Would he have taken the rifle and killed Carl?” Izzie asked bluntly, voicing my darkest fear.

  “No way. He could have taken the rifle, of course—it was right here in the house. Why, I don’t know, because he had his own rifle. But he was at baseball practice that morning, and then had lunch with Mom and Mamie. He couldn’t have shot anyone. Besides, I can’t believe he’d hurt his uncle.”

  “Anna, Jake is lucky to have you. I hope someday I’ll be as good a mother as you are. But teenagers see the world differently.” Izzie rolled her eyes. “After my mother died, I was convinced my life was over. I felt everyone was staring at me and feeling sorry for me, or hating me. I even planned my own funeral because I was sure I was going to die of cancer soon, too.”

  “You didn’t!”

  “Oh, believe me, I did. You’ve been trying to protect Jake from some of what’s happening. But if there’s even a slight chance he knows something about Carl’s death—he saw something, or heard someone say something—you need to let him know it’s all right to tell you what he knows. When someone’s murdered, it’s okay to tell secrets.”

  “I agree. At first, I hoped Carl’s murder would be solved without Jake’s having to get any more involved than he already is. Now he knows everything I know.” I pointed at the plate of unfinished chocolate cake. “But he’s still my little boy! He was just here, eating cake as though it was his last meal. Then he got up and ran.”

  “Would his friend Matt know where he was going?”

  “Matt’s still in school. Last week, before all this happened, I would have said if anyone knew about Jake, it was Matt. But not now.” Tears stung my eyes. “Nothing’s the way it should be.” My world had fallen apart. Nothing made sense anymore. Izzie glanced at me, but continued with the time line.

  “Jake went target shooting at the gravel pit last week. And according to Luc, he wasn’t always at the bookstore when he told you he was working.”

  “Right.” I dabbed at my eyes with a tissue and blew my nose.

  “So, could he and Matt have gone somewhere together? Would Jake have borrowed his dad’s rifle for Matt to use? As a favor for a best friend, if Matt pestered him?” Izzie pushed. “We have to think of any possibility.”

  “If he did that, Jake could be in the middle of this whole mess,” I said, almost to myself.

  I stood and went to the window. I didn’t like the possibilities we were coming up with. I wanted to go back to the way life was a month ago—even a week ago—before all this happened. Although, a month ago the wheels leading us to today had already started turning. Carl had stolen our savings.

  “I assume bullets fit different guns,” Izzie continued. “And Jake shoots at the gravel pit by the quarry.”

  “He went there with Burt when he first got his rifle, a couple of years ago. And he was there last week.”

  “Maybe we could find casings from the bullets he’d shot. They’d tell us whether they came from Jake’s .22 or Burt’s Winchester.”

  “I’m not an expert on bullets,” I said. “I suspect you’re not either.”

  “No.” Izzie looked intense. “But you have a friend who is. Your neighbor, Rob, is a retired homicide detective.”

  Izzie was right. And I had found bullets at the quarry. I’d been so focused on Jake I’d forgotten I had them.

  “I found bullets when I was looking for Jake at the quarry. They’re in my jacket pocket. I’ll call Rob.” It was a long shot, but any shot was worth taking.

  Chapter Twenty-Nine

  “Plum Pudding: Time, three hours. Six ounces of raisins, six ounces of currants, six ounces of bread-crumbs, six ounces of suet, half a nutmeg, a little lemon peel, five eggs, half a wineglass of brandy. Mix these ingredients together, put the pudding in a mold and boil it.”

  —Peterson’s Magazine, January 1869

  We’d picked the right time to call Rob. “I’ll be right over,” he said as soon as I’d explained what Izzie and I wanted to ask him. “Dad’s napping. I’ll leave him a note. I’m waiting to hear back from two lawyers I respect, but I’ll bring my phone with me.”

  “Thank you, Rob. We’ll fill you in on the rest of the details on our way.”

  He came quickly. I’d just retrieved the bullets from my jacket pocket when he arrived. “Could these mean anything?” I put the bullets on our coffee table.

  He looked puzzled. “Where did you get them?” Rob turned them over a couple of times.

  “On the side of the dirt road in the quarry, before the turnoff to the gravel pit.”

  “Just like this?”

  “Covered with leaves.” I added. “I saw one through the leaves and uncovered the rest.”

  “They’re new rifle cartridges,” Rob said. “Not muddy, or rusted, or corroded. They couldn’t have been outside long. I can’t imagine why they’d be on the side of the road. If someone was on his way to the gravel pit to shoot, they should have been in his ammo case. And these are two very different types of shells.”

  “Yes,” I agreed.

  “The smaller one is for a .22 long rifle. The sort people use for small game, or target shooting. The other one is a serious .308, for a Winchester. That rifle could bring down a moose.” He looked at me. “Or a person.”

  I flinched. “I don’t know why those cartridges were on the side of the quarry road, or how they got there. But Jake has a .22, and Burt’s rifle is a Winchester. And Jake was shooting at the gravel pit last week.”

  “The cartridges were from the same two rifles that were in this house?” Izzie shook her head.

  “Right.”

  “Have you heard any other details from the police? Any confirmation on whether Burt’s rifle killed Carl?” Rob asked. “It bothers me that they found his rifle on the ledges beneath the lighthouse. If someone was trying to get rid of the murder weapon I’d think they would have at least made sure it was in the water. Or taken it off-island and disposed of it somewhere else. Maybe even dropped it off the bridge. When I worked homicides in Portland I spent more time than I care to remember with crews looking for weapons tossed off boats or wharves or bridges into Casco Bay.”

  “We have bits and pieces of information. I keep hoping they’ll fall into place and we’ll know what happened. Jake told Preston he’d taken his rifle to the gravel pit last week.” I glanced at Izzie. “The cartridges say Jake may have taken Burt’s rifle, too.”

  Blue jumped up and settled himself in Izzie’s lap. He’d accepted her presence.

  “You think Jake shot Carl?” Rob cut to the chase.

  “I never would have believed that. But now I don’t know,” I admitted.

  “I do,” Rob said bluntly. “Relax. Jake’s .22 fired from near the lighthouse couldn’t have killed Carl. A .22 isn’t strong enough. Even a .22 long wouldn’t do that. A Winchester with a scope might, if handled by an experienced user, but Jake certainly isn’t that.”

  “As far as I know, he’d never used his dad’s gun,” I agreed. “Before this, anyway.”

  “If I were his father and he took my rifle without permission, I’d throttle him soundly,” said Rob. “But even if Jake’s taking it explained how Burt’s rifle left your house, it doesn’t explain how that same rifle got to Granite Point.”

  “No, it doesn’t,” I agreed. “But if we knew where Burt’s rifle had been in the past week, it could lead us to Carl’s killer.”

  “We need to get Jake to calm down,” said Izzie. “He’s run out of here, or disappeared from somewhere, several times in the past couple of days. Maybe he’s running from having to tell you what he knows.”

  “I agree,” said Rob. “Want me to talk to him? Man-to-man.” He glanc
ed out the window. “School bus just dropped kids off. He should be home soon.”

  “He’s not on the bus. He left school in the middle of the day and went to the quarry. I picked him up there, but when I tried to talk to him he ran off again.”

  “Shall I try to find him?” asked Rob.

  “Maybe Rob should try,” Izzie said to me. “There’s still a murderer out there. And we don’t know where Jake is, or where he was going.” She shuddered.

  I hesitated. “I hear you that Jake could be in danger. But I can’t believe he was mixed up in anything that got his uncle killed. Let’s give him a little more time. I’d rather he came home on his own. Although Jake did well talking to Preston, he was nervous and scared. If he took Burt’s riffle, he did something wrong. He’s probably afraid to admit it.”

  “But this is a murder investigation. He may know what happened to it after he took it,” Rob pointed out. “Whatever he knows may lead to another suspect.”

  “He could have given it to anyone,” put in Izzie. “Or left it somewhere. Or … I don’t know. We need to hear his story and advise him what to do, or not do, before the police put it all together.”

  “Izzie’s right,” Rob added. “If Jake’s keeping any information secret that could help the state homicide police, he could be charged with obstructing justice, or being complicit in Carl’s killing. You don’t want that to happen.”

  “Of course not!” I agreed.

  “I was once a fourteen-year-old boy. If I were in Jake’s situation, I’d be scared to death. I don’t think he killed his uncle, even accidentally. But if he knows where his dad’s rifle was or who had it, he may think he knows who killed Carl, and he’d be a snitch if he told you or the police,” Rob said quietly.

  “This isn’t a gang war in Chicago,” I objected. “Jake wouldn’t protect someone who’d killed his uncle!”

  “Are you sure?” Rob asked. “Because from what you’ve said, the boy’s involved in some way. For your sake, and his, let’s hope he is protecting someone else, and not himself.”

  Chapter Thirty