Death and a Pot of Chowder Read online

  I was relieved that he felt (and acted) more himself, but his confession hadn’t solved the mystery of who’d killed Carl. Burt was still the police’s prime suspect.

  Izzie joined me in the kitchen about eight and handed me a book on restaurant management. “Take a look at this when you get a chance. And could we get lobsters for the café directly from Burt?”

  I put the book on the counter. “Burt sells his lobsters to a wholesaler. But probably we could make some arrangement with him.” If he isn’t in jail, I added to myself.

  “We need a patisserie on this island,” Izzie declared. “I love evil pastry.”

  “Let’s work on getting Burt home first,” I said. “Then we can talk about the restaurant, or a patisserie, or whatever you’d like. I had cinnamon toast earlier. I’ve had my share of evil for the morning.” At least edible evil.

  “That sounds good,” said Izzie, sipping her coffee. “I haven’t had cinnamon toast in years. And cinnamon is good for your heart.”

  “When it’s mixed with white sugar?” I commented skeptically.

  She put two pieces of oatmeal bread into the toaster. “Have you decided what we should do first today?”

  “I’m going to see Burt. I need to know how he’s doing, and let him know I’ve hired a lawyer and we’re doing all we can to prove that he’s innocent, and get him home.”

  Izzie nodded. “Of course.”

  I picked up the telephone and called Rob.

  “Good morning! I’m going to see Burt. What’s the name of the lawyer you talked to yesterday? I didn’t write it down. And do you know if he’s seen Burt?”

  “Morning, Anna. The lawyer’s name is Isaac Kimble. He’s from Damariscotta. He told me he’d see Burt today.”

  “Thank you, Rob. If Burt hasn’t seen Kimble yet, I’ll let him know. Thanks again for your help contacting him. And for talking to Jake yesterday.”

  “No problem. If you think of anything else I can help with, just let me know.”

  I turned back to Izzie. “After I see Burt, let’s go to see Mom and Mamie, and Lucy, too. They can confirm a lot on our timeline for last Saturday.”

  Izzie nodded. “I’ll stay around here, do some laundry … and some thinking. Should we ask Lucy whether she knew Burt’s rifle was in her house last week?”

  I thought a minute. “I’m not sure. I do want to ask her if anyone else was at their house Thursday, Friday, or Saturday. If Jake was the only one there after the night Matt took the rifle from Carl’s truck, then we have only three suspects: the three Martins. Getting more detail on our timelines should help with that.”

  “Give Burt my best wishes. Tell him everyone’s thinking about him,” Izzie said, as I picked up my bag and headed for the door.

  The morning was dark and rainy. April showers? More like an April downpour. The world looked soggy and dank as I headed across the drawbridge, away from the island. When would Burt be able to come home?

  It was up to me. Sitting in a cell, Burt couldn’t do anything to help himself.

  Muddy water splashed onto the truck as I drove through puddles. Carl had been proud of his shiny, new truck. He’d have hosed it down after a day like this. Was it still at the wharf? Or maybe the police had taken it. A little more mud wouldn’t make much difference to our truck.

  I blinked and stared at the road ahead. Was the road blurry because of the rain, or because of the tears I couldn’t keep from flowing?

  Burt and I’d been through a lot. An early wedding. Jake’s birth. Buying and fixing up a house. The deaths of both his parents. Financial struggles. Now, Carl’s death. Together, we’d get through this, too.

  I gripped the steering wheel harder. I had to be strong for Burt. That was my job right now.

  The county jail was in back of the courthouse. I’d only been at the jail once before, when I’d bailed out one of Seth’s roofers who’d had a few too many beers on a wintery night and slammed his four-wheeler into a tree. I’d never thought I’d be back at the jail to see Burt.

  I turned into the parking lot shared by the jail and the courthouse. The buildings were attached: convenient for lawyers and judges and guards, especially in bad weather. Prisoners had no chance of breathing fresh air until they were released, or were taken to the state prison.

  But Burt would be released. Soon, I told myself. I just hadn’t figured out exactly how.

  I straightened my shoulders. By the time I’d reached the door, my sweater and jeans were dripping. I should have worn a jacket. But rain wasn’t my major concern today.

  “May I help you?” asked the officer at the desk.

  “I’m Anna Winslow. I’d like to see my husband, Burt Winslow. He was arrested yesterday.” It hurt to say those words.

  The officer checked my ID and nodded. “Leave your bag with me.” He handed me a receipt. “And sign in. Here’s the visitor’s log.”

  I wrote down my name and address, the prisoner’s name, and my relationship to the prisoner. My hand was shaking and wet with rain. My name in the log smudged. The guard didn’t seem to notice.

  He handed me a pass. “Clip this to your sweater and have a seat. You’ll be called when you can see the prisoner.”

  I joined several other people—all women, and all wearing visitors’ passes like brands—sitting on a long bench with their backs to the wall.

  A young blonde, barely out of her teens, was called first. Then it was my turn. I followed the guard through a passageway to an open space where several men in jumpsuits were sitting at tables. One of them was Burt.

  “No touching,” the guard warned me.

  All I wanted was to hold Burt, and have him hold me. I blocked out my longing and the presence of other prisoners and the guards and sat on the other side of the table from the man I’d always loved.

  “Anna! I’m so glad you came.” He said, trying to smile. “You’re wet.”

  “It’s raining. How’re they treating you?”

  Burt’s voice was low. I realized all the other prisoners and their guests were also talking quietly. It was the only way to get any privacy. “I’m okay, for someone in jail.”

  I nodded. “Rob found you a lawyer. His name is Isaac Kimble. He’s coming to see you today.”

  “Thank Rob for me. But how’re we going to pay a lawyer?”

  “Izzie says I’ll be getting some of my father’s life insurance, soon. And there’ll be more, once his estate is settled. We’ll have enough.”

  He nodded. “That’s good news. I’ve been worried about the expense of a lawyer. How’s Jake?”

  “He’s at school. He’s coping. Burt, last night he told me he was the one who took your rifle.”

  “What? Why would he do a stupid thing like that?” Burt made a fist. A guard stepped toward us. Burt saw him and consciously relaxed.

  “He wanted to use his rifle to teach Matt how to shoot. He used your rifle himself. Carl went with them to the gravel pit.”

  “Carl let those boys get away with that? Did he throw my rifle down on the ledges, too?”

  “No! Of course not. According to Jake, Carl had your rifle in his truck one night, and then Matt had it. We don’t know what happened to it after that. Izzie and I are trying to find out.”

  “You and Izzie? That should be the job of the police.”

  “Yes. But we want you out of here. Fast. Anything we find out can help.” I desperately wanted to reach my hand out to touch him. Comfort him. Assure him. “Burt, try not to worry. You didn’t kill Carl, and somehow I’m going to prove it.”

  Burt almost smiled. “Anna, you’re not a detective.”

  “No. But I ask a lot of questions. And Rob and Izzie are helping, too. Believe me, Burt. We’re going to bring you home.”

  “I want to believe that, Anna. More than you know.”

  The rain had let up some as I climbed into the truck and headed back to the island.

  I was sure of one thing. I couldn’t let Burt down. He was the man I loved. The man I
’d believed in since I was a teenager. This time, he had to believe in me.

  Chapter Thirty-Five

  “A pig, when prepared for baking, should have its ears and tail covered with buttered paper properly fastened on, and a bit of butter tied up in a piece of linen to baste the back with, otherwise it will be apt to blister. With a proper share of attention from the cook, I consider this way equal to a roasted one.”

  —The New England Economical Housekeeper, and Family Receipt Book by Esther A. Howland. Worcester: S.A. Howland, 1844

  Izzie was sitting at the kitchen table, making notes.

  “How did Burt seem?”

  “Physically, he’s all right,” I said. I didn’t tell her how I felt, seeing him sitting alone at the table in a jumpsuit. “He’s coping. But we have to get him out of there.”

  “I’m working on lists of who was where, especially on Saturday morning,” said Izzie. “We need to confirm a lot of this, though. Are you okay to visit your mom and Mamie now?”

  “I’m ready.”

  The rain had stopped, but it had left deep puddles and mud. Once we arrived at Mom’s house, we pulled off our shoes and left them by the door.

  Mom was working at her quilting frame in the corner of the dining room, her hair pinned out of the way so she could concentrate on her stitching. Mamie was reading the sports section in today’s Portland Press Herald, probably checking to see when the Celtics played their next game. I hoped the paper hadn’t reported Burt’s arrest.

  “Ladies! Lovely to see you. Any news?” Mamie was as enthusiastic as usual. “Tea? Coffee?”

  “No, thanks, Mamie. We can’t stay long.”

  “That Detective Preston was here the other day, just as you said he might be. I don’t think we were much help to him. I see you’re still with us, Izzie.”

  “I am,” Izzie agreed. “Anna’s a great hostess. I’m happy to be here. I’m getting to know Quarry Island. It’s a special place.”

  “It is, indeed,” said Mamie. “And we’re glad you’re here. Any particular reason you both stopped in now? Anna, I can tell something’s on your mind.”

  Mamie and Mom knew me better than anyone, even Burt. They could tell immediately when I was troubled or depressed or hiding something. When I was a little girl, I’d thought they could read my mind. Thank goodness I’d been wrong.

  “Actually,” I glanced from Izzie to the others. “Yes. We have some good news and some bad news.”

  “Bad news first, then,” said Mom. “Better to get whatever it is out in the open.”

  “Burt’s been arrested for Carl’s murder,” I said quickly. It was hard to get the words out.

  “No!” said Mom, leaving her frame and coming over to hug me.

  “Why?” asked Mamie.

  I untangled myself from Mom’s sympathetic arms. “Burt’s rifle was found on the rocks below the lighthouse on Granite Point. The police say it was the murder weapon. Plus, Carl had stolen money from Burt and me, so Burt had a motive.”

  “Stolen money?” Mom leaned forward. “When did that happen? And Burt would never have killed Carl, even then!”

  “Carl forged a check a couple of months ago and took our savings.” I still felt nauseated about that. “Burt knew about it, but hadn’t told me. Of course, Burt wouldn’t have killed Carl. I saw him this morning at the county jail. He’s holding up all right. I’ve hired him a lawyer, and Izzie and I are trying to figure out what really happened last Saturday.”

  “If the police haven’t been able to figure out what happened, how can you girls?” asked Mamie.

  “We know some details the police don’t have yet,” I said, ignoring her calling Izzie and me “girls.” To Mamie, anyone under fifty was a girl. “It turns out Jake had borrowed his dad’s rifle.”

  “I hope you gave that boy a talking to,” said Mamie. “He did that? And fighting with Matt? He’s going wild all of a sudden. That isn’t like him.”

  “I agree,” I said. “But he and Matt argued because Matt took the rifle.”

  “Strange,” said Mom. “Matt? I can’t believe he’d kill Carl either. How are you coping, Anna? Truthfully. With Burt being accused and arrested, and now Jake somehow involved.”

  “It’s not easy.” For a moment, I wished I were twelve years old again, and my biggest problem was wanting a Barbie doll dress we couldn’t afford. In those days, Mom and Mamie would bake my favorite cookies and make me cocoa and I’d feel better. Today’s problems couldn’t be solved by food. Not even the pieces of chocolate I’d tucked in my bag this morning.

  “How could Matt take the rifle out of Carl’s truck?” asked Mamie. “And why?”

  “Carl had parked over behind the church,” I said. “And Jake told us Matt’s always wanted a rifle.”

  “So, he took Burt’s?” Mom shook her head. “That doesn’t make sense.”

  “I can see that parking lot from the window where I sit and read when I can’t sleep,” said Mamie. “I’m an old lady. I don’t sleep much. I get up and listen to the spring peepers, and I see things. Carl parked there some nights. Days, too, when he was visiting the Martins.”

  “I need to know where that rifle was Saturday morning when Carl was shot. If I figure that out, then I hope Burt will be cleared, and can come home. Izzie and I’ve made up a timeline for Saturday. Mamie, were you here all morning?”

  “I was. Cooking and cleaning and such.”

  “Mom, were you here, too?”

  “Do you think I shot Carl?”

  “We’re just trying to find out what everyone knows, Mrs. Chase,” Izzie assured her.

  “Saturday morning, I drove over to the food bank on the mainland to help out. On my way home, I stopped at the island clinic to get a new prescription for my cholesterol, and got back here about eleven thirty.”

  “Did you see Cynthia at the clinic?” Izzie asked, looking at our notes.

  “No. Just Dr. Neeson,” said Mom.

  Izzie and I exchanged looks. Where had Cynthia been?

  “When were you at the clinic?”

  “Maybe eleven o’clock? Matt and Jake arrived for lunch pretty close to noon. They gobbled their food as usual, said their thanks, and told us they were heading to Maine Chance Books. That was before we knew Carl was missing, of course.”

  “Thank you. That’s exactly what we wanted to know,” Izzie wrote something down.

  “All right. That’s the bad news. What’s the good news? Sounds like we could use some,” said Mamie.

  “Izzie and I’ve been thinking about buying that old grill near the drawbridge, and opening a restaurant,” I blurted. After all this talk of murder, I was taking a ninety-degree turn.

  “You’re doing what?” asked Mom.

  “Going into business together,” Izzie confirmed, putting her notes away. “We’ll call the restaurant ‘Kindred Spirits,’ like in Anne of Green Gables. And because we want to have a bar, and liquor and wine are distilled spirits. Of course, nothing’s definite yet.”

  “But we wanted to get your thoughts,” I added. I’d never made a major decision without letting Mom and Mamie know. I’d be much more comfortable with my decision if they were cheering me on.

  Mamie clapped her hands. “How exciting!”

  “We’ve looked at the building,” Izzie said. “And we have some ideas. But we haven’t put a bid in yet, and it would need a lot of work, especially if we tried to open before summer visitors arrive.”

  “How would you come up with the money for this restaurant?” asked Mom.

  “The down payment would come from Dad’s life insurance. He left it to both of us,” answered Izzie. “And there may be some money from his estate for rehabbing the place later. We want to do most of the work ourselves.” She smiled at me. “With a little help from our friends.”

  “So … sh! For now, okay? I want to get Burt home first. We’ll let you know what happens, and what we decide,” I said.

  “Peter left you that much money?” said Mom. “Af
ter ignoring you all these years?”

  “We don’t know how much it will come to.” I glanced at Izzie, hoping she wouldn’t quote any of the large sums she’d mentioned to me. Peter Jordan hadn’t given Mom more than a few pennies for all my upbringing, and that had been before I was born.

  “And you’d take this money and invest it in a restaurant? You don’t know anything about running a restaurant. And after Carl took all the savings you’d managed to put away? You should save any pennies you inherit.” Mom had always played it safe with relationships and money. She wasn’t comfortable with risks—maybe because she’d taken one with my dad, and been hurt.

  “Izzie’s a chef, she’s studied restaurants and worked in some. And I ran Seth’s office, Mom. You know I’m good with numbers and people. The restaurant would be an investment,” I tried to reassure her.

  “I still think a bank would be a better place to put your money,” Mom advised. “But, of course, it’s your decision. Just don’t bite off more than you can chew.”

  “We won’t, Mrs. Chase,” said Izzie. She glanced at me. “Anna and I are both hard workers, and we’re excited about this.”

  “So I can see,” said Mom. “I hope you’re both right. I’m still digesting the whole idea. I’ll admit it does sound exciting.”

  “It’s wonderful,” added Mamie. “It’s about time Quarry Island had a decent restaurant. Count on me to be one of your first customers.”

  “Good! Because I’m also going to ask you to help me with several of your Quebecois recipes. They’d be great for the café—a little French, and a little Maine. Especially recipes that involve seafood,” Izzie said, smiling.

  “I’ll help. But remember, young lady, you promised to cook something Korean for us, too,” Mamie said.

  “I haven’t forgotten. I’ll do that,” said Izzie. “But first, we need to make sure Carl’s murder is solved and Burt is home again.”

  I added a silent “amen” to that.

  Chapter Thirty-Six

  “Basic Wine Sauce, for puddings: Cream one-half cup butter and add, gradually, while beating constantly, one cup brown sugar, four tablespoons milk or cream, and one and one-half tablespoons sherry wine.”