Death and a Pot of Chowder Page 22

  —The Modern Priscilla, November 1905

  Lucy was vacuuming her living room when Izzie and I knocked on her front door. She’d once told me she washed her kitchen floor every day. I liked a clean house, but that was a bit much for me.

  As at Mom’s house, we left our shoes at the door and walked in.

  “Good morning,” Lucy said, turning off the roar of the vacuum. “Anna? Izzie? I’ve been thinking about you both.” She shook her head. “Thanks for warning me the other day about Detective Preston wanting to question me. He did, although I’m not sure I was able to tell him much. He came back later and talked with Dolan, too.”

  Lucy was my best friend. I was blunt. “We’ve being seeing a lot of Detective Preston, too. Yesterday he arrested Burt.”

  “What?” Lucy stared from one of us to the other. “Why?”

  “The police believe Burt killed Carl,” I explained. “Rob recommended a lawyer, but right now Burt’s in jail.”

  “No!” Lucy sat. “I can’t believe it. I still can’t believe Carl’s gone. And how can anyone believe Burt killed him? That’s not right.” She plumped the pillows on her couch and gestured that Izzie and I should sit. “How are you managing, Anna?”

  “I’m coping,” I said, as I’d told Mom. “I hope the police find the real killer soon.”

  Lucy nodded. “Of course. And life has to go on. But, poor Burt!”

  “I wanted to check with you about Jake and Matt,” I asked, making myself comfortable on the couch. Izzie sat on one of the armchairs across from me.

  Lucy looked relieved that I’d changed the subject. “Those boys! They’ve been at each other for a week now. I have no idea what’s wrong between them. They seemed fine last Friday night, when Jake spent the night here. Although, not surprisingly, I didn’t see them much. They stayed in Matt’s room most of the time playing those video games they love so much.”

  “So, you didn’t sense any problems then.”

  At least for now, I didn’t want to ask Lucy about the argument that Jake told me had happened last Friday night when he tried to get Burt’s rifle back. Probably Lucy didn’t know anything about that anyway.

  “They were fine,” she continued. “And, like I told the detective, that was the last time I saw Carl.”

  “Carl was here Friday night?” Hadn’t Carl told Burt he’d been working on his boat’s engine Friday night? Maybe he’d stopped at the Martins’ house before or after that. I glanced at Izzie. Did we have that on our timeline?

  “He was here pretty late, I’ll admit. I was getting ready for bed, and Dolan was already asleep. Carl was only here briefly.”

  “Why did he come over?” I wouldn’t normally ask a question like that. But today I was a detective. I wanted to know everything I could about Carl.

  “No special reason. He just stopped to chat. I think he gets lonely, living by himself in that apartment.”

  “Did he talk with the boys?”

  “No, just to me. It was late. I’d told the boys to get to bed. They had practice in the morning.”

  Right. I was sure two fourteen-year-old boys had gone to sleep at ten o’clock on a Friday night.

  “Thank you for taking Jake Friday night and then driving the boys back-and-forth to practice Saturday morning.”

  “No problem,” said Lucy. “But didn’t Jake tell you? Baseball practice was canceled. Coach had the flu. He called about seven thirty Saturday morning. I told him Jake was here, so he probably didn’t bother to call you.”

  “So, both boys were here all morning?”

  “I let them sleep in, and made them breakfast. They said it was such a nice day they were going for a walk, and they’d eat lunch at your mom’s. They left here about nine.”

  “A walk?” I questioned.

  “They headed toward the wharf.”

  “No one would have been at the wharf then. Dolan and Carl and Burt went out much earlier.”

  “True. But maybe some of the other fishermen were there, or they just wanted to hang out. Who knows? Matt’s been keeping an eye on Lim Simon’s boat. His son is trying to sell it, to help pay for Lim’s assisted living bills. Matt keeps hinting that Dolan and I should buy him a boat of his own. Of course, we can’t afford to do that. But Matt keeps hoping.”

  “Lim’s boat is in pretty rough condition,” I noted. “But Matt’s always talked about lobstering. It’s not surprising he’s paying attention when a boat comes on the market.”

  “True enough,” said Lucy. “Here, I haven’t even offered you a cup of coffee!” She started to get up.

  “No problem. We’ve had our share of caffeine this morning,” I said, and Izzie shook her head. “I just wondered if you knew what the boys were fighting about.”

  “I have no clue,” said Lucy. “Honestly, Matt hasn’t even spoken to me in the past couple of days. He was shaken by Carl’s death. He and Carl were close.”

  “Carl liked hanging out with Jake and Matt. It’s too bad he never had boys of his own.” I hesitated. Lucy would be furious if she knew Matt had used a rifle. But I needed to know. “Burt’s rifle’s been missing for about a week. You haven’t seen it, have you?”

  She frowned. “How would I know where Burt’s rifle was? I don’t allow firearms in this house. They make me nervous. I made Dolan get rid of his guns years ago. I didn’t want them tempting Matt. You know how some teenage boys are with guns.”

  “I do.”

  What more was there to ask?

  Izzie walked over to look at a photograph on the mantle. “What a great picture! You were a cheerleader, Lucy?”

  “In junior high,” she confirmed. “I loved cheering! If I’d stayed in school longer I might have been on the high school squad. I was better at cheering than Cynthia, and she became head cheerleader.” For a moment she looked wistful. “But life didn’t work out that way. Those were happy days, though. Happiest in my life.”

  Lucy’s happiest days were in junior high school? What about her wedding to Dolan? Giving birth to Matt? Buying this house? Not to mention all the celebrations and holidays and festive occasions we’d shared along the way.

  Izzie smiled. “At least you have the picture. And the memories.”

  “I do,” Lucy agreed.

  “We have to go; we have errands to do,” I said, excusing ourselves. “I was worried about the boys and wanted to ask if you knew anything. They’ve been close friends for so many years. It’s strange they don’t seem to be getting along now, when they both need support.”

  “I never know what’s in their heads,” agreed Lucy. “Matt hardly speaks to me anymore even on good days, and I have no clue why. Maybe it’s puberty. I keep hoping one morning he’ll wake up and be back to normal.”

  “I hope so,” I said, as Izzie and I headed out.

  “So, the boys weren’t off-island Saturday morning,” Izzie said.

  I noted she’d used the phrase “off-island” as though she were a native.

  “And they were wandering around. They could have seen something important.”

  “Matt may not be talking to Lucy,” I confirmed, “But Jake trusted us yesterday. Maybe he knows more than he told us then.”

  “And Carl was at the Martins’ late Friday night,” Izzie added. “That’s new information, too, to add to our timeline.”

  “Lucy didn’t really tell us why he was there—just that Dolan and the boys were asleep.” I shook my head. “That would have been pretty late. Dolan probably goes to bed early. Fishermen do. When those boys spend the night at my house they quiet down after I yell at them, but they don’t go to sleep. They use headphones on their games and hope I don’t check on them. I’d guess they did the same when they were next door.”

  “I remember slumber parties when I was their age, or younger,” said Izzie. “Part of the fun was staying up as late as we could.”

  “So, Jake and Matt might have been awake when Carl stopped in,” I said. “Could they have overheard anything that would explain a
late-night visit?”

  “Mamie said Carl parked his car behind the church at night when he visited the Dolans,” said Izzie. “Did he visit late at night regularly?”

  “Good question,” I agreed. “We have to talk to Jake again after school today. He may have the key to everything.”

  Chapter Thirty-Seven

  “As a rule, the tasks given to girls, especially girls between twelve and seventeen, are too severe. The brain, in consequence, is over-tasked just at that period of life when the strain does most harm. Parents forget that if the physical system breaks down and the daughter becomes a tenant of the invalid’s sofa, accomplishments go for nothing.”

  —Peterson’s Magazine, November 1871

  Within minutes we were back at the kitchen table, making changes to our timeline. What we’d found out had changed some of our earlier assumptions.

  Blue ignored us as he gave himself a thorough bath in a spot of sunshine near the kitchen door. I wished I could be as relaxed as he was.

  “I keep telling myself the key to who killed Carl is in this timeline,” I said, puzzling over the list of people we were keeping track of.

  “What’re you doing?” Jake asked, as he walked in. School was over for the day.

  “Trying to figure out who was where in the twenty-four hours before your uncle’s body was found,” I said.

  “Dad couldn’t have killed him,” Jake said. “He didn’t have his rifle then.”

  “I know. But to convince the police, we have to find at least one other suspect who was angry at Carl, had a reason to kill him, and could have had that rifle. Or the same model.”

  Jake pulled the list toward his seat at the table. “Why are there question marks here?” He pointed. “Like, it says Uncle Carl was at the Martins’ house late Friday night, but then you have a question mark.” He looked at me. “How did you know he was there?”

  “Matt’s mom told us.”

  Jake laughed a low, almost nasty laugh. Not his normal, happy laugh. “Did she tell you why he was there?”

  “She said he’d stopped in to chat for a few minutes after you and Matt and Dolan were asleep.”

  Jake pushed the pad of paper away, into the middle of the table. “She’s lying through her teeth. She lies all the time.”

  Izzie glanced at me.

  “She lies all the time?” I repeated.

  “That’s why Matt hates her,” said Jake.

  Her son hated her? I’d never sensed that. “What is she lying about?” I asked in the calmest voice I could muster. Lucy’d never lied to me that I’d noticed, although everyone had secrets. I was desperate. She was a close friend, but I had to hear anything that might head the police away from Burt.

  Jake hesitated. “She’s been sleeping with Uncle Carl. She has been for a long time.”

  “What?”

  “Matt’s been wicked mad at her ever since he first saw them together and figured out what was happening.”

  “How does he know? I mean, Lucy and Carl have been good friends for years. Ever since they were younger than you and Matt.”

  “See? I figured you wouldn’t believe it. But Matt’s seen them kissing, and getting into Carl’s truck in the middle of the night. Then, two weeks ago, he was supposed to go lobstering with his dad, but he and his dad forgot their lunch. His dad sent him home to get it. And … he saw his mom and Uncle Carl. They had their clothes off and … Mom, you know what I mean. They were there, in his living room.” Jake didn’t usually blush, but he’d turned red as a boiled lobster.

  “Did they know Matt saw them?” Keep calm, I told myself. Just keep calm.

  “Nah. Matt took one look and ran. He told his dad she’d forgotten to make their lunches that day.”

  “So, he didn’t tell his dad.”

  “No! That would’ve been wicked dumb. If his dad knew, his mom and dad would get divorced. Matt didn’t want that. Even though he’s PO’d at his mom.” Jake sighed. “I’m going to get in big trouble with Matt for telling you all this. But it’s my dad they’ve arrested! And he’s innocent!”

  “What else do you know, Jake?”

  “Matt kept saying he was going to kill his mom, because she was ruining his life and his dad’s. He wasn’t really going to hurt her. He was just mad. But that’s why since February he’s been bugging me to teach him how to shoot. He wanted to show his mom he could do what he wanted to … he didn’t need her permission. Anyway, he kept at me about shooting, so finally, I borrowed Dad’s rifle like I told you, and got mine, too, and went to the gravel pit. Uncle Carl took us and brought us back, and I just showed Matt how to load and shoot. Real basic stuff. We didn’t stay a long time. Only thing I didn’t tell you yesterday was how wicked mad Matt was that I got Uncle Carl involved. He wasn’t one of Matt’s favorite people anymore, either. And I wasn’t sure you’d believe me about Uncle Carl and Mrs. Martin.”

  “I believe you, Jake.” I glanced at Izzie. The story he was telling me was horrible, but I realized it was possible. I’d known Lucy and Carl were close. Maybe I hadn’t allowed myself to know how close. Had Dolan known? “Matt took the rifle out of your uncle Carl’s truck, so you assumed he had it Friday night.”

  “Only he said he didn’t. I was so mad at him. I’d done everything he wanted me to. He had no reason to lie to me.”

  “What happened then?”

  “At first, Matt and I argued. I told him I needed the rifle back. Matt kept saying he didn’t know where it was. I didn’t believe him, but after a while I gave up. I didn’t see the gun anywhere in Matt’s room, and Matt wouldn’t tell me anything. So, we were started playing video games, the way we always do. His mom came in and told us to go to bed, so we just put on headphones and turned off our lights and kept playing.”

  I nodded. That, I believed.

  “We were sitting in the dark room playing and we saw headlights across the street, maybe about midnight. It was Uncle Carl. We snuck out into the hallway and heard him and Mrs. Martin downstairs in the living room. They were being all gross and mushy. Matt was wicked angry, and he went and got Dad’s rifle. I’d been right—he had lied to me. He’d known where it was all along. He’d hidden it in their spare room. He kept saying he was going to shoot Uncle Carl and his mom.”

  “No!”

  “I was really scared,” Jake admitted. “I didn’t know if Matt would really do it. So I woke Mr. Martin up, and he came out, like, in his underwear. He saw Matt with the rifle and Mrs. Martin and Uncle Carl, and they all had this humungous fight.”

  “What happened to the rifle?”

  “Mr. Martin took it. Matt was wicked mad at me for getting his dad involved, though. I don’t think he would really have shot his mom or Uncle Carl. But he said he was going to.”

  “You did the right thing, Jake.” What if Matt had killed Carl or his mother? His life would have been ruined along with theirs.

  “So, like I said, Mr. and Mrs. Martin and Uncle Carl were downstairs, and they were all screaming at each other. At first Matt and I stood on the stairs and watched, but then they yelled at us to go back to bed.” Jake grimaced. “It was awful. Right after that, we heard the front door slam. Uncle Carl drove away, fast. Mrs. Martin was crying downstairs and Mr. Martin was yelling, but then everything got quiet. I don’t know what they did, but Matt and I went to bed.”

  “And the next morning?”

  “Mrs. Martin acted like nothing happened. She was all cool and calm, you know? So, we didn’t say anything. She told us baseball practice was canceled, so we got out of the house. Matt wanted to talk to his dad and see what he was going to do about what happened Friday night. We figured he was out lobstering, but Matt wanted to check anyway. Plus, there’s this boat at the wharf he’s been looking at.”

  “So?”

  “We went to the wharf. Mr. Martin’s boat was at the dock, but we didn’t see him. Uncle Carl’s boat was out, and so was Dad’s. Matt stayed and fooled around with the boat he hoped he could talk his dad into b
uying for him, but I left. I thought I’d go back to his house and see if I could find Dad’s rifle. I knew Dad was out on the Anna and you were going to Portland to get Izzie, so I figured maybe I could find the rifle and put it back in Dad’s gun case. No one was at the Martins’, but I couldn’t find Dad’s rifle. Then it was getting late, so I started down to the wharf, to get Matt for lunch. He was on his way back, and we went to Mamie’s and Mamie’s, like we’d told Mrs. Martin we were going to. After we ate we were going to the bookstore, but Mr. Erickson stopped and told us Dad had found Uncle Carl’s boat. He’d heard about it on that special radio he has. We ran down to the wharf. Dad was there, and he took us out with him to look for Uncle Carl.” Jake was out of breath. “That’s what happened. The last time I saw Dad’s rifle was Friday night when Mr. Martin took it away from Matt. Maybe Mr. Martin killed Uncle Carl.”

  Chapter Thirty-Eight

  “The crudest form of bread is a simple mixture of flour and water, worked to a stiff paste, spread thin, and baked hard. Under the name of navy-bread or hard-tack, this constitutes the nutritious but homely fare of the sailor and the soldier. Between this rude, though effective, means of sustaining life, and the light, fragrant, and delicious loaf, resting beneath the snowy napkin, beside the ball of golden butter, around which the family gather at their evening meal, there is a contrast as wide as between the roughness and hardships of the camp and the forecastle and the sanctity, the purity, the taste, and the rest of home.”

  —The Philosophy of Housekeeping: A Scientific and Practical Manual by Joseph B. Lyman and Laura E. Lyman. Hartford, Connecticut: S.M. Betts & Company, 1859

  “Did you see Mr. Martin at all on Saturday?” asked Izzie.

  “Sure. When we got to the wharf the second time he was getting his boat ready to go out to look for Uncle Carl. He asked Matt to go with him, but Matt didn’t want to talk about what happened Friday night, so he went with Dad and me.”

  I went over and hugged Jake. “Thank you, Jake. I know that was hard. Matt and the Martins are our good friends. But it was important you tell us all that.”