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Death and a Pot of Chowder Page 4
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On the far side of the wharf, I spotted Mom and Mamie talking to Rose and Cynthia Snowe and Rob Erickson and his father, Gus. Gus had been a lobsterman, of course. After his stroke, he’d sold his traps to a younger man. His aging body was a constant frustration to him and he’d taken the death of his wife hard. We’d all been relieved when Rob came home to the island to live with him.
“Izzie, let me introduce you to my mother and grandmother,” I said, excusing us and leading Izzie toward another knot of watchers.
“Crime scene guys,” Rob Erickson was saying as we got closer. “Checking for blood.”
“Blood?” I interrupted before I introduced Izzie. “What blood?”
“I know one of the Marine Patrol guys from my days in Portland homicide,” said Rob. “He told me there was blood on the gunwale. Could be Carl hit his head when he went overboard.”
I mentally scanned through all the scenarios that would have ended with Carl being in the sea. Why was there blood on the lip of the boat? Or maybe it was on the outside of the gunwale. Rob was right. He could have hit it as he went over the side. I shivered, imagining.
“Mom, Mamie, Rob, Gus, this is my sister, Izzie. She’s staying with Burt and me,” I added, for Mom’s benefit. “Izzie, this is my mother, Mrs. Chase, and her mother, Mrs. Nolin. Rob Erickson and his father, Gus. And Rose and Cynthia Snowe.”
Rose nodded, but kept her gray eyes focused on the water. She was wearing pale blue scrubs; she must have come straight from the hospital on the mainland where she and Cynthia both worked. Although Rose had been Carl’s girl for the past year or so, I didn’t know her as well as I knew Cynthia. Cynthia was closer to my age, Carl had dated her earlier, and she was a close friend of Lucy’s. Both Rose and Cynthia worked at the island clinic when they weren’t scheduled at the hospital.
They lived in their parents’ home on the other side of Quarry Island, near where Burt and Carl had grown up. The sisters’ mom and dad wintered in Florida, so Cynthia and Rose just had each other most of the time. On the island, relationships were sometimes confusing, but I hadn’t been surprised when Carl dropped Cynthia for Rose. Cynthia was the prettier sister, but she was much more serious about her career, and life in general, than her younger sister. Probably too serious for fun-loving Carl. I suspected Rose saw her future as Carl’s wife, not as a health care professional. Every time I’d seen her with Carl she’d clung to him like a barnacle on a wharf piling.
A century ago, Cynthia and Rose, both unmarried and over twenty-five, would have been dubbed spinsters. Despite the times, I suspected some islanders still viewed them that way.
“We got here as soon as we could,” said Cynthia. Her long light brown hair was braided and wrapped around her head in an old-fashioned style that suited her. “I was at home. Dr. Neeson called me as soon as he heard. He had a patient to take care of at the clinic, but wanted me to be here in case I could help.” She glanced over at Rose. “I called Rose. She headed here after her shift was over.”
“Rose is Carl’s girl,” I explained quietly to Izzie.
Rose stood stalwartly, ignoring everyone around her and staring out to sea.
She’d thought Carl was her future.
I reached over and squeezed her hand. She hardly noticed.
“Pleased to meet you all,” said Izzie. “Although not under these circumstances.” She gestured toward the dock.
Mamie smiled and hugged Izzie lightly. “And good to meet you, Izzie. We’re hoping you’ll stay long enough so we can all get to know you.”
“I hope so, too,” said Izzie.
“Welcome to Quarry Island,” said Rob. “This is a time for family to be together.”
“You don’t look like your father,” Mom blurted out, staring at Izzie.
“More like my mother,” Izzie answered easily. “But Anna and I have the same ears, and nose. She has beautiful blue eyes, like yours, Mrs. Chase.”
Well done, Izzie.
“How long has it been?” I asked. “Since Carl was reported missing?”
Rob glanced at his watch. “Burt called in the Fair Winds adrift a little after noon. It’s past four thirty now.”
I nodded. Too much time had passed for a positive outcome. Everyone here knew that, but no one would give up hope this early.
If he wasn’t found soon, the search would end, but the waiting would go on. Sometimes a body would show up weeks later. Sometimes never.
“Sun sets a little after seven,” Rob pointed out. “The search can go on for another two and a half hours, more or less.”
“Can’t they search with lights, at night?” Izzie asked.
“Depends,” said Rob. “Helicopters may stay out there a while. So will the Marine Patrol. They have strong lights. Smaller boats will come in. And if winds come up strong tonight, they’ll suspend the search until daybreak. Can’t risk losing someone else.”
As if in answer, the flags of Maine and the United States, which had been hanging limply from the pole at the side of the boathouse, billowed out, catching a late afternoon sea breeze.
Izzie shivered.
I couldn’t just stand there. “The men searching will be cold and hungry when they dock,” I decided. “I’m going home to pull some food together.” I turned to Izzie. “We never had lunch, so I’ll find us something to eat, too.”
“I made bread and soup this morning, and there’s fish pie left from last night,” Mamie volunteered. “I’ll bring it all over to your place in an hour or so.”
I nodded. “Thanks. Tell Lucy and Luc and anyone else you see that they and their families are welcome, too. We’ll have enough for everyone.” I turned to Rose and Cynthia. “I hope you’ll both join us.”
Cynthia glanced at her sister. “I can’t. My shift starts at seven tonight. But I’ll try to get Rose to come. She’s having a hard time right now.”
Rose didn’t answer. I’d sometimes wondered what she and Carl had in common other than being unmarried and living on the island.
I nodded. “It’s not easy for anyone,” I said. My voice sounded shaky, even to me.
“We can’t give up hope,” Mom reminded me. “Nothing’s over if there’s still hope.”
How often had the words “hope” and “prayers” been repeated on Quarry Island this afternoon?
I wished I were as optimistic. Ever since Burt’s call, now hours ago, I’d been sure Carl was lost.
I turned and looked out past the harbor and Granite Point and its lighthouse, toward the ocean. On a summer’s day the water sparkled. At night you could see the shadows of people walking back and forth behind windows lit on the mainland, across the harbor. Today, visibility was limited. One lobster boat was out by the point, so far away I couldn’t tell whose it was. Everyone in the area who had a boat was searching. When a neighbor was in trouble, people came.
Izzie and I started back toward the truck.
“I can help with food,” Izzie volunteered.
“Thanks,” I said. “I hadn’t imagined our first afternoon together would be like this.”
“I’m fine. I’m just sorry for what happened to Carl,” she said.
“It’s hard on everyone when there’s an accident.”
“Looked like everyone on the island was back there. How many people live on Quarry Island anyway?”
I got into the driver’s seat this time. “About three hundred, year-round. Four times that in summer.”
“They’ll search again tomorrow? If they don’t find him soon, I mean,” she asked.
I nodded. “At least one more day. Tomorrow they’ll start looking closer to shore.”
Even Izzie, who didn’t know about life on the waters, knew if he wasn’t found today, Carl wouldn’t be found alive on shore tomorrow.
Unless there was a miracle.
Chapter Six
“Hospitality is an art as well as a virtue.”
—The Epicure’s Year Book and Table Companion by Blanchard Jerrold. London: Bradbury, Evans and
Co., 1868
“How far do you live from here?” Izzie asked as we pulled out of the field.
“Walking distance. About a quarter mile,” I answered.
Izzie nodded, looking from one side of Island Road to the other. “What a cute, tiny town! Have you always lived here?”
“Since I was born.” I pulled into my driveway. “I grew up in the white house with green shutters over there.” I pointed. “Mom and Mamie, that’s what we call my grandmother, still live there. When Burt and I were first married, we lived with his parents on the other side of the island.” I smiled as we got out, and Izzie pulled her suitcases out of the back of the truck. “I was wicked homesick, can you believe?”
“Living on the other side of the island?” asked Izzie.
“True.”
“You’ve never lived alone?”
“Never,” I confirmed, as we headed for the kitchen door, the one closest to the driveway. “How about you?”
“Lived with Mom and Dad when I was little. Mom died when I was fourteen.”
“I’m sorry,” I said, opening the door for her. “Watch out for Blue. He’s supposed to be an indoor cat, but sometimes he makes a break for the outdoors.”
She nodded, focused on her story, not my cat. “Mom’s death was awful. Cancer. She only lived a couple of months after she was diagnosed. After that, I was alone most of the time. Dad traveled a lot on business.”
“When you were only fourteen? Didn’t you have a relative, or friend, or housekeeper? Someone?”
Izzie shook her head slightly. “Dad said I was old enough to take care of myself. And I guess I was. I did it. But I was by myself a lot in high school. Then I went to CIA and lived there. I still share an apartment in Poughkeepsie, near school.”
“Jake’s fourteen. I can’t imagine him living alone.”
Izzie shrugged. “You do what you have to do” She paused. “Your cat’s name is Blue? That’s unusual.”
“He was left on the island by a couple who’d adopted him in Blue Hill, as a living souvenir, before they rented a cottage for a week here. His collar included his name. I guess they changed their minds and didn’t want to take him home to Virginia.”
“He’s beautiful,” said Izzie, bending to stroke him. “He was lucky you rescued him.”
The living room was dominated by our old couch and three overstuffed armchairs, a flat screen television, which had been our big gift to each other two Christmases ago, and a small bookcase filled with picture books Jake had outgrown. Blue got up from his favorite pillow on the couch, stretched, and looked at Izzie. A new person? Someone who might bring food or attention? Izzie scratched between his ears, and Blue collapsed with joy. All was well.
“Do you have a cat?” I asked. “You’ve just made a friend for life.”
“Once, when I was little, I had a dog named Jack. I loved that dog! But I’ve been working and studying long hours for years. No time for a pet.” She gave Blue another scratch. “Your Blue is the biggest cat I’ve ever seen.”
“Coon cats are pretty good sizes,” I agreed. “He weighs about twenty pounds.”
She pointed at one of the framed pictures on the wall. “Your wedding picture?”
“Burt and I were both eighteen,” I confirmed. We looked awkward, but happy, smiling on the steps of the church across the street. The dress I was wearing was the same one Mom had worn when she’d married Seth. Mamie had lengthened it and taken out the seams to allow for Jake’s increasing presence. In those days, I’d felt tall and skinny even when I was pregnant. I wasn’t skinny anymore.
“You were glowing,” she said. “And that Burt of yours was handsome! I’m looking forward to meeting him.” She moved on to the next picture. “And this must be Jake.”
“When he was six months old,” I agreed. “Burt and I had a horrible time getting him to stop screaming so the photographer could take the picture.” I smiled, remembering.
“And Christmas,” she said, looking closely at a group shot.
“Mom and Seth, my stepfather, and Mamie,” I pointed. “And Burt and Jake and me.” I hesitated. “And Carl. He’s younger than Burt.”
Saying Carl’s name brought the day back.
“So you’re not going to move back to Connecticut?” I asked, trying to change the subject.
“The house Dad and I used to live in has a big mortgage. I can’t take it on, so it’ll have to be sold.” Izzie looked as though she might burst into tears. “Not that I want to live in Connecticut again. But it was home.”
“Izzie!” I put my arms around her and we hugged each other, thinking of our dad, and Carl, and the strangeness of life. “I’m so sorry. And glad you came here, even with what’s happening.”
“I’m glad, too,” she said. “Your family seems so close.” She looked around the room. “And your home is cozy. It looks loved.”
“We are close,” I agreed. “But we squabble, too.”
“That sounds normal. You’re lucky.”
I thought of how I’d felt when I’d first read Izzie’s letter. “You were lucky, too. You got to know our dad.”
She nodded.
“Let me show you your room. You’ve had a long day. You could wash up, or change,” I suggested.
“I’m not exactly dressed for here,” Izzie said, smiling. “I was so nervous when I was deciding what to put on this morning. I didn’t know what to wear. But I brought jeans and sweatshirts, too.”
“Wear whatever you’re comfortable in. While you’re settling in I’ll get out cheese and crackers and see what else we can come up with to serve if people stop in.”
I picked up one of Izzie’s suitcases and walked up the stairs to the second floor ahead of her, hoping she’d find our tiny guest room adequate. “Let me know if my quilting supplies get in your way. Clean sheets are on the bed and you can use the small pine bureau and the closet. If you need anything else, let me know.” I pointed to the bathroom. “We all share a bath. I’ll get you towels. Your room is the second on the left.”
I opened the door of the old wardrobe in the hallway where I kept extra towels and sheets, and Izzie went on down the hall.
“This is perfect,” she called back. “Did you make the quilt on the bed?”
I joined her, handing her two blue flowered towels and a facecloth. “It was one of my first efforts. My mom’s an expert quilter. I’m still learning.”
The quilt on the bed was a patchwork of my old clothes along with Jake’s and Burt’s. Lots of jeans and plaid flannel shirts. I’d tried to arrange the reds, whites, and blues in a flag pattern, but it hadn’t entirely worked.
“I love it,” said Izzie, sitting on the bed and stroking the fabrics. “It’s warm and cozy and perfect for this room. I didn’t know people still made quilts.”
“A lot do, here. I’m glad you like it.” I flushed. My quilt wasn’t the best, but it was nice to hear it complimented.
Then she glanced at the bookcase in the corner. Two shelves held pins, needles, threads, and scissors. The other shelves were full of books I’d loved as a child, but Jake had discarded or dismissed. “Now I know we are sisters,” Izzie exclaimed. “You have all my favorites! Little Women and An Old-Fashioned Girl and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm and a whole shelf of Nancy Drews and … you have Anne of Green Gables! I love that book! My copy is worn out, but I still have it!”
“That one was my mother’s,” I admitted. “I remember her reading it to me. My copy’s pretty well-read, too.”
“Then we must be,” Izzie grinned as we said it together, “Kindred spirits!”
In the Anne of Green Gables series, Anne was always looking for people she called “kindred spirits,” who shared her enthusiasm for life and curiosity about it. I’d hoped to share Anne with my daughter someday, but life had brought me Jake instead. I loved Jake dearly, but it would have been fun to have had a daughter.
Or a sister.
“I wonder what else we have in common.” Izzie said.
/> “I suspect we may find out,” I said. If we’d both loved the same books, we must have a lot to share. “Now, you unpack and get settled. When you’re ready, come back downstairs.”
With only three rooms on the first floor and three plus the bathroom on the second, she wouldn’t get lost.
“I will. And I’d like to contribute something to dinner.”
“It’s not going to be fancy,” I warned her. “I made mac and cheese casserole this morning, and you heard Mamie. She’s bringing anadama bread, bean soup, and fish pie.”
“Anadama bread?” Izzie asked.
“Simple yeast bread made of wheat flour, cornmeal, and molasses. Legend says it got its name when a Maine man came home from the sea and found his wife missing and no bread in his kitchen. Angrily, he threw all the ingredients he could find together, cussing ‘Anna, damn her!’ and made his own bread.”
“Is that a true story?”
“I don’t think anyone knows. But I’ve heard it a thousand times, especially since my name is Anna. And the bread is good. Mamie’s the expert cook in our family.” I started to leave, and then turned. “Until now. We’ve never had a CIA graduate in the family before.”
I arranged cheeses and crackers on a board, and put my casserole in the oven on low heat before reaching for a chocolate.
Izzie seemed to be making herself at home. I wasn’t nervous about her anymore; I hadn’t had time to be. Carl’s accident had changed everything.
I put my brass kettle on to boil, sat at the kitchen table, and ate a cracker. And then another. I wasn’t hungry, but eating was automatic. I felt as though I was watching myself from a distance.
Even focusing on simple tasks was hard. I kept thinking of Carl.
Had he tripped? The deck of a lobster boat was often slippery with bait or salt water. But if he’d lost his balance, wouldn’t he have fallen inside the boat? Like Burt, Carl was a little under six feet tall.
I hoped Rose would join us for supper, talk a little, and eat something. To have hopes for a future and then … She shouldn’t be alone tonight.
The afternoon sun was fading rapidly. I said a silent prayer that Carl would be found quickly. And, if he were dead, that Burt and the boys wouldn’t be the ones to find him. Recovering the body of your brother or uncle would be awful.