Murder on Cape Cod Read online

  “Hi, Mom.” I greeted her without looking up, since I didn’t want to lose my place and the client had insisted he have it back by three this afternoon. I hadn’t promised anything.

  “Tim sent over scones from the bakery for all of us,” Mom went on in her ever-cheery voice.

  All of us? Her, me, and my grandmother? Not exactly a cast of thousands.

  “And I brought a new friend I want you to meet. Can you spare a few minutes to take a break and have a snack?”

  No, I can’t, is what I wanted to say. Instead, I straightened, wiped my hands on the rag in my apron pocket, and turned. “All of us” turned out to be my mother and Katherine Deloit. My mouth started to fall open before I caught it. Was this who she meant by her new friend?

  Then I caught myself and mustered a smile. “Nice to see you again, Katherine. So you’ve met my mother.” I could swear I’d told Ms. Deloit I owned the bike shop. But maybe I hadn’t, or if I had, maybe she hadn’t remembered.

  Mom looked from Katherine to me and back. “You’ve been introduced before?”

  I nodded. “I’d shake hands, but . . .” I held two blue latex gloves with grease-blackened palms in the air.

  Katherine, dressed today in a more casual outfit of a tasteful blue-striped top and Dockers-type navy pants with red espadrilles, smiled calmly. “Yes, we did run into each other out at the Point a few mornings ago. I simply hadn’t made the connection between your daughter Mackenzie and Mac, here.” Holding the coffee she’d carried in, and with a red leather handbag in the crook of her elbow, she gazed around the shop. “You have quite an establishment. Business is good, I trust?”

  The other day I hadn’t noticed how nasal her voice was. “Thank you. Yes, the business is thriving.” I turned to Mom. “So you’re buying from Tim, now?”

  “Of course, my dear. Such a dear man. I happened to strike up a conversation with Katherine while she was doctoring her coffee. She’s coming over to get her chart read!”

  Huh? This was not computing. A powerhouse businesswoman wanted to know what her astrological makeup was? You can’t explain human nature.

  “That’s lovely,” I said. “And thanks so much, Mom, for bringing the scones. But I really can’t spare the time. Orlean is sick, Abo Reba is on the other side, and I have to get this job done by noon-thirty so I can start another urgent one.” I watched my mom’s face fall. “I’m sorry, but that’s the life of an independent businesswoman. Right, Katherine? You said you’re in business.” I mentally crossed my fingers she’d back me up on this, being Mom’s new best bud and all.

  She didn’t disappoint. “Absolutely. I’m sorry we interrupted you.”

  “My grandma loves scones, though. Abo Ree,” I called. “When you can, come have a scone with Mom and her friend.” I walked close to my mom and turned my back on Katherine. “Sorry, Mom. Next time, okay?”

  She nodded. “Baker Brunelle doesn’t look like he’s going anywhere.” She smiled and nudged me. “I’m sure he’ll bake more scones.”

  I had to hand to it my mom. I’d disappointed her before, but she never held a grudge, and she didn’t do guilt trips. Both were awesome traits and I hoped I’d inherited at least a portion of them. “You rock for picking up a new client, too.”

  Abo Reba sauntered in, all four foot eleven of her. “Did somebody say scones?” She pulled up short, the smile sliding off her face as she blinked at Katherine. It was almost like my grandmother knew who she was. Then she mustered up her smile again.

  “I think scones sound about perfect.” She greeted Mom and shook Katherine’s hand, introducing herself.

  “Let’s eat outside, shall we?” Mom suggested.

  Abo Reba plucked a scone out of the bag and nodded even as she popped half of it in her mouth. For someone so tiny, she had an impressive appetite. She liked to say she had both the metabolism of a hummingbird and a digestive system that didn’t absorb calories. More power to her. And I knew I’d inherited those genes. I’d never had to worry for a minute about packing on extra pounds.

  I watched the three of them take the baked goods out back and then returned to my repair. Did I need to warn Mom about Katherine Deloit? I didn’t have any logical reason to think the visiting businesswoman was dangerous, any more than Suzanne or Gin’s Wes Farnham were. Or Pa’s tattooed accountant Edwin, or even the mysterious sad girl. Katherine had said she was visiting a college friend, hadn’t she? But it was that tiny little feeling way back beyond my consciousness that nagged at me about all of them. Even the mysterious sad girl. I would look the fool, however, if I took Mom aside and told her not to be alone with Katherine while she ran her chart and explained the influences of the planets and stars on Katherine’s personality. So I didn’t.

  Chapter Twenty-three

  I’d finished cleaning up the bike and was scrubbing my hands when Abo Reba came back in. I peered behind her. “Where’d Mom go?”

  She frowned. “Off to read that woman’s chart. Bunch of bull twaddle, if you ask me. Not that I would say as much to your mother’s face, but really. Some far-off stars can affect your personality and govern how you act? As if.” She tilted her head, regarding me. “What do you think?”

  “I agree completely.” I laughed. “But hey, it makes Mom happy, and I guess she makes some money at it, too.” I focused on the repair note, jotting down what I’d done, the prices for parts I’d replaced, and the labor costs. When I was finished, I said, “Abo Ree, tell me something. You got a funny look on your face when you saw Katherine Deloit. Had you already met her?”

  She shook her head fast and furious. “Never. Didn’t know her name.”

  “What did you all talk about, you and Mom and her?”

  “Little bit of this, little bit of that. Nothing important. But I saw the woman through my scope yesterday.”

  “Oh? And she was simply walking down the street, or what?”

  “Not just walking down the street.” Abo Reba narrowed her eyes as if examining the past. “It was the oddest thing. I saw her all dolled up in her heels and fancy skirt looking at something through a pair of binoculars.”

  “Haven’t you heard, Abo Ree? It’s the latest in birding-wear.” I tilted my head and smiled.

  She snorted. “She wasn’t looking at birds. Unless she was trying to identify Belle.”

  “You mean she was checking out my house?” A frisson of unease rippled through me. Katherine spying on my residence with binoculars was downright creepy.

  “Maybe. It was a little hard to tell, but she was in front of the post office and looking across the street.”

  My grandmother lived in an apartment reserved for senior citizens above a row of shops on the far side of the post office, almost across from Pa’s church. My shop and my house behind it were five properties in the opposite direction on the other side of the street.

  “She couldn’t have seen behind the shop to my house.” I frowned. “But why was she using binoculars when she could go a little farther and walk by the shop up close?”

  She shrugged. “I guess I could have asked her while she was here what she was looking for, but it seemed a bit rude to butt into her private life.”

  A family wanting rentals strolled in, so I left them to Abo Reba and went to find my lunch. As I munched, I shook my head. Katherine’s behavior had to have a more reasonable explanation. A Californian real estate agent had no reason to be checking out the town with binoculars, my house or any other. Maybe she was a birder and a rare species had stopped by Westham. Or not.

  “Titi Mac,” Cokey called out, skipping into the shop half an hour later.

  Derrick followed close behind her, a bright pink mini-backpack slung over his broad shoulder.

  “Yes, favorite niece number one?” I smiled at my only niece. I knelt and opened my arms wide. I wasn’t exactly longing for a kid of my own, but squeezing this curly-haired darling, inhaling her energy and her little-girl scent, was one of the best things in my life right now.

  She
squeezed back, then planted a miniature kiss on my cheek before pulling away. She grabbed her pack from her dad and ran to Abo Reba for a repeat of hugging. I pushed up to standing.

  Derrick looked tentative. “Okay that I brought her in? Cokey’s ready to work, at least that’s what she claimed.”

  “And you didn’t want to be apart from her.” I spoke softly.

  He nodded.

  “Don’t worry.” I patted his shoulder. “It’s fine. We’re a family business, right?” I glanced over at Cokey, who now perched on the high stool behind the rental counter, her great-grandmother hovering to make sure she didn’t fall off. “Was Coke okay with you being away and then back?”

  “She normally spends so much time with Pa and Mom, I’m not sure she even noticed. But I need to ask one more favor of you.”

  I took a deep breath. I didn’t have a real positive feeling about this. “What is it?”

  “I found an AA meeting at two o’clock in Falmouth. Can you and Abo watch her for an hour? I’ll come straight back.”

  My feeling swung instantly to the Very Positive edge of the dial. “I don’t know Abo’s schedule. But my answer is yes.” Anything to get my brother back on the sobriety track. “Go.” I gave him a little push.

  “I’ll be back in an hour, sweetie,” he called to Cokey, blowing her a kiss. “Txau, Cokey.”

  Cokey barely looked up from the paper she was bent over, crayon in hand, to wave at him. “Txau, Daddy.”

  I watched him hurry out the door. Derrick had been through a lot, and it wasn’t over yet. But this was a good sign. A very good sign.

  However, today was Friday. I had a shop to keep open all weekend from now until October. Sure, we got plenty of tourist traffic on weekdays. But weekend warriors who wanted to tool around on a two-wheeler and serious cyclists from out of town who had exactly Saturday to Sunday to explore the entire Cape bikeway network? For them I needed to be open, with bikes tuned up and available. And for that I needed people. I seriously didn’t want to be here working seven days a week. Derrick was now struggling with his addiction again—which meant both that he needed to get to an AA meeting every day and also spend time with his little girl. And I couldn’t keep relying on drop-in help like Norland or even Abo Reba, much as she seemed to enjoy the work.

  I had really counted on Orlean for this season. I pressed her number, which went straight to voice mail. I hoped she was okay, but I still needed help in the shop. Now what?

  “Titi,” Cokey called to me, waving a sheet of paper. “Look what I drawed.”

  Watching her gave me an idea. “Wait a sec, kret-zeu.” I turned my back and pressed Pa’s speed dial, instead. When he picked up, I said, “Pa, is Edwin with you?”

  “No, why?” He sounded suitably confused.

  “I wondered if he might want a few bike shop hours on the weekends. Maybe he’s all set, but you said he rides and in case he’d like a little extra income . . .” I let my voice trail off. Voiced, my brainstorm sounded foolish. Why would an accountant want to work in a bike shop even if he was a cyclist? If he were really serious about a biking hobby, the employee discount would be nice, but—”

  “I like the way you think.” Pa rattled off Edwin’s number. “He’s a freelancer, so he could be out anywhere. I’m awfully glad I found him to do the books for the church. Edwin has one sharp brain.”

  I jotted down the numbers. “So why would he want to work part-time renting bicycles?” I hunched my shoulders, wincing at how I’d probably managed to sabotage my own suggestion.

  “Call him. Let him decide.” My father said he had to run and disconnected.

  That sounded a lot like yet one more case of the minister knowing more than he could ever let on. But what the heck? I might as well give Edwin a try. What was the worst that could happen? He could say no, and I’d be in exactly the same place I was now. I took a minute to put Edwin’s number into my Contacts list.

  Now for Cokey. I hurried to her side. “Show me that drawing.”

  Abo Reba slid off her stool. “Going to use the ladies’ while you’re here to watch her.” She trundled to the back of the store.

  My niece cocked her head and considered her art with tiny furrows in her brow. “Well, now I’m drawing somebody else,” she lisped. “See, there’s the lighthouse. And there’s the lady who came back cuz she losted her purse.”

  “A lady came back to the lighthouse because she losted her purse?” I asked, mostly to clarify if I’d heard correctly through the lisp. I gave my head a little shake, smiling. “I mean, lost her purse?” If I wasn’t careful, I’d be talking like a preschooler, too.

  “You got it, Mac.” Cokey nodded, staying serious.

  I, on the other hand, had a lot of trouble not cracking up. She was such a little adult, lisp and all.

  “You know, Daddy does tours of the lighthouse,” she went on.

  I stroked her angel curls. “And this lady went on a tour but she left her purse inside?”

  Cokey nodded somberly, her head bent so far over her drawing I couldn’t see her cheek.

  “Did she go back in the lighthouse to look for it?” I prodded.

  Cokey didn’t speak for another couple of minutes, pressing crayons with the fervor of any artist into the paper I kept with the crayons on a kid-accessible shelf.

  She sat up straight and pointed to the paper. “See? There’s the lighthouse, and there’s the lady. She finded her purse.”

  I leaned over and examined the artwork, which my niece had executed in bold strokes of black, blue, and red. I saw a big head with two bent stick arms and two stick legs poking out of it. The mouth on the head had been colored bright red and the eyes were two circles of blue, giving the figure a blank stare. One arm had an iconic red purse hanging in the crook of the elbow—well, a red rectangle with an arc of red hanging over the arm. It looked like an iconic purse to me. Cokey added a scribble of red along the lower edge of the face, with a tail extending off to the right outside the head.

  A rectangle of black enclosed the legs directly under the head. I pointed to it. “Is this her body?” I asked.

  “No!” Cokey was indignant. “That’s her skirt. Like a skinny person’s skirt. And she wore a red scarf, too.”

  The thing with the tail was a red scarf. The black rectangle a skinny person’s skirt. A skirt like the one Gin and I had seen Katherine Deloit wearing, and the purse identical with the bag she’d been carrying a couple of hours ago.

  Had Cokey seen Katherine tour the lighthouse? She must have. Nobody dressed like that on the Cape in June. And Cokey must have watched her reenter afterward because she’d ostensibly left her purse inside. No woman leaves her handbag lying around in a public place unless she has dementia or is seriously distracted by something like a newborn or a cry of, “Fire!” I couldn’t think of any plausible reason for our West Coast real estate agent to have “losted” her purse. But if Katherine happened to have slipped a knife inside said handbag while she was alone in the lighthouse, now that would be a reason.

  “Can I keep your drawing, honey?” I asked. “I love it.”

  “Will you put it on your fridge?” Her face lit up.

  “You got it.”

  Chapter Twenty-four

  By 6:10, I was home with my feet up, a parrot on the arm of the couch, and a glass of cold Pilsner in my hand. My legs tingled with the message that says, We’ve been standing all day, ya know. Thanks for finally sitting down, boss, about three hours too late. No kidding.

  Orlean had never appeared, nor had she returned my call. I could only assume she wouldn’t show tomorrow, either, and I wasn’t about to drive down Cape to look for her. Abo Reba had had to leave when Derrick returned, and he’d taken Cokey out to the playground when she got antsy and wanted to start trying out every kid’s bike in the shop.

  Me, I ran my tush off until six o’clock, logging in returns, fixing a couple of flats, selling biking shirts and gloves, and checking out a total of twenty-two weeklong rent
al bikes. My bank account was going to be happy, that was certain. I’d phoned Edwin but he didn’t pick up, so I’d left a message, simply asking him to call me back. I wasn’t going to use voice mail to describe the details of the mess I was in.

  It was way past time to check the group text, see if anyone had posted anything new. I swiped into it. The people busy at day jobs—Flo, Zane, Stephen, Gin—hadn’t responded, and Norland’s only contribution was that he hadn’t been able to learn a thing. Gin had been working all day, too, so I wasn’t surprised she hadn’t contributed.

  I’d left Cokey’s portrait of the lady with the losted purse on the little kitchen table at the other end of the house. I moved the few steps there and sat to study it. “What do you think, Belle? Is this our friend Katherine? Did she k—?” I cut myself off. I didn’t want my parrot buddy learning words like “kill” or “murder.” I started again with, “Do think she did away with Jake?”

  “Oh, yeah. Oh, yeah.” Belle nodded, uttering one of her stock phrases. One of her previous owners must have been from Minnesota, because Belle said the phrase with a super long “oh,” and the word “yeah” sounded more like a Scandinavian “ya.”

  When Belle added, “Ya, you betcha,” I laughed out loud. She wasn’t much of a jury, though. The smile drifted off my face. Why would an apparently fastidious woman like Katherine Deloit stab a man? If she’d wanted to kill him, wouldn’t she have obtained a lethal little pistol, or figured out some exotic untraceable poison? Beyond the sheer violence of it, stabbing had to result in a messy death. I shuddered at the thought. Whoever killed him must have had to get rid of a bloody outer garment somewhere.

  I couldn’t believe my brother had done the deed, though. So who had? It was time to get more details from Gin about her guest, and to find out more about the young woman. To figure out how Suzanne knew about the stabbing. Or maybe the killer had been someone entirely different, a man Jake was incarcerated with. A fellow inmate could have tracked down Jake post-release to settle an old debt, or to get revenge from a hurt, real or imagined.