Murder on Cape Cod Page 17

  I was dying to ask Suzanne how she knew about Jake’s stabbing. But how could I? I’d never been famed for thinking fast on my feet, and now proved no exception. I couldn’t think of a single excuse for inquiring, so I turned back to my drinking pals. Edwin, looking as warm as I felt in the overcrowded space, was in the process of neatly folding back each cuff of his shirt. He then folded the sleeves back again, revealing the ink on his arms.

  Gin gaped. “That’s a lot of tattooing. Doesn’t it hurt when you get those?”

  I looked closely, as well. I hadn’t really had a chance in Pa’s yard to examine exactly what was stenciled into his skin. Now I spied a fanciful dragon in three colors disappearing up one sleeve, and a basket of animated numbers on the other arm. “Yes, isn’t it painful?” I forced my gaze away from the artwork and my thoughts away from the man I’d seen who I was certain was his brother.

  “A bit, but you get used to it. Hurts more on sensitive skin.” He turned the inside of his also tattooed forearm face up and stroked it. “Like here, for example.” He turned his arm over again and took a swig from the beer. “This is a pretty cool event. You been here before, Gin?”

  “Almost every week. I keep telling Mac she ought to get me the friends-and-family discount, but so far it hasn’t come through.”

  It was Edwin’s turn to give me a quizzical look. “You run this place?”

  I laughed, shaking my head. “No, but my boyfriend, Tim, does.” I gestured with my thumb. “The tall one behind the counter. It’s his bakery and his Friday night pop-up bar. Sorry, Malloy. No discounts.”

  “Wait.” Edwin looked from me to Gin and back. “You really are friends, aren’t you?”

  “Yup,” she said. “Known each other half our lives so far.”

  “Speaking of knowing people for a long time, do you have an older brother who really resembles you?” I asked Edwin. “A guy came in earlier I could swear was your brother. And it wasn’t simply his tattooed arms that made me think so. He looked a lot like you, and his voice sounded like yours, too, except older.”

  Edwin froze. He placed his beer on the table so slowly I wondered if somebody had just switched the film of our lives to run at half speed. But I wasn’t in a movie theater.

  Liz Frame and her Kickers meandered back to their instruments. A few chords, a few strums and the start of a tune began. “Thanks for sticking around, everybody,” Frame said into the mike. “We have an even better set for the second half of our show tonight, including a brand-new song written by yours truly. Never before performed, and you can say you heard it first here at Greta’s Grains!”

  Edwin frowned at me, his face pale, both hands clamped on the edge of the table. “What did you say?”

  “I said a guy was in here who reminded me of you, just an older version.”

  He swore under his breath and stood so fast he bumped the table. “Excuse me, ladies.” His beer bottle teetered on its axis until it tipped over, spilling amber liquid out between Gin and me, narrowly missing both of us. He didn’t seem to notice. I watched him make for the door. Detective Haskins stood and hurried after him. Gin’s mouth hung open.

  “What in heck was that about?” she finally whispered.

  “I have no idea.”

  The music took over all available airwaves while the beer dripped silently into a puddle on the floor.

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Gin and I didn’t end up dancing again at Bs & Bs. Edwin leaving so abruptly had been a shock to her, I think. Me, I was curious about why Haskins was interested enough in my dad’s accountant to follow him out. I doubted if he’d tell me. We finished our beer and enjoyed the music, but didn’t talk much more, either, since it was too loud to conduct a reasonable conversation.

  “I’m going to head home,” I said when one song ended. “You?”

  She nodded and followed me to the bar, where we said goodnight to Tim. Outside, Gin said, “Do you think that other guy you saw was Edwin’s brother?”

  “I don’t know. Edwin sure acted like something was up. Maybe he didn’t know the brother was in town, or hadn’t seen him in a while.”

  “The detective went out right after him.”

  “I noticed.” I yawned. “Sorry. I’m beat.”

  “Me, too. Call me when you get home, all right?” She held her thumb and pinkie up to her ear.

  “Will do. Or you. Whoever’s first.” It seemed the prudent thing to do with a murderer at large.

  “Yep. See you in the morning.”

  We exchanged a hug and each walked home in our opposite directions. Our pact seemed a little foolish, since it was only ten o’clock and a number of tourists still strolled the sidewalks of town on this mild night, checking out storefronts, grabbing a late ice cream, or inhaling some evening air. Mine was the furthest thing from a lonely, dark, scary night’s walk, since it was only four stores away.

  I fully intended to dutifully call her and report in after my door was locked behind me. Except when I arrived, key at the ready, a folded piece of paper extended from the slit between the door and the frame. Who would leave me a note instead of texting me? And if it was store business, they would leave a message at the bike shop, not back here at my personal residence. Wouldn’t they?

  A chill set in and unsteadied me. The night instantly seemed darker, more full of creepy, spooky noises. And I instantly was completely alone in a scary scenario. I’d found Jake’s body only yards from here. Was I to be the next victim? A note stuck in a door was the kind of thing that happened in mystery novels. The protagonist gets a threatening note, warning her off the case—or else. Huh. Was I the protagonist in this story? The whole book group was looking into the murder, not only me. I silently scolded myself. I guess I’d see what the message actually said before I jumped to any more conclusions.

  I again fished in my pocket for a tissue and used it to extract the paper. I gave a quick heart-pounding glance around, then unlocked my door and hurried inside, turning the deadbolt until I heard its reassuring thunk.

  I switched on the lights, laid the note on the kitchen table, and nudged the fold open with a pen. I gasped and stepped back, my hand coming to my mouth in an involuntary move.

  STAY OUT OF WHAT ISN’T YOUR BUSINESS

  OR ELSE

  The note was typed in italicized all caps on regular-sized white paper. It must have been printed from a computer. But who was threatening me? And when did they leave it? No, I knew when. Sometime between seven and now. It would be easy to discern when I wasn’t home. All they’d have to do would be watch Main Street. Or watch my door. This wasn’t fiction. This was real.

  My phone trilled with a call. I’d been targeted with a note. Was this the author, calling to warn me in a different way? I glanced at the display, ready to learn the killer’s number. I laughed out loud, albeit a bit shakily, and connected the call.

  “Gin, I’m so glad it’s you.”

  “Why? We agreed we’d call each other when we got in, right?” She sounded suitably confused.

  I lowered my voice. “I got a note. In the door.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “A note threatening me away from the investigation. Exactly like in the books we read.”

  Her harsh intake of breath matched my own from a minute ago. “What did it say?”

  I read the words.

  “OMG,” Gin breathed. “You need to call that Haskins guy. Or Victoria. Or someone.”

  “I will. I was really careful and only touched it with a tissue.”

  “Ooh, smart move. How are you feeling? Are you scared? Do you want me to come over?”

  “I’m okay. You know, I’ve always felt safe here in Westham. I walk around at night, I live alone. I mean, I lock my door when I go out, but half the time it’s wide open when I’m inside.” I didn’t really live alone, of course. I gazed at Belle’s cage. I’d put her in and covered her home for the night before I went out, so she knew it was sleeping time and hadn’t woken to h
ear our conversation. My side of it, anyway.

  “I hear you,” she said. “I feel the same way.”

  “I didn’t even worry after I found Jake dead on the path. But now? I’m kind of terrified.” But was I scared enough to want her to come and keep me company? Babysit me? No. “I’ll be fine alone, though. And I’m going to call in the note as soon as we get off the phone.”

  “Okay, if you promise.”

  “I do.” I wasn’t messing around with a threat. Taking it straight to the authorities was the only way to go.

  “I’ll sleep with my phone next to my bed and I’ll keep the sound turned up. You need me in the night, you ring.”

  “Will do, Gin. Thanks. You rock.”

  After our call ended, I debated only a moment. Victoria or Haskins? The note had to be about the murder investigation, so I went looking for the detective’s card. Good thing I’d retrieved it from my back pocket that day he’d given it to me and slid it under H in my business card holder. I hit the number. He’d said to contact him without hesitation, and I was going to go ahead and interpret that as meaning at any time of the day or night. I definitely didn’t want to ever get another ominous note stuck in my door.

  “So pick up already,” I muttered, drumming my fingers on the table next to the note.

  When he finally answered, he was both terse and so soft-spoken I could hardly hear him. “Haskins. What is it, Ms. Almeida?”

  Whoa. Down, boy. “A threatening note was stuck in the door of my house when I got home from the bakery tonight. You told me to contact you without hesitation. So I did. I mean, I am.”

  He didn’t respond. After maybe twenty seconds I heard voices through the phone, the crackle of static, the thunk of a car door closing. I waited. Maybe he’d been able to track the other Tattoo Man. Maybe he was on a bust, or whatever they called them in real life. Or a stakeout. Or a different case entirely.

  “Mac, do you feel safe where you are?” When the detective finally spoke, he kept his voice low.

  Did I? His question echoed the dispatcher’s from when I’d called about Jake. I thought for only a moment, then answered honestly. “Yes.” I didn’t think he’d ever called me by my first name before, so this must be serious.

  “Good. I need you to use a handkerchief or something to pick up the note with. Put the note into a new sealable bag. Someone will get it tomorrow. Make sure your doors and windows are locked.”

  “I will. Should I bring the bag to my shop? I’ll be in by nine.”

  “Yes. Gotta go.” He disconnected.

  I virtually patted myself on the back for doing the right thing by holding the note with a tissue. After it was secured in the clear bag, I went around to my super energy-efficient windows and locked the latches. At this time of year I usually kept one or more open at the top, because I liked sleeping in cool temperatures. For now I made sure no openings remained on the ground floor, and followed up by closing all the blinds, too. The transom-type clerestory window in the loft could stay open. It was too high and too narrow for a person to ever climb through, anyway.

  I marveled at how I hadn’t heard a peep from Belle during all that talking. African Greys needed a lot of sleep, and she rarely stirred once she’d entered dreamland. Good. I didn’t want her to learn phrases like “dead on the path” and “threatening note.”

  The threatening note someone had brazenly left in my door. Or was it a brazen move? My house faced back toward the marsh and the coast, and my tiny backyard was rimmed with Rosa Rugosa. My neighbor on one side was the path to the Shining Sea trail, and on the other it was the yard behind Tulia’s. Anybody could have darted back here and stuck a piece of paper in the door without being seen, especially after dark.

  I wiped down the surfaces in the kitchen and bathroom, not that they needed it. I wasn’t sure I’d be able to sleep, and I was pretty sure I wouldn’t find a murder mystery comforting reading tonight, cozy notwithstanding. I poured half a glass of port and moseyed around my house, which didn’t take long. Everything was already tidy and in its place. Sinking down on the couch, I checked the group text again. Darn. A couple of messages but nothing really new.

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  It was Gin’s turn to be late for our walk the next morning. I stretched my hamstrings in front of her candy store, admiring the sunlight prancing through the fresh tulip-tree leaves above even as I yawned. My sleep had not been a restful one. I’d turned over as many times as my mind had, considering possibilities for Jake’s killer, thinking about Edwin and the other tattooed man, picking up and tossing down all the bits in the group text, and worrying about who had authored my note of warning.

  “Hurry up, Gin,” I said to her store front. I wanted to get walking and, more important, talking.

  “I’m here, already,” she said, hurrying around the side of the building, her hands securing her hair into a knot on top of her head.

  I laughed. “Sorry about that. One of the perils of living alone is that I get used to talking to myself. Ready to roll?”

  She nodded and we headed out.

  “Sorry I’m late. No excuse, really. Well, okay, I slept in. So shoot me!” She aimed a smile at me but didn’t break her stride. “What did the police say about your note?”

  “Haskins was kind of distracted when I called. He told me to put the note in a bag, and to lock my doors. Done, and done.” I patted the pocket holding my house key.

  “Is being threatened going to stop you from nosing around about Jake’s murder?” she asked. “Because we don’t have to, you know. We can tell the group to forget about it.”

  I glanced at her face, which showed new worry lines around her mouth. “I don’t plan to stop. But nobody else has to be involved, you know, especially not you. Really. I’m not worried about the “or else” part of the threat. That doesn’t mean that others aren’t concerned for their own safety. I understand that completely.”

  “Hey,” Gin said as we swung onto the trail from the access path. “If you’re in, I’m in. We’ll just be careful, right?”

  “Right. And turn any information we learn directly over to the detective.” I snapped my fingers. “Remind me when we’re done, and I’ll add his cell number to the group message.”

  “Good idea. And speaking of the group, I was a little late because I was adding something new I learned about Wes, my lodger.”

  New information could only round out the picture. “What is it?”

  “I happened to casually bring up Tuesday afternoon. I asked him if he’d gotten a chance to visit the photography exhibit at the Cape Museum of Fine Arts, because that was its last day and he’d said he was interested.”

  “And?”

  “The guy said he’d taken himself for a long walk, instead. On the Shining Sea trail, Mac.”

  “Okay. That’s information. And unless he can find someone who saw him on the trail, he doesn’t have an alibi for the murder, is that what you’re saying?”

  Gin nodded. “Because that’s where Jake was killed.”

  We passed over the marshy area bridge, waving in return to a group of white-haired power walkers we often saw.

  “What about last evening? Do you know where he was while we were at the bakery?” I asked.

  “He said he had dinner in Falmouth with old friends. So he could be lying, or could have left early and stuck that note in your door.”

  I faced her for a moment. “Isn’t the bigger problem figuring out why in the world he would murder Jake?”

  “Yes, that is a tiny problem. Maybe Jake did something nasty to him when they were kids and Wes has never forgiven him. He could have stolen money from him.”

  “Or hurt his sister,” I added. “Maybe. Too bad we don’t have time to go investigate in Providence.”

  “I know. Who else do we have?”

  “I’m sure the police will want to know where Derrick was last evening, but that won’t be hard. He’ll have been with Cokey.” I crossed my fingers surreptitiously
. He better have been. “And then we have Suzanne. Did you see her at Bs & Bs last night?”

  Gin nodded. “But only for part of the time. What would be her motive for murder?”

  I hunched my shoulders and let them drop. “That’s the sticky part of all this. Except for Derrick, we don’t know why anyone would want Jake dead.”

  “That’s sticky, all right.”

  We strode in silence for a couple of minutes until we reached the branch-off to the point. “Shall we?” I gestured toward the point extension.

  “Absolutely. And this reminds me of Katherine Deloit. That’s where we talked to her. Did you see that Norland learned where she’s staying?”

  “She’s in that Victorian B&B in Falmouth. He said he was going to go poke around, find out where she was on Tuesday.” I inhaled the briny air. Just the smell of it made me feel healthier. “I guess I should tell the gang about my note, so people can be looking into alibis for Friday night between seven and ten.”

  “We don’t know why Ms. Deloit would kill Jake either, do we?” Gin asked.

  I let a sigh float onto the wind. “No. My mom befriended her yesterday. They came into the shop and then were going off so my mother could read and interpret Katherine’s chart.”

  “Make sure you ask Astra if she noticed a tendency toward violence in it.” Gin was much more a believer in astrology than I was.

  I agreed and challenged her to race-walk to the point again. We didn’t speak until we stretched, breathless, at the lookout. A windsurfer rode the waves wearing a black wet suit, her arms pulling on the arched green-and-white sail full of wind.

  “That sport is not for me,” I said, shuddering. “Just imagine what could go wrong.”

  “You could imagine the speed and thrill involved, too. Not that I would attempt it, mind you.” Gin raised her eyebrows. “So what about that mystery girl you and Zane saw?” She kicked her foot back and grabbed it, pulling it up and back to stretch her quads on that side. “You know, the one who was happy while Jake was alive and sad after he was killed.”