Murder on Cape Cod Read online

  “Earth to Mac.” Zane waved a hand in front of my face.

  “Oops. Brain wander.” I laughed and sipped my beer. “So you haven’t seen any other strangers around town?”

  He frowned. “Lots, of course. Some actually interested in locally distilled beverages. Nobody looking like they just killed Jake.” He tapped his bottle. “Not that I would know what that looks like, of course. But there was a girl who wandered in.”

  “A kid in a liquor store?”

  “Sorry. Not a kid, a young woman. She wanted directions, but she looked lost in another kind of way, you know? Like emotionally lost or something.”

  “Light hair? Turquoise cross bag?”

  “Sounds like you saw her, too.”

  “She walked by on the sidewalk while I was out here having lunch. I thought she’d been crying.” My phone vibrated on the table where I’d set it. I checked it to see a text from Tim. “Excuse me a sec.” I drew the phone onto my lap to read the message. Rats. He wanted me to come over for dinner, which I couldn’t do tonight. I texted back that I had book group and wouldn’t be home until nine or so, but I ended it with Xs and Os to soften my words. I looked up at Zane again.

  “Have you seen Derrick anywhere?” I asked. “He didn’t come to work today and isn’t returning my texts.”

  “That’s odd. Isn’t it?”

  “Of course it is. He’s usually pretty reliable.” Or was he? Since he’d come back from his two-year retreat in the Swiss monastery, Cokey in hand, he’d been a little flaky. Derrick was my big brother, but I often felt the older, more responsible one.

  Zane drained his beer and stood. “Off I go. See you in a couple of hours.”

  “Thanks for the drink, my friend. Keep your eyes open.”

  He gave me a thumbs-up and sauntered away, leaving the rest of the six-pack on the table.

  “Hey, take your beers,” I called after him.

  “Save them for next time.” He waved.

  I could do that, or I could bring them tonight instead. I took the beer inside, locking the back door once I was in. After I completed my shop-closing checklist, I locked up the front and took the beer to my house.

  * * *

  Except I didn’t go home and relax. I had to find out where my brother was. If he was at home, he’d return my calls and texts, so I didn’t head for his lighthouse.

  I stuck the beer in the fridge, gave Belle a few grapes in a bowl and a promise, and hurried down the road to the parsonage right beyond my father’s church. I heard happy-girl squeals from the backyard, so I headed around the side of the shingled Greek revival house. Pa was pushing four-year-old Cokey in the rope swing hanging from a big old oak tree. It was a newer version of the same swing I’d played on for many happy hours as a kid. Cokey loved hanging out with my parents when Derrick was working or out socializing, and the love was mutual.

  “Titi Mac,” Cokey called, using her version of the Kriolu word for auntie, pronounced tee-tee. “Come and puth me,” with “push” coming out in her trademark lisp. Her blond angel curls flew every which way in their ponytail as she swung. The late afternoon sunlight shining through the tree cast dappled shadows on her yellow t-shirt and shorts.

  “I’d love to. How’s my favorite niece?”

  “Good.” She was way too focused on the fun of pumping her legs, taking her higher and higher, to give much more of an answer than that.

  I gave the tiny human pendulum a wide berth. “Hi, Pa.” I kissed my dad’s cheek and stood next to him behind the swing.

  “Hey, sweetie.” He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. He’d been six feet tall in his prime, but had lost an inch or two with aging. His kinky black hair was half silver but he wore it touching his collar as he always had. His arm was still strong from splitting wood for the winter wood stove and his hug provided comfort. “You’re welcome to take over grandpop duty here.”

  “Sure, but don’t go anywhere.” I pushed Cokey next time she swung back, but as she went forward and up, I murmured, “Where in heck is Derrie?” I rarely called my brother by my childhood name for him anymore.

  He frowned as he turned to face the back of the property, which was rimmed with high grasses and reeds that bordered the salt marsh behind. “I don’t know. He left her with us early this morning and said he’d be back tonight. You know we love having Cokey, but your brother usually checks in a few times during the day. He’d better keep his word tonight or he’s going to have one upset little girl.”

  Derrick had had a few rocky years in high school and my father—well, our father—Pa and my mom had raised Derrick since he was a toddler and he was the only dad Derrick had ever known. Anyway, Pa had struggled to maintain a loving but firm discipline with him. I could hear some of that firmness in his voice now. But Derrick was in bigger trouble than with Pa if he didn’t appear soon.

  “He never came to work at the shop today,” I told him. I wasn’t sure if I was more angry with my brother for dropping out of sight or more worried about where he was and if he was all right. What if the murderer had targeted Derrick next?

  Pa made a tsking sound.

  “I told you about the murder.” I spoke in a near whisper as I gave Cokey another boost.

  “And of course it was on the news, too. I’m so sorry you had to have that shocking experience, honey.”

  “I’m all right.” At least mostly all right. “What I didn’t tell you on the phone was that the knife Jake was stabbed with looked exactly like Derrick’s.”

  “What?” He whirled back to face me.

  I glanced at Cokey but she hadn’t heard. I pushed my hand down a couple of times to indicate he should speak softly. “And I’m sure at least one of the local police officers would have recognized it by now, too. You know, somebody who went fishing with him.”

  “Derrick wouldn’t . . .”

  “Of course not. But the detective on the case wants to talk with him and they can’t find him, either.”

  “I know. Lincoln called here today.”

  “You know Detective Haskins?” I watched Cokey pump her strong little legs.

  My father smiled. “Yes. He’s a good man. A very good man.”

  “Maybe Derrie had a job elsewhere on the Cape and is coming straight to our Cozy Capers meeting tonight. Maybe he simply forgot to tell me. Or you.” On the other hand, a murderer was out there. Someone who had stolen Derrick’s knife. Was my brother even safe?

  “Maybe.”

  A lean, athletic-looking man in his twenties rounded the corner of the house. His arms held an open laptop, arms so heavily tattooed I couldn’t see a square millimeter of plain skin. “Father Joe?” he called out, studying the display.

  “Who’s that? And Father Joe? Does he think you’re a priest or something?”

  “That’s Edwin. He’s the church’s new accountant. I’m over here,” Pa called in return. “You haven’t met him yet?”

  The dude finally looked up and steered in our direction.

  “I have not.” I was frankly curious. The name Edwin matched the brainy occupation. But the arms, the green do-rag, even the cocky saunter—those didn’t compute for me. Where had Pa found him? The clock on my musings ran out right about then, however.

  “Edwin, meet my daughter, Mackenzie. Mac, this is Edwin Germain. He’s a pretty serious cyclist.”

  I hoped Pa wasn’t trying to fix us up, with our mutual devotion to bicycles likely the only middle ground. For one thing, the guy had to be at least ten years younger than me, and for another, I already had a boyfriend. I extended my hand. Edwin shook it with a firm touch, but not that knuckle-breaking clench some men seem to feel obliged to use with women.

  “Glad to meet you,” I said. “You’re an accountant?”

  “Yes, ma’am, a CPA. I decided it was a more reliable occupation than working as a repo man. Safer, anyway.” The green in his do-rag picked up the green in his eyes but it contrasted with black hair that curled like mine out from under the scar
f.

  “I guess it would be.” I glanced at the laptop. “Sorry, did you two have business to discuss?”

  “Can it wait a few minutes, Edwin?” Pa asked.

  “Abo Joe, I’m hungry.” Cokey jumped off the swing. “Hi, Edwin.”

  “Hey, Miss Cokey.” Edwin held out his fist for a bump.

  “Then let’s eat. Edwin and I have to do a little work together, too.” Pa held out his hand for his granddaughter. “Does my seashell want a carrot or an apple?”

  Cokey giggled at her nickname. Coquille, her actual name, meant seashell in French. Derrick and Cokey’s mom had chosen to honor both the Cape and Derrick’s ex’s Gallic heritage in their choice of name for the girl.

  “I want apple with cheese, please,” she lisped. “Are you gonna have a snack, too, Titi Mac?”

  “No, I have to go, sweetie. You have fun with Abo.” I had to go look for her father.

  She held up her arms for a hug. “Okay. Bye.”

  I bent over and embraced her, inhaling the sweet sweaty scent of her hair. I straightened, looking at Pa. “Call me if . . .” I held my thumb and pinkie to my ear.

  “I will. You, too.”

  “Of course.” I watched the tall, the tiny, and the tattooed start back to the house. Cokey began to skip, and Reverend Joseph Almeida skipped right along with her. Edwin Germain, CPA, did not skip.

  Chapter Nine

  Flo lived just far enough away to make it too far to walk. I didn’t mind. Miss M, my convertible Miata, needed to be taken out for a spin, anyway. She was my one expensive indulgence. My house was ultra-small and super-efficient, and I didn’t care about fancy clothes—or shoes and handbags, God forbid. But this red two-seater roadster made me happy, and I was glad I’d let myself buy sporty Miss M when I got back from my travels a year ago.

  Before I aimed her at Flo’s house, I steered for the lighthouse. I tried the breathe-in-breathe-out technique I’d learned in a meditation class to calm my worry about Derrick. Or was it anger I was feeling? Follow the breath, be aware of my surroundings, let thoughts float away. Nah. That wasn’t working.

  Only a few minutes later I bumped out along the long approach road to the lighthouse at the end. Pulling Miss M to a stop, I gazed up a hundred feet at the tapering cylinder. The structure had formerly guided ships around the promontory and warned them off the rocks with its bright sweeping beam at the top. No lights shone through the arched windows in the apartment now, though, and Derrick’s car wasn’t parked in front of it. I swore and hit the steering wheel with my hand. I took a moment to e-mail Pa that Derrick wasn’t home.

  Turning around in the parking area, I drove with the top down, sea breeze be damned. Despite the salt-scented wind ruffling my hair, the drive wasn’t making me all that happy tonight. Maybe when I walked into Flo’s my brother would already be sitting with the group, soda in hand, but I wasn’t betting the shop on it. If he was there, I couldn’t decide if I was going to give him a big hug of relief or wring his stupid neck.

  I pulled over in back of the line of cars parked at the curb in front of the house Flo shared with her daughter Suzanne. I raised Miss M’s top before I locked the car. I knew from forgetting to do so in the past that I’d come out to damp seats if I didn’t. This way I also wasn’t tempting car thieves partial to convertibles. My heart fell as I walked past the line of cars. Derrick’s beat-up Civic was nowhere in sight.

  I hurried into the house. My brother could have gotten a ride with someone, or even taken a long walk to get here. But he wasn’t inside, either. I delivered Zane’s beers to the drinks table.

  “Is Derrick here, Flo?” I asked.

  She glanced around the group. “No, haven’t seen him.”

  I swore silently, but plastered a smile on my face and went around greeting people. I delivered a kiss on each cheek to Stephen. A stocky man not much taller than me, he was the Jeff to Zane’s taller, willowy Mutt. When I’d mentioned the comparison to them, I’d gotten puzzled looks. I can’t help it if I have a weakness for vintage comic strips. I waved to Tulia Peters and gave a mock salute to Norland, who returned it.

  I joined Gin where she was pouring a glass of Chardonnay for herself.

  “Any news?” I asked, filling a glass for myself.

  “Yes, but I’ll share it with everybody once we get started.”

  “Sounds juicy.”

  “Maybe.” She shrugged but held her finger to her lips like she knew a secret she couldn’t tell.

  “You haven’t seen Derrick around anywhere, have you?”

  “Not today, no. Why?”

  “I’ll tell you later.” Or maybe I wouldn’t.

  The doorbell rang and Flo opened it to the delivery person. Soon we all sat with paper plates and slices of the best pizza south of Boston, short of homemade. Good thing nobody objected to having Italian pies two meetings in a row. Flo’s living room was lined with floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, as befit a librarian’s residence. An old-fashioned oval braided rug filled the center of the room, and the easy chairs and couch were upholstered in slipcovers. Flo preferred to spend her disposable income on books, not home furnishings. Managing a public library wasn’t exactly a get-rich-quick scheme.

  I swallowed a bite of my mushroom-goat cheese slice, turning to Norland on my right. I asked him how he was.

  “Getting along.” He nodded with a satisfied look on his lined face. “Loving retirement, although for some reason I’m busier now than when I was working. I volunteer here and there, got my twice-weekly golf games with the boys, babysit the grands after school most days, lead Men’s Bible Breakfast on Mondays, and more. I don’t even know where the time goes.”

  His wife had died the year before, and he’d initially retired to take care of her during her final illness. We’d all been a little concerned about how he’d do on his own, but he seemed to be thriving.

  “Does having a homicide in town make you wish you were back on the force?”

  He scrutinized me for a beat, then burst out laughing. “Are you kidding, Mac? Having to coordinate all the officers and being told what to do by statie detectives? Fielding calls from the public who swear they saw a suspicious character lurking when all it was was their regular garbage man?” He shook his head, his smile wide in his broad face. “No way. Makes me even gladder I’m out of it.”

  “But you came tonight.” I took a sip of wine and continued. “You know Flo wants to talk about the crime. She’s got some harebrained idea we can solve it ourselves.”

  “As long as any information shared here is also funneled to the detective on the case, it can’t hurt to compare notes,” Norland said.

  We sat chatting a while longer, the delectable smells of baked crust, herbed tomato sauce, and melted cheese mixing with the tangy salty ones of olives and pepperoni.

  A few minutes later Flo collected our plates and came back with a yellow legal pad and a pen. “Shall we get started? I think if each of us shares any suspicious behavior we’ve seen around town, we might come up with some, well, suspects in Jake’s murder.”

  “Wait a second.” Tulia held up a hand. “Before we get to that, how you doing, Mac? Finding a body must have been quite a shock.” She was a hardy, no-nonsense native with ruddy cheeks and weathered hands. She ran the lobster shack, but had done her share of the lobstering itself on their boat alongside her husband in all kinds of weather.

  “Thanks for asking, Tulia. I’m all right. I don’t like all the attention, or the idea that whoever killed Jake is out wandering around somewhere, but I’m doing okay.” I smiled at her.

  “Good,” she replied “Well, as for me, I haven’t seen nothing goofy going on.” She shrugged.

  “What about Derrick?” Norland glanced at me, a smear of pizza sauce now adorning his white polo shirt. “Does he know about our meeting?”

  I scrunched up my nose. “I don’t know where he is. He hasn’t answered my texts. My parents have Cokey with them and they haven’t heard from him, either. I would
n’t hold my breath waiting.”

  Norland nodded slowly, gazing at me. I thought I saw sympathy in his eyes. Did he know about the knife? He might, with his police past. “I’ll let you know if I see him around,” he told me.

  “I’d appreciate that.”

  “So.” Flo poised the pen above the pad of paper. “Anything odd going on?”

  “I have a man staying in my Airbnb,” Gin said. “He’s from New York City, and he’s interested in buying a house on this part of the Cape.”

  “And that’s suspicious how?” Stephen asked.

  Gin shrugged. “It’s probably not. But he’s from off Cape and he’s not a tourist. Seems to be loaded, too. Wears all kind of fancy gold jewelry and expensive clothes. And he arrived last weekend, so he was here on Tuesday.”

  “I met him this morning,” I said. “He came into the shop looking for properties for sale. Expensive casual clothes, lots of gold.”

  “Name?” Flo asked.

  “Wesley Farnham,” Gin replied.

  I nodded. “Right. Same guy. But he also asked me where he could find Jake, except he called him Jacob.”

  “Really?” Tulia asked. “That’s gotta be important.”

  “I think so, too,” I said. “He mentioned he knew him from when they both were younger near Providence.”

  Norland whistled. “Did you tell him about the body?”

  “I said I didn’t know where he could find Jake. Which is the truth.”

  “Interesting,” Gin said. “He didn’t ask me about Jake.”

  “Why wouldn’t he have known the news, though?” Zane asked. “Between TV, radio, papers, and online, wouldn’t he have heard about the murder?”

  “I wondered that, too.” I waited to see if Gin had an answer.

  She frowned. “I don’t provide television in the rooms. Some of my guests think that’s a plus. And he went out early this morning somewhere, so maybe he was out of touch. Who knows?”

  Flo finished scribbling notes on Wesley Farnham. “Good. What else?” She gazed around the circle.