Part 13 (2/2)
”Just shut up, Sonny. I'm here now and I've given up my whole life to be here.”
”I get it. I get that you want to sell the island and hightail it out of here back to your New York City life-”
”What? Sell the island?” Page was in the doorway, lip quivering. Neither of us had heard her open the door. ”Grandma said to call you for dinner.” Then she turned and bolted down the back stairs.
”Now look what you've done!” Sonny started to go after her, but I grabbed his shoulder.
”You better tell Lieutenant Binder all of this,” I hissed. ”Because Etienne's already told him Ray Wilson approached you about selling the island.”
”What does Etienne have to do with this?”
”Ray talked to him about purchasing the island, too.”
”What? I never knew that.”
”Doesn't feel so good, does it-being kept in the dark about things that are important?”
Chapter 35.
Dinner was a quiet affair. Sonny's and my fight was the elephant in the room. No one wanted to talk about it, but no one wanted to talk about anything else, either. Page stared at her plate like she couldn't bear to look at me. I wanted to rea.s.sure her, but I didn't want to touch the topic of selling Morrow Island in front of my mother.
After about ten minutes of nothing but the sound of forks sc.r.a.ping across plates, casting around desperately for any neutral topic, I said, ”I ran into Quentin Tupper III at Gus's today.”
”That's nice, dear,” Mom said. ”His parents are lovely people.”
”He owns that new house on Westclaw Point, across from the island.” All four of them looked at me like, why was I bringing this up? Of course they knew about Tupper's house. I was the only one who didn't know about it, the one who'd been away, as Sonny had just reminded me. ”Where does his money come from, anyway? Family?”
”Oh, no. There are far too many Tuppers for him to have inherited a lot of money from family,” Mom answered. She was something of an expert on the topic of inheritance. The only reason our family had held onto Morrow Island was because Mom was the only child of an only child.
”Quentin Tupper invented some kind of window when he was in college,” Sonny said with the authority of one who knows. ”He hasn't had to work a day since. He gets paid a royalty for every one that's sold.”
Some kind of window? What kind could it be? I cast my mind over all the potential investments I'd looked at while I was working at the venture capital firm. Solar? Insulated? Self-cleaning?
”Isn't that nice,” Mom proclaimed. ”Imagine. Windows. What did you talk to him about, dear? Do you think you'll see him again? Maybe you'll be going out?”
Oh, great. I'd thought this was a neutral topic. I knew the reason for my mother's enthusiasm. Someone to go out with might keep me happy enough to stay in the harbor and run the clambake business. Of course, she didn't yet know there might soon be no clambake business for me to run.
”Mom, he's like fifty years old,” Livvie protested.
”I don't think he's that-” I started to say.
”I don't think Quentin Tupper, er, dates women,” Sonny interrupted.
Page got that about twenty seconds before Mom said, ”Oh.”
Funny, I hadn't felt that vibe at all.
With that, the subject of Quentin Tupper III was mercifully retired. We ate the rest of the meal in silence.
Livvie had saved some of the rhubarb and strawberries back from the jam-making session and baked one of her delicious rhubarb sour cream coffee cakes. It's delicious smell still lingered in the house, but no one had the heart for dessert. As soon as the meal was over, Sonny gathered up his little family and took them home.
I helped my mother with the dishes. She asked if I wanted to watch TV with her. The only set in the house was in the tiny sitting room off her bedroom.
I said, ”No thanks,” and went to my office. But there was nothing to do there. No clambake to run. We'd been closed for three days and wouldn't be open tomorrow. I expected I'd be hearing from Bob Ditzy in the morning.
On that depressing note, the walls began to close in. Even though I was tired, I had to get out of the house. I headed out for a drink.
Crowley's was an expensive tourist bar, but it masqueraded as a dive-to give visitors a sense they'd had a real Maine experience. It was cavernous, as you'd expect a wharf-side warehouse to be, with a big open ceiling, exposed beams, and rough planks on the floor. The place had a decent crowd-Thursday night building up to the weekend. No live music on a weeknight, but most of the tables were full.
Chris wasn't working as a bouncer. I admit I was disappointed. I'd come to the bar as much because I hoped he'd be there as for the drink. He'd heard all the details of my epic battles with Sonny. I needed to talk about this latest one, to unload. But no Chris. Plus, I worried about how his meeting with Binder had gone. I hoped he was okay.
Out of the corner of my eye I saw someone wave from the far end of the bar. Jamie. Jamie?
Even though Jamie and I were exactly the same age, for some reason, in my mind, he was still back in junior high, back in the years when we spent the most time together. It never occurred to me that I'd run into him in a bar. But why not? I squeezed through the crowd and climbed onto the stool next to him. I'm too short for barstools. My feet didn't reach the footrest and dangled on either side of me.
Jamie ordered me a mojito. ”Tough day?” he asked.
”You don't know the half of it. Or maybe you do.”
At least he had the grace to laugh.
”Seriously, can you work your magic and get Binder to let us open? I think the bank's going to call tomorrow and shut us down for good.”
”The lieutenant knows your situation,” Jamie said in a warning tone.
”So help me out. Is this case anywhere near being solved?”
”You tell me. You're the one playing detective.”
Okay. What the heck. ”I know Michaela called Ray the night of the murder and I know she left the Snuggles to meet him. I know the maid of honor called Tony and his bed wasn't slept in that night. I know Ray was a recovering alcoholic who hadn't had a drink in a long time, but he did that night. He was sick in Chris's cab, which is why Chris cleaned it. There was blood in his vomit.” I took a breath. ”How am I doing so far?”
Jamie raised his eyebrows. ”Not bad. I'm impressed.”
Why not go for broke? ”I know Ray had talked to Etienne about buying Morrow Island. I know the fire on the island was arson, though I can't for the life of me figure out what it has to do with us.” I didn't say anything about seeing Sarah's mother at Ray's funeral. I figured the cops might not know about that. I also didn't mention Ray's approach to Sonny. Etienne had told Binder about it, but I thought it was up to Sonny to come clean. I swiveled to face Jamie. ”So now, it's your turn. You tell me something.”
”Oh, no. That's not going to work.”
”C'mon, I know you're dying to.”
Jamie looked up at the ceiling like he was trying to figure out what was safe to tell me. I was surprised he even considered it, but he was a few drinks ahead of me. ”Okay. How about this? Ray Wilson had major drugs in his system when he died. Someone drugged him.”
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