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  As I watched, Josie filled two glasses, fished a few ice cubes out of the metal tray she retrieved from the tiny freezer shelf in the fridge, and set them on the table.

  "Thanks," I said, taking a sip.

  "Sure."

  "Out of curiosity, what are you studying?"

  "Marine biology and environmental science," she told me.

  "What made you decide to work on the island for the summer?"

  "It's good money. Plus, I like the sea. And it's a good opportunity to see how the fishery really works."

  "Does Mac know what you're studying?"

  She grinned. "I didn't mention it to him, no; I don't think he's too pro-conservation. I just told him I'm a hard worker. I don't think he had too many other applications for the job. He's not the friendliest lobsterman on the island."

  "It's hard work."

  "It is," she said. "But it keeps me fit. I'm on the crew team during the school year, so the work suits me."

  "It sounds like you like it."

  "I do," she said, taking a sip of her water. "I'm hoping the boat will be fixed up and we can be back out tomorrow. I love the water, and I love the rhythm of it. Mac isn't a big talker, so we do the work and keep the chat to a minimum."

  "Were you around when the... uh, incident happened?"

  "What? With Earl's boat?" She shook her head. "I'd already gone home for the night. I don't know what the man was thinking. Probably had too many Pabst Blue Ribbons."

  "Did he ever drink while you were out with him?"

  She hesitated, then nodded. "He thought I didn't see. Kept it in a thermos. But I did." She took another sip of water. "I kept a close eye on him when he was at the helm."

  "I'll bet," I said. "I hate to ask, but... do you know if he was doing anything he shouldn't have been doing?"

  She bit her lip. "Not while I was on board," she said. "But he went out without me sometimes. I saw him a few times."

  "Was anyone with him?"

  She nodded.

  "Who?"

  "I don't know," she said. "He went out alone when he went, but once I saw him out right around sunset with someone else on the boat. I asked him about it, but he didn't say who it was. They were headed away from the mainland."

  "Fishing?"

  "Maybe," she said.

  "Or something else?"

  "The only thing I ever saw him do was fish," she said.

  "I understand," I told her. "The morning I found Chelsea... were you with Mac down at the co-op?"

  "I was," she said. "But I met him at six and was home by seven. Hard to work when there's no boat."

  "Was Mac there when you left?"

  "He wasn't," she said. "He said something about sticking an oar in where it doesn't belong and stormed off into the woods. It's a good thing Earl's boat was in dry dock after being rammed or I think Mac might have gone after it again."

  "Bad blood there?"

  "I don't know why, but Mac's got it in for Earl. Anyway, Tom was busy getting the remaining boats to go search for the ones whose lines were cut. I offered to help, but they had more than enough people already, so I came home."

  "Did you see or talk to Mac at all later that morning?"

  Josie shook her head. "I didn't see him until late afternoon, when I went down to the co-op to see what was going on." She grimaced. "He was about half a case down by then and not too coherent."

  "Do you know if he met Chelsea at all? The woman who was going to be on the boat?"

  She shook her head. "He knew what she looked like, though. Everyone did. It was all on the radio that the investigator was a young woman with black hair. They were talking about being surprised she was so young."

  "They thought she was an investigator? I heard she was just an observer."

  Josie rolled her eyes. "Nobody believed that. There've been too many rumors about illegal fishing on Cranberry Island lately. Even folks on the mainland are talking about it. Tom's been trying to keep things on the down-low, but after what happened yesterday..." She ran a hand through her dark hair and shook her head. "I wish him luck."

  "Was there a lot of talk about her, then?"

  "Of course there was," she said. "What else is there to do? But it was mainly speculation."

  "Anyone threaten her?"

  She shrugged. "Oh, I heard a bit of talk, but I didn't take it too seriously.

  "Who threatened her, if you remember?"

  "Well, Mac, of course. But he was always threatening people. Mainly Earl.” She turned her glass around on the table, making a wet ring I had an urge to wipe up. "I don't know what was up between them. For all they hated each other, I saw them talking with their heads down more than once, like they were best friends or something."

  "What were they talking about?" I asked.

  "Who knows? I was too far away to hear. They've both lived on this island most of their lives. They've got that in common, at least."

  I leaned forward. "It may seem like a direct question, but... do you think Mac would have been capable of killing Chelsea?"

  She leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms over the University of Maine logo. "Capable?" She considered the question for a moment before answering. "I don't know if he's capable of it. But he's not a soft man. And he hates regulation, and she certainly was linked with regulation."

  "Is it possible he was afraid she might find something if she went out on his boat?"

  She turned her glass around some more as she thought about it. "I don't know," she said finally. "I never saw anything out of place, although he kept some compartments locked when I was on board. Still," she added, glancing up at me, "it is an odd coincidence that half the fleet should be cut loose the night before the observer was scheduled to be on board one of them."

  "And a bigger coincidence that Mac's boat is still missing," I pointed out.

  "That fact hadn't escaped me. Maybe he did cut them all loose. Even his own."

  "Or else he hid his away and cut the others as a cover story," I suggested. "The question is—and I know this is all speculation—if he did, why?"

  "Your guess is as good as mine," Josie said. "All I know is, I hope he's back in business soon or I'm going to have to find a job on the island."

  "If you need something to tide you over, I could always do with some help at the inn. You seem smart and capable."

  "Thanks," she said, taking another swig of water. "If we're not up and running in the next day or two, I might take you up on it. What kind of work?"

  "How are you with computers and marketing?" I asked.

  "I know a little bit about it," she said. "My last summer job was at a social media marketing agency."

  "Really?"

  "Really," she said. "I'm not quite an expert, but I learned a few things that might help."

  "No offense, but I'm kind of hoping Mac doesn't find his boat," I said half-jokingly. "I could use you!"

  "Well, even if he does find it, I've got a few hours off from time to time. Want me to stop by to talk to you about it sometime?"

  "That would be great," I said, digging in my wallet for a card. "Anytime. And thanks so much for talking to me," I said as we both stood up. "If there's anything at all you can think of about Mac or Chelsea or anything, please let me know."

  "I'm curious: Does your interest have to do with the unfortunate article in the Daily Mail, or is it something else?" Josie asked as I took another sip of water.

  "I'm upset about the article, of course," I said, "but I'm more upset that someone ended a young woman's life. And I'd like to make sure it doesn't happen again." I put my glass in the sink. "I'd tell you to be careful, but I can tell you know how to take care of yourself."

  "I'm always careful," she confirmed. "And I appreciate your concern." As she walked me to the door, she stopped suddenly. "Wait," she said.

  I turned. "What?"

  "I just remembered something," she said. "He made some comment to Earl about how there was originally going to be a snow day, but
the weather report changed."

  "Snow day?" I asked. "It's a little late in the year for that, even in Maine."

  "I know," she said. "I don't know if it means anything. I just thought it was weird. Anyway, I may be by tomorrow, if that works for you."

  "That would be great," I said. "Hope to see you then." I reached for the doorknob, then paused. "Want me to go out the back door in case someone sees me?"

  "There is no back door," she pointed out. "Besides, now that you're interviewing me for a job, I've got a cover story."

  "Right," I said. "Thanks again. I hope to see you tomorrow! And if you remember anything else..."

  "I'll let you know," she said with a grin.

  On the way back to the inn, I swung by Eli and Claudette's house. Eli, as usual, was at work in the barn next to the house; I could hear the sound of power tools before I even crossed the boat-strewn meadow. I waved as I stepped into the barn; Eli was crouched at the front of the Lucky Lady, which was looking a lot more whole than the last time I'd seen her.

  "How goes it?" I asked as he powered down the sander and took off his goggles.

  "Almost done with this girl," he said, patting the boat's hull.

  "Good thing, since from what I hear, you're going to have a lot more customers soon."

  "True," he said.

  "How's Claudette?"

  He grimaced. "The test results are back in."

  "And?"

  "They won't tell us until her appointment tomorrow," he said. "Which to my mind means there's something they'll have to tell us. Of course, I didn't say that to Claudie, but she knows, too."

  "I'm so sorry," I said.

  "I asked if she wanted anyone else to come, and she said no. Wants it to be just us."

  "I understand… I’m here if you need me, though. And even if they did find something, maybe it's not as bad as you're thinking."

  "Maybe," he said dolefully.

  "You know I'm happy to go with you if you need a second pair of ears, or even just moral support."

  "I know," he said, "but Claudie doesn't want it."

  "I understand," I told him. "But I'm here if you need me."

  "Thanks," he said. "Saw what ended up in the Daily Mail," he continued, changing the subject. "Heard from Adam yet?"

  "No, but I got an earful from Gwen. I must not have hung up when I left Gertrude a message, and she listened to the conversation we had at the store."

  "At least she's still speaking with you, I suppose," said Eli. "The faster they find that killer, the faster this will all blow over."

  "I know," I said. "I'd also like to make sure nobody else dies."

  "There is that," he agreed.

  "You must have talked to some of the lobstermen," I said. "Any interesting rumors to report?"

  He looked at me for a long moment, then said, "Someone's up to something squirrelly."

  "What do you mean?"

  "There's something most everyone knows but no one's talking about. I think some of 'em are in the dark, but I get the feelin' not everyone is."

  "Tom Lockhart, too?" I asked.

  "He's tryin' to keep the Marine Patrol out of things, that's for sure. I don't know if that means he's in on whatever they're up to, or he's just tryin' to protect the island."

  "Who do you think is involved in whatever's going on?"

  He looked around, as if someone might be eavesdropping. "I don't like to talk out of school."

  "I know," I said. "I won't tell anyone you said anything to me."

  "Won't matter. Everyone knows we're friends." He looked worried. "All right. Mac and Earl are up to something. I'm sure of it."

  "I heard something about that," I said.

  "And I hate to say it... but Adam's been shiftylike lately. Goin' out extra time. Big hauls, too... people are talkin'."

  "You mentioned that," I said. "What do you think?"

  "I don't know," he said. "But I do think Earl might be fishing hidden traps."

  "Because of the compartment you found?" I asked.

  He nodded.

  "But why would he and Mac be in on it? And if they were, why would Mac accuse Earl of snitching on him?"

  "Makes no sense to me either," he said. "But somethin's goin' on."

  "It takes two people to run a lobster boat, doesn't it?"

  "Ayuh."

  "Maybe they were fishing illegally together? Taking out the boat at night to pull traps?"

  "It's possible," Eli said. "But like you said, why would Earl snitch?"

  "I don't know," I said. "Maybe he didn't. Maybe Mac just thought he did. Maybe he just drank too much and got mad."

  "That has been known to happen," he said. "From what I hear, he's been hittin' the bottle a bit much lately."

  "Or the can," I said, thinking of the case of PBR he had picked up at the store. "By the way, have you had any weird things happen lately?"

  "Weird? Like what?"

  I told him what I'd found on my doorstep the day before.

  "Nothin' like that here," he said. "Your kitties okay?"

  "So far," I told him. "I've been extra-careful to keep them in. I don't know why anyone would threaten them, though."

  "I think the threat was for you, my dear. You do tend to stick your nose into things, if you don't mind my sayin'," he pointed out. "Particularly when your guests are involved."

  "Someone's trying to warn me off," I said.

  "Not workin', is it?" he pointed out.

  "Not really," I said.

  "You're like a terrier with a bone," he said. "You don't give up."

  "No," I said.

  "By the way, who was in that pretty yacht that pulled up outside the inn?"

  "You saw it?"

  "I did. I heard from Charlene that John told her it belonged to one of those artists, but I can't see anything down at the Guild makin' enough to pay for that kind of boat."

  "It's the parents'," I clarified. "The parents of one of the artists is funding most of the Guild. After what happened to the observer, they decided the inn wasn't a safe place for their little boy, so they're renting him a house on the island, instead."

  "How old is this artist?" he asked.

  "Midtwenties, I think."

  He took off his cap and shook his head. "I'd been earnin' a livin' buildin' boats for a decade by the time I hit twenty-five," he said. "Can't imagine my parents sweepin' in and runnin' my life at that age."

  I'd had the same thought. "He did look rather embarrassed," I said.

  "He should've told 'em to go take a flyin' leap, if you want my opinion."

  "They were paying the bill, so I don't think he could," I said. "I don't think his art is particularly profitable."

  "Which art is it?" he asked.

  "The clay sea creatures. The artist is Chad Berman."

  "You mean those black globs?" He snorted. "My grandson made a pot in preschool that looked better than those."

  "I'm taking a class from Chad," I said.

  "Learnin' to make globs?"

  "We haven't gotten that far yet. But I'm not blown away by his work, either," I admitted.

  "They'd make good weights for lobster pots," he mused. "Might scare off the lobsters, though."

  "Oh, they're not that bad!"

  He gave me a look.

  "Well, maybe they are."

  "Mmm," he said. "Well, they're somethin'." As he spoke, there was the sound of a door opening. A moment later, Claudette's weak voice drifted over from the house. "Eli?"

  He just about dropped the sander and sprinted toward the house. "I'm comin', sweetheart! What's wrong?"

  "I got a bad feeling about Muffin and Pudge," she said. Her two goats were the apples of her eye, even if they were the bane of the local gardeners' existence. "Can you go check on them?"

  Eli looked at me.

  "Where are they?" I asked him.

  "Down in the meadow before Blueberry Hill," he said.

  "On my way home, then," I said.

  "Ayuh."
He nodded.

  "I'll check on them and move them if I need to," I said. "Let me know about Claudette, okay? No matter what the news is."

  "I will," he said, brushing sawdust off his flannel shirt. "I'm going to go check on Claudie. Thanks for lookin' in on the goats."

  "Anytime," I said. "I mean it."

  16

  Muffin and Pudge were, in fact, on Blueberry Hill, and it was a good thing I went to check on them. The goats, being intelligent creatures, had learned how to work in tandem to relocate the tire that served as their anchor.

  Today, I could track their progress across the field. A zigzag strip of denuded meadow lay behind the goats, who had munched their way over the hill and were now making a beeline for my friend Emmeline's prize petunias.

  I hurried ahead of them to Emmeline's door and knocked. She answered almost immediately, and as she opened the door, the front porch filled with the delicious smell of baking. Her sharp eyes were merry. "Natalie! How are you? Nice of you to visit... I was just about to pull a cake out of the oven."

  "Sorry to interrupt," I said, noting the potholders on her hands, "but Muffin and Pudge have scented your petunias, and if we don't do something fast, you're going to have bare window boxes."

  "Oh, dear," Emmeline said, pursing her lips and looking past me to the two goats, who were straining at their chains and moving the tire an inch at a time. "I love Claudette, but her goats are a menace. What do we do?"

  "If the boxes are mobile, I'd move them out of harm's way," I suggested. "I can move the goats, but as you can tell, they are more than capable of moving themselves."

  Emmeline sighed. "Claudette just doesn't seem to be out taking care of them as much lately. In fact, I haven't seen her much at all."

  "I think she may be under the weather," I said vaguely.

  Emmeline, as usual, missed nothing. "What do you mean, under the weather?" she asked, her bright, birdlike eyes fixing on me. "Do you know something?"

  "No," I lied. "I just haven't seen her as much, and Eli says she's been resting more lately."

  "Hmph," she said, clearly not believing me. "Well, I can tell you're not going to spill the beans, so I'm going to have to bring over some cake this evening and pry it out of her. In the meantime, let me get the cake out of the oven and then we'll move those boxes before the goats turn them into dessert."