Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Read online

  I put the yogurt and chicken into a blender and pulsed it a few times, then poured the resultant sludge into a bowl and grabbed a spoon. I gave Biscuit a little on a saucer—no need to make her jealous—and then offered the spoon to the weak kitten.

  For several seconds, she just sniffed at it, and I was afraid it was going to go nowhere. But then her little pink tongue came out and she lapped up the soupy liquid. I refilled the spoon; she emptied it four times before she turned her head away. I tucked her in to be sure she was warm, then wrapped the bowl in cling film and tucked it into the fridge. I’d have to get rid of it before the health inspector returned, I thought to myself, and glanced back at Biscuit and Smudge. I’d have to relocate them, too... but not right now.

  As both cats settled in for a snooze—Smudge in her bed, Biscuit in a puddle of sunlight beneath her—I surveyed the contents of my pantry. I knew I had fresh blueberries in the fridge... and that no coffee cake would come close to my favorite. I was in the mood for cobbler, now that I thought of it, but muffins would be more easily eaten. What about Blueberry Cobbler Muffins? That would work... while John was on the mainland, he could pick up some smoked salmon, bagels and cream cheese. Coffee, muffins, and lox and bagels... it didn’t involve cooking, but would still be a full breakfast. I picked up the phone to call John’s cell, hoping he was still in range.

  He answered on the second ring. “Hi, sweetheart.”

  “How’d it go with the inspector?”

  “She was very understanding,” he said. “I just dropped her off.”

  “Are you still in Northeast Harbor?”

  “I was just about to cast off. What do you need?”

  “Bagels and smoked salmon.” I explained what I was thinking.

  “Good thinking,” he told me when I’d outlined my breakfast plan.

  “Also, Smudge isn’t doing too well,” I told him, glancing over at where she was nestled into her bed. “I’m wondering if we should take her over to a vet on the mainland this afternoon.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked.

  “She’s listless. I just got her to eat a little bit of soupy kitten food, but she’s not looking too good.”

  “When is the Summer Breeze supposed to be back?”

  I glanced at my watch. “A couple of hours,” I said.

  “I’ll check with the vet here,” he said. “If we need to, I’ll bring her back over this afternoon.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “Martha Spurrell is going to make room for everyone at the pound at 7, and I’m going to get started on the muffins. I appreciate you using your powers of persuasion to keep the inspector from shutting us down.”

  “I didn’t do anything,” he protested.

  I grinned. “Right. See you soon!”

  Once I hung up with John, I called the store to check on Charlene. Her niece Tania answered.

  “Hey, Tania. Is Charlene around?”

  “She headed over to the mail boat,” she told me.

  “What’s she doing?”

  “Going over to visit with Alex.”

  “Poor thing,” I said. My friend had not been lucky in love the last few years.

  “She seemed a bit more chipper, actually. Said she’s got an idea.”

  “Really?” I wondered if she’d heard something since our conversation. “Well, tell her to call me when she’s back.”

  “Will do,” she told me, then added, “You don’t really think he did it, do you?”

  “Your aunt thinks he’s innocent,” I replied, dodging the question. It seemed to satisfy her.

  “Oh—I heard something about the captain this morning,” she told me as I was about to hang up. “I don’t know what it has to do with anything, though.”

  I stood up a little straighter. “What was it?”

  “The rumor is that he spent a summer on the island about fifteen years ago and made off with 50,000 dollars in diamonds from some summer people.”

  ***

  “What?” Eli hadn’t mentioned that. “Whose diamonds? Where?”

  “Cliffside, I think, “ she said. “Marge O’Leary told me about it. Said he was seeing some girl who cleaned houses on the island, and talked her into it. Only she was the one who took the rap for it.”

  Lorraine? I wondered. Or someone else? “I’m going to have to ask Eli a few more questions when he gets back,” I told her. “Maybe that’s why he changed his name. Do you think this might have to do with what happened to him?”

  “You never know,” she said. “I’ll see what else I can find out.”

  “Please do,” I said. “I’ve got to run... but thanks for the update.”

  “Anytime, Natalie,” she told me, then hung up.

  I found myself deep in thought as I put the flour canister on the counter and retrieved the blueberries from the refrigerator. A diamond theft at Cliffside. Who had been staying there? I wondered as I measured out blueberries and tossed two sticks of butter into the microwave to soften. The recipe reminded me of my Wicked Blueberry Coffee Cake recipe, only in muffin form. It only took a few minutes to whip up the muffin batter and fold in the blueberries. My mouth watered as I mixed the streusel and then spooned the batter into the muffin cups, sprinkling some of the butter/brown sugar mixture on top. Things might not be going great today, but at least I’d have something delicious to dig into later.

  When the muffins were in the oven, I checked on Smudge and tried to get her to eat a little more. She declined the chicken/milk slurry, but was willing to take a few droppers full of cream before drifting back off again. I hoped John called soon. I stroked Biscuit’s head—she was being remarkably well behaved—and sat down at the kitchen table, pulling up a search engine on my laptop as the smell of muffins filled the kitchen. First I typed in “Carl Bridges Maine,” but nothing came up. When I typed in “Captain Carl Bainbridge,” though, there were a number of links to the Northern Spirit Tours web site. But another link came up, too... one from the Society for Animal Welfare. His name turned up on a page linked to the Whale Most Wanted List; I clicked on it, but the link was broken. Had he been reported for taking boats too close to whales? I wondered. I cruised the rest of the site, which seemed to be dedicated to calling out people who had caused damage to whales—Norwegian whalers and the U.S. Navy for starters—but there was nothing else about Bainbridge on the site. A few pages later, I found a picture of him on the deck of a ship that looked nothing like a schooner; he was flanked by two Japanese sailors, and the sun gleamed on his much younger face. I clicked on the web page, but it was in Japanese, and the web translator wasn’t much help.

  After searching for a few more minutes, I gave up and typed in “Jewel Theft Cranberry Island Maine.”

  Thankfully, someone at the Daily Mail appeared to have been uploading old editions, because I immediately got a hit. “Jewel Heist on Cranberry Island” read the headline. I scrolled through the document. Tania was right; the theft had been at Cliffside, and had involved a diamond tiara—although why on God’s green earth anyone would need a tiara on Cranberry island was beyond me. The newspaper was dated around fifteen years ago—right around the time Captain Bainbridge—or Carl Bridges—was working for Eli.

  Apparently the visitors were a wealthy society family from Boston—the Henrys, up for a summer family retreat on the island. There was no explanation as to why Margot Henry had brought a tiara to a rugged Maine Island for a family vacation, but evidently she had gone looking for it one evening before dinner and discovered it missing. A local woman was implicated, according to the article—Jenna Spurrell. I knew one Jenna; Jenna Pool, Martha Spurrell’s daughter, who had married a local lobsterman a few years back and still helped out at the lobster pound. Captain Bainbridge had cut quite a swathe on the island during his short tenure as Bridges, it seemed. I searched other articles, looking to see if Jenna had been convicted, but couldn’t find anything about it. I’d have to ask Charlene. It certainly wasn’t something I was going to ask Martha Spurrell about. />
  The timer beeped, and I pulled the muffins out of the oven. They looked delicious; the streusel topping glistened, and they were studded with dark berries. I had just set them on the cooling rack, resisting the urge to test one, when the phone rang.

  “I just talked with the vet,” John said.

  “And?”

  “She’s worried about whether Smudge is eating and drinking enough... it could be fading kitten syndrome. Did you get anything down her?”

  “I did,” I told him.

  “She wants to take a look at her, but gave me some stuff in case we can’t make it back today,” he told me. “I told her Jan was going to be back at the inn in a few hours; she told me keeping the kitten warm and hydrated is the most important thing.”

  “Should we take her in this afternoon?” I asked.

  “I’ve got time,” he said. “I think we should. She’s awfully sweet.”

  “Even Biscuit seems to be warming up to her,” I told him, looking over at where my plump tabby had curled up. “Are you sure?”

  “Absolutely,” he said. “We’ll just fill a hot water bottle to make sure she stays warm on the way.”

  “I’ll try to get a little more liquid into her. By the way—did you know Jenna Pool was under suspicion for jewel theft about fifteen years ago?”

  “How do you know about that?” he asked. “She went to trial, actually. They never found the tiara—without the evidence, they couldn’t convict her. It was pretty traumatic, though.”

  “I heard she might have been seeing our good captain,” I said.

  “I thought he was dating Lorraine.”

  “Evidently he was busy while he was on the island. And there’s a rumor he’s the one who put Jenna up to stealing the jewels.”

  “How do you find all this stuff out?” he asked.

  “Tania,” I said.

  “She’s learning from her Aunt Charlene, I see,” John said.

  I laughed. “See you in a few?”

  “I’m on my way,” he said. As I hung up the phone, the door opened; it was Gwen.

  “Is my mom here?” she asked, looking worried.

  “No,” I said. I hadn’t seen Bridget, so she was probably still on the mainland. “You’re safe. I assume your mom’s still out; the next mailboat isn’t in for another hour.”

  She let out an exaggerated sigh and collapsed into a chair. “Adam spent half the day on the phone calling anyone he could think of. The best vessel for the job is down in Cape Cod; it’s going to take a while to get here.”

  “What about the Coast Guard?”

  “They don’t have a boat to spare,” she said. “Adam’s been talking with College of the Atlantic to see if maybe there’s something we can do in the meantime; they’re sending GPS trackers and training the lobstermen to tag the whale if they see her.”

  “I hope we manage to find her in time,” I said.

  “Me too,” she said. “If it gets caught up on gear and can’t make it to the surface for air...” She shuddered, as did I—we were both thinking of the captain, I knew. As I rinsed the beaters, trying not to think about it, Gwen spotted the kitten. “How’s it doing?”

  “She, actually,” I said. “John named her Smudge. She’s not doing very well, unfortunately; John’s going to take her to the vet in a few minutes, but I’m trying to keep her hydrated. Want to try to get a little bit more cream down her while I wash up?”

  “Of course!” she said, and I retrieved the bowl of cream from the fridge and handed it to her along with the eyedropper.

  “The health inspector came today and shut us down,” I informed Gwen as she gathered the kitten into her lap.

  “What?”

  “Someone planted a dead rat under the sink,” I told her as I swirled soapy water around in the mixing bowl. “And put a Tupperware of something gross in the fridge.”

  “What are you going to do?” she asked, looking up.

  “The inspector’s coming to reinspect tomorrow,” I said. “We’ll take everyone to Spurrell’s tonight and do a simple breakfast tomorrow. She likes John, thankfully; with any luck we’ll be up and running tomorrow.”

  “Don’t let Gertrude Pickens get wind of this,” she warned me. “It will be all over the paper.”

  “Just what we need. A new hotel going in, a murder at the inn... it’s not been the best week.”

  “At least your mother’s not in town trying to break up your engagement,” she said.

  “She’s my sister,” I reminded her. “And she’s convinced I’m trying to replace her as your mother.”

  “That’s ridiculous,” she snorted. “You’ve never once criticized my choice of clothing or recommended I look into corporate law.”

  “I think that may be part of the problem,” I told her. “I’ve been encouraging you to adopt my slacker ways.”

  Gwen rolled her eyes as she introduced the dropper into the kitten’s mouth. “Seriously?

  “Yes, seriously.”

  “All you’ve done is give me the freedom to be myself. I’ve found the love of my life, I’m pursuing my life’s passion, I live in one of the most beautiful places in the world... what more could I want?” Her voice wobbled a little bit. “I just wish she could see that. I always feel like I have to be some superwoman to earn her approval; it’s like my choices disappoint her.”

  “I know the feeling,” I said as I rinsed the bowl. “I always felt like whatever I did wasn’t quite good enough. I remember having teachers a few years after they taught your mom, and always got the feeling I didn’t quite measure up. I did okay, but I was never quite the shining star she was.”

  “I think I gave up after a while,” she said, then looked up at me. “You don’t think I’m doing all of this to... rebel against her, do you?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’m doing the exact opposite of what she wants me to do. Am I doing it for me, or just to spite her?”

  I put down the bowl and looked at her. “What does your heart tell you?” I asked quietly.

  “I love Adam,” she said, looking down at the kitten as it lapped at the eye dropper. “And I love painting... it makes me feel alive. I can’t think of anything I’d rather do.”

  “So there you have it,” I told her.

  “Aunt Nat, I love my mom... but sometimes I feel like you’re the mother I was supposed to have,” she said. As soon as the words left her mouth, there was a movement at the end of the kitchen, and something that sounded like a sob. The door to the kitchen was swinging slightly, and my heart contracted.

  “What was that?” Gwen asked.

  “I’m afraid it might have been your mother,” I told her.

  “Oh, no,” Gwen said. She handed me the kitten and hurried after her.

  ***

  Bridget still hadn’t come up from the carriage house when dinnertime rolled around, and there was no sign of John, who’d taken Smudge to the vet on the mainland. I was about to head out the door when the phone rang.

  “How’s it going?” John asked when I picked up.

  “My sister heard Gwen say she wished I were her mother and hasn’t come out of the carriage house all afternoon,” I said.

  “That good, eh?”

  I sighed. “How’s the kitten?”

  “The vet’s running some lab tests, but says it’s good that she’s eating. She sent some saline and syringes with me; hopefully Jan can help us with them. We need to keep her warm, fed, and hydrated, and she’ll call when she has the results.”

  “Was she optimistic, then?”

  “She was,” he said. “We just have to keep an eye on her.”

  “That’s some good news, at least,” I said. The phone beeped. “I’ve got another call. Are you on your way back?”

  “Heading over now,” he said. “Take the call; I’ll see you soon!”

  I clicked over to an anxious-sounding Charlene. “Natalie,” she said. “I got to talk with Alex today.”

  “I heard you were
over on the mainland,” I replied, watching out the window as the tour group headed up the hill. They were walking the half mile to the town dock; it was a beautiful evening. “How’s he doing?”

  “Not well,” she said. “But he has some ideas on who might have done it.”

  “Who?”

  “Well,” she said. “Apparently Bainbridge and Martina were romantically linked a while back—maybe even engaged. The captain called it off not long ago... said he didn’t want to mix business and personal life.”

  “A little late once you’re already dating, but I guess I can understand it,” I said. “Hard feelings?’

  “Well, she wasn’t happy with where he was taking the business... and she wasn’t too happy about the way he was cozying up to Stacy.”

  “The journalist?”

  “Alex and Martina surprised them kissing in the galley the other day,” she said. “He said Martina looked like she wanted to grab the cleaver right then.”

  “Did he tell the police about it?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said, “but they didn’t sound convinced.”

  “I wonder what the terms of his will are?” I asked.

  “Apparently they came up with a business agreement not long ago. They set it up so that if either one died, the partner got the business.”

  “No family to leave it to?”

  “I got the impression they set it up while they were together, and he hadn’t gotten around to changing the paperwork.”

  “Hard to work with an ex,” I mused. “She certainly would have a motive.”

  “And another thing,” she said. “He said Bainbridge had made a lot of enemies. He had some unsavory history; he wouldn’t tell me more, though.”

  Because it might incriminate him? I wondered. “Apparently he was loosely linked to a jewel theft at Cliffside about 15 years ago.” I told her what I’d learned about his relationship with Lorraine—and potentially with Jenna Pool.

  “I remember that,” she said. “They never found the tiara—and they couldn’t convict Jenna. Not enough evidence.”

  “Did she incriminate the captain?”

  “No, but he left the island right after they arrested her. Broke Lorraine’s heart. I never made the connection before... do you think that’s why he took off?”