Scone Cold Dead Page 13

  "I thought John was the deputy," Tom replied, his voice tense.

  "He is," I said. "But I'd like to find out who the murderer is so that I know it's safe to sleep at the inn."

  "And so you can get Adam off the hot seat, too, I presume. I went by his place a few minutes ago. One of those detectives was there; they must have seen the article, too."

  "Who didn't see the article?" I groaned.

  "Why did you tell Gertrude about our business?" he asked, looking more unfriendly than I'd ever seen him.

  "I didn't," I protested. "I called her and left a brief message, and my phone must not have hung up. I think she recorded a conversation that took place in the store."

  Tom did not look at all appeased. "But you said those things."

  "We were just talking about what folks were saying on the island," Charlene interjected. "Neither of us think Adam had anything to do with it, obviously."

  "See what I mean about repeating rumors?" Tom said. "They're dangerous."

  Charlene and I exchanged glances.

  "Anyway, I'm just here for my mail," he said.

  "Got it," Charlene said, opening his box and fishing out a stack of letters. The top one was marked FINAL NOTICE; the sender was a mortgage company. Tom noticed me looking and shielded the envelope from view.

  "Thanks," he said to Charlene, then nodded to both of us and strode out of the store.

  "What was that all about?" Charlene asked me when the door shut, the bell jangling. "I've never seen him so surly."

  "He sure isn't happy about all the scandal on the island," I said. "And did you take a look at his mail? That top envelope looked like a nastygram from a mortgage company to me."

  "Tania sorted the mail today; I didn't look at it."

  "I hate to suggest this, but if Tom's having financial problems, do you think maybe he had something to do with what happened to Chelsea?"

  "Why would he?"

  "If he knew there was something going on that shouldn't be... if the co-op goes down, his income does, too."

  "If that's the case, then it wouldn't make sense for him to be the person who cut all the boats free."

  "Unless he wanted to cover his tracks," I said. "All the lobstermen are usually out fishing in the morning, which would mean they'd all have alibis. If no one's out on the water, though, everyone's a suspect."

  "Still, it's not good for co-op revenues," Charlene said. "Besides, I can't see Tom doing that."

  "Usually I'd agree, but there's something fishy about him lately."

  "Tom? A murderer?" Charlene waved away the idea. "Natalie, I'm beginning to think you're desperate to pin this murder on someone."

  I was about to answer when my phone rang.

  "Hello?"

  "Oh, thank God." It was John.

  "What do you mean?"

  "You're okay."

  "So far," I said. "What's wrong?"

  "Someone attacked Quartz."

  18

  "Oh, no," I breathed. "I just talked to her this afternoon. How bad is she?"

  "I'm with her now; Catherine found her, just down the way from the Art Guild, in the trees off Seal Point Road. The paramedics and the mainland police are on their way. She's unconscious, and looks like she's lost a lot of blood."

  "Poor thing," I said. "What happened?"

  "Blunt force trauma to the head," he said shortly.

  I gripped the phone harder. "Just like Chelsea."

  "Just like Chelsea."

  "I'm coming over," I said.

  "I'd rather you not."

  "I want to be with you," I said. "I'll tell Charlene where I’m going. And I'll grab a pair of scissors if it makes you feel better."

  "I don't want you to come alone," he said. "It's not safe."

  "I'll see if I can get someone to come with me," I promised.

  "You'd better," he said. "I don't want to lose you."

  "You won't," I promised. I hung up the phone and turned to Charlene, who was staring at me wide-eyed.

  "Someone attacked that young woman, Quartz. Same way as Chelsea."

  Charlene paled. "Is she alive?"

  "For now," I told her. "Paramedics are on the way."

  "This is freaking me out," she said. "I need to call Tania, make sure she's okay. Both those young women..."

  Could it be someone targeting young women? I wondered as Charlene reached for the phone. "I'm going to be with them until the paramedics get there; Catherine found her close to the Art Guild on Seal Point Road."

  "Is it safe?"

  "Whoever it is isn't using a gun, at least," I said. "I want to go be with them, but I need to find someone to go with me."

  "I'll go," she volunteered.

  "What about the store?"

  She walked to the front door and flipped the OPEN sign to CLOSED. "People can wait. Let's go."

  Quartz was a little way off the road, in a clump of blueberry bushes. The crystals around her neck still sparkled in the sunlight, but Quartz's eyes were closed. Her sprawled, unconscious body reminded me of Chelsea's. I shivered, hoping Quartz wouldn't meet the same end.

  Charlene was still on the phone with Tania, exhorting her to stay in her house and lock the door for the time being. Catherine stood a few feet away, a grim look on her face, and John crouched at Quartz's head. He had stripped down to an undershirt and was holding his button-down flannel shirt against the wound, which appeared to be on the back of her head. The green-and-blue-plaid fabric was stained dark red, and there was a coppery scent in the air.

  "How's her breathing?" I asked.

  "Steady so far," he said. "I'm trying to keep her from bleeding too much, but it's still coming."

  As he spoke, Quartz murmured something.

  I held up a hand and crouched beside her. "What, Quartz?"

  "Cha..."

  I glanced up at John, then back at Quartz.

  "Chad? Did Chad do this to you?"

  "Chad," she murmured, tossing her head from side to side.

  "Don't move," John said gently. "You're hurt."

  "Not good 'nough," she slurred.

  "Not good enough?" I asked. "Who's not good enough?"

  She opened her eyes wide for a moment, and then her head rolled to the side again.

  "Quartz? Quartz?" I put my hand on her chest; it was moving, but only slightly. "The paramedics had better get here soon," I said. "I'm afraid we're going to lose her."

  "What was she talking about?" Quinn asked.

  "Something about Chad," Catherine said. "It almost seemed like she was saying he wasn't good enough. Or she wasn't."

  "So Chad hit her over the head?" I asked. "If he wanted to end things, wouldn't it be easier to just break up?"

  "Maybe she was a bit upset about the breakup. Maybe what happened was an accident," Catherine suggested.

  "If Chelsea hadn't died of a similar wound, I might be willing to entertain that theory," I said, "but it's too similar. Hit over the head, right near a road or path..."

  "Chad knew Chelsea, too," John pointed out.

  "That's true," I said. "I was assuming what happened to Chelsea was linked to the lobster co-op, though. I mean, why else cut all the boats free unless you were trying to cover your tracks?"

  "It's a fair point," Charlene said.

  "Plus," I said, "I keep hearing rumors that Chelsea was undercover. She used to be a reporter at Middlesex, so there's talk she might be a journalist on assignment."

  "Reporting on what?" Catherine asked.

  "Maybe whatever's going on down at the co-op," I suggested.

  "Half the co-op thought she was a Marine Patrol officer," Charlene said, and turned to John. "Have you heard anything?"

  "The mainland police are being rather tight-lipped. Probably because of that article in the paper this morning."

  I winced again. "If I could have a take-back..."

  "Mistakes happen to all of us," John said. "I'm sure it will come right."

  "I hope so," I said, looking down
at Quartz's prone form. There was something clutched in her right hand, and it wasn't a crystal.

  "There's money in her hand," I said.

  "There is," Charlene said, squatting down to peer at it. It was partially covered with last year's dead leaves; she blew them out of the way to look at the denomination. "A lot of it, too. The top one is a hundred, and there's a stack of bills."

  "Did Chad give her money to go away?" I asked. "If he did, why not take it back after he hit her?" And did he kill Chelsea before she could humiliate him a second time? I wondered. I'd heard of narcissism before, but from what I knew of him, a double murder seemed rather extreme.

  Then again, I didn't know him very well.

  "Maybe he panicked in the heat of the moment?" Charlene said. "I don't know. It does seem weird to just leave it."

  "This whole thing doesn't add up," John said. "The altercation between Mac and Earl. The mooring lines cut in the harbor. Chelsea, who'd just come to the island the night before she died. If this was just a lovers' quarrel, how do you explain the rest of it?"

  "I found a barrette in Chad's room the other morning," I said, still watching Quartz. Her breathing was shallow but steady. I hoped the paramedics would get here soon.

  "A barrette?" Charlene asked, puzzled. "What about it? Maybe he likes wearing his hair up."

  "I don't see how you'd fit dreads into a barrette, and I don't think he's the crystal butterfly type. I thought it was Quartz's, but it wasn't. I told her about it just this afternoon."

  "Ohhh... I see. You're thinking she confronted him, and things got nasty," Charlene suggested.

  "It's possible. I don't think he was too hung up on her, though, so I can't see a breakup being a big issue for him. I'm wondering if maybe she knew something about him she threatened to expose if he didn't give up his other girlfriend, whoever she is. Assuming there was one."

  "A big assumption based on one barrette," John reminded me.

  "I'm brainstorming here."

  "Maybe she told him he wasn't good enough to be an artist, and he went berserk or something," Charlene theorized.

  "And hit her over the head with a rock? Was he seeing Chelsea, then, too, and did the same thing happen with her?" Catherine asked.

  I shook my head. "Like I said, I don't think he'd be too torn up about losing Quartz. And I don't think he and Chelsea were an item. But I do think he was still irked over the article she wrote about him in college."

  "What did the article say that was so bad?" Catherine asked.

  "It pretty much said his parents bought his way into Middlesex College,” I said.

  "That's got to have been mortifying for him," John said, readjusting the shirt under Quartz's head gently as he spoke. "Still, though, they're what... twenty-five? Why not kill her when the article came out? Why wait?"

  "Maybe he thought she was going to do a further exposé," I said. "Maybe revealing that his parents paid for him to be part of the Art Guild, essentially."

  "Which they did, from what I hear," Catherine said. "His pottery is... well, disappointing."

  "It is," I said, agreeing with her. "But it still doesn't explain all the other things going on." Including Tom Lockhart's edginess at the store today.

  "Everything's all wrong on the island lately," John's mother said, her arms crossed over her chest and her blue eyes misty. I knew she was thinking not just of Quartz and Chelsea, but of Murray and Sarah. "I'd like it to get back to normal."

  "You and me both," I said, looking down at Quartz and praying that she'd be okay.

  19

  By the time the paramedics and the police had come and gone, it was almost time for dinner. I didn't have a full house tonight; only four guests, Emma, Thuy, Bruce, and Noelle, would be at the inn, but I still needed to put something on the table. I didn't know where Sarah was, but odds were good Murray would be wining and dining her.

  Catherine thought so, too, and voiced the opinion several times as we walked Charlene home and then headed back to the inn together. John was going to swing by the Art Guild again to talk to Thuy before following us back to the inn.

  As we neared the top of the hill before the road curved down toward the inn, voices reached our ears.

  "That's it. I'm going home."

  "But Noelle!"

  Catherine and I glanced at each other. Then, without a word, we both detoured off the road and crouched down in the bushes as Noelle appeared at the top of the hill, her rolling suitcase and Bruce trailing behind her.

  "I think you killed that girl," she said. Her heart-shaped face was white; she looked angry and frightened. "I think you don't want your wife to find out about us. You say we're going to be together someday, but I think you're lying."

  "I would never do something like that!" he said. "I tried to talk to her, but that's all."

  "You were yelling at her... you threatened her. I heard you. And you didn't come back to the room." She was crying now. "And then that other girl overheard us, too. What are you going to do, kill her, too?"

  "Noelle," he said. "I would never do something like that. Never. I'm begging you, please. Don't go."

  "I am going to go," she announced, starting back down the road. "And I'm going to tell Frank all about us before he hears about it from somewhere (or someone?) else. And then we're going to go to counseling and see if we can put things back together."

  "But you won't tell Delilah, will you?" Bruce's voice was syrupy sweet. Noelle stopped short and turned to face him.

  "Really? After all the things you said to me, about how we were going to have a life together, about how I was the only woman for you, about how you never felt this way with anyone else..." Tears formed in her eyes. "You're more worried about keeping Delilah than about keeping me."

  "It's the kids," he said weakly. "Darling. You know you're the only one for me. We're just victims of circumstance..."

  "No," she said. "It's not the kids. It's Delilah's paycheck, and that big, two-story house, isn't it?" She narrowed her reddened eyes at him. "Well, you're going to be in bad shape soon. She's the best divorce attorney in Portland. She's going to take you to the cleaners."

  "And what about you?" he demanded, his handsome face red now. "You're not exactly innocent either. What are you going to do when I tell Frank about everything that happened between us? And I mean everything."

  She took a deep breath. "It'll kill him, but I don't know what else to do," she said, "I can't live this way anymore. I can't live a lie. I thought I knew you, but you're... you're someone else."

  "Noelle," he said, his voice suddenly calm in a very disturbing way. The hackles rose on the back of my neck. Noelle felt it, too; she yanked her roller bag and started walking down the hill, almost jogging.

  "You're not going anywhere," he said, lurching after her and grabbing her arm.

  "Leave me alone," she hissed, jerking her arm away. The sleeve of her pink sweater tore. He grabbed her wrist hard, twisting it so she was forced to turn toward him.

  "I can't let you leave here," he told her in a silky voice. "I can't let you destroy my family."

  "You should have thought about that six months ago," she spat, her hair mussed. There was still anger in her face, but I could read more fear now. "Let me go."

  "No," he said, back to cajoling. "Come back to the inn. Let's talk about it. We can end things if you want, but why bring up trouble when we don't have to? If you tell Frank and Delilah, you'll only be hurting yourself and your children."

  She sagged a little, considering it. He sensed her weakness and moved in, caressing her hair. Her eyes fluttered a bit, and she leaned into him.

  "That's my girl," he said in a satisfied tone. "I knew you'd see reason."

  As he spoke, she seemed to snap out of a trance. "It's all just words, Bruce," she said, swiping at her eyes. "I thought I loved you. I did. But now I see..."

  "See what?"

  "This is all a game for you," she said. "But I'm not playing anymore."

  "I won't le
t you leave," he said. "I'll kill you before I let you leave."

  "You wouldn't," she said in a feeble voice.

  "Do you want to try me? Come here," he ordered.

  "No. Bruce..."

  He caught up with her in two steps and grabbed her by the throat. Her hands flailed, and the roller bag bumped down the hill.

  "No," she said in a breathy voice. "No..."

  I glanced at Catherine. Together, we stood up and stepped out of the bushes.

  "Stop!" I yelled. "Let her go."

  Bruce's hand dropped. "We were just talking," he said quickly.

  "We heard," Catherine said. "Before you get any handsier," she admonished Bruce, "my son is a deputy."

  "And there are plenty more police on the island," I added.

  "What? Why?" Noelle asked.

  "Someone attacked Quartz," I said.

  Noelle looked at Bruce with wide eyes, and her hand drifted to her throat. "You did try to kill her. And you killed that other girl, too. Chelsea. You're sick."

  "No," he said. "Noelle, no. I'd never do that."

  "You just tried to strangle me," she said in a small, stunned voice. "You're a murderer."

  "No," he said. "You've got it all wrong."

  "Why don't you come with us?" I suggested. "We can wait down at the inn."

  "No," he said, looking around wildly. He ran a hand through his hair, and then, suddenly, turned and bolted in the direction of the inn.

  Noelle looked at us. "Where's he going?"

  "I don't know," I said. "But you're safe now."

  She crumpled to the ground, and I ran to support her. "I thought I was in love with a murderer," she said.

  "I'm so sorry," I told her.

  "My life is ruined," she murmured. "All ruined." As she spoke, there was the whine of a motor. I looked down toward the dock in time to see John's skiff, Mooncatcher, roaring toward the mainland.

  "He's gone," I said, and looked up at Catherine, who was watching the skiff recede into the distance with a grim look on her face.

  "