Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 2

“We should probably clean up before dinner,” he said.

  “I’ll let you go, then,” I told them. “See you soon!”

  They both strode away, and if they resumed their conversation, it wasn’t where I could hear it.

  ***

  Either John’s cooking was particularly delicious, or the guests were particularly hungry; they devoured his stroganoff, plowed through his bread pudding, and raved about his cooking. Between serving and cleaning up, it was almost 10:00 by the time we finished up and headed to bed.

  “This full-service thing is a lot of work,” John said as we headed up the stairs to our room.

  “Particularly when half your staff is off gallivanting with their boyfriends,” I said. I looked down at the carriage house; the windows were still dark. “Looks like your mom isn’t back yet.”

  “Looks like it. It’s late for her,” he said. “We haven’t seen Charlene and Alex, either.”

  “I wonder if the tour is okay with him leaving for the evening so often?”

  “Not a lot of wildlife to identify in the dining room,” he pointed out.

  “I’m sorry I left you all alone today, by the way,” I told him as I followed him into our suite. When I’d first moved here, I never dreamed I’d be sharing my room with the handsome island deputy who lived in the cottage house down the hill at the time. “If I’d known you’d be on your own, I wouldn’t have gone.”

  “And you wouldn’t have seen a humpback whale breach,” John said, turning to embrace me as I closed the door behind us.

  “Which was absolutely amazing,” I admitted. They were so close to the schooner I felt like I could reach out and touch them. “There was a baby with them” I said. “She kept leaping around. I sometimes forget they’re out there, just a couple of miles from the inn... it was an amazing reminder of all the lives going on around us.” I kissed him. “I still feel like I abandoned you, though.”

  “It was fine. I told Gwen and my mother to go; I knew I could handle it.”

  “You’re amazing,” I said.

  “It’s your turn for breakfast, though,” he reminded me with a grin.

  “If you’re very nice tonight,” I said, “I might bring you breakfast in bed.”

  “How about a midnight snack now?” he asked, pulling me into his arms and giving me a long kiss.

  I’d liked being single, I thought as I melted into his embrace, but there were definite benefits to sharing your life with a man like John Quinton.

  ***

  I woke up in the middle of the night, flailing at the covers and breathing hard. The dream faded as I reoriented myself in our bedroom; I’d imagined I was tangled up in the fishing gear we’d seen attached to the whale that morning and being dragged down to the bottom of the ocean. A breeze blew through the open window, ruffling the curtains, and my orange tabby Biscuit made a discontented noise from the bottom of the bed. As my breath began to steady, I heard a faint meowing sound from outside.

  Biscuit heard it, too; I could feel her body tense. We both listened for a moment; it came again. It was very high-pitched and small, and a little bit shaky.

  I glanced at the clock; it was 2 a.m. I got up and wrapped my robe around me as I padded to the door, trying not to wake John. Biscuit didn’t follow me—which wasn’t a surprise, since she wasn’t exactly what you’d call an athletic feline specimen.

  Moonlight flooded the kitchen when I got to the bottom of the stairs, where I paused for a moment, trying to orient myself to the sound. It seemed to be from the porch behind the kitchen. I let myself out the door, being as quiet as possible, and shut it behind me. There was silence for a moment, interrupted only by the sound of the waves, and then the mewling started again.

  It was coming from the corner of the porch, where a tiny kitten, faintly illuminated by the light of the moon, huddled under a rocking chair. “Oh, poor thing!” I breathed.

  I walked toward it slowly, trying not to scare it, and crouched down. “It’s okay, baby,” I said as I reached out to touch its soft head. The little thing trembled under my touch. Gently, I put my hand under her and scooped her up. Even though it was only in the 60s outside, the little body felt cold.

  “Where’s your mom?” I asked as I cradled the kitten in my arms, tucking her into my robe. I didn’t have a ton of experience with kittens, but I knew enough to know she was too young to be separated from her mother. Although she was shivering, the plaintive mewling turned into a rumbling purr. I stood outside for a moment, listening in case she—I don’t know why, but I knew she was a she—had siblings nearby, but she seemed to be alone.

  “Let’s go get you warmed up,” I said, carrying her inside. When I got inside, I shifted her to the crook of my left arm and grabbed my laptop, pulling up a page on caring for kittens.

  I was doing the right thing for starters—warming her up—and gauged her age to be about six weeks. Once she was warm, I would see if I could get some food into her. If I was right about her age, she should be able to manage some canned food, which was a good thing, since I didn’t have any kitten milk on hand. I closed the laptop and leaned back in my chair, stroking the kitten’s head and wondering where she had come from. She settled down into a rhythmic purring, which faded slowly as her breathing became soft and regular. I closed my eyes for a moment, focusing on the little body nestled into me, and must have fallen asleep with her.

  A noise jolted me awake. The kitten woke, too; I could feel her stir in my robe. I swallowed hard when I realized someone was at the kitchen door. As I watched, a dark form let itself into my kitchen, closing the door with a thunk. My mouth was dry and my heart was pounding, but I had to say something.

  “Can I help you?” I asked.

  The figure jumped about three feet into the air. “Natalie?”

  “That’s me. Who are you?”

  “Alex,” he said. “What are you doing up? You scared me to death.”

  “Likewise,” I said dryly.

  “I was just getting home from dinner with Charlene. I was trying not to wake anyone.”

  “Late dinner,” I said. “Why didn’t you come in the front door?’

  “Sorry about that; it was locked,” he said, “and I left my key in my room.”

  “No worries,” I said, the adrenaline still draining from my system. “I’m glad it’s just you.”

  “What are you doing up?” he asked.

  “I found a kitten on the back porch. I was going to warm her up and feed her, but she fell asleep.” I reached into my robe and touched her little paws; they were no longer cold, and the shivering had stopped long ago. I was planning to ask Jan how to take care of her in the morning; I was worried I might do something wrong. “Know anything about kittens?”

  “Unfortunately, no,” he said. “My knowledge is limited to wild fauna, I’m afraid.” He yawned. “If you don’t mind, I’m going to head up to bed. I’m supposed to go help get the boat ready at six tomorrow.”

  “What’s today’s expedition, again?”

  “The seals,” he said, “and more whales if the group wants to look for them.”

  “I’ll be sorry to miss it,” I said.

  “You saw the main show today,” he said.

  “Do you think you’ll be able to help that whale who’s caught up in gear?”

  “It can be tricky,” he admitted, “but if we can get a GPS tracker on her and some floats, we’ll have a decent chance. I’m hoping to hear back tomorrow morning.”

  “The captain seemed to be getting a bit close to the whales,” I said.

  “Yes,” he said shortly. “It’s a real problem. That’s how whales get hurt.”

  “And boats,” I suggested.

  “Sometimes, yes,” he said. “Well, I’m going to head to bed. Good luck with the kitten.”

  “Thanks,” I said as I got up, cradling the kitten in my arms, and fished in the pantry for a can of cat food. I put a little wet food on a plate and watched as she sniffed at it. I was waiting for her to eat
when there was the sound of another door opening and closing.

  “Be back in a moment,” I whispered to the kitten, and walked over to the kitchen door, thinking the inn was rather active for 2:30 a.m.

  “Hello?” I called.

  There were footsteps; unless it was my imagination, they paused for a moment, then resumed at a faster pace, hurrying up the stairs. A moment later, a door upstairs opened and closed. An insomniac out for a late-night walk? I knew it wasn’t Alex; his room was on the first floor. I looked out toward the back of the inn, but there was nothing other than the moonlight on the water, and the dark shape of the Summer Breeze bobbing in the distance.

  I turned back to the kitchen and the kitten, wondering who had been out for a late-night walk.

  ***

  The alarm went off way too early the next morning. It had been almost four a.m. by the time I got back upstairs, and I was exhausted. The kitten had eaten a little bit, which was encouraging, and then fallen back to sleep in my arms. I wasn’t sure what Biscuit would think of her, but I was afraid she’d get too cold if I left her on her own, so I carried her up with me and tucked her up against me when I climbed under the covers. Biscuit hadn’t moved from her spot at the foot of the bed. Her hackles rose, and she let out a little growl, but quieted when I stroked her head. She did make a point of moving to John’s side of the bed. I couldn’t see in the darkness, but I had the feeling she was giving me a nasty look from her beautiful green eyes.

  Now, as the morning sun streamed through the window, Biscuit was curled up at John’s feet, and the kitten was a tiny gray ball nestled under my chin. She had a little white patch on her chest and a matching spot on her forehead, with white whiskers that contrasted beautifully with her fur. She opened her blue eyes slightly as I shifted, then curled up tighter, like a fluffy pill bug.

  Although I hated to disturb her, I had breakfast to prepare. I tucked her into the blankets, keeping an eye on Biscuit, and quickly brushed my teeth and dressed, monitoring Biscuit to make sure she didn’t try any funny business.

  About fifteen minutes later, I tucked the kitten into a blanket near the radiator in the kitchen, turned the heat on low—it was a little chilly in the kitchen—and got to work on breakfast.

  The morning’s menu was a spinach frittata, apple caramel muffins, a fruit salad, and sausage links. The group would be stopping at a lobster pound on Mount Desert Island today, so I didn’t need to worry about lunch. As the kitten curled back up into a ball, I reached for my recipe binder—but it wasn’t there.

  Had John misfiled it last night? I wondered. I opened a few cabinets and drawers with no luck, and then reached for one of my back-up cookbooks until I found something similar. I’d ask John when he came downstairs; in the meantime, I found an apple streusel muffin recipe that looked like it would fill the bill.

  I chopped up a few granny smith apples, looking out the window as I worked. It looked like it was going to be a beautiful day for the tour group. The sun was gilding the tops of the mountains of Mount Desert Island, and the water was calm and blue. A deep peace enfolded me as I paused to gaze out the window of my kitchen at the beauty on my doorstep; I was so grateful for the beauty of my surroundings, and the people in it.

  As the smell of baking muffins filled the kitchen, I poured myself another cup of coffee—I was still a bit groggy after last night’s interrupted sleep—and reached for a cantaloupe. I had just halved it when there was a knock on the kitchen door.

  I turned around and swore under my breath.

  It was my sister, Bridget, looking like she was in the mood to commit murder.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “Bridget,” I said, almost dropping the cantaloupe. I rinsed my hands, dried them and hurried to the door. “I wasn’t expecting you!” I said as she swept into my kitchen rolling an ominously large black suitcase behind her. She wore a tan trench coat, black slacks, and an expensive-looking silk blouse. “Are you in town for business?” I asked, as if she would have a case on Cranberry Island.

  “Of course not, Natalie,” she said, giving me a perfunctory hug. “Where is my daughter?”

  “Still asleep, I think,” I said, hoping that Gwen was upstairs in her room, and not at her fiancé’s house. “This is a surprise visit,” I said. “What brings you here?”

  She arched a dark eyebrow. “What do you think?”

  I gave her a winning smile. “Wanted to check out the inn? Take a vacation in Maine and visit family?”

  “I want to talk my daughter out of this ridiculous idea you’ve talked her into, of course.”

  “Ah,” I said, and turned back to the cantaloupe, gripping the knife perhaps a bit more firmly than necessary. “What ridiculous idea would that be?”

  “Getting married to a lobsterman,” she said. “A lobsterman you helped her try to pass off as a shipping magnate, if I recall.”

  “I never said anything about Adam being a shipping magnate, Bridget,” I said, even though I hadn’t exactly corrected her when she leapt to that assumption. “And Gwen’s decisions are entirely her own. I love her, but she’s in charge of her own life. Not me.”

  “No, you’re not in charge of her life,” Bridget said. “You’re her aunt, not her mother.”

  Since Gwen was in her early twenties, her mother wasn’t exactly in charge of her life, either, but I decided not to mention that. This conversation wasn’t going in a good direction, I realized. Maybe caffeine would help. “How about a cup of coffee?” I suggested.

  “Black, please.”

  “I remember,” I said, and poured her a mug. As I handed it to her, I reflected on how much she and her daughter resembled each other; they had the same mass of curly dark hair and the same willowy figures. Their personalities, on the other hand, could not be less similar.

  “When did you get in?” I asked as I sliced the melon into wedges.

  “I got in late last night. It was too late to catch the mail boat, so I stayed in Bar Harbor and took the first boat over this morning.”

  “I wish you’d let me know you were coming,” I said as I scooped seeds out of the cantaloupe. Where was I going to put my sister? I wondered. Every room was booked, and my mother-in-law, Catherine, was living in the carriage house.

  “Well, I’m here now,” she said, taking a sip of her coffee. “When does Gwen usually get up?”

  “It varies,” I said vaguely as I sliced the cantaloupe into chunks. “So,” I said, hoping to change the subject yet again. “How’s work?”

  “Busy as always,” she said. She sighed. “Sometimes I wish I had more of a menial job, like yours. It gets tiring thinking all the time.”

  I gritted my teeth as I brought the knife down on the cantaloupe a bit harder than strictly necessary. “Oh, there are plenty of challenges, I assure you,” I told her.

  “Yes,” she said. “I guess it must be tough getting up and cleaning toilets every day.”

  I was saved from having to strangle her by the arrival of Gwen through the kitchen door.

  “Hey, Aunt Nat,” she said as she closed the door behind her. “Do you need a hand with...” As her eyes lit on her mother, she broke off and let out a short noise that sounded a little like a scream.

  “Good morning, Gwen,” my sister said.

  “Mom,” she choked out. “What are you doing here?”

  Bridget gave her a tight smile. “I came to spend some time with my daughter, of course.”

  Gwen walked over and gave her mother a stiff hug. “You didn’t tell me you were coming.”

  “I had a last-minute change in schedule.”

  “Where are you staying?” Gwen said.

  My sister blinked at her. “Why, here, of course.”

  “But the inn is totally full,” she said.

  “Really?” Bridget turned to me. “I thought business was slow.”

  “Actually, it’s been really busy.”

  She turned to Gwen. “Well, I guess I can bunk with you.”

  At the
look of horror on my niece’s face, I said, “Maybe we can put you up in the carriage house with Catherine.”

  My sister looked puzzled. “Who’s Catherine?”

  “My mother-in-law,” I reminded her.

  “Oh, yes. I remember,” Bridget said. “Has she found a job yet?”

  Gwen and I exchanged tortured glances. “She’s helping me out at the inn, actually,” I said. “Which is a big help, since we’ve been booked solid since the summer season began.”

  “I’m going to run upstairs for a moment,” Gwen said. “I’ll be back to help in a bit,” she told me.

  “Take your time,” I told her. “I’ve got it under control.” The breakfast part, anyway. I wasn’t so sure about Bridget.

  I kept a steady patter of questions going as I added strawberries and blueberries to the sliced cantaloupe and began chopping veggies for the frittata. It was a self-defense strategy I’d picked up when we were kids, and it still worked. By the time Gwen came back downstairs, Bridget had told me all about the most recent multi-million dollar corporate lawsuits she’d won, as well as her plans for a second home in Hawaii.

  “What can I do?” Gwen asked as she tied an apron around her slender waist. At that moment, the kitten made a small mewing sound. “Oh, my goodness,” Gwen said, spotting the kitten. “How adorable. Who is this?”

  “I found her under the porch,” I said. “I’m hoping Jan can tell me what to do with her.”

  “She is so sweet,” Gwen said, forgetting about her mother as she bent down to rub the kitten’s head.

  “Isn’t that against the health code?” my sister asked.

  “Why don’t you set the tables in the dining room, Gwen?” I suggested.

  To my surprise, Bridget stood up. “I’ll come help,” she announced.

  “No,” Gwen said sharply. “I mean, I’ve got a system,” she added lamely.

  But Bridget was undeterred. “Then I’ll come keep you company.”

  As Gwen walked out of the kitchen looking like a condemned woman, I reflected that it was going to be an interesting week.

  I had no idea exactly how interesting, though... the day had only just begun.