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

  “He must have gotten his foot caught somehow,” Yvette said. “A terrible accident.”

  “But the chain was outside the boat,” Lizzie said. “How do you get your foot caught if the chain isn’t on the boat?”

  She had an excellent point.

  “And how did he get out there, anyway?” Liam asked as I handed a cup of coffee to Nan. “Did he swim?” The adults exchanged uneasy glances; we had all thought of the same thing privately.

  “Maybe,” his mother said. “How are your cookies?” she asked, trying to switch the focus of the conversation.

  “At least he still had his eyes,” Liam said. “I hear sometimes the fish eat them.”

  “Liam!” Yvette chided him.

  “That’s gross,” Lizzie announced, and I had to agree with her.

  “Who’s going to teach me to fish if the captain’s dead?” Liam asked.

  “I will,” Alex said. “Now,” he added, trying to return their attention to the game. “Do you have a red two?”

  I headed back to the kitchen to check on the tea as they resumed their game. Bridget must have gone upstairs to change; to my relief, only my niece was there. The water had boiled, and Gwen was pouring it into the teapot.

  “How’s it going out there?” she asked.

  “Well, Liam’s wondering why the fish didn’t eat the captain’s eyes, and he wants to name the kitten Ratty,” I said. “But Alex managed to distract them, and I have a hot chocolate order. Any hot water left in the kettle?”

  “Enough for two hot chocolates,” she said.

  I grabbed a few packets of hot chocolate mix and some marshmallows. “How’s it going in here?” I asked.

  “My mom wants to meet Adam,” Gwen said.

  “Do you want to do it here?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “I figured we’d go to Spurrell’s Lobster Pound. She might be more likely to behave in public.”

  “I wouldn’t bet on it,” I said with a grin.

  “What do we do if she can’t bunk with Catherine?” Gwen asked, looking like a spooked horse. “If we have to share a room, I’m not sure we’ll both make it through the week. I don’t even know how long she’s staying.”

  “She didn’t tell me, either, but we’ll figure something out,” I said.

  “I’d stay with Adam, but...”

  “Best not, under the circumstances,” I agreed. “Maybe you can go hide out at Charlene’s and give up your room,” I suggested as I emptied the hot chocolate packets into two mugs.

  “I don’t want to abandon you,” she told me.

  “I’m battle-hardened,” I reminded her. “I spent eighteen years with her, remember?”

  “So did I,” she commiserated.

  “She loves you,” I told her. “She just wants what’s best for you.”

  “No,” Gwen corrected me. “She wants what she thinks is best for me. There’s a difference.”

  I sighed. “Do the best you can,” I told her.

  “I’m trying,” she groaned as I stirred marshmallows into the hot chocolate and put the mugs on a tray.

  “Have you seen Catherine this morning yet, by the way?” I asked her as I retrieved the cream pitcher from the refrigerator.

  “She’s usually up by now, but I haven’t seen her.”

  “Would you run down and knock on her door?” I asked. “We need to figure out the schedule for the day... and I need to see if she’s okay with Bridget bunking with her.”

  “Happily,” she said.

  “I might ask her if she can take your mom for a tour of the island, too, while you’re at it. You and I can take care of the rooms.”

  Gwen’s face broke into a smile. “You’re brilliant, Aunt Nat,” she said as I added the teapot and some cups onto the tray. “I’m going to go now, before she comes down.”

  “Gwen?” came Bridget’s voice from upstairs.

  “Go now!” I whispered, and Gwen tiptoed out the back door as I hefted the tray and headed toward the parlor.

  “Gwen!” my sister called again as I pushed through the swinging door.

  It was going to be a very long week.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  The police arrived a little over a half an hour later, and I kept everyone supplied with cookies and beverages as one of the detectives took statements from all of the guests. I glanced out the window at the schooner; a police launch had tied up next to it, and the antique boat was now crawling with crime scene investigators.

  My mother-in-law had come to Gwen’s and my rescue. I’d debriefed her on what was going on, and she’d not only offered to let Bridget stay in the carriage house, but volunteered to take her out on Murray’s boat for the day. I wanted to kiss her, but thought it might be better to wait until Bridget wasn’t standing in the same room with us.

  John was busy helping out on the schooner, so I refilled the coffee, tea and cookies and headed up to take care of the rooms, shuddering as I passed the captain’s room, which was busy being sorted through by a team of investigators. From what I’d gathered, they were treating his death as a homicide. To be honest, unless he really had swum out to the Summer Breeze by himself and tied himself up to the anchor chain, it was the logical conclusion.

  But who would want him dead? I wondered.

  As I remembered the argument between the naturalist and the captain the previous day, I had an uneasy feeling. I hadn’t been the only one to witness the harsh words between them. I thought also of the conversation between the captain and the first mate—and the captain’s veiled threat toward Alex. Had he threatened him last night, only to have the tables turned by his intended victim? I realized with a sick feeling that I’d seen Alex coming into the inn at two in the morning. Was it possible that Charlene’s new beau was a murderer? I knew I had to tell the investigators what I’d seen and heard. But should I tell Charlene as well?

  I was going to start at the end of the hall, but decided instead to start with Alex’s room. If he was a dangerous man, I needed to tell my friend. I grabbed my bucket of cleaning supplies and unlocked the door to his suite, praying there would be nothing incriminating in the naturalist’s room.

  I let myself in and shut the door behind me. The room smelled faintly of his cologne, and the curtains were drawn shut, the bed a tangle of sheets and quilt. I opened the curtains to let sunlight into the room, then did a quick scan of the desk and the dresser. Despite the unmade bed, the rest of the room was neat and orderly; his razor and hairbrush were neatly lined up on the bathroom counter, and his damp towel hung on a hook.

  A half dozen field guides were stacked on the desk, along with a notebook. I glanced over my shoulder and opened the notebook; it was lined with dates, times, locations, and names. I was confused until flipped through to yesterday’s entry and saw both the time of day and a number. This must be a record of the whales he had seen, I realized. I closed the book and was putting it back into its place when I noticed a folded page sticking out of the back of the book. I opened it; it was an article on a Japanese whaler and its encounter with the Sea Shepherd, an anti-whale-hunting boat, a few years back. I scanned it quickly and tucked it back into the notebook, wondering why he’d printed the article, and continued my survey. There was nothing incriminating, thank goodness, and I felt a little bit better as I straightened the sheets on the bed, did a quick cleanup in the bathroom, and headed to the next room.

  ***

  The police had completed with their initial inquiries by the time I finished up the rooms, and it suddenly occurred to me that with the discovery of Bainbridge’s body, the group’s reservations at Jordan Pond House were probably not going to happen.

  That meant I had a dozen people to feed, and nothing to feed them, unless I wanted to pirate my dinner plans. Evidently the same thought had occurred to Martina; as I put up my cleaning supplies and turned to go find her, she knocked on the kitchen door, looking worried.

  “I just realized our lunch plans are off!” she said.

  “M
e too,” I said, opening the fridge. “And I haven’t picked up the order for tomorrow’s lunch yet,” I said, and turned to her. “Let me call Spurrell’s and see if they can get a dozen people in,” I suggested.

  “Good thinking,” she said. “I’m sorry... it’s just...” Her eyes welled up. “I can’t believe Carl is gone. And they think someone murdered him.”

  I reached out to touch her shoulder. “I’m so sorry,” I said gently. “It must be a shock.”

  “And now I have to keep everyone busy for the next four days. The investor is probably going to get cold feet, and I don’t even have access to the schooner.... besides even if I do, I’m down a crew member.”

  “What about Alex?” I asked. “He has a license, doesn’t he?”

  “That’s true,” she said. “I hadn’t thought about that.”

  “In the meantime, is everyone free to go this afternoon? Maybe I can find a lobster boat they can go out on—see how a lobsterman works.”

  “Great thinking,” she said.

  “I’ll see if I can get in touch with my niece’s fiancé. Let me make a few phone calls, and I’ll let you know.”

  “You’re a lifesaver,” she told me. “I can’t thank you enough.”

  Ten minutes later, I had secured two tables at Spurrell’s Lobster Pound and had Adam motoring back toward the island, along with a friend who’d agreed to help us out. John wasn’t available, so Gwen drove some of the group over in the van while Alex and I took the young family in my skiff, the Little Marian; John’s skiff was still out at the schooner. Fortunately, I had extra kids’ life jackets in the storage closet, so we got Liam and Lizzie fitted out.

  “We’re not going to get caught on the anchor, are we?” Lizzie asked, a concerned look on her face, as I helped her into the skiff.

  “Of course not,” I said. “But you will get to see how lobsters are caught. You’ll probably see some crabs, too—and maybe even a sea cucumber.”

  “What’s a sea cucumber?” Lizzie asked.

  “You’ll see,” I told her. “You can tell me how many lobsters you counted when you get back!”

  “I still think the kitten should be named Ratty,” Liam piped up.

  Carson sighed, and Yvette gave me a long-suffering look. I grinned to myself and started up the engine, giving the schooner a wide berth, although my eyes were drawn to it. There was no way the captain had gotten his leg tied up in that anchor chain.

  Which meant somebody, most likely somebody at the inn, had murdered him.

  ***

  The phone was ringing when I got back to the kitchen. “Can you believe it?” Charlene asked breathlessly when I picked it up.

  “You’ve heard?”

  “Of course I’ve heard,” she said. Nothing happened on Cranberry Island that Charlene, as postmistress and gossip hub, didn’t hear about. “It’s so terrible!”

  “I know,” I said as I sat down at the kitchen table. “How did things go with Alex last night?”

  “He is amazing,” she said, her voice suddenly dreamy. I smiled; the male population of Cranberry Island was going to be sorely disappointed that my curvy, caramel-haired friend had been snapped up by an outsider.

  “I figured it was going well. You guys sure were out late,” I said.

  “Not that late,” she told me. “He went back to the inn before midnight.”

  “That’s funny,” I said, feeling my stomach lurch. “He didn’t get back to the inn until after two.”

  Charlene was quiet for a moment. “Well, it is a bit of a walk,” she said.

  Not two hours, I thought to myself. If he wasn’t coming back from Charlene’s house, what exactly was Alex doing out at two in the morning? My thoughts turned to Captain Bainbridge, and my stomach lurched. “Charlene,” I said. “You know the captain was probably murdered last night.”

  “Murdered?” she asked. “I thought it was an accident.”

  I described the circumstances of Bainbridge’s death.

  “That’s horrible,” she breathed.

  “I hate to ask this,” I said, looking out the window at the Summer Breeze, “but did Alex say anything about his relationship with the captain?”

  “Wait,” she said. “You don’t think...”

  “I don’t know. But there are two hours unaccounted for last night.”

  “No way, Natalie,” she said flatly. “He had nothing to do with it.”

  “Even so,” I told her. “What do you know about their relationship?”

  “Well...” she hesitated. “He was angry that the captain took the schooner so close to the whales,” she admitted. “But that’s hardly a motive for murder.”

  “Did he say anything else about him? Anything that might help figure out who might have wanted him dead?”

  “I know there was a squabble between the captain and the first mate,” she said. “From what I could tell, she wasn’t totally on board with buying a second boat.”

  I was about to tell her about the conversation I had overheard between the captain and the first mate, but there was a yowling noise from the end of the kitchen. “I’ve got to go,” I said...

  “What’s that noise?”

  “Biscuit just discovered the kitten,” I said.

  “Kitten?”

  “I’ll tell you later,” I said, hanging up the phone as I grabbed my chunky orange tabby. I’d put the kitten in the laundry room before I left, but evidently someone had left the door ajar. The kitten had ventured back to the radiator, and had had the misfortune to settle into Biscuit’s favorite spot.

  Biscuit growled in my arms, her tail tripling in size. I carried the tabby upstairs and locked him in our bedroom, then came down and relocated the kitten to the laundry room. I reassured her, stroking her soft head, and she started purring immediately, sounding like a miniature outboard engine. She seemed remarkably unconcerned, thankfully, but I wasn’t encouraged by the tenor of the two cats’ encounter, and mewled as I closed the door behind her and headed back up to release Biscuit, who stalked to the radiator and reclaimed her spot, giving me a miffed look through slitted green eyes.

  I had just washed my hands and was looking for a recipe—the guests had emptied the cookie jar—when Catherine and Bridget came in. I stifled a groan; with all the excitement, I’d almost forgotten my sister was in town.

  “How’d it go?” I asked, applying what I hoped was a bright smile.

  “It’s not a very big island, is it?” Bridget asked.

  “Lots of beautiful views though,” Catherine said. “And Gwen has such a way with them... I can’t wait for you to see her paintings.”

  “It’s a good hobby,” Bridget said, “but I can’t help but think she’s wasting her talents.”

  My mother-in-law flashed me a look that was something between amusement and exasperation. “If you’ll excuse me,” she said, “I’m going to head down to the carriage house. Do you need anything here, Nat?”

  “I think we’re good for now,” I said. “I took care of the rooms this morning, and I’m about to make cookies.”

  “I’ll do room duty tomorrow,” she told me. “Need help with dinner?”

  “If you could help with setting up and serving, that would be great,” I told her.

  “I’ll be here at 5:30,” she said. “What are they doing with the guests today, by the way?”

  “Adam is organizing an excursion for them,” I said.

  Bridget’s narrowed her eyes. “You mean the Adam Gwen wants to marry?”

  “Yes,” I told her. “What’s your plan for the day?” I asked in a bright voice, trying to change the subject.

  But Bridget was not so easily dissuaded. “What a great opportunity to get to know this boy who wants to be my son-in-law,” she said. “I think I may join them.”

  “You can’t,” I blurted. The last thing I needed was for my sister to badger Adam with half the tour group on board. “I mean, there isn’t room on the boat. Besides, I was hoping we’d spend some time togeth
er and catch up,” I said. “It’s been what... five years?”

  My mother-in-law shot me another look that was something between pity and mirth. “I’m headed down to the carriage house,” she said. “Let me know if you need anything, Nat.”

  “Thanks, Catherine... and thanks so much for showing my sister around.”

  “My pleasure,” she said, looking slightly relieved as she headed for the door.

  As she closed the door, my sister settled herself at the kitchen table and fixed her eyes on me. “What do you know about this Adam boy?”

  “He’s a very nice young man,” I said, reaching for my recipe binder and realizing that it was still missing. I’d have to ask John what he’d done with it, I thought as I selected another cookbook from my collection. I had been planning on making Blackout Brownies, but I’d have to do something different.

  “Does he really have a degree from Princeton?” my sister asked.

  “Yes,” I said, and decided it was best not to tell her that he’d tossed it into the Gulf of Maine when he bought his lobster boat, the Carpe Diem. “Tell me about California, Bridget. It sounds like the law practice is really going well,” I said as I leafed through the recipes looking for something delicious. I needed something gooey and comforting, I decided—not just for my guests, but for me. Between the horrible tragedy on the boat and Bridget’s unexpected visit, I needed a little bit of chocolate therapy.

  I stopped when I hit a recipe for chocolate chip bars—and then remembered I had a jar of salted caramel sauce in the pantry. What if I made salted caramel chocolate chip bars—with milk chocolate instead of semisweet? My mouth was starting to water already.

  “Natalie!”

  I looked up from the cookbook. “What?”

  “Didn’t you hear me?’

  “Sorry,” I said. “I was looking at a recipe,” I said, scanning the ingredients list and heading for the pantry. If I put a layer of caramel in the middle of the bars...

  “Anyway,” she said. “Real estate prices are completely insane in California. Of course, it’s an excellent investment, but the taxes are just terrible. I probably pay as much in taxes as you do for your whole mortgage!”