A Twist In The Tail

Eleven

I had some time to kill after I cleaned up the breakfast dishes and fed the cats—who did not act at all appreciative of the shrimp I’d given them the night before—so I decided to head downtown. It would be closer for Mom and Millie to meet me there anyway and I wanted to visit my best friend from high school Jen Summers, who worked at the Post Office.

Another good thing about moving back home was that I’d had a chance to reconnect with Jen. We’d been inseparable when we were younger, but had drifted apart when I’d moved away. It was hard to stay in touch while raising kids and all, but now that the kids were out of the house and I was back in town, we had a lot of time to catch up and I stopped in whenever I could.

The post office was the epicenter of Oyster Cove’s rumor mill and Jen always knew everything that was going on in town. But I wasn’t going there to pump her for information, I was going for the emotional support.

The Oyster Cove Post Office was in an old brick building in the center of Main Street. It had been built in the 1920s and no one had thought to do a thing with it since. It still retained the old marble-checked tile floor, oak teller windows with bars, wainscoting on the bottom half of the walls and the pervasive smell of stamp glue. I had to admit, it had a certain charm.

Jen looked up from her job of stuffing the post boxes as I entered. A smile replaced the bored look on her face and she practically dropped the mail on the floor to greet me.

‘Hey, how’s it going? I heard you had a murder at the guesthouse! I hope you’re okay out there?’

Her expression was a mixture of interest and concern. I was touched that she was concerned about me but figured she also wanted to know all the details. Clearly I was okay, since I was standing right in front of her.

‘I’m fine. It’s terrible that someone died but, even worse, I think Seth Chamberlain might suspect me.’

‘Pfft…’ Jen waved her hand in the air. ‘I wouldn’t put any stock in what he says. Remember when we were in high school and he kept trying to catch us with our boyfriends at Makeout Point? He was pretty easy to pull one over on.’

She had a point. It hadn’t been hard to evade Sheriff Chamberlain when we were younger. ‘That makes me even more nervous. If he’s so incompetent, he might arrest me just because he can’t find the real killer.’

Jen gnawed on her bottom lip. ‘Oh, yeah. True. So, tell me what you know.’

I told her about the partial note, the affair with Tina, the missing cookbook, the sabotage and the clog print. ‘And Flora said that Stella Dumont has been hanging around the guesthouse so, naturally, I suspect her.’

Jen nodded. ‘She’s sketchy and I heard she needs money.’

‘You did? I did too. Mom said she entered some cooking contest and when I went over to question her, she acted evasive. You ask me, those gulls that keep pooping on her deck are hurting her business.’

‘But why would that make her kill your guest? Do you think she wants to make it so people are afraid to stay there?’

‘Maybe. She acted like she had a reason to be there.’

‘What reason?’

‘She implied she was there to see Mike Sullivan, but then he denied it.’

Jen made a face. ‘Hunky Mike Sullivan? What would he want with Stella? I’m sure she was making that up. She’s not the most truthful person you know.’

It was true that Stella was prone to lying. ‘Yeah, but I’m not sure I trust Mike either. Whoever sabotaged that room had carpentry knowledge.’

‘Oh, come on. Mike wouldn’t do that. He’s a nice guy. Please tell me you aren’t still holding a grudge about what happened back in high school.’

My spine stiffened. ‘Of course not. That would be so immature. I couldn’t care less about Mike Sullivan. But, like I said, the crime scene was altered by someone in the trade and if the shoe fits…’

‘Speaking of shoe, you found a clog print and Mike doesn’t wear clogs. My money is on Stella.’

‘Stella wasn’t wearing clogs when I visited. She claimed she doesn’t wear them ever, but she could be lying. There’s another person who might fit that clog print too.’ I told her about the review I’d seen on the lemon meringue pie. ‘I’m meeting Mom and Millie to go there for lunch at one.’

‘Lordy, you have your mom and Millie in on this?’

‘Not much choice. Those two get into everything.’

‘Are you regretting your decision to move back here and keep an eye on your mom?’ Jen wheeled a cart over and started sorting mail.

‘She is a handful, but no. I love it here and buying the Oyster Cove Guesthouse was the right move. Even if it did take my life savings.’

It was only partially true that I had moved back here to keep an eye on my mother. Daddy had passed on five years ago and at the time I’d been terribly worried that my mother would wallow in grief. Luckily, she’d adjusted to widowhood like a trooper. Now I was worried about her barging in on crime scenes and causing trouble with Millie. It was like I’d turned into the mom and she into the teenager.

But the other reason I’d moved back was that I’d been terribly hurt by Clive. I’d left that marriage feeling like I was worthless. In order to sooth that pain, I’d run back to the one place where I’d always felt safe and secure. Oyster Cove. And buying the Guesthouse gave me a way to rebuild my self-worth. Well, as long as I could be successful at it, and I doubted this murder was going to help with that.

‘And then it’s all made worse by Barbara Littlefield running around town telling everyone we should be closed down because it’s unsafe. So if Chamberlain doesn’t arrest me for murder, Barbara Littlefield might close me down. Either way there goes my savings down the drain.’

Jen clucked in sympathy. She knew how important it was for me to make a go of this on my own. ‘Don’t worry, no one listens to Barbara. She’s always grousing about something.’

‘Right, except as the building inspector, she does have a lot of power.’

‘I wouldn’t worry about Barbara,’ Jen assured me. ‘She doesn’t like change but she just wants to make sure the town doesn’t get too built up. She comes off as a hard ass, but she has all our best interests at heart. The tourists come for the quaint ambiance of an old-fashioned Maine fishing town and she wants to make sure that’s what they get. She’d never close down the guesthouse, it’s part of the town history.’

‘I suppose.’

‘She’s just crotchety.’ Jen tossed some mail into the cart. ‘But you have to give her credit for finding the Furbish Lousewort and working to get the government to declare that a protected area. Otherwise they would have built that big hotel. That would have changed the town forever. And not in a good way. Probably would have put the guesthouse out of business.’

‘Yeah, I guess,’ I hated to admit I might owe Barbara one for stopping the construction. I knew she hadn’t done it for me, but Jen was right about the hotel.

‘You hang around long enough, you might be able to thank her in person.’ Jen pointed to a pile of packages. ‘She gets a lot of packages. Some of them are dirty.’

My eyebrows shot up. ‘You mean she gets porn?’

Jen looked at me and laughed. ‘No. Dirty like with dirt. I don’t know, she might get special fertilizer for that Lousewort, you know how she babies it.’

‘Oh, that kind of dirt. For a minute there I thought maybe I could have some sort of blackmail to leverage over her.’

Jen made a face. ‘Eww… just the thought of Barbara and porn makes me glad I had a light breakfast.’

‘Ditto.’

‘So what about this Tina person? Do you think she could’ve done it? Lover’s quarrel?’ Jen asked.

‘I really have no idea. She was very upset when we discovered the body, but she could’ve been acting,’ I said. ‘I just can’t imagine her being with Charles. I mean she’s kind of pretty.’

I glanced out the window to see a seagull perched on the back of one of the benches they had set at intervals on the sidewalk. They were kind of pretty with barrels of flowers beside them. The gull made me think of Stella Dumont. ‘And I still don’t know why Stella’s been lurking around the guesthouse.’

‘Does she have a connection to the victim?’

‘I’m not sure. I couldn’t find anything. When I looked online the only review I found was the one for the Marinara Mariner. She sure was acting suspicious yesterday, but she was distracted because the gulls were flocking around her deck like she was putting out a buffet for them.’

Jen glanced out the window. ‘Yeah, what about the gulls? It’s weird what’s happening to them, isn’t it?’

‘For sure. But Stella probably isn’t unhappy about it. They congregate around her deck and I don’t imagine her guests appreciate them begging for scraps when they are dining outdoors.’

‘I don’t know. I think some tourists like to feed them. That’s how they got in the habit of stealing sandwiches out of their hands on the beach in the first place.’

‘Hmm…’ I glanced at the gull who appeared to be watching people as they strolled past. Probably sizing them up for culinary handout. ‘Maybe people have stopped feeding them and that’s why they are dying off.’

Jen shook her head. ‘I don’t know, Gordon Swift from the Audubon Society was in here the other day saying something about experts looking into some kind of a disease.’

‘Oh. Well that’s not good. I hope it doesn’t spread to other animals.’ I thought of Nero and Marlowe. Could cats catch a disease from seagulls? I certainly didn’t want something happening to them.

‘Anyway, it can’t be that they’re starving. They eat those flockenberries up on the cliff. That’s why they poop orange, you know? The berries are orange and pass right through,’ Jen said. ‘And there are tons of those berries. Those things are invasive. They practically choke out anything else nearby. Mrs. Landsdowne had them in her garden and they killed all of her tomato plants.’

‘You don’t say.’ As I made a mental note to make sure I didn’t have any flockenberries in the gardens that I’d be redoing at the guesthouse, something on the street caught my eye. It was my mother and Millie dressed to the nines and making a beeline for the post office. ‘Looks like I better get going. Millie and my mom are coming and it looks like they’re dressed to kill for our lunch at the Marinara Mariner.’

Despite its kitschy name, the Marinara Mariner was a pretty decent upscale Italian restaurant. It was located a few doors down from the Post Office and had a definite Tuscan vibe. The hostess led us through the dimly lit room, across the clay tile flooring, through the arch and into a grotto area with one wall made out of large stones and the others painted a pleasing Tuscany mustard color.

We were seated at a cozy table in the back. Our water glasses sparkled under the chandelier, our silverware gleamed. The plates were simple white china with a gold rim and the acoustics were such that we could only hear muted snatches of the other diners’ conversations. I could tell Mom and Millie were straining to eavesdrop on Carolyn Wheatly and her boss John Collingsworth, who looked particularly cozy in the corner.

Even the menu was classy, all done in dark brown quality faux leather with nice printing inside. I scanned the items—antipasto, eggplant, veal—while inhaling the tang of tomato sauce and freshly baked bread.

‘What are you going to have Josie?’ Millie looked at me over the top of her menu. ‘It’s my treat.’

‘I can’t let you do that, Millie.’ Though it would be nice because I didn’t really have any money for eating out. I scanned the side dishes. Maybe I could make do with a side of broccoli?

‘Don’t be silly. I’m rolling in it now that I have all that money from the sale of the guesthouse.’ She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘And besides, if we play our cards right, we won’t have to pay a dime.’

Worry set in. Mom and Millie were known to play fast and loose. My eyes narrowed. ‘Just what are you two planning?’

‘It’s nothing bad.’ Mom put her menu down. ‘I’m having the lasagna.’

‘I’m going for the veal scallopini. What about you, Josie?’ Millie asked.

‘Salad. Now tell me exactly what you are planning to do.’

Millie pressed her lips together and looked over my shoulder at the waitress who had appeared with a pitcher of water. Saved by the waitstaff, but it was only a temporary reprieve. The waitress would have to leave sooner or later, though it looked like it would be later given all the questions Mom and Millie were asking about the food.

Finally, after they found out about every dish, ordered what they wanted and demanded a basket of rolls, the waitress left.

I resumed my inquisition. ‘Okay, fess up ladies. What do you have planned? How are you going to figure out if Tony Murano is our clog-wearing killer?’

‘Why we have to look at his feet, of course.’ Millie fluffed out her napkin and deposited it in her lap with a flourish.

‘And just how do you propose that?’ I asked.

‘Oh, don’t worry dear, we know how to get an audience with the chef.’ Mom looked over the edge of her water glass at me, her eyes sparkling with delight.

‘How do you do that?’

‘Why we complain about the meals, of course.’ Millie looked at me as if I was daft. ‘Shhh… here they come.’

The waitress deposited the plates on the table and we tucked in. Millie and mom both felt sorry for me and insisted I try theirs. It was delicious.

‘I don’t see how you can complain about this food, it’s delish,’ I mumbled around a mouthful of lasagna.

‘Oh no? Millie passed the glass of a light Pilsner she’d ordered to Mom. ‘Hold my beer.

‘Oh miss. Miss…’ Millie flapped her hands in the air to summon the waitress who hurried over with a frown on her face.

‘Can I help you?’

Millie pushed her plate away from her. ‘This veal is as tough as shoe leather!’ Never mind that she’d eaten almost all of it.

The waitress looked at the plate skeptically. ‘I’m so sorry, can I get you something else?’

Millie folded her arms over her chest. ‘Certainly not. I’d like to see the chef.’

‘I’m sorry, but chef Murano doesn’t leave the kitchen.’ The waitress looked a little scared but I wasn’t sure if it was of Millie or chef Murano. If rumors of Murano’s temper were true, it was likely of him. All the more reason to suspect him of the murder.

Millie harrumphed. She sat up straight, her eyes shooting daggers at the waitress. ‘But I insist. Nothing will make this better except a visit from chef Murano himself. I demand to see him.’

The waitress’ eyes narrowed slightly as if she was going to call Millie’s bluff, but she must have thought better of it because she simply said, ‘I’ll see if he’s available,’ before scurrying off.

Millie’s scowl turned into a smile. She grabbed the beer from Mom and took a swig. ‘See. Works every time.’

Millie’s gloating was short lived. The waitress came back wearing an apologetic look.

‘Chef Murano is busy in the kitchen. He said to offer a free dessert.’

‘Free dessert?’ Millie said loudly, her voice incredulous. ‘That’s no compensation.’

People were starting to stare and the waitress looked antsy. ‘We can take your meal off the bill…’

Millie shot up from her seat. ‘No. None of that will do. I need to talk to chef Murano. Which way to the kitchen.’

‘You can’t go in th—’

But Millie was already marching toward the steel doors that clearly led to the kitchen, casting a follow-me glance over her shoulder at us.

Mom tossed her napkin on the table and slid out of the booth. ‘Guess we should follow her.’

The kitchen was a flurry of activity and a chaos of smells. Pots clanged, sous chefs rushed around plating salads and putting dollops of whipped cream on desserts. In the middle, Tony Murano stood in front of a steel table. He was tall with dark hair, a five o’clock shadow on his chin – though it was only 1:30 – and hairy knuckles. Perhaps I noticed the knuckles because they were clutched around a cleaver that he held high in the air. The florescent lighting glinted off the blade as it sliced down toward the table.

Thwack!

Mom, Millie and I all jumped as the cleaver cut through the side of beef that had been lying on the table.

‘Oh!’ Mom gasped.

Tony’s eyes jerked from the beef to Mom, then me, then Millie. His face darkened. ‘What are you doing in here?’

Millie marched to the other side of the table. I could see her trying to peek over to see what he had on his feet but she was too short. ‘I would like to complain about my veal.’

Tony’s eyes narrowed. The cleaver glinted. ‘Look lady, there’s nothing wrong with the veal. I tasted it myself. I think you’re just trying to weasel out of paying the bill.’

‘I certainly am not!’ Millie stomped her foot then tried to peek around the corner of the table. ‘I just wanted you to… umm…’ She turned around and looked at us.

‘Admit that the meal was subpar.’ Mom came to her rescue.

‘Subpar? Who are you people? Food critics? I don’t like food critics.’ Tony raised the cleaver and we all took a step back.

The sous chefs had stopped working and were watching the argument.

‘We are not food critics.’ Millie started around the corner of the table, glancing back at us with a knowing look. ‘We’re just little old ladies trying to get a good meal. Social security only goes so far you know, and we need to get good value for our money. But more importantly, we want you young people to have the manners to admit when something isn’t good.’

Tony was looking at Millie like she was a three-day-old salad. Clearly he didn’t want to be on the same side of the table as her because he side-stepped away.

‘Listen lady, you need to leave.’

Millie pressed her lips together. Clearly this tactic wasn’t working. ‘Well maybe a handshake then and we’ll call it a day?’

She started toward him but Tony held up the cleaver, stopping her.

A door in the back of the kitchen burst open. A woman stood in the doorway, her eyes narrowing as she took in the intruders in the kitchen. She glanced from Tony to Millie to Mom, her eyes widened when they got to me.

She looked furious as she turned to Tony. ‘What’s going on in here? Who is she?’ She jabbed her finger in my direction.

Tony scowled. ‘I don’t know, honey. They burst in here demanding I apologize because they didn’t like their dinners.’

The woman, Tony’s wife or girlfriend apparently, looked like she didn’t believe him.

While Tony was distracted with this woman, Millie sidled over to the other side of the table. She craned her neck looking down in the direction of Tony’s feet. Her eyes widened and she glanced over at us nodding her head in an exaggerated manner. Honestly, she couldn’t have been less subtle.

Luckily, Tony was no longer paying attention to us. He was busy arguing with the woman who was now standing in front of him, her hands fisted on her hips.

‘Well I certainly hope that this hussy here isn’t trying to get your attention.’ She jerked her head in my direction. Hussy?

I raised my hand. ‘Uhh… I just came with them. I don’t want anyone’s attention.’

The woman got in Tony’s face. ‘Is that right? Maybe she came here thinking I wasn’t in and she could have you all to herself.’

Tony took a few steps back. ‘No dear, that’s not it at all.’ He swaggered away from the woman toward us. When I say swaggered, I don’t mean in an old-fashioned cowboy way. I mean that he had a funny way of walking on the sides of his feet. Just like the clog print we’d found in the bark mulch.

Continuing with her subtle methods, Millie gasped and pointed at his feet. Luckily Tony still wasn’t paying attention. I mean, he did have a cleaver in his hand.

Millie scurried over to us and grabbed Mom by the elbow. ‘Well, looks like our business here is resolved.’

Tony scowled at her, the cleaver glinting off the light. ‘What do you mean, lady? I thought you were mad about your meal and wanted some kind of lame apology. Which you aren’t getting.’

‘No worries, I can see you have good intentions.’ She tugged Mom toward the door. ‘So all’s good then. See you later!’

And with that Millie turned and dragged Mom out of the double doors.

I had just enough time to throw some money on the table for the bill and a tip and meet them outside on the sidewalk.

Millie was already halfway down the street, her heels clacking on the sidewalk. ‘Well I guess that settles it, Tony Murano was wearing the clogs and he walks on the sides of his feet. He’s the killer!’