Basket Case, page 4
“There was one in her room, though,” John pointed out as he reached for a little roll of prosciutto. “Maybe she just forgot it.”
“Maybe,” I said. “But she was so persnickety that doesn’t feel right.”
“You think maybe someone put a peanut in her glass and took the EpiPen?” he asked, turning his wine glass in his hand. “And is one peanut really enough to kill someone?”
“I looked it up; peanut allergies can be really brutal. Even if you have a bite of something with peanut butter in it and spit it out, it can still be fatal.”
“That’s crazy,” he said.
“I know.” I was very grateful I didn’t have to contend with life-threatening allergies… particularly living on an island with limited access to medical facilities.
"All right,” John said. “I’ll bite. Who do you think would have wanted to kill Justine?”
“I really don’t know if anyone would have had an adequate motive for murder, to be honest. At least not one I’m aware of. On the other hand, I did just meet Justine, and we weren’t best friends or anything.”
“What do you know?”
“Well, she didn’t like Mercedes. She made it very clear that she thought she wasn’t good enough for her son… and she wasn’t shy about making sure Mercedes knew it.”
“Ouch,” John said.
“I know,” I agreed. “And it turns out Justine was on Kayla’s homeowners’ association and cost Kayla a lot of money by putting a stop to her construction project.”
“So that’s two people who weren’t enamored of Justine,” John said. “But neither seems like a likely candidate for murdering her.” He took another sip of wine. “She came with friends. Do you think maybe there was something going on with one of them that we don’t know about?”
“It’s possible,” I said. Then I remembered the picture I’d found on the trail that morning. I dug it out of my back pocket once again and unfolded it. “What do you think of this?” I asked, smoothing it out on the scarred pine table and pushing it over to him
“What is it?” he asked.
“I found it on the cliff path,” I said. “In the wake of Justine, Phoebe, and Mary, who looked like they’d just argued about something.”
“Who are they?” he asked, peering at the picture again myself. It was a zoomed-in shot of a fit-looking couple in a passionate embrace on a beach. Although the woman’s face was obscured by her hair and the man’s hand, a diamond tennis bracelet adorned her slender wrist, and her manicured fingers sported what appeared to be a large sapphire ring on her third finger. He had light blond hair and a deep receding hairline, and appeared to be about six inches taller than her.
“That’s the question,” I said. “I think it might have something to do with what happened. But it doesn’t look like this woman is any of the women here at the inn.”
“Do you know it came from them?”
“No,” I admitted. “Maybe I’m grasping at straws.” I took a sip of my wine; as I put down the glass, John pointed out the window behind me. “Is that Mercedes?”
I turned to see the young woman trudging down the hill. “It is,” I said. “I thought she was with Phoebe and Mary!”
“She isn’t now,” John said. I stood up and headed to the front door of the inn to meet her. She was just starting up the path to the porch when I opened the door, letting a blast of cool, fresh spring air into the inn.
“Hey,” I said. “Are you okay?”
“No,” Mercedes said. “I’m not okay. I can’t find Justine’s phone, I just had to tell my husband his mother died, and now I feel horrible I invited her here in the first place. Nothing’s okay.” And then she burst into tears.
11
“Come on in,” I said, hurrying down and putting my arm around her. “John and I were having a glass of wine in the kitchen; do you want to join us?”
She hesitated, then said, “Maybe one small glass. It’ll help me sleep.”
“Come on, then,” I said, leading her through the dining room, past the place where Justine had had her allergic reaction, to the swinging door that led to my warm, butter-colored kitchen.
“Hey,” John said as we entered. “Let me get you a glass.”
As I led Mercedes to a chair, John grabbed a glass from a cabinet and poured a bit of wine into it, setting in front of her. “You’ve had quite a day,” he said.
“It just keeps getting better,” she said.
“What happened?”
“Phoebe kind of suggested that I was the one who killed Justine,” she said, and swiped at her eyes. “She asked if Aidan and I were going to move into her house, now that it’s going to be ours, and whether I’d planned this trip just so I could do it in a place that would deflect suspicion.” She took a ragged breath. “She says she’s going to tell the police her suspicions.”
“What did Mary say?” I asked.
“She didn’t say anything at all,” Mercedes said. “They’re vipers, the two of them. All three of them were… sorry, that’s horrible of me. Forget I said that.”
John and I glanced at each other. A moment later, Mercedes caught sight of the picture on the table. “What’s this?”
“We were just wondering that,” I said.
“Natalie found it on the path this morning,” John said. “It might be nothing, but it’s possible it had something to do with what happened to your mother-in-law. Do you know either of these people?”
Mercedes picked up the paper and squinted at it. “No, I don’t recognize them,” she said. “Although you can’t really see any of the woman’s face, can you?” She put it down and looked at John. “Why do you think this might have something to do with what happened to Justine?”
“Justine, Phoebe, and Mary had just walked by the spot where Nat found it,” he said. “We were wondering if maybe one of them dropped it accidentally.”
Mercedes shook her head. “I have no idea who these people are.”
“Mercedes said she can’t find Justine’s phone,” I told John.
“Are you thinking maybe somebody ‘disappeared’ it when she had that reaction?” He asked.
“Maybe,” I said. “I just thought it was odd.”
“We should keep looking for it, but I agree.” He turned to Mercedes. “Would Phoebe or Mary have any reason to want Justine out of the way?” he asked.
She blinked. “You think one of Justine’s friends might have killed her?”
“If Phoebe’s trying to tell the police that you did it, maybe she’s covering her tracks,” I suggested.
“Oh. I hadn’t thought of that,” she said. “I can’t think why they would. They were all tight… they liked to sit around and judge everyone else all the time.”
“Did they judge each other?”
“I feel like people like Justine judge everyone all the time. It’s like a reflex.”
“Was there anyone else who was angry at Justine? Or have a reason to want her gone?”
Mercedes shook her head. “Not that I know of. In fact, the only person who really benefits from her death is my husband.” Her shoulders sagged. “Which is what Phoebe said tonight, about six times. I couldn’t take it anymore; I had to leave the table.”
“I’d leave, too,” I said. “After the day you had. That must have been just horrifying.”
“It was,” she said in a small voice. “Justine and I never got along, but she was my husband’s mother. If it weren’t for her…” She sobbed and put a hand over her stomach. “Actually, part of the reason I brought her here was to share some good news. Aidan and I are pregnant.”
“Congratulations!” I said.
“And I never got to tell her. And now the baby will never get to meet his or her grandmother.” Tears rolled down her cheeks anew, and I reached over and squeezed her shoulder.
“I am so sorry,” I said. “Are you close with your own mother?”
Mercedes nodded. “She’s going to be thrilled. She’s coming for a visit next week, and I was going to tell her then.”
“When are you due?”
“September,” she said with a small smile. “It’ll be a fall baby. We don’t know if it’s a boy or a girl… we decided to wait and find out.”
“Gwen and her husband Adam made the same decision,” John said.
“She told me,” Mercedes said. “We were dyeing eggs together; she’s lovely.”
“She is,” I said, smiling at the thought of my kind, talented niece. Who was going to be a mother any day now.
“I… I think I need to go lie down,” Mercedes said.
“Of course,” I told her. “We’re here if you need us, though. And I’m sure you could reach out to Gwen, too. Do you have her number?”
“I do,” she said, standing up. “Thank you so much. I needed this.” She took a deep, shaky breath. “I can’t wait for Aidan to get here.”
“When will he arrive?”
“He’s in California for a work conference, but when I told him… he was just quiet for a long time.” A groove appeared between her eyebrows. “He’ll be on the first flight tomorrow morning. He should be here by early afternoon.”
“How did he take it?”
“He was… stoic,” she said. “But I know it shook him up. He’s lost both parents now.”
“Thank goodness he’s got you,” I said.
“I just hope Phoebe doesn’t manage to convince the police that I’m the reason she died,” Mercedes said, then gave us a small smile. “Thanks so much for everything. Really.” And then she disappeared through the swinging door.
12
As the door swung closed, I took a sip of wine and looked at John across the pine kitchen table. Biscuit jumped up into my lap and began kneading my legs; I petted her absently, wincing a little bit at the claws poking through my denim jeans.
The wind was picking up outside, and I could hear the sighing of the pines out the window; it was almost like they were trying to tell me something I couldn’t quite make out. The egg I had decorated that morning was next to the vase of hyacinth and narcissus; although it had turned out beautifully, with a delicate tracery of leaves and flowers, just looking at it made me think of Justine. Had someone wanted her dead? Or was what had happened just a crazy accident? “I keep thinking about that half-empty bag of mixed nuts in the garbage can in the dining room,” I told John, taking a sip of my wine. “Nobody admitted to it being theirs.”
“Would you?” he asked. “Given the circumstances?”
“It would be awkward,” I admitted. “I’d feel horribly guilty if I’d somehow accidentally been responsible for someone going into anaphylactic shock. Although how a peanut ended up in Justine’s drink is a real mystery.”
“I know. How could that possibly happen by accident?” John asked.
“Exactly. It’s not like there were peanuts on the table, or anything. Or anywhere, for that matter. She made sure I cleared the inn before she got here.”
“Maybe one of her friends forgot and accidentally sent one flying when they opened the bag?”
“Justine would have said something if someone turned up with nuts. Besides, Phoebe knew Justine had a peanut allergy,” I mused. “I’m sure Mary knew, too. That could point to one of them being the culprit.” I turned my glass around in my hand, admiring the glow of the straw-colored liquid. “On the other hand, it was hardly a state secret; she told everyone at the beginning of the workshop that she had a peanut allergy.”
“Why would Phoebe want Justine dead?” John asked, spearing a chunk of white cheddar with a toothpick.
“I wondered the same thing. I’m thinking whoever opened that bag of nuts probably left prints, though.”
“That’s why I stashed the garbage bag in the laundry room earlier in case the police decided they needed evidence,” John reminded me.
“You did? That’s quick thinking. Does anyone who was in the dining room see you take it?”
“I don’t think so,” he said, shaking his head. “I just kind of tied it up and walked into the kitchen with it while everyone was talking about Justine.”
“But I did announce to everyone in the room that I’d found it.”
“So if there was a killer, they would have been watching. And if they knew we’d kept the bag, they’d be keen to get rid of it,” John said. “Maybe I should put it up in our closet, just to make sure. I’ll be right back,” he said, standing up and heading into the laundry room, giving my shoulder a squeeze on the way.
A moment later, he appeared at the laundry room door with the bag in his hands.
“It’s gone,” he said.
“What’s gone?”
“The bag of mixed nuts. It was in here when I tied it up and put it in the laundry room, and now it’s not.” His handsome face looked grim. “Which means what happened to Justine was no accident. “I’ll have to tell the mainland police about this.”
“Maybe whoever it was left fingerprints on the garbage bag,” I suggested.
“Good point,” he said. “I should have used gloves.”
“Your prints would be on the bag anyway,” I reminded him.
“Who’s the deputy here, anyway?” he asked, grinning. “You’re right, of course, but I may have obscured other prints.” He sighed. “This is looking a whole lot more like it wasn’t an accident. I’m going to put this up in our room and lock the door until I can get it to the investigators.”
As he headed up the stairs to our private quarters, trash bag in hand, I took another sip of wine and looked out the window. The beam of a flashlight was bouncing down the driveway toward the inn; Phoebe and Mary must be returning from dinner at the lobster pound.
“They’re coming back!” I called.
“Why don’t you meet them in the parlor?” he called back down the stairs. “See if you can get them to stay for a glass of wine. Maybe they’ll tell us something useful.”
“I’m on my way,” I said. “As long as you promise to join me.” I was guessing the presence of my handsome husband might loosen tongues more than just having me on the sofa.
“I’ll be there in a minute,” he promised.
13
A gust of cold air whooshed into the inn along with Phoebe and Mary, whose cheeks were flushed from the walk back from the town pier. I had positioned myself on the sofa in the parlor along with a fresh bottle of wine and my glass.
“Hi, ladies! How was it?” I asked.
“It was delicious,” Mary said. “And the lemon fool for dessert was to die for.”
“They do a good job, don’t they? They used to be closed all spring; I’m glad they started opening up earlier. Can I interest you in a glass of wine? John and I were about to start a fire in the fireplace,” I said, feeling inspired.
The two women looked at each other and then shrugged. “Why not?” Phoebe said.
“Pull up a chair and I’ll grab some glasses,” I said. As they settled themselves on the sofa across from mine, I walked to the kitchen and retrieved John’s glass along with two fresh ones from the cabinet.
I was about to push back through the swinging door when John came back downstairs.
“Are they in?”
“They are,” I confirmed. “But I promised them a fire in the fireplace.”
“You’re better at that than I am,” he said, “so I’ll pour the wine.”
Together, we returned to the parlor, where the two women were discussing something in low voices. At the sight of us, they stopped talking abruptly.
“Ooh, thank you,” Mary said as I set down two fresh wine glasses. John twisted the top off the bottle of Sauvignon blanc and poured them each a dollop as I busied myself arranging logs in the fireplace and tucking crumpled back issues of the Daily Mail in between the logs. Soon, flames licked the wood, and with a bit of coaxing and a couple of rounds with the bellows, a cozy fire crackled away, filling the parlor with warmth and heat.
I returned to the sofa and settled in next to John, who put his arm around me.
“How are you two holding up?” I asked as they each sipped their wine.
“It was a shock, of course,” Phoebe said.
“Do you think it was an accident?” John asked, surprising me a little with his directness.
“What else would it be?” Phoebe answered, shrugging, but her eyes narrowed.
“Who stood to benefit from her death?” I asked, although Mercedes had already told me that her husband was in line to inherit.
“Oh, Mercedes and Aidan, of course.”
“I heard Justine telling her the other day that the will was set up so that Mercedes wouldn’t inherit anything,” I said.
“I wouldn’t know about that,” Phoebe said. “But if Aidan inherits, then they both benefit, it seems to me.”
“Do you think Mercedes might have slipped a peanut into her mother-in-law’s drink?” John asked. “Nat tells me there was some tension between the two women.”
“Just normal mother-in-law-daughter-in-law stuff,” Phoebe said, waving the idea away. “I’m sure Mercedes had nothing to do with what happened.”
“It was an accident anyway,” Mary said.
“I don’t know what they’re ruling it,” John said, taking another sip from his wine and pulling me a bit closer.
Mary blinked at him. “They’ll let us go home, though, right?”
“You live on the mainland,” John said. “Ellsworth, right?”
She nodded.
“You live in the same neighborhood as Kayla, don’t you?” I asked.
“Yes. Now, there’s one who wasn’t too happy with Justine,” Mary said.
“Because of the construction ban, right?”
Phoebe nodded. “It cost Kayla and her husband about thirty thousand dollars.”
“But it’s a nice neighborhood, isn’t it? I mean, thirty thousand dollars isn’t a life-and-death amount in Windabay, is it? I remember going on a homes tour a few years ago; if I remember right, those are million-dollar houses.”
