A Star-Spangled Murder Read online

  “So why have you come to talk to me about your neighbor’s dog? If it’s a sitting service you need, you’re going to have to find someone else. I won’t stay in business long if she eats up the merchandise.”

  Susan explained while the other woman sat down in another chair. “The neighbor who owns Karma is Titania Taylor. I thought you might have met her.”

  “Oh?”

  “She has a small tower of books next to her bed,” Susan explained. “It reminded me of the shopping I used to do when I was young, so I thought of you.…”

  “You’re talking about that little redheaded girl whose uncle was murdered, aren’t you? I’ve been thinking about her all day,” she added at Susan’s nod. “Ever since I heard about his death.

  “You’re right about the books. She’s been in at least once a week since I opened in May. She’s an interesting one to watch. She really wants to read to improve her mind—she always picks out classics that she’s heard about. She’s bought Jane Eyre, Wuthering Heights, David Copperfield, and some Jane Austin, I think. Oh, and the complete poems of T. S. Eliot. And then she’s seduced by writers like P. G. Wodehouse and Daphine Du Maurier—she knows they’re not intellectual, but she can’t resist and she buys them, too—and probably reads them first.”

  “And you give her a discount, right?” Susan guessed, remembering her own childhood.

  “You have to encourage youth. It’s an obligation.”

  “Have you spent much time talking with her?”

  “Some. Things are pretty slow until July Fourth. And I can’t resist spending time with the customers—especially ones as charming as that young girl. She gives me hope. I sometimes wonder if her generation reads anything besides Stephen King. I suppose he prepares them for the rigors of modern life, but still …” She shook her head, dismayed. “So tell me what’s happening with that poor child and how you think I can help.”

  “She’s disappeared,” Susan said bluntly. “There’s a search being organized, but …”

  “Oh dear. But she’s not a murderer, you know. That’s not what you’re thinking.”

  “No, of course not. I think she’s a child who needs some help right now, and I’m hoping I can find her and … and help.”

  “You think she’s on the island.”

  Susan was a little taken aback. “You know, it never occurred to me that she might not be.”

  “Well, you’re probably right. If anyone had driven her off, we would have heard about it. And how far can she go in that little kayak of hers?”

  “What little kayak?”

  “She’s got a little river kayak that she toots around the cove in. Didn’t anyone tell you? It’s not a sea kayak, not one of those imported technological wonders that you Henshaws paddle around in.…”

  “Then she shouldn’t be taking it out on the ocean. And she shouldn’t be going out alone.” Susan was worried. It was one thing to think that the girl had run away; it hadn’t occurred to her that she might have drowned.

  “Look, her mother bought her two of the best books I’ve seen on the subject, so the girl knows what she should be doing. Although she’s probably pretty desperate right now.…” The woman’s voice trailed off, a dismayed expression on her face.

  “Because people might think she’s a murderer,” Susan said.

  “Or that her sisters are. And I got the impression that she cares a lot about those sisters of hers. She may have run away to deflect attention from them.”

  Susan blinked. “Did she say anything that might lead you to believe that’s possible?”

  “I’ve been thinking about that all morning. You know, she talks a lot about her little sister.”

  “Tierney?”

  “I suppose so. The other one has a less fanciful name, right?”

  Susan nodded. “Theresa.”

  “Stupid names, much too unusual for nice girls like that. No wonder their mother has messed up her life. Anyway, Titania bought some books for Tierney, and she talked about her. Or, rather, she talked about how much she worried about the child and what the divorce was doing to her. I think, in fact, that Tierney’s misery is the reason that Titania got the idea of carrying out all those pranks. It made the child feel better if she was doing something. At least that’s the way she explained it to me.”

  “You talked to her about it? About the pudding in the pockets and everything?”

  “Not much. I didn’t approve, and I let her know the way I felt about it. I thought that the sooner those girls got used to their new situation, the happier they’d be. But she’s a teenager, and she sure didn’t see it like that. I suppose you’ve got to admire the child; she really thought that she was going to break up that marriage and get her parents back together. It may be something that most children fantasize about, but she set out to make it happen—and to cheer up her little sisters at the same time.”

  “We think Humphrey was hit with a rock in a bait bag. I don’t think Tierney could have done something like that. She’s pretty small.”

  “What about Theresa? I know she’s younger than Titania, but they’re close to the same size. Sounds like either of them could have done it that way.”

  “True. And if they didn’t do it, why would the girl run away?”

  “I don’t think it’s that simple. Titania is very fond of her mother, and she’s crazy about her father. She could just as easily be protecting them—if she ran away to protect someone. Maybe the whole thing just got to be too much for her. Maybe she took off because she just couldn’t bear to stay around any longer.”

  Susan was thinking so hard that she didn’t notice the dog had eaten one of her shoelaces and was removing the other with an amazing delicacy.

  “I sure hope you find her. I’d hate to think that something might happen to that kid.”

  “I felt better before I knew about the kayak,” Susan admitted, standing up.

  “I wonder if my nephew knows something about this. Why don’t you go in and talk to him?” She reached out for the leash. “I’ll keep the dog out here with me.”

  Susan headed back to the store and leaned against the door while waiting for the young man with the long ponytail to have a free moment. He was a good-looking boy, Susan thought, and three high school girls were working hard to develop an interest in the shelves closest to the desk, which happened to be where books on gardening were kept. Susan wandered over to the nearby shelves labeled building and architecture, thinking of the volumes she had found in the nearly empty rooms at the Taylors’ house. She opened a large tome on Frank Lloyd Wright and admired the pictures. In a few moments the young man was free to speak with her.

  “Can I help you?”

  “I just wanted to ask you a question or two if you don’t mind. Your aunt is outside taking care of the dog.”

  “She’s beautiful,” he commented.

  Susan didn’t know if he was talking about the dog or his aunt, but she agreed politely. “I was wondering if you’ve noticed a teenage girl who comes in here a lot.” She saw him glance at the three students who were now giggling over art books in a corner. “The girl I’m talking about is a lot younger than they are. Her name is Titania Taylor and she has short red hair and—”

  “I know who she is. We’ve had some good conversations. She’s interested in poetry. I think that’s probably pretty rare in someone her age.”

  Susan, out of college for over twenty years, knew that it was “pretty rare” in most age groups. “She’s gone off someplace. No one seems to know where, and I’m trying to find her. You don’t happen to have any idea of where her favorite places are on the island, do you? Of course,” she added, remembering her conversation with the young man’s aunt, “she might have left the island.”

  “Oh, I don’t think she would do that. I don’t think she’s the type of person who would leave the people whom she loves stranded in a crisis. She strikes me as having a lot of integrity. You know—” he paused and looked back at the desk for a momen
t “—she came in the day before yesterday and bought a survival guide.”

  “What?”

  “One of those books about how to survive in the wilderness. You know the type of thing. How to make a temporary shelter, how to catch a fish on a pin, how to start a fire if you don’t happen to fancy sushi. I think the book she bought was a pretty serious one—if she’s out there all alone, I sure hope it helps out.”

  “So do I,” Susan agreed quietly. “So do I.”

  Susan steered her car down the narrow dirt road through the woods toward her next stop. Despite the way her car smelled, she was hungry and not terribly anxious to arrive at her destination. She owned more than one set of bowls made by this potter, one of many on the island, and while she loved his work, she found him arrogant and disagreeable. She wasn’t quite sure what to ask him, and she didn’t know if he would bother to answer. “Maybe you should stay in the car, Karma,” she called back over her shoulder. “He probably doesn’t like dogs.”

  She barely had the words out of her mouth when two huge black monsters flung themselves out of the woods and at her car. She drove even more slowly than before as the two animals escorted her to the wooden studio attached to the modern timber house nestled in the woods. Karma bounded from one side of the seat to the other, nearly hysterical by the time they arrived.

  As the engine noise died, Susan rolled down her window and wondered what to do. She didn’t know these dogs, didn’t have any idea whether the looks on their identical black faces were threatening or welcoming. Karma, apparently unsure herself, stared intently from one to the other, drool pouring on her front paws.

  “Are you going to stay there or get out?”

  The greeting, or lack of such, didn’t really surprise Susan. But she watched, amazed, as the tall, dark man waved his right arm in a small circle and both dogs instantly dashed to his side. “You’re here, aren’t you? Are you going to get out?” he repeated.

  Susan tried to smile and opened the car door. “I wanted to ask you some questions, if you have the time.”

  She didn’t expect a helpful response and she didn’t get one. “This is a potter’s studio, not an information booth. There’s one of those over by the bridge. You’ve come to the wrong place.”

  He turned and walked back into the building, dogs trotting by his side. But as he entered one door, another opened and a beautiful, slim woman in a denim jumpsuit, one burgundy scarf covering her head and another tied as a belt around her slender waist, appeared. She was smiling warmly. “Good evening,” she said, walking up to the car. “My husband has had a terrible day. There was a lot of breakage in the kiln, and he’s not really the most personable man under the best of circumstances. But I’d be happy to help if I can. Did I hear you say that you needed some information?” She tapped on the window at the golden retriever. “Beautiful dog. Don’t worry. They outgrow car sickness.”

  “She’s not mine,” Susan admitted. “But she is cute, isn’t she? Although she looks better when she’s cleaned up.”

  “Why don’t we go into the showroom to talk? If you can leave her in the car.”

  “Of course. I’d really appreciate that—if you have the time.”

  “I do. We’re going out for drinks at a friend’s house later—we try to celebrate the sunset with white sangria on Friday nights in the summer, but a night as clear as this is pretty rare in Maine, as you may know.”

  “I sure do. We have a house over on the other side of the island, and I’ve been coming to Maine since I was little.” Susan offered her credentials.

  “It’s been a great summer so far, hasn’t it?” She opened the screened door for Susan as they chatted.

  “This is my first trip up this year,” Susan admitted. “That’s good to hear, though. I hope it lasts through the holiday weekend.” She looked around the room. One wall was window from the slanted ceiling to about three feet above the floor. From there down, wooden shelves were filled with cups, mugs, teapots, coffeepots, bowls of all sizes, and other utensils. The opposite wall was painted white, and platters and plates of all sizes hung on it. Tables in the middle of the room also displayed the artist’s work, and in the middle of it all, a large pottery fountain sprayed water into the air. “Have you sold a fountain yet?” Susan asked, wandering between the tables.

  The potter’s wife chuckled. “You have been here before. And, for the very first time, this year the answer is yes. An ashram up in Vermont bought three. They’re using them in their meditation rooms. I haven’t been there, but my husband and a friend spent a week doing the installation, and they were both very enthusiastic.”

  “That’s fantastic.” Susan continued to wander.

  “Are you looking for something in particular? I thought you came here for information.”

  “I did, but I think there’s something of a needle-in-the-haystack situation here.” She reached out and picked up a small, round pot about four inches high with a tiny hole in it. “Do you sell many of these?”

  The other woman took it from her and turned it over in her hands while answering. “Actually, we do. It’s one of those things that people buy because they’ve come all the way down that drive and they’ve gotten us away from whatever we were doing, and what with the person who made all this standing around, a lot of people feel that they must buy something. Naturally, most people aren’t going to dash out and buy a set of dishes on impulse, and the platters and large bowls are difficult to transport and expensive, so these just fit the bill. They cost less than twenty dollars, they come in a variety of colors, and people can stick a twig or two in them and feel very artistic and remember the vacation they spent in Maine.”

  “Then you probably won’t remember a young girl—thirteen years old—with red hair who bought one. It’s light turquoise,” Susan explained, not feeling very hopeful. “She must have bought it recently. She’s new to the island this summer.”

  “No.” The answer came slowly after some thought. “I don’t remember anyone like that. And my husband—”

  “He’s probably too busy to pay attention to that type of thing,” Susan interrupted tactfully.

  “That’s one way of putting it.” She frowned. “But, you know, he just created that color.” She picked up a plate with a heron painted on it. “Are you sure about the customer? There were two women—city types; I should say, the very worst city types that we see here—who bought a vase like you’re describing. It was just a few days ago. And I understand it was a gift. The daughter of the person they’re staying with is what they said, I think.”

  “That’s possible.” Susan described Judy and Sally as well as she could. “Were they alone?”

  “They were. They complained all the time they were looking around that their husbands were doing nothing but fish. As far as I could tell, these women were doing nothing but shop. And they weren’t on the outlet trail either. The blonde bought one of my favorite oblong platters, and the other one bought a set of flowerpots. Those aren’t inexpensive purchases. And they’re awkward to send. And then, as they were getting ready to leave, the blonde picked up a little vase like this and suggested that it would be a pretty gift for the daughter of the house where they were staying.”

  “That was nice,” Susan commented casually.

  “Not all that nice—in fact, that’s why I remember them. The one who suggested the gift was really put down by the other, who felt that there was no reason to give the girl a gift, and made her feelings very plain. She was really rather snotty, in fact. Obviously there was no question that she could afford the gift and they were staying in their house. But maybe the people you’re talking about wouldn’t act like that? I hate it when my husband’s pieces go to dreadful people. I know it’s silly, but I always think people who act like that don’t deserve to have beautiful things.”

  “These people would act exactly like that. But the child is nice, and she evidently treasures the vase. It’s sitting right next to her bed with a sprig of beach lavender in
it. It’s very pretty.”

  “It’s none of my business, but why are you interested in these people? Aren’t they the type that it’s better just to ignore?”

  “I’m concerned about the girl. You see, she’s disappeared,” Susan explained. “Did you hear about the murder on the other side of the island?”

  “No. I’ve been at home all day. I’m a writer, and my friends know not to call me during the day, when I’m working. I’m sure I’ll hear about it toni … The girl—it wasn’t a child that was killed?”

  “No, her stepfather,” Susan answered, and then explained briefly what had happened and the family history.

  “Wow.” The woman put down the large vase she had picked up while Susan was speaking. “How terrible for the children. I always feel for the children. How can they possibly comprehend how much of what is happening is their fault and how much is the responsibility of their parents? And now that the child has disappeared … What did you say her name was?”

  “Titania.”

  “What are the other two little girls going to do now that Titania has vanished?”

  “I really don’t know,” Susan said. “I’ve been wondering the very same thing.

  “In fact, I’d better get going. I have one more stop before home. The girls are probably still at my house, but I haven’t spoken to them about their sister. I was hoping to find out where she is without causing any more upset, but it looks like that isn’t going to be possible.”

  “They must be terribly distressed.”

  “In fact, they seem fine.”

  “Then, if they’re as close a family as you think they are, they must have a reason to believe that their sister’s safe. No?”

  “I wish I were sure that was true,” Susan said, starting for the door. “It’s her dog that I’m taking care of.”

  “Too bad she’s just a puppy. If she were older, she might be able to lead you to the girl.”

  “Do dogs really do that type of thing?” Susan asked skeptically.

  “They’re supposed to. Maybe I read too much Jack London when I was young. Good luck,” she added, getting ready to close the door behind Susan. “And feel free to call on me if there’s anything else I can do. I’d like to help the poor kid.”