A Star-Spangled Murder Page 2

  “The boathouse. Look. Down by the edge of the cove.” Susan pointed. “See that little barn-shaped building sitting by the water?”

  Kathleen nodded. Like the house, the building had weathered cedar shake shingles with white trim. Black shutters bracketed the windows.

  “Look at the roof,” Susan ordered.

  “The roof … You mean the skylights?”

  “Exactly. They’re open. Which they should be. The building gets musty over the winter and needs to air.”

  “So?”

  “So the windows are still shuttered. It’s the same as the house. Half-open. Half-closed. It doesn’t make any sense.”

  “Maybe if we think about it while we eat,” Kathleen suggested.

  Susan grinned. “Very subtle. Lobster dinner, here we come.”

  “I’ve been hoping you’d come in tonight. I wanted to ask you what you thought of your new neighbors out on the point. The whole island has been talking about them.”

  “We haven’t—” Susan began, but she was cut off by the enthusiasm of the young woman standing beside their table, menus in hand.

  “Everyone says they’ve been throwing around money as though they never heard of the recession. It’s offending some people, but I say they’re crazy. If people want to throw around money, they should just go ahead and do it on this island and not someplace else. We need it. I was just telling my brother that I don’t think we should criticize them or talk about how strange they are as long as they’re willing to pay cash. We can’t afford to be anything but pragmatic. What do you think, Mrs. Henshaw?”

  “Maybe the ladies would like to order before you interrogate them, Halsey,” the young man behind the cash register called across the small dining room.

  The girl threw her long, corn silk hair over one shoulder and glared in his direction. “Listen to him.” She pushed her wire-rimmed glasses farther up her nose and gave the woman a knowing look. “Just because he’s five years older than I am, he thinks he’s boss.” She didn’t even bother to glance over her shoulder at the man she was speaking of; she merely fingered the large gold pin with the B.U. embossed on it.

  “Halsey thinks she’s a pretty big deal ever since she got into Boston University. She seems to forget that some of us have to work for a living,” the young man continued.

  If Halsey had pushed those glasses any harder, she’d have broken them, or, at the very least, shoved them right into her forehead, Susan thought, taking the menu offered and hoping to order dinner before a murder took place. “I’ll have—” But she had begun too slowly.

  “I slave nine hours a day, six days a week, for you, and I have posters up all over town trying to get some jobs doing housework, so don’t you tell me that I don’t work, Danny Downing!” She spun around and stuck out her tongue at her employer, and then snapped into position, order book held high, pen in hand, attentive expression on her face, presumably ready to record Susan and Kathleen’s every wish.

  But Susan had heard opportunity knock. “Do you have time to help me open the house?”

  “I can be there first thing tomorrow,” Halsey answered quickly. “I have to be here at noon for the lunch crowd, but I can come Saturday morning, too, if we don’t finish tomorrow. My scholarship only covers room, board, and tuition, so I have to buy my own books and things. I really need the money, Mrs. Henshaw. I’m going to work for Mrs. Taylor on Tuesday and Thursday mornings, but otherwise I’m free.” She raised her voice, a smirk on her face. “My boss here is a cheapskate who doesn’t believe in paying his employees very well.…”

  “He pays them as well as they work. It isn’t a waitress’s job to let the customers starve—but I guess that wasn’t information that you needed for your SATs, was it, my dear sister?”

  Kathleen leaned across the table. “They’re related?” she asked Susan.

  Susan, who had been coming to The Blue Mussel for years and had watched these two grow up, just nodded and ordered dinner.

  Halsey hurried off to the kitchen, leaving the women alone at the table.

  “What house? Who are they talking about?” Kathleen asked.

  “The house out at the point at the end of the cove,” Susan explained. “It was just completed. The foundation was finished about this time last summer, and they were still building when we left. It looked like it was going to be a real showplace when I last saw it. And it didn’t even have a roof at that point. The people who own it are the Taylors—and that is absolutely all I know,” Susan explained. She had been hoping all winter for congenial neighbors—a hope that was going to go unfulfilled? Before she could start to worry, Danny Downing appeared at their table. “Back for the summer? Where’s the rest of the family?”

  “They’re still down in Connecticut. It’s just Kathleen and myself for the holiday.” Susan introduced Kathleen, asked about winter on the island, and exchanged stories about respective families before Halsey returned with their drinks to get back to the original subject.

  “I wasn’t just gossiping about the Taylors for no reason at all,” the girl explained, setting their glasses on the table. “It’s just that everyone is confused about them. At one minute they seem just like everyone else from off island. They’re friendly and they stop and talk and ask questions about the island and … and everything. And then there are all these strange rumors going around about the family. It just doesn’t make a lot of sense! And I really don’t want to jeopardize my chances to work for them!”

  “Have you spoken with them yourself?” Susan asked, concerned about what she was hearing.

  “Yes. A few times. Mrs. Taylor met me in the market downtown when I was putting up one of my posters on their bulletin board. And she asked me to clean for her twice a week: Tuesday and Thursday mornings. Then when I appeared there this morning, she sent me away. She said she didn’t expect me to start until the sixth—after the holiday. And she acted like I had done something wrong. And all I did was misunderstand her directions. It was strange. You don’t think she has a personality disorder of some kind, do you? Or maybe a substance abuse problem?”

  “You’d never know that Halsey is planning to major in psychology, would you?” her brother asked, grinning. “She’s always analyzing everybody. But it was worse when she was a little kid. In fifth grade she wanted to be a dental hygienist and she spent all her time bribing her friends to let her scratch at their teeth with lobster picks. Now she merely tries to convince everyone that they’re neurotic, psychotic, or just plain crazy!”

  Halsey’s eyes opened wide and she leaned closer to the two women. “I hope you don’t think I’m being bitchy. I’m just trying to understand. I was wondering if it was something that I’d done.…”

  “If other people are talking about the same thing, then it’s probably her, not you,” Susan suggested. “They’re our nearest neighbors, but I’ve never met them. Although Jed was up here early last spring and he met Mrs. Taylor. They had just bought the property.…”

  “Her ex-husband bought the property,” Halsey said. “It was his money. At least that’s what everyone is saying. And, you know, that might be very difficult for her new husband, and if their marriage is in trouble so soon, she’d be feeling tremendous stress, and maybe that’s why she acts so terribly. So they—”

  “They might walk through that door any minute and find you standing around here speculating about their private lives.” Danny, for the first time in the conversation, sounded truly irritated. “This doesn’t strike me as real nice behavior—or good business either,” he reminded his sister with a stern look.

  The door opened to reveal a dozen or so prospective diners, and Halsey smiled vaguely and hurried off to greet them. “I just hope she still wants me to work for her,” she muttered. “I really need that job.”

  “I hope you understand; Halsey is just a little keyed up right now,” her brother explained. “Getting that scholarship means a lot to her. She’s worked her butt off for the last four years and she got what sh
e wanted, but it’s left her a little … uh, stressed out. She’s excited about going to college, but she’s worried that she’ll get down to Boston and everyone will have more money and culture and she just won’t fit in. You know?”

  “Everyone is nervous about leaving for college,” Susan agreed, thinking that the situation would be more stressful for Halsey since she was leaving the island and a small community where she had been protected and loved since birth. “And I do need someone to help me for the next few days—at least.”

  “I’ll let her know you’re serious.” He turned his attention, as men usually do, Susan thought, to Kathleen. “Is this your first time on the island?” he asked politely.

  “Yes. It’s beautiful,” Kathleen responded with a smile as the door opened again and another large party entered the tiny restaurant. “Are you always this busy?”

  “July Fourth starts the summer up here. If we weren’t busy now, we’d be in a lot of trouble. And, since Halsey isn’t free, I’d better go clean off a table for the family that just came in the door. Enjoy your dinner,” he added, hurrying away.

  The restaurant was filled by the time Kathleen and Susan had finished eating their salads and were cracking the claws on the large lobsters they had ordered.

  “Delicious,” Kathleen muttered, placing a large chunk of white meat, dripping melted butter, into her mouth.

  Susan, busy eating, nodded her agreement. “We don’t eat lobster anyplace but Maine. Even the best places in New York City can’t compare with this .… What the … ?” Someone smacked into the back of her chair, surprising Susan so that she dropped her nutcracker into the tiny custard cup of butter, sloshing the liquid over the blue and white tablecloth and the sleeve of Kathleen’s cotton sweater. “I’m sorry!” She made a futile effort to mop up with her napkin.

  “Don’t worry, it’s washable,” Kathleen insisted. “Besides, you shouldn’t be apologizing. That child should be.” She watched as the perpetrator, a girl in her early teens with a cap of bright auburn hair, ran by the window, down the road, and out of sight.

  Susan, who had turned around in time to see tears running down the girl’s pale cheeks, glanced over her shoulder, wondering who still occupied the table the child had left. She didn’t want to stare, but she had time to note two younger versions of the deserter, accompanied by an attractive couple whom she took to be the parents of this threesome. At least they certainly looked distressed enough to be the parents of the unhappy teen, she thought, returning her attention to Kathleen.

  “We’re very sorry. I’m sure Titania had no intention of upsetting your meal.”

  The voice from behind caused Susan to look back at the table. “It’s all right.…” she began.

  “No.” A handsome man, blond with a startling dark reddish beard, sunburned cheeks, and dressed in the navy anorak, jeans, and deck shoes of a weekend sailor, disagreed with Susan. “It is certainly not all right for her to act like that. She is being rude and inconsiderate. But thirteen is a difficult age—intolerant and emotional at the same time.”

  Susan smiled. “I have two teenagers of my own,” she admitted.

  “Then you know all about it,” the woman, as blond as the man, spoke up. “We’re praying it’s just a stage.” She laughed as if to make light of the situation.

  “Everything is a stage at that age. Please don’t worry about it,” Susan agreed, hoping to end the conversation and return to her lobster. She turned back to the meal in front of her, but not before she had noticed that the two youngsters remaining at the table were scowling at their adult companions. She guessed that they would follow their sister if only they had the courage.

  “Hope it wasn’t my mother’s cooking that scared your daughter off,” Danny Downing said, coming over to the table behind Susan.

  “I think she’s just in one of her moods,” the woman answered, frowning at the oldest of the two daughters still present as the girl opened her mouth to speak. “The food here is wonderful,” she continued loudly as if hoping to force things back to normal. “Everyone told us that this was the best place to eat on the island, and I guess they were right.”

  “There are a lot of good places to eat on the island,” Danny said gently. “You’ll probably want to try them all.” Their conversation ended as Halsey arrived, order book in hand.

  “It was very nice of him to say that,” Kathleen commented as they got back to work on their lobsters. “Although they probably are all good restaurants. We haven’t had any bad food since crossing the bridge into Maine.”

  “Hmmm.” Susan paused long enough to chew an enormous bite of her shellfish before answering. “Some are fancier and some are cheaper, but I like this place best. But Danny’s not just being nice. Remember this is a pretty small island. Less than a thousand people live here year-round. And about two-thirds of them were born here. The rest are retired people, artists, craftsmen, and writers—people who can choose where they live and work. There are also a few leftover hippie communes around. But the natives are a pretty small group. And close-knit. They support each other. Danny will recommend other places if you ask him, and the people who own the other places will recommend this restaurant in turn. It’s the way of life on an island.”

  “You make it sound like utopia,” Kathleen said, digging into her baked potato.

  “It isn’t. There’s the same percentage of rotten apples as you get anywhere. The island is poor and there’s some crime and a few serious family problems. Alcohol abuse is almost encouraged by the long winters, when people pretty much have to stay inside. Drugs are smuggled in all along the coast, and people are just as likely to make unfortunate choices in their lives here as anywhere else. But, you know, the natives keep most of that from the summer people. And most of the island people are like the Downings—hardworking, caring, supportive. And,” she added, “they make great desserts.”

  “Desserts?”

  “Rice pudding, Grape Nut pudding, raspberry pie …” Susan began.

  “Toll house pie, apple pie, coconut cream pie, lemon meringue, blueberry pudding … And there are more up on the board,” Halsey finished, rejoining them at their table. She nodded to the chalkboard hung on the wall by the cash register.

  “So you’ll be over early tomorrow?” Susan asked while Kathleen studied the list.

  “About seven-thirty?”

  “Great.”

  “Lemon slice pie?” Kathleen asked, sticking to essentials.

  “It’s made with whole lemon slices. If you love lemons, you’ll love it,” Halsey assured her.

  “I’ll give it a try. And a cup of decaf.”

  “I’ll have the coconut cream and decaf,” Susan said. “And I’ll see you tomorrow morning.” She had noticed that Halsey was looking over her shoulder at the table behind her.

  But despite Halsey’s apparent nervousness, the meal ended peacefully. The voices at the table behind them were self-consciously subdued, and Titania did not return. Susan offered the family a half smile as she walked to the register to pay for their dinner, but either it was unseen or they all chose to ignore it.

  “So where’s the grocery store?” Kathleen asked as they walked to Susan’s Jeep in the cool night air.

  “About a mile from here—in town,” Susan answered with a yawn. “We’ll be there in a few minutes,” she added, getting in the car.

  “Maybe we should have made a list while we waited for our food,” Kathleen suggested as they backed out of the lot and onto the curving road.

  “We need everything. Eggs, milk, flour, bacon, dish detergent, snacks, coffee … everything. I usually just wander up and down the aisles slowly and fill a cart. Then we’ll be back first thing tomorrow for all the things we’ve forgotten,” Susan said, as they drove slowly down the road.

  “It sure is peaceful,” Kathleen commented, peering into the lit windows of the small white cottages they were passing.

  “Hmm.” Susan steered the car off to the side of the road.


  “Where’s the store?”

  Susan pointed to the line of cars she had just parked behind. “Up there. This is the beginning of the summer season, remember? Welcome to one of the most popular places in town. In a few days, everyone will be settled in and we’ll be able to shop more normally. Until then, we’re going to have to stand in line for our food.”

  “Then we better get going. This place isn’t open twenty-four hours a day, is it?”

  “No, but it’s open until ten tonight and reopens tomorrow at six. Most of the island is up early.” Susan stole a look at her companion to see if she had taken the hint. They had gotten a late start this morning because Kathleen had overslept.

  But Kathleen was looking at her watch. “At least we have lots of time to shop and then get back home. But it’s going to be a lot of work carrying groceries to the house in the dark if we really stock up, isn’t it?”

  “True. I guess we should just buy what we think we’ll need for breakfast—and to get through the night. I’m not sure there’s any shampoo in the house, although I know there’s soap and toilet paper. But we might need paper towels.…” She entered the well-lit store, Kathleen following close behind, trying to remember what they were going to find necessary in the next twelve hours. Kathleen headed for the shopping carts waiting just inside the door. Susan hurried to the public phone hanging on a nearby wall. “I think I’ll call Jed. Maybe he could put an extra key in overnight mail or something.…” She picked up the receiver.

  “Why don’t I start shopping then?” Kathleen suggested, and started off without waiting for an answer. She was standing in front of a large display of freshly baked bread when Susan found her a few minutes later.

  “We’re in luck. Jed says he can mail the key out tonight and we can pick it up at the post office here on the island anytime after ten tomorrow morning. He had some stuff from the office sent up that way last summer, so he’s pretty sure of the time schedule. Why don’t we pick up stuff for breakfast now, and then I can come back tomorrow and buy everything else.” She looked at the various choices. “I like these tiny little orange muffins,” she said, taking down a box of a dozen orange cakes. “And the potato bread makes wonderful toast.” She picked up a large loaf. “We should remember butter, and there is a selection of homemade jellies and jams near the cash register.… Are you listening to me?”