Chapter 30
Izzy had finally agreed to slow down her exercise routine. Shorter distances and a much slower pace, she promised.
Nell put her to the test by suggesting a Saturday walk to Canary Cove. Birdie and Cass would meet them there for breakfast. And finally some time to talk. It was probably the only time they would have that day. Saturdays were busy for all of them, especially this one, with Izzy’s shower scheduled for that evening.
Izzy was all for it. “If I’m going to move this baby and me anywhere today, there needs to be food at the end of it. Aunt Nell, you are wise and all-knowing.”
It was an easy pace that kept them both moving—and ended up on the Artist’s Palate deck with hot coffee and freshly squeezed orange juice waiting for them.
Birdie had spread the morning paper out on the picnic table. Next to her, Cass drank her second cup of coffee.
“Well? What does it say?”
“Not much. It’s vague. It says the police have determined Justin Dorsey was not dealing with a bigger market. It was a homemade supply—a dead end, essentially.”
“Ben is afraid that Martin’s name will emerge in all this if something else doesn’t happen soon.” Nell wiped her forehead with a napkin. “The police are combing his background. He still—on paper, anyway—is the most likely suspect. Apparently Tyler has been asked to stick around. Janie was questioned again. But if they could fill in a few more gaps, something concrete that would put him on the beach or Horace’s house, Martin would be arrested.”
“And yet there’s this lurking unknown out there,” Nell said. “Justin’s ‘bigger fish to fry’ comment. Justin was getting a large amount of money from someone, and it wasn’t Martin Seltzer. We can’t ignore that. There is someone else out there.” She sat down next to Izzy and with two fingers plucked her damp T-shirt away from her skin, then released it.
“I think it’s just too vague for the police to deal with,” Birdie said. “Justin was known to brag a bit. They may be thinking that’s all it meant.”
“But he was getting money from somewhere,” Izzy said. She took a drink of orange juice and looked down at what Sam now called their little basketball. The baby was moving from one side to the other, keeping up with the music Merry had pumping out of the restaurant’s loudspeakers.
“Morning music,” Merry called over to them, then jiggled her way to their table to the Black Eyed Peas singing “Tonight’s gonna be a good night.”
“Okay, little Perry,” Merry said, patting Izzy’s tummy, “you’ll like this, I promise.” She set a tray of beer steins in front of them, filled with fruit, yogurt, and granola. Sprigs of mint were tucked on top.
“Who would have thought you’d be responsible for turning all these artists into health food devotees?” Birdie said. “I am very proud of you, dear.”
Merry’s laughter was as huge as her voice was when she soloed with the Fractured Fish. Her restaurant, known for its hamburgers, fries, and twenty-seven brands of beer, was primarily a bar and grill with a large deck and bar outside, but Merry had changed that. She credited Ham Brewster for the transformation—the idea came to her as a result of his bad habits. One morning he stopped by, begging for a cup of coffee before opening his gallery. Then he pulled a bag of chips off the rack on the bar. “Chips,” Merry had said. “For breakfast!” Merry’s healthy breakfasts soon followed and the artists now insisted that their bad cholesterol had been lowered to the bottom of the sea, thanks to Merry Jackson.
“So, here’s the thing,” Merry said, wedging her body in between Birdie and Cass, her palms pressed flat on the table and her eyes scanning the newspaper article. “If Justin was only making pocket change off the college kids down at Paley’s Cove, where was he making his big bucks? He left me a fifty-dollar tip for a hamburger a few days before he died. Can you believe that? I called him back, thinking he’d made a mistake, but he just produced that dimpled grin of his and said I deserved it. I told him that was true, but could he afford it?” Her large eyes looked around the table. “He was getting money somewhere,” she said. “Where?” Then she glanced over her shoulder at a new wave of customers and frowned. “Okay, later,” she said, and was off across the deck, her long blond braid bouncing between her shoulder blades.
“That’s exactly the right question to ask,” Birdie said. “It’s those bigger fish. . . .”
“I agree. But before we get to it, tell us about yesterday’s photo shoot,” Cass said. “I can’t wait any longer to know what lies behind that electric fence.”
Friday-night dinner on the deck the night before hadn’t happened—a rare event, but a board dinner at the yacht club and a photography exhibit had sent all of them in different directions. Consequently, Birdie had insisted on the morning rendezvous at the Artist’s Palate to catch up.
They began with Merry’s granola and the Danverses’ sad news.
“Apparently the miscarriage happened Wednesday, the day we were in the clinic. We overheard the phone call, but Janie, of course, didn’t tell us who she was talking to.”
“I talked to Janie last night,” Izzy said, “and she said Tamara was handling the miscarriage fine. She’d gone to the hospital Wednesday night, and was home the next day. She was almost too fine, Janie said—which was the impression Nell and I got when we saw her yesterday.”
“I think the news hit Franklin the hardest,” Nell said. “We saw him again at the board dinner last night, and he seemed genuinely distraught. He apologized for being so abrupt at the photo shoot, but I suppose he can’t be blamed for that.”
“Was Tamara there?” Izzy asked.
“Yes. And she was in great shape. Literally and figuratively. She was very social, talking to everyone. Much healthier than she looked last week. She seemed . . . well, almost relieved. Maybe she wasn’t ready to be pregnant.”
“And as for the photo shoot, Sam got his photographs and I think Franklin was satisfied with the photos. But as for other things . . . ,” Izzy said.
Izzy looked at Nell. “What did you think, Aunt Nell? I thought his comments on Martin being the murderer were way too forceful.”
Nell agreed. “He seemed convinced that the police had finally targeted the right man, even though Sam tried to tell him it wasn’t a closed case.”
“Maybe he’s like everyone else in town and wants it over with,” Cass said.
“Or maybe he has other reasons,” Nell said slowly. “He disliked Justin as much as Martin did.”
“He certainly had easy access to the dive shed,” Izzy said. She then told the others about the servants’ beach, a concept that had Cass groaning. “Haven’t we gotten beyond such things?”
“Hopefully,” Birdie said. “And it sounds like the Danverses have, too. Letting the dive club teach new divers on their property was a generous thing to do.” She waved at Esther Gibson, getting up from a nearby table.
Esther walked over, her large frame shadowing them. “A tableful of my favorite ladies,” she said.
“What brings you here so early, Esther?” Nell said.
“Merry’s breakfast. I need something to carry me through the morning. Something healthy.”
“A difficult morning?”
Esther’s smile was weary. “No, not really. Tyler is taking care of my table at the market, and that takes a load off. I’m trying to keep the boy out of trouble.”
“He’s a good fellow,” Birdie said.
“And not really a boy,” Cass suggested.
“Of course he’s not a boy, Catherine, you’re right. But he’s gotten himself in a heap of trouble this summer, as you well know.” She held up her hands and shook her head. “Yes, he came and talked to me, apparently at your wise nudging. And I know, I know, he has a good heart, but he doesn’t think further than that handsome nose of his sometimes. First the business down at the beach. And then the other foolish things.”
“What other foolish things?” Izzy asked.
“Oh, just foolishness. When he first came back to town, he was partying too much, he and his old friends, and hanging out at the Gull. Staying out all night sometimes. Dalliances, in my mind. But you’re right, Cass—he’s a man, not a child, so Richard and I wore earplugs to bed and let him lead his life.” She shook her head. “He’s a pushover when it comes to women, that’s for sure. They can twist him around their fingers faster than you can cast on a row.” She shook her head.
“But after he got the job at the Ocean’s Edge, Kevin promised he’d keep him busy and the partying slowed down. But always in the background was that Justin Dorsey—a whole other story.” She sighed and threw up her hands again.
“It must be difficult for you, working at the police station, with all this going on around you,” Birdie said.
“Oh, the chief tries to keep it from me, but I hear Tyler’s name being tossed around. Can’t help hearing it. He made a mistake. But he’s a dear boy. He truly is. I think Jerry is beginning to see that, too.”
“The new developments at the clinic have probably taken some attention off him,” Nell said, hoping it was true. They all loved Esther, and hated for her to have this worry on her shoulders. “For starters, Justin was getting large sums of money from someone, and you know that couldn’t have been Tyler.”
“Well, now, isn’t that the truth?” Esther managed a laugh, her chins moving up and down. “I think you’re right—that whole mess over at sweet Dr. Virgilio’s place is getting a lot more attention than my grandson, though the shadow is still there, lurking over him like a black cloud—and it won’t go away until we have someone behind bars.”
“That cloud is huge—it’s hanging over the entire town,” Birdie said. “It’s time to blow it away.”
Esther agreed with a hearty sigh. She looked over at Izzy. “Now, how’s that lovely dog, Izzy? Old Horace loved that dog mightily and he’s right this very minute grinning down on you for taking him in. It’s a shame what happened to Red at the clinic.”
Nell watched the concern on her face. Of course Esther would have heard about Red, about the garden. Esther Gibson knew everything that happened in Sea Harbor. She was also a friend of Horace’s. She kept all events carefully filed away in her head—and those that needed to be kept under lock and key were handled appropriately.
“He’s fine, Esther. It’s just a shame Dr. Lily’s clinic had to be pulled into this. And an even bigger shame that her father is being investigated.”
Esther’s white head bobbed in agreement. “I don’t know what to think about that man. Can’t make up my mind. But Henrietta O’Neal is convinced beyond a doubt that he’s innocent.”
“And?” Birdie said.
Esther’s lips lifted in a half smile. “And have you—has anyone—ever crossed our Henrietta?” She looked at each of them, her eyebrows lifted. Then she grinned and waved good-bye, making her way slowly across the deck.
“She has a point,” Birdie laughed.
“Okay, then, let’s accept that Dr. Seltzer is innocent, at least for now,” Cass said, “even though he had motive and opportunity.”
“He also had money to meet a blackmailer’s demands, something Tyler didn’t have,” Nell said.
“Even so, let’s go with Henrietta for now. He’s innocent. Besides, I can’t imagine him doing something that would bring complete shame on his family,” Izzy said.
“So let’s move on,” Cass said. “I can’t get my mind off Justin’s comment that he had bigger fish to fry. That, and the fact that as of the week before he died, he was able to donate a thousand dollars to the church, buy Janie expensive pottery, and consider buying that bike. It sounds to me like the bigger fish were already in the fire.”
“So . . . ,” Birdie said, pulling a pen and a yellow pad out of her purse. “Justin already had money that week before he died . . . and that Saturday, just hours before he died, he was meeting someone—the mysterious ‘business transaction’ person. Perhaps to get more money?” She jotted the day down, and then added dollar signs.
“But who would hire Justin and pay him that kind of money?” Cass wondered aloud. “And to do what?”
“Justin wanted to make money fast—and without doing much work,” Nell said.
If Izzy hadn’t been weighted down by baby Perry, she might have jumped off the bench. Instead, it was her voice that rose above the table like a firecracker. “Blackmail?” she said.
Blackmail.
Easy. Fast. And very dangerous.
“Goodness,” Birdie said. “Perhaps . . . perhaps this is the elephant in the room, something so big, so present, that we never considered it.”
They accepted the coffee refills Merry sent over, then stared at Birdie’s pad. Blackmail was written across the page in her distinctive scrawl.
Perhaps the thought had been there, vaguely, unarticulated, when they realized Justin’s newfound wealth couldn’t have come from Dr. Seltzer’s garden. But it was so removed from the path they’d been traveling down that it hadn’t reached the light of day.
“From everything we now know about Justin, blackmail—even though it’s such a foolish thing to do—would be something he’d try.”
“Maybe because it’s such a foolish thing,” Izzy said. “Justin seems to have had a knack for acting foolish.”
“That opens up a new kettle of fish,” Cass said. “Who?”
“And why?” Nell poured more half-and-half in her coffee and stirred it absently.
“What could Justin possibly have on someone that would allow that kind of money to exchange hands?” Birdie asked.
“And why give him some money and then kill him?” Izzy asked.
“I think that’s easy,” Cass said. “But maybe it’s because I live with a mystery writer. It was a great and easy way to make money. And if it worked for him once or twice, why not go back and get some more?”
“And whoever was at the other end of it could see that Justin might be coming around forever,” Birdie said. “So he killed him.”
They all agreed with Birdie’s succinct windup.
“But Birdie’s question is key,” Nell said. “What could he possibly have on someone that would merit big payoffs . . . and then end in murder? He knew something that someone was absolutely determined to keep quiet.”
Cass began listing things, a clear reflection of reading Danny’s books:
Crooked business dealings. A secret in someone’s past?
“An affair?”
She looked up. “Franklin Danvers certainly has a way of getting beautiful women. He was out of town not so long ago. . . .”
“And he’s rich,” Izzy said. “But he seems to control the world, so I would think even if he had an affair, it wouldn’t be motive for murder.”
They lapsed into silence, thinking back over the days since they first met Janie’s cousin. Thinking of the people he had met, the places where he’d worked, hung out. The information he might have gleaned.
“He was, in Martin Seltzer’s words, a snoop. An eavesdropper. He listened to people’s conversations at the clinic. Janie said it was a habit and probably had something to do with his life in foster homes, trying to figure out when the foster parents were going to send him back.”
“So maybe he heard something that he thought that person would want kept confidential. Would pay to keep confidential,” Cass said.
“Someone with money, and someone who knew enough about dive tanks to manipulate them.”
“Which brings me to a stop I made at McClucken’s Hardware this week,” Birdie said. “Gus was kind enough to show me around the dive shop. His sweet son, Alan, is running it and he was there, too. He told me all sorts of people come in there—more than you can shake a stick at, was how Gus put it. Ladies, men. He said we have lots of divers around here, not just the tourists, and the Danverses see to it that they have a place to learn how to get licenses and practice, right down there on that little stretch of beach. He sings Franklin Danvers’ praises to heaven and back.
“As for the tanks, they were all checked and ready to go. I wondered who knew who was participating in the dive. Alan said the list was posted on the wall.”
“So . . . lots of people would know that Justin was diving.”
Birdie nodded. “All the divers who didn’t have their own gear had come in to be checked. Franklin and his wife had come in that Saturday, too, making sure everything was set and paying for the rentals. He’d also reminded Alan to put names on the equipment so the divers would know whose was whose early the next morning.”
Birdie stopped talking. Then looked down at her own list. “Interesting,” she mused, then made a note that the equipment had been marked.
At Franklin’s suggestion.
They imagined the shed, tucked into the side of the hill.
And Horace Stevenson, walking the beach that night, unable to sleep.
The pieces were falling in place, however clumsily. What was needed, Birdie said, was a spotlight on one shadowy figure, the one slipping into the dive shed.
And visiting Horace and Red on a dark June night.
The night that changed their summer.