“And came back here and got himself killed in the walk-in?”
“We can’t be sure of that,” I said. “Maybe he was killed somewhere else and dumped in there.” Maybe that’s why Binder had taken the techs with him. Somewhere there was another crime scene. Maybe it wasn’t even murder. Maybe the ME was wrong about the injection and, as I’d said to Jamie, when they did the autopsy they’d discover he’d died of a heart attack or a stroke. Which still didn’t make sense. Why would he have been in our walk-in?
Chris took my hand. “We locked the doors when we went up to bed. There’s no sign of a break-in. That means Mr. Anonymous and possibly his killer were in the restaurant when we went upstairs.”
I shuddered. Chris was right, but until he said it, I hadn’t thought it all the way through, as he had, and come to the obvious conclusion.
“Did you actually see him go out the door?” Chris asked.
“I’m not sure. I can’t remember. Did you?”
“No.” Chris thought for a moment. “When was the last time you checked the bathrooms?”
The bathrooms. Because we still felt like guests in Gus’s space, I was hypervigilant about inspecting the restrooms last thing at night before I went up to bed. But the previous night had dragged on and on, with our guests trapped in the restaurant by the accident. It was so late by the time we got everyone out, I’d staggered off to bed without looking in the washrooms.
I admitted this to Chris, who shrugged. “It doesn’t matter, Julia. He couldn’t have hidden there the whole time. We had guests who were using the restrooms right up until we closed.”
He was right about that. I specifically remembered that the Bennetts, who had the farthest to drive, had used the facilities immediately before they left. That was almost three hours after I’d last seen the man at the bar who’d died in our walk-in.
“You can’t lock your apartment,” Chris pointed out.
We’d had this discussion before. “I’ve told you, Gus says the lock broke ages ago. Besides, what difference does it make? We lock the outside doors to the restaurant.”
“Normally, no difference,” Chris conceded. “Julia, face facts. We were locked in the building with a corpse, and possibly a killer.”
“I get it. Don’t keep saying it. It freaks me out.”
Chris’s features relaxed. “Okay.”
“What were you going to do with your day off?” I asked. “Originally.”
“Get some work done on my house. Then Sam’s tonight for the game.” As soon as his summer tenants had moved out of the cabin he’d bought from his parents, Chris had torn the second-floor walls back to the studs. It was a long, slow process building it up again. He paid for the upgrades, including the heating system, electricity, and plumbing, as he made money. The work all had to be done by the spring so he could rent out the cabin for the summer.
The “Sam” he’d referred to was Sam Rockmaker, bartender and part owner of Crowley’s. Chris played poker with a group of guys at Sam’s house every Tuesday.
“Do you want me to stay? Are you nervous about being here?” Chris asked.
“No. You go. I’m fine. The cops have been all over the building. This is probably the safest place in the harbor.”
Chris stood and bent over to give me a fast smooch. Then he was out the door and I was alone in the empty restaurant.
*
I went upstairs to my apartment. Le Roi was at the top of the stairs, vocalizing in my direction, upset at the day’s intrusions on his rigorous routine of napping, eating, and napping again. Even though he’d been an outdoor cat on predator-free, car-free Morrow Island, he’d taken to the life of an indoor town cat like a champ. We’d both felt instantly at home in the apartment over Gus’s restaurant.
The place was a big studio, tucked under the eaves of the old warehouse that Gus’s restaurant had once been. There was a high central ceiling and four dormered nooks, one on each side of the building. The one facing south contained my bed, still in the unmade state it had been in when first I, and then Chris, answered Gus’s summons this morning. The east-facing nook contained the bathroom, the north-facing one the kitchen. The fourth was part of the main living space and held a giant, multipaned window facing west that framed a view of the back harbor. Outside, the boats belonging to the hardiest, most dedicated lobstermen were still in the water, but all the other slips were empty.