“I told ’em they didn’t need all these people.” Gus crossed his arms, a portrait of Yankee disgust at excess of any kind. “The man is deceased.”
Jamie and Officer Howland entered the walk-in. They were back out in less than a minute. “He’s dead,” Jamie told the EMTs and firefighters. “Double-check me for your logs and then you can go along.” A young EMT strode into the walk-in and returned moments later shaking his head.
“Can I cook them breakfast?” Gus asked.
“No.” Jamie didn’t hesitate to answer. “You’re closed down. At a minimum, having a dead guy in your refrigerator constitutes a health code violation. Everybody out,” he said to the assembled crowd. Then he looked over at Gus, Chris, and me. “Not you three.”
“Can I change?” I was suddenly aware of my robe and slippers.
“In a minute.” Jamie and Howland stood in front of the three of us. “You know who this guy is?” Howland asked.
“Not his name,” I said. “But he was in the restaurant last night, sitting at the bar. He was here when you came in.” I looked at Jamie. He nodded. Even though it had been a crazy, stressful night for him, there had been only nine people in the restaurant in addition to Chris and me when Jamie had arrived. He would remember the stranger.
“Either of you got anything to add?” Howland looked from Chris to Gus.
Chris shook his head.
“I was home in bed last night,” Gus protested.
“You can go get dressed,” Jamie told me.
“Thanks. What happens now?”
“Unattended death. We call the medical examiner.”
*
I arrived back downstairs dressed in the same basic clothes I’d worn almost every workday since I’d returned to Busman’s Harbor the previous March—work boots, jeans, and a T-shirt. The number of layers varied with the season, though little else did. Since it was the first day of December, my ensemble featured a turtleneck underneath the T-shirt, a flannel shirt over the top, and thick socks between my bare feet and the work boots. I’d run a brush through my shoulder-length blond hair, the beginning and ending activity of my Maine daytime beauty routine.
Jamie and Chris were seated at the restaurant’s counter, while Gus stood behind it. I smelled coffee and was grateful the police had at least allowed Gus to brew it. I took a seat on the stool next to Chris.
“Where’s Officer Howland?” I asked.
Jamie answered. “Outside, waiting for the ME. We were just talking about”—he gestured toward Chris—“when you last saw the gentleman.”
“Do you remember?” I asked Chris.
“No. Not really.” Chris looked at me.
“I’m certain he wasn’t here that second time I came in,” Jamie said. “That was around a quarter to one.”
“One in the morning?” Gus wasn’t happy. “The police coming around twice? What kind of place you runnin’ in my building?”
“Long story,” I said.
“I’m all ears.”
“Not now,” Jamie cautioned. “First, which one of you was the last one in the walk-in?”
“I was.” Chris sat, elbows crossed on the counter. “We were open late, as you know.” He threw a warning glance at Gus, who looked ready, once again, to demand an explanation. “Julia did the dishes and then minded the bar while I cleaned up. I put the last of the food away a little before ten.”
He looked at me for confirmation. I nodded, adding, “When everyone finally left, I put the lemons, orange slices, and cherries from the bar into the little fridge underneath it. I didn’t go back in the walk-in.”
Jamie leaned back on his stool. “Interesting you say, ‘When everyone finally left,’ since everyone apparently did not.”
“Sorry, I meant . . .” I floundered. What did I mean?
“And what time did you think the gentleman left?” Jamie looked at me.
I squinted to help myself remember. “A little after ten. Chris closed the kitchen and came to help me. The guy threw some cash on the bar and drifted out right after that.”
“Drifted?”
“Drifted,” I repeated. “Ambled. Sauntered. Strolled. Moved casually toward the door.”
“Was he drunk?”
This time I looked at Chris for confirmation. We both had experience judging people’s levels of inebriation, Chris from his work as a bouncer, me from managing the Snowden Family Clambakes in the summer. “I would say he was relaxed, maybe had a little buzz on,” I said, while Chris nodded his agreement. “I wasn’t worried about him, if that’s what you’re asking. I certainly didn’t think he was going off to die in our refrigerator.”
“Did he tell you his name?” Jamie asked it slowly, as if to emphasize the importance of the question.
“No,” I answered. “And, as I said, he paid in cash.”
“And to confirm, neither of you had ever seen him before last evening.”
Chris and I shook our heads.