Plaster and Poison Page 6

  Inside the carriage house, work progressed. I learned how to lay hardwood floors—the real kind; Kate wouldn’t stand for anything manufactured, and Derek would probably refuse to install it. After that, we put in the new kitchen cabinets. They were white, with frosted glass fronts, and looked gorgeous. And then we drove to pick up the marble counter Kate had wanted, only available in Portland, and unloaded it, with the help of Wayne, Josh, and Brandon Thomas, Wayne’s young deputy, who had been drafted for the occasion.

  “Did you ever have a chance to talk to Shannon?” I asked Kate as we stood in the driveway watching the men drag the slab of marble off the truck and through the carriage house door.

  I was hoping she’d say yes, so I could avoid being a snitch. I liked Shannon, and didn’t want to rat her out to her mother. But I liked Kate, too, and I knew she’d want to know what Shannon was up to. Shannon might be grown, but Kate was still her mother.

  Kate shook her head. “She’s still spending most of her time at Barnham. And I’ve been so busy lately that I haven’t had time to pin her down.” She was watching the men, her face scrunched up against the bright sun and a blue stocking cap on her head.

  “Derek and I saw her a couple of times over Thanksgiving weekend,” I offered.

  “Did you?”

  “She was here on Thanksgiving night, right?”

  Kate nodded. “Paige had asked her to have dinner with the Thompsons, and Shannon didn’t feel she could say no. Paige and her dad have kind of a strained relationship, and Paige needed the moral support.”

  “I see,” I said. “Paige’s dad . . . what does he look like? What kind of car does he drive?”

  Kate looked at me like I had lost my mind. “He looks like Paige. Short and fair, around fifty. And he doesn’t have a car. Or a license. Wayne took it away after the second or third DUI. Why?”

  “Derek and I saw Shannon get out of a gray Lexus on Thanksgiving night. Right across the street.” I gestured over my shoulder with a gloved thumb. “It was around seven, I guess.”

  Kate nodded. “That’s about when she got here. She said she’d had dinner with Paige and the Thompsons.”

  I shrugged. “Maybe the guy was an uncle or something.”

  “Maybe,” Kate said.

  “Except . . .”

  She squinted at me. “Except what? ”

  I squirmed. “We saw them again the next night. At the Waymouth Tavern.”

  “You’re kidding.”

  “Unfortunately not. Shannon begged us not to tell you that we’d seen her, that she’d tell you herself. But I guess she hasn’t, has she?”

  “Not a word,” Kate said between her teeth. I watched as emotions chased one another across her face. Anger, worry, suspicion. “This guy she was with. What did he look like?”

  I did my best to describe the man I’d only seen twice, both times at a distance. The dark hair, turning gray at the temples. The dark eyes and swarthy skin. The protuberant nose and thin cheeks. The nice clothes and expensive car with out-of-state license plates. The self-satisfied smirk. As I talked, I watched Kate’s expression change from suspicion to dawning certainty, and her eyes turned narrow and flinty.

  “Excuse me,” she said while I was still in the middle of a sentence.

  I stuttered to a stop and watched as she turned on her heel and stalked to the back door of the B&B. It slammed behind her with what was undoubtedly a very satisfying bang.

  “What was that all about?” Derek wanted to know when he came up to me a minute later. “I saw you through the window. What were you talking about?”

  “I told her about Shannon and the guy at the Waymouth Tavern. She wasn’t happy.”

  “I’d say. She looked ready to chew nails. I’ve only seen her look like that once before, and that was when her dad called to let her know that her grandmother had died, and they’d had the funeral without inviting her. I don’t envy the guy when she catches up with him.”

  I shook my head. “Me either. Excuse me.” My cell phone had gone off. It was my mom, no doubt calling to tell me she and Noel had left for the airport. “Hi. Mom?”

  “Hello, darling,” my mom’s voice answered, far away and staticky. “I just wanted to let you know we’re on our way.”

  “Where are you calling from?”

  She was sitting at the airport in Santa Barbara. “The flight out is delayed, of course. They always seem to be. But we’ll be in Boston this evening.”

  “That’s great!” I said enthusiastically.

  “I don’t think we’ll be driving up to Waterfield tonight, though, Avery. It’s a long flight, with a stopover in San Francisco on the way, and once we touch down, we’ll be tired, and we still have to pick up a car.”

  “OK.” It was hard to tell with the static, but her voice sounded strange. Still, it was a reasonable excuse. My mother isn’t as young as she used to be, and Noel is older.

  “We’ll stay in a hotel near the airport tonight and go pay for the car in the morning, and then we’ll be in Waterfield around lunchtime.”

  “OK,” I said.

  “I’ll give Miss McGillicutty a call and tell her to expect us tomorrow instead of today.”

  “Do you want me to tell her?” I offered. I wouldn’t mind an excuse to knock on the door and try to find out what was going on.

  “That’s OK, darling,” Mom said, “I’ll do it myself. I’ll give you a call when we get in tonight, just so you know we got there all right.”

  I told her that would be great and hung up, worrying my lower lip.

  “What?” Derek said. “Something wrong?”

  I shook my head. “Nothing. There was just something weird in the way she talked about spending the night in Boston and picking up the car tomorrow morning instead. Something—I don’t know—clandestine, almost. Or secretive.”

  “Maybe they’re looking forward to some hanky-panky in a nice hotel room?” Derek suggested, hiding a smile. “They haven’t been married very long, have they?”

  “Oh.” I flushed. Duh. “Yeah, maybe so.”

  “You hungry?”

  I considered. “I could eat. You?”

  “Always.”

  “You want to go grab some lunch?”

  “Actually,” Derek said, “I was hoping that you would go grab some lunch and bring it back here. I have a lot of work to do, since we spent most of the morning driving to Portland and back.”

  “What do you want? Lobster roll?”

  Derek nodded. “And a Moxie.”

  “No problem.” I made a face. Moxie soda is the official state beverage of Maine, and it is an acquired taste. Something like what you’d get if you added bitters to root beer or Campari to Coke. It’s made from—among other things—wintergreen and gentian root. Incidentally, it was one of the first carbonated soft drinks mass-produced in the United States, all the way back in 1884.

  He leaned in for a kiss. “See you later, Tink.”

  He swatted my butt and sent me on my way.

  From Kate’s B&B to the little hole-in-the-wall deli that makes the best lobster rolls in Maine, I had to go down Main Street, the main drag in Waterfield. It runs from the harbor to the top of the hill, through the historic district, and from there north to Augusta. The street is lined with Victorian commercial buildings, with storefronts and offices on the first floor and storage or lofts above. Derek’s apartment is above the hardware store, and Waterfield Realty, where Melissa James, his ex, is top producer, is just down the street. The annual Victorian Christmas Celebration was due to take place in another week and a half, and many of the merchants were getting their storefronts ready. As I passed Nickerson’s Antiques, the owner, John, knocked on the glass and spread his hands to show me his display.

  I had met John a couple of months earlier, when Derek and I were renovating the ranch on Becklea Drive. John’s store focuses mainly on what’s called midcentury modern: 1950s, ’60s, and ’70s stuff. Teak furniture upholstered with Naugahyde, shaggy wall hangings of giraffes and zebras, pictures of big-eyed children in rags clutching kittens and puppies, lava lamps, and bucket chairs. He’d gone with Elvis’s “Blue Christmas” as
a theme for the window: There was an old-fashioned turntable on a teak stand, a white tulip chair, an aluminum Christmas tree with blue balls and white lights sitting on a fake sheepskin rug, gifts wrapped in blue and white paper, and a stack of old LPs, while a 1950s ball gown, with an impossibly tiny waist, hung from a wall screen.

  The display looked great, even if there was absolutely nothing Victorian about it. I gave him an enthusiastic thumbs-up and got a grin in return before I continued down the sidewalk, thinking about the pale blue gown. It was strapless, with a satin bodice embroidered in swirls and a plain satin underskirt with a couple of layers of blue tulle over the top. All it needed was a huge, black flower pinned at the waist, with some seriously sexy, strappy black shoes, black stockings, a black petticoat with a few really stiff layers peeking out from under the skirt, and a half dozen necklaces, and I’d be ready for New Year’s Eve.

  I was so involved in my plans for the dress—or one like it, in case I couldn’t afford John’s—that I didn’t watch where I was going. As a result I walked right into someone coming in the opposite direction, loaded down with boxes and bags. Several of the bags scattered, and I babbled apologies as I started gathering them up.

  “It’s no problem,” a familiar voice said. “They’re Christmas gifts for the kids. Nothing breakable.”

  I looked up into a pair of blue eyes. “Oh. Hi, Jill. I didn’t recognize you.”

  “You weren’t looking at me,” Jill Cortino said, with a grin. “You were staring into space and muttering.”

  I blushed. It’s a bad habit, and one I don’t seem able to kick. “Sorry. I just saw this really great vintage dress in John Nickerson’s window, and I was thinking of how I could jazz it up for New Year’s Eve. Of course, I’d probably have to put toilet tissue in the bodice to make it fit. . . .”

  “The blue one?” Jill asked. I nodded. “At least you’d be able to get into it. I wasn’t that skinny in elementary school.”

  “You’ve also had three kids in four years. Cut yourself some slack.” I handed her the last of the bags.

  Jill Cortino is a native Waterfielder and a contemporary—and old girlfriend—of Derek’s. They dated in high school, went to prom together—I’d seen a picture—and then Derek went off to medical school and married Melissa, while Jill studied bookkeeping and stayed single. Everyone assumed she was mourning the loss of Derek, but eventually Peter Cortino moved to town, and things went fast after that. They were married just a few months later. It’s been five years now, and they have three children: Peter, Paul, and—no, not Mary—Pamela.

  “Where are the kids?” I asked.

  “At home, with my mom. Peter’s minding the business while I’m taking time out to do a little shopping.”

  The Cortinos run an auto repair and body shop on the other side of downtown. Peter does the repair and body work, Jill does the books, and they’ve got another mechanic or two working for them during the busy season. I don’t think they’re getting rich, any more than Derek and I are, but we’re all getting by.

  “We should do dinner sometime,” I said. “Unless you two are too busy these days.”

  Jill shook her head. “Business is slow. It always is in the winter. People are driving their beaters.”

  “Huh? ”

  She smiled. “Haven’t you noticed how some people keep old cars that they drive only during the winter? Beaters.”

  She pronounced it beatahs, like a native down easterner. She added, “People use them instead of their nice cars because of the salt on the roads and the danger of accidents.”

  “I hadn’t noticed,” I admitted, “but it’s my first winter here. I don’t even have one car yet, let alone two.”

  I do know how to drive, and I have a current driver’s license, but I don’t enjoy it. Especially after driving Derek’s truck off the road and into a ditch a couple of months ago. It wasn’t my fault—someone had punctured the brake cables, and things could have turned out a whole lot worse than they did—but it had been scary. I knew I’d have to get a car eventually, but I was putting it off as long as I could.

  Jill nodded. “You’ll see a lot of accidents as the weather gets colder and the road conditions worsen. Especially involving the out-of-towners. The college kids from places like Florida or Arizona have never had to drive on ice or snow before, and they don’t know how to do it. That whole horrible thing with Carolyn Tate last month was only the beginning, I’m afraid.”

  “I hear the police are still looking for whoever was responsible,” I said.

  Jill nodded. “They’ve been back for the third time to ask whether we’ve worked on anything suspicious. Like we wouldn’t have told them already. They even insisted on going through all our records, as if we’d be lying about it.” She rolled her eyes.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing personal,” I said. “They have to ask. And not everyone is as law-abiding as you and Peter.”

  “Right.” Jill looked at me for a second before she smiled. “Anyway, we’d love to get together for dinner sometime. I’ll talk to Peter and get in touch, OK?”

  I told her I’d look forward to it and went on my way.

  6

  I’ve never been what you’d call an early bird. Starbucks serves coffee all day, so what’s the hurry? Especially this time of year, when the floor is cold and the thought of having to strip to get into the shower is demoralizing, to say the least. And that was before I moved from New York—cold—to the coast of Maine—colder.

  Even with all that, I beat Derek to the B&B the next morning. It was the anticipation of seeing my mom later that did it, I guess. I was knocking on Kate’s kitchen door before eight o’clock: washed, brushed, and raring to go.

  Kate was sitting at the table nursing a cup of steaming brew, looking like she hadn’t wanted to get up this morning.

  “You OK? ” I said sympathetically.

  She managed a smile, one that didn’t reach her eyes. “Fine. There’s coffee in the pot.”

  “Thanks.” I walked over and poured myself a cup. “I looked for you yesterday afternoon, but I couldn’t find you.”

  “I was trying to track down Shannon.”

  I glanced at her over my shoulder. “And did you?”

  “Afraid not. Although I did give her”—her teeth closed with a snap—“companion a piece of my mind.”

  I returned to the table to sit across from her. “That doesn’t sound good.”

  “It wasn’t pretty,” Kate said.

  I wanted to push for details, but aside from the fact that they weren’t any of my business, she didn’t look like she was in a mood to share. “Well, you look like you didn’t sleep much.”

  Kate shook her head. “Wayne didn’t come home ’til around one. He’s still asleep.”

  “I see.” Maybe Wayne’s arrival was the reason she looked so beat. If he had woken her up and one thing had led to another, say. Some of my worry lifted, and I smiled.

  Kate sent me a sour look but didn’t comment. “So your mom and stepdad are coming later today, right?”

  I nodded. “I can’t wait. My mom’s great. You’ll love her. We lived together until just a couple of years ago, when she moved to California. Weird, I know, for a daughter to live with her mother that long, but we get along really well, and she had a rent-controlled apartment in a really good location, and I wasn’t making that much money, and . . .”

  “You don’t have to explain,” Kate said, looking a little better for the change of subject. “I’m sure your mom is lovely. I’m looking forward to meeting her. And your stepfather works in television, right?”

  “Right. Producer or something. Something behind the scenes.”

  “I guess you don’t know him that well, do you? If he’s always lived in California and you’ve always lived in New York?”

  I shook my head. “He met my mom three or four years ago. Online, of all places. They hit it off, and whenever he had business in New York, they’d have dinner together. I met him two or three times before he proposed. He actually asked my permission beforehand!”

  “Did he really?” Kate smiled. “That’s sweet.”

  “Isn’t it? He
took me to lunch and showed me the ring and asked me for my mother’s hand in marriage. She quit her job the next day and flew to California with him. They got married three months later. On the beach.”

  “That’s wonderful,” Kate said warmly.

  “I know. What about your family? You never talk about them.” I realized, too late, that maybe there was a good reason for that.

  Her face closed up. “We had a falling out after Shannon was born. Irish Catholic family, political aspirations, child out of wedlock, all those things. So I don’t have much contact with them anymore. My grandmother was the only one who stayed in touch, and she died last spring.” She shrugged.

  “I’m sorry,” I said. I couldn’t even imagine having my mother cut me out of her life, and certainly not for something like getting pregnant. Surely these days, and even twenty years ago, that wasn’t such a big deal? “Derek mentioned that your grandmother had died recently. Has your family never met Shannon, then?”

  “They have. A few times. Not very often since we moved up here, though.”

  I hesitated. “Do you miss them?”

  “It’s been twenty years,” Kate said with a shrug. “And it’s their loss. They’re the ones who missed seeing Shannon grow up.”

  I nodded. She didn’t seem upset, but it was still a relief to hear the sound of tires crunching on the snow in the driveway. Kate glanced out the window, her expression wary for a second before it smoothed out. “Here’s Derek. Bright and early, as usual.”

  The truck’s engine shut off, and a door opened and closed. After a moment, the kitchen door opened and Derek stuck his head in.