Chapter Nineteen

Aunt Ellen phoned me Friday morning as I was getting ready for work. “I’m concerned about Josie. She’s moping around her apartment all day, doing nothing but worrying. She needs to be kept busy. She’s always been the sort who never sits down, even when she was a little girl. I can’t invite her over here, because Gloria will say something about the wedding, and Josie’ll get mad and storm out.”

“She still doesn’t have a wedding dress,” I said. “Maybe we can go shopping tomorrow. I can take the day off, see if Grace and Steph are free.”

“Would you, dear? I’d appreciate that. I can’t go with her, not without Gloria tagging along. And that means Mary Anna and Florence too.”

“Why are they still here? Have the police told them they can’t leave?”

“No, but Gloria insists on being with us at, as she says, this difficult time. Mary Anna won’t leave her mother. I don’t know why Florence is hanging around. You’d think she’d have to get back to work.”

“Maybe because you’re housing and feeding her,” I said.

“Oh, yes. That.” Mary Anna and Florence had moved out of the Ocean Side and into the second spare room at Amos and Ellen’s house. Things there were tense, I knew, not least because Florence had hinted to the police that Josie had reasons to want Mirabelle dead.

“I heard about the library needing funds for structural repairs,” Ellen said. “The Friends of the Library have started making calls. Gloria’s giving five thousand dollars.”

“That’s nice of her,” I said. “Considering she doesn’t even live here.”

“I might have hinted that we’d be eating white bread and beans out of a can for the remainder of her visit if she didn’t put her hand in her pocket. Gloria’s not without funds, but she guards every penny as though it’s her last.”

“I’ll ask Bertie for the day off tomorrow and let you know if the shopping trip is on.”

“Thank you, dear.”

*   *   *

Charlene kept watch over the lighthouse driveway from her third-floor office. When she saw what she was waiting for, she took the stairs two at a time, shouting to Ronald as she passed the children’s library. I was on the ground floor and hurried to meet them.

The four (counting Charles) employees of the Bodie Island Lighthouse Library were at the door when it flew open and Albertina James marched in. She might have had a thundercloud hanging over her head. She’d come from the town hall. “Ten thousand dollars and not a cent more,” she said without stopping.

Her office door slammed shut behind her. Ronald, Charlene, and I looked at each other. “I’m guessing that didn’t go well,” Charlene said. Charles slunk away to bury himself under the table in the alcove.

I watched him go. “Do you think the crack’s getting worse?”

“Yes,” Ronald said. “You can almost see it grow minute by minute. Word’s gotten out, and some of my parents are calling to ask me if the building is safe.”

“Okay, people,” Charlene said. “No use moping. We have calls to make and ideas to think over.”

I gave Bertie time to calm down before approaching her with my request. “Would it be okay if I took a vacation day tomorrow? I’d like to take Josie dress shopping. That’s if she’ll agree to come. Aunt Ellen’s worried about her moping around all day.”

“That should be fine,” Bertie said. “Ronald has a couple of children’s programs, but between him and Charlene, the desk can be covered.”

“Did anyone ever tell you you’re a great boss?”

She didn’t smile. “Let’s hope I can keep being your boss.”

*   *   *

Saturday morning dawned crisp and cool. The temperature was hovering around the freezing point and snow was in the forecast. Josie had agreed to the shopping trip, and Steph and Grace had been pleased at the suggestion. I’d arranged to pick everyone up and take them to a restaurant for breakfast, saying we needed to be well fortified for a day of wedding dress and bridesmaid attire shopping. As Josie’s place was still closed, I didn’t think a coffee shop would be all that appropriate, so we went to Shrimp Shack near Pirate’s Cove Marina in Manteo, famous for its all-day breakfasts as well as the view over the small-boat harbor.

The moment we sat down, the waitress—scraggy gray hair, craggy face, sensible shoes, and a name tag that said MAGGIE—offered coffee and menus. The place smelled of bacon grease, rich coffee, fresh fish, and motor oil.

Josie studied the menu. “I can’t eat anything they serve here, not before I try on my wedding dress.”

I eyed her slim figure. “Go ahead, live a little.” Something niggled at the back of my mind. I’d heard that expression recently and for some reason thought it might be important. No matter. I shoved the memory aside.

“I hope you have some idea of what you want, Josie,” Steph said. “Did you look at the dresses on those websites I sent you the links to?”

“No.” Josie studied the depths of her cup as she stirred cream into her coffee.

Grace, Steph, and I exchanged glances. Josie had sounded pleased when I called to suggest the shopping outing, but I feared she was getting cold feet and would want to go home early. The stress of all that had happened—and was still happening—was weighing heavily on my beloved cousin.

The waitress came back, pen and pad at the ready, and we placed our orders. I decided to go all out: two fried eggs, sausage, hash browns, toast. My friends ordered much the same, and the waitress laboriously wrote it down. She then repeated it back to us, equally laboriously.

She tucked her stub of a pencil in her breast pocket and started to turn. She stopped and swung back to face us. “Just so you know, Josie, we’re all rooting for you.”

The first smile of the day crossed my cousin’s face. “Thank you so much. That means a lot to me.”

“If someone from New Orleans got herself killed on the Outer Banks, then she brought trouble with her. The fool cops should know that and leave decent, hardworking people alone.” Maggie harrumphed and went to get our meals.

“Who’s she?” Steph asked when the waitress was out of earshot.

“I’ve no idea,” Josie said. “I’ve never seen her before.”

A phone rang.

“We agreed, no calls,” Grace said. “This is our special day out.”

Josie fumbled in her bag. “It might be important.” She found her phone and read the screen. Blood drained from her face and she threw me a panicked look. She mouthed Detective Watson, and then she pushed the button and hesitantly said, “Hello?”

We couldn’t hear what he said, but color flooded into her cheeks, a smile spread across Josie’s face, and a spark returned to her eyes. She glanced at the faces of her three friends and gave us a thumbs-up and a big grin.

All the tension of the past week drained out of my body.

“Thanks so much for letting me know, Detective. I appreciate the call.” Josie hung up and put her phone away. She let out a long breath. “The bakery can open tomorrow.”

“That’s great,” Grace yelled. We leapt to our feet and leaned in for a group hug. Maggie rushed over and wrapped her arms around us. The men sitting at the nearby tables grinned. One grizzled old sailor lifted his coffee cup in a salute. I doubt he’d heard what we said—they were too far away—but seeing happy people made him happy. And that made me even happier.

Funny how infectious happiness is.

“So they’ve concluded you didn’t poison Mirabelle,” Grace said when we’d sat down again. “I’ll drink to that.” We clicked coffee mugs.

“Not with anything prepared in the bakery, at any rate,” Josie said. “If I’m going to open tomorrow, I have to get started on prep. Some of my ingredients are going to be past their use-by date and I’ll have to order more. I have to call the staff and tell them to come in.” She finished her coffee in one gulp. “Sorry, guys. Let’s go.”

“Absolutely not,” I said. “You can do your prep tomorrow and open on Monday.”

“Some of my suppliers don’t make deliveries on Sunday.”

“Then they’ll deliver on Monday and you’ll open Tuesday,” I said.

Grace and Steph nodded. Grace picked up her knife and fork and gripped them firmly, one in each hand. “Not budging. I’ve planned a day of shopping with my friends—all my friends—and I’m not giving in.”

“You didn’t drive, Josie,” Steph pointed out. “If you don’t want to hitch back to Nags Head, you have to come with us.”

Josie studied our faces. She broke into a huge grin. “You guys are the absolute best. Okay, you win. Shopping it will be.”

Maggie plopped loaded plates onto the table. “That Sam Watson’s got a head on his shoulders. Comes from being a true Banker, never mind he went to live in New York for all those years. I don’t hold with bringing in outsiders to investigate what’s Outer Banks business. Ketchup? Vinegar? More cream?”

“Yes, to all,” I said. Detective Yarmouth had a strong North Carolina accent. If Maggie considered him to be an outsider, I wondered what she thought of me.

I didn’t have to wonder for long.

“Now, you, Lucy,” she said, “are an honorary Banker. Like old Ralph Harper said, you’re a woman of the sea. Be right back with the coffee pot.”

I leaned across the table and whispered to my friends, “She’s got a heck of a memory. I’ve only been in here once, and that was back in the summer when I needed to talk to Ralph about the death of Will Williamson.” I’d made an enormous effort to be seated next to his regular stool at five AM before Ralph finished his breakfast and got his charter fishing boat ready for a day on the water.

“Maggie’s a Manteo legend,” Grace said. “She can compete with Louise Jane for numbers of relatives and the depths of her roots. This place is gossip central. Everyone who wants the news comes in here.”

“I must remember that,” Steph said, “next time I have an uncooperative client or hostile witness and need to get the facts.”

Maggie returned with the coffee pot and poured without asking if we wanted more. I like that in a breakfast place. “How’s your mother these days, Stephanie? Recovered from that accident yet?”

“Fully recovered,” Steph said. “Thanks for asking.”

Maggie went to greet a group of new arrivals, and my friends and I exchanged looks. Then we burst into laughter. “See what I mean?” Grace said.

We dug into our breakfasts.

After the first welcome bites, Steph asked, “What’s happening with the murder investigation? Did Detective Watson say anything about that?”

Josie popped a piece of bacon into her mouth. “He said I am not under suspicion at this time. Reading between the lines, I think he had to persuade Detective Yarmouth that, because the food to which the drug was added had been available to anyone passing, having been left in my car for a while, any good lawyer”—she grinned at Steph—“would argue that’s cause for reasonable doubt. I want to call Jake.” She put down her fork and got to her feet. “I promise I won’t run off and hitch a ride into town.”

Josie went outside in search of some privacy to make the call.

“I’m so glad that’s over with,” Grace said.

“Unfortunately,” Steph said, “it’s not. The police didn’t conclude that Josie didn’t kill Mirabelle, simply that such cannot be proven in a court of law. Not yet, anyway. The investigation will continue. They’ll keep coming back with questions. The cloud of suspicion will hang over Josie for a long time. Maybe forever. As we’re always hearing, Bankers have long memories, but when it comes to unsolved murder, the police have longer ones.”

I glanced out the window. Josie was on the phone, pacing up and down the boardwalk as she talked. The winter sun cast a golden glow through her hair and the blue water sparked behind her. She was smiling, happy. She laughed at something Jake said. She’d realize, soon enough, what Steph had. This wasn’t over.

The only way to clear the cloud of suspicion from Josie, I knew, was to find out who had killed Mirabelle.