Chapter 18
On the morning of my thirtieth birthday, I opened my eyes feeling like I’d been drugged. Then I remembered I had been. Tinker, who seemed to have slept on me, leapt off my lap as I dropped to the floor on hands and knees to recover the vial that had knocked me out last night. While I was on all fours, I also noticed the gun I’d taken from Agent Hill’s boat. Seeing it, the room began to sway again. I dropped the weapon in my bag and covered it with Millie’s sweater.
Rolling onto my back, I lifted the sealed vial up to the sunlight which was streaming through my window. Agent Hill had told me that the formula contained scents unique to locations where secret operatives were at work to protect the queen’s journey, and thus, the success of the Peace Jubilee. Call me crazy, but it seemed like a “scent” with unique aromas would smell like something. Call me even crazier, but I decided that Agent Hill had not recovered the correct formula from Millie’s black bag.
Tinker twitched his ears, perhaps assuming my prone position on the floor would lead to a game.
“No such luck, mister,” I said.
I lowered my arm to the floor and studied a couple of dust bunnies. My goal had been to help Agent Hill find Rex Laruam, while she protected the formula. Now she was dead, and the formula I had was the wrong one.
I hadn’t panicked after Agent Hill had been killed, so I wasn’t going to panic about this new turn of events. You might be surprised, but I decided that her mistake actually wasn’t the worst thing. Sure, I had no idea where to find the formula. I was back to square one in that department, but I was also hopeful that Millie might know where it was, assuming her memory had improved. When she was released from the hospital, we’d have a good long chat.
Meanwhile, I realized I had a formula that had been good enough to fool Agent Hill. Now, at least, I had something that I could give Laruam, if push came to shove, that would not endanger the queen’s journey to the Peace Jubilee. I felt a little like I was playing Three-card Monte, but it was nice to feel I was the dealer rather than the mark.
There was a knock on my door. I went to my kitchen window where I saw Olive Tidings standing on my stoop.
“Coming,” I said through the window. I slipped the vial behind my sofa cushion and headed downstairs.
When I opened the door, I found Olive holding a baking tin.
“I come bearing pie. I see you like that lovely jumpsuit. It’s very becoming on you, but a bit of advice. A change of clothes is good for the skin. Helps it breath.”
Olive took a step inside and headed up the stairs.
“What a pretty kitty,” she said at the landing. “Tinker’s your name, little fellow, isn’t it?”
Tinker sidestepped away from her. Olive followed.
“Here pretty, little kitty,” she said, following him about my apartment.
Each time she reached out her hand, Tinker would hold his pose until she was about an inch away. Then, he’d sidestep another foot or so.
“You’re a bit of a terrorist, aren’t you?” Olive said to Tinker. “I like that about you.”
She put her pie tin on my kitchen counter, removing the foil. The pie was home baked by the looks of it. Cranberry.
“You mentioned you saw a woman who looked like me on a bike yesterday,” she said, opening a drawer in my kitchen from which she pulled my sharpest knife. She put it on the counter.
“She looked almost exactly like you,” I said, sitting on my sofa, next to my bag, aka my gun tote.
“In fact, it was me,” said Olive. “But I think you knew that.”
Olive opened a couple of cabinets. I stayed silent.
“I was on an excursion I wanted to enjoy for myself,” she said, stabbing the pie into slices before plating them. “And it paid off in spades.”
I shuddered at her word choice, remembering the dirt on her shovel. It made me sick to think of it, but I had to consider that the dirt might have been from a freshly dug grave, one perhaps made in anticipation of Agent Hill’s murder. Olive grabbed two forks before joining me.
“The cranberry bogs are more beautiful than the description in the old Fodor’s Nantucket I checked out from the library,” she said, sitting down with a slice of pie for each of us. “I had a good chat with a fellow at the bogs, and he let me harvest my own, before the Festival today. I was able to bring home two pints. The chef in the kitchen of the Jared Coffin House took a shining to me when I told him I had a local recipe I wanted to try. He let me bake a pie in the hotel kitchen after they closed last night. I made one for him, too, of course.”
I wondered if she was giving me an alibi.
“Is that why you went to the market yesterday? To get ingredients?” I said, remembering that Chris had invited Olive to dinner after he’d bumped into her at the market.
“You know a lot about people’s comings and goings, don’t you?” she said.
“Small town,” I said with a shrug.
“Chin-chin!” she said, raising her fork, and popping a bite into her mouth.
She clasped her heart.
“As good as I expected,” she said.
Based on the speed with which she ate that pie, I concluded it was not poisoned.
“Come on,” she said. “Don’t be shy. There’s no harm in a slice of pie for one’s birthday breakfast. I wanted to be the first to bring you wishes, knowing that your mother is not home this morning.”
I ventured a bite. It was off-the-charts good, and I told her as much.
“I’m glad you like it. Now, I’ll be off so you can start your day.” She rose, bringing our plates to my sink and rinsing them. “I’m sure I’ll see you later.”
I wondered if that was a threat.
She picked up the knife, then she rinsed it, dried it with one long sweep of my tea towel, and put it back in the drawer.
“Now then,” she said, drying her hands. “I trust you’ll tell no one about my bike ride to the bogs. There are some things that one likes to do alone. I think your generation calls it mindfulness. I call it the quiet joy of independence. Here’s another secret: I’m off for a snooze. Don’t tell a soul. I don’t want to get a reputation for that sort of laziness, but my neighbor is a handful. He was on the phone all night. I even heard his fingers pounding the keyboard. Those walls. I have a good hearing gene, but it can sometimes be a curse.”
Olive gave me a hug and headed down the stairs. I watched from my living room window as she mounted her bike and headed back toward town.
I realized that with each twist and turn I felt less like James Bond. I also realized how much I wanted to take off my jumpsuit. I hopped into the shower and scrubbed and scrubbed until I was ready to face the day. I dressed quickly in jeans, a light blue sweater, and gray high tops. I rolled up the jeans to create a fashion statement with my shoes, but the strategy behind my attire was purely functional. If I needed to make a run for it today, I wanted to be ready. I pulled my hair into a high bun and fastened it with a few bobby pins and my hair tie. For a last bit, I threw on some lipstick in a shade of Millie red to give me some confidence.
As I did, the scent of bacon wafted through my window. Eggs and cheese mingled with the siren smell, too. I walked across the lawn and knocked on Chris’s screen door, wondering if the Mortons would have an alibi as good as Olive’s.
“Smelled the omelets all the way across the yard?” said Chris with a smile.
“I couldn’t resist,” I said.
“Happy birthday,” he and the boys all said when I stepped inside.
Chris handed me a cup of rich coffee as good as anything I’ve had at The Bean, which is a huge compliment. The boys brought me a plate of food.
“Where are the Mortons?” I said.
Chris shrugged.
“Don’t know,” he said. “They were out early. They have their quirks, but John Pierre’s been gardening for me so I can’t complain. If this is the upside of Airbnb, I think I like it.”
At least I knew what John Pierre had done with the other two items he had bought from Marine Home Center.
“Do you have anything wonderful planned for your birthday?” said Chris.
“Dinner with Peter,” I said.
My answer was greeted with loud raspberry sounds from the boys, and laughter from Chris. With a slice of pie, an omelet, and three slabs of bacon in me, I waved a good-bye to my family and headed out the door.
Two steps toward my apartment, my phone rang.
“Happy birthday!” said Emily.
“Thanks,” I said. “How’s the Marshall party going?”
“I’m going to miss these old guys,” she said. “I’m taking them out to Great Point to look for seals in a few minutes. Except for Nathaniel of course. He’s already out. I assume to check on Millie. And Lennie is sleeping like a log. We may leave him behind too.”
“Em?” I said. “Can I call you back?”
“Sure,” she said.
I hung up. As I got closer to my apartment, I noticed my front door was ajar. I was sure I’d closed it before I’d left.