Chapter Five

Saturday, May 31

The next morning, Adaleigh walked quietly down the stairs, unsure what she would meet. Would David be there? Would they have the same level of comfortableness in the light of day? Had he told his grandmother and siblings about his dad? Would there be anger? Tears? Or would they all have forgotten about her and left for the courthouse?

“Good morning,” Mrs. Martins, the lone occupant of the kitchen, greeted Adaleigh from the stove. She wore a black dress broken by panels of a floral pattern, as if attired for church, not the Saturday morning after learning one’s son was the prime suspect in a murder investigation.

“Good—”

“Can I make you breakfast?” Mrs. Martins interrupted her greeting.

“Par … don?” Adaleigh blinked at the rapid question.

Mrs. Martins pulled a loaf of bread from the breadbox, cut off a thick slice, and stuck it on the electric toaster. Then she grabbed a Ball jar half filled with jam from the refrigerator, a plate from the cupboard, and a butter knife from the drawer next to the wash sink—all with frightening efficiency.

Adaleigh shook out of her incredulity.

“I cook,” Mrs. Martins said. “It helps me manage, especially after what’s happened. Breakfast is simple. Toast, butter, and jam.” Her hand shook as she spread the butter. “You and I should cook together, how about? Maybe dinner. I also have jam to make. This is my last jar. You could help me with that, but the garden needs weeding. Today is better for gardening.”

Adaleigh stood beside the table. “Sure?”

“It’ll be warm outside, so drink plenty of water, remember.” Mrs. Martins poured coffee into a cup. Adaleigh hoped it was meant for her, not her hostess. She needed a brain boost to keep up with the woman.

“My old knees can’t do the work as well anymore, and the grandkids …” She faltered.

Adaleigh let out a slow breath, giving a natural beat before she eased the awkward silence. “What do they do on a Saturday?”

Mrs. Martins slid the coffee mug toward her. “David works, and the younger two are either with friends or sometimes working.” She toyed with her wedding ring, tarnished and loose on her left hand. “I don’t blame them. What young person wants to spend their Saturday with an old lady like me?”

What could she say? Adaleigh took the mug and held it under her nose, letting the steam finish waking her. Maybe it would lessen the disappointment that rose upon learning she’d have to wait all day to see David again.

Mrs. Martins handed her the plate of toast. “My brother will be here later this morning for the interview. Eat. Then garden in the meantime.”

Yes, she must focus on how to help this family. Not her unwelcome feelings toward this woman’s grandson.

David stifled a yawn and knocked back a chug of coffee from the mug he’d just filled from the jug they kept in the wheelhouse. Captain Mann steered the Tuna Mann toward deeper water, the shoreline long gone. Water surrounded them on all sides now. If only it could wash away his troubles … and thoughts of Leigh.

He had this nagging suspicion that if something spooked her again, she’d dash out of Crow’s Nest faster than a rabbit from a dog, investigation besides. He hoped he’d find her at home when his day ended. Or at least that she’d leave him a way to reach her if she vanished. Not that he’d blame her for skipping town after the way last night went.

A strong breeze came from the west. Cold spray left water droplets on his rubber Macintosh. He shivered, regardless of the wool sweater he wore beneath. Hopefully, the higher the sun climbed, the warmer he would feel. He doubted it, not with the turmoil awaiting him on shore.

Raised voices came from the wheelhouse. The captain had hired on two greenhorns—didn’t need to pay them much. David ran his hands over the thick silk line, double-checking the clips where each snood—a short length of line with a hook at the bottom—was attached to the main trotline. Another month and they’d switch to gillnets.

“We fishing yet or what?” The older of the two greenhorns, O’Brien, emerged from the wheelhouse.

“Bait these lines.” David nudged the bucket of herring toward the surly man.

“This needs to be a productive morning.” He plopped down on an overturned crate. “I need the pay, so you need to hook the fish. Got it?”

David raised his eyebrows but stayed quiet. The other greenhorn, Randell, kept his head down as he baited the other trotline. O’Brien would be trouble, he knew it, especially if the fish didn’t bite right away, as often happened.

“Do you always have to use such smelly bait?” O’Brien asked, patting his forehead with a handkerchief.

“We don’t use any with the nets, but the trotlines need bait.” David hooked a herring on the line. “Fishing is dependent on the weather, the currents, food availability, and much more. It’s not a sure way of making an income.”

“You’d better hope your captain can find the fish. Or I’ll go elsewhere.”

David didn’t bother answering the threat. They’d just find another fisherman to replace him. Not hard to do. But if word got around that Captain Mann couldn’t find the fish, which meant a smaller catch and lower pay, things could get more difficult. Not what he needed right now.

He left the greenhorn to his work and leaned on the edge of the boat, looking out toward the horizon, breathing in the freshwater air. Usually the water brought him peace. Today, it did nothing to calm his desire to check in with Uncle Mike, to see if there was news on his dad. How was his grandmother handling the news? Had she told his siblings yet? And then there was Leigh.

He pushed the thoughts away, for supporting his family depended on finding the fish. He had to keep focused on his livelihood. Captain Mann slowed the thirty-foot Mackinaw boat. David eyed the lines, assuring himself they were ready to be tossed into the water.

Waves lapped at the hull, the rumble of the old Hicks Marine engine—new nearly a decade ago now—beneath his feet, clouds chasing the sun … a perfect fishing day. David carefully took up a trotline and fed it into the water. If only he could cast his cares just as easily.

Adaleigh stood beside the rocker where she’d sat last night, gaping at the garden the darkness had hidden. It stretched wide and deep. She’d helped the gardener back home, so she wasn’t without reference, but never had she worked with vegetable plants. Couldn’t be too much different from Mom’s prize roses, could it?

Nothing for it other than to get started. She found garden tools in the shed, then assessed where to begin. The muggy air caused her cotton dress to cling to her skin, but a wonderful breeze lifted the wisps of hair that fell out of her braid.

In the far left corner, Mrs. Martins had a nine-foot-by-nine-foot block of corn, which peeked through the ground as if wondering whether to stick around. Next to it was a patch of green beans, the tiny vines barely reaching out far enough to touch the spikes they would eventually crawl up. In front of the corn, Mrs. Martins had planted tomatoes, and beside the tomato patch was a row each of cucumbers, carrots, onions, zucchini, and squash, each labeled by neat signs. The rows seemed endless.

This was only the end of May, so the little plants had a lot of growing left to do, but weeds could stifle them—or so Mrs. Martins said. Adaleigh wiped her forehead with her gloved hand. She had no green thumb, so she admired the woman’s courage in letting her anywhere near her beloved garden.

As Adaleigh bent over, skirt muddied from the dirt, she recited Shakespeare. Growing up, she’d read several of his plays, but in college, she fell in love with the old language. It also kept her from stressing about tests or papers or speeches or anything else that caused her mind to get in a tangle.

Today, she felt trapped at the house, waiting for Detective O’Connor, but she wouldn’t leave the Martins family in the lurch, especially if she could hide out here for a while. So she plucked weeds and quoted the bard, pulled and recited, growing steadily warmer in the rising summer sun.

Shall I compare thee to a summer’s day?

Thou art more lovely and more temperate:

Rough winds do shake the darling buds of May,

And summer’s lease hath . . .

Adaleigh felt his eyes before she heard his step. She stood quickly, dusting the dirt from her hands. Expectant. Detective O’Connor removed his hat, his smile half hidden by the mustache. Samson wasn’t with him, but another man was. Short, plump, and bald. She recognized him from the crime scene and guessed this was Chief Albert Sebastian.

“I see my sister didn’t waste any time putting you to work,” Detective O’Connor said as the pair reached her. Both were dressed in simple dark suits, shoes, and hats, badges prominent on their coats.

Adaleigh looked down at her mud-covered dress. The only times she could recall being this dirty, she’d fought with her sister and hid in a nearby park until her father found her. Not a pleasant memory, that. Her parents never let her do anything that would make her clothes this dirty. It just wasn’t done.

“Yoo-hoo.” Detective O’Connor waved his hat in front of Adaleigh’s face. “We let you recover, but we need an official statement from you today.”

Adaleigh frowned.

“I’m Chief Sebastian.” The bald man held out his hand. “I hope you are feeling better after last night.”

Whether caused by sweat from the noonday sun or Chief Sebastian’s saccharine greeting, a shiver skidded over Adaleigh’s neck.

Chief Sebastian started toward the house. “Perhaps start by telling me why you don’t want us to know who you are.”

Detective O’Connor shook his head but motioned that they should follow.

“Sir?” Adaleigh pressed her heart, telling it to slow down.

Chief Sebastian spun to face her as he reached the back porch. “You’re known as Leigh No-Last-Name, visiting from …” he scanned his notebook … “unknown. Care to tell me who you really are?”

Adaleigh glanced at Detective O’Connor. Last night, when she told David she would help, she’d forgotten that the police would want her full name, that they would search through her life, that her true identity would be discovered. She couldn’t risk that. She couldn’t let her sister find her.

“When we passed through the house, Marie was elbow-deep in pastry dough, so we’ve got plenty of time.” Detective O’Connor lowered himself onto the lounge chair David had sat in last evening, resting his hat on his knee. “Al, why don’t we revisit last night?”

Chief Sebastian glared at Detective O’Connor, then sat in the rocker, leaving his hat on.

“I know this is your investigation, but we need cooperative witnesses if we’re going to get to the truth.”

“If you’re covering …”

Detective O’Connor’s eyebrow twitched like an electrocuted cornstalk.

“Gentlemen.” Adaleigh planted her hands on her hips, stared at the two men as if they were the two unruly neighbor boys she’d had to deal with during her youth. “Would you ask your questions?”

Chief Sebastian registered surprise on his pudgy face. Detective O’Connor’s mustache barely hid his smirk.

“Why are you in Crow’s Nest?” Chief Sebastian demanded, obviously trying to regain what little authority he had between the three of them.

Adaleigh fiddled with the side seam of her dress, then clamped her fist closed. She knew all the nonverbal techniques they’d be watching for. She needed to keep the upper hand. With her pent-up nerves, pacing would be better than sitting.

“Leigh?” Detective Sebastian drew out the name.

Adaleigh squared off on him. “I left to start over. My sister and I had a falling out, which is not relevant to an official statement.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” Chief Sebastian crossed his legs as he leaned back in his chair with a Cheshire grin. “You can level with me, Adaleigh Sirland.”

Adaleigh’s head shot up. “How did you find out my name?”

“It didn’t take much to recognize your face,” the chief said. “Your family made the news recently thanks to some big advertising deal. You come from quite the wealthy background.”

Adaleigh snorted. “How far did you dig?”

“I, personally, got sidetracked by your education,” Detective O’Connor cut in. He sat with hands folded, legs outstretched, and the blankest of expressions under his bushy facial hair. He appeared relaxed, but Adaleigh would guess he was anything but.

“Yeah. What’s a woman do with a pa-see-chol—or whatever it’s called—degree?” Chief Sebastian rolled his eyes. “In my day, women didn’t get educated.”

“Psychology and rhetoric.” Adaleigh folded her arms. If he wanted to read body language, then read this—she ain’t talkin’.

Chief Sebastian opened his mouth, but Mrs. Martins stepped from the back door and interrupted. “Hot scones and coffee. The muffins will be out soon.” She planted the tray of goodies on the small side table between the detectives.

“We don’t need all this food, Em.” Detective O’Connor caught her hand.

“Just eat.” She brushed flour off her apron.

Detective O’Connor frowned. “It’ll be all right, Em. I’m going to figure this out.”

“My son is not a—Oh, never mind. Just eat.” She waved a dismissive hand in their direction.

Detective O’Connor waited until she had closed the door. “She’s not taking this well. Leigh, did you see him actually stab Amy Littleburg?”

“I’ll—” Chief Sebastian attempted to say, but Adaleigh was already shaking her head.

“He seemed drunk.” She focused on Detective O’Connor. His questions, she’d answer. “I doubt he realized she was dead.”

“I wish that was enough.” Detective O’Connor poured himself a cup of coffee.

“Why were you on the boardwalk with the suspect’s son?” Chief Sebastian cut in.

Adaleigh ignored him, spoke to Detective O’Connor. “There were lots of people out last night, so surely someone saw something more than we did. She must have screamed or made a racket that would have drawn attention. Or maybe a time of death would help? Who called the ambulance?”

Detective O’Connor shook his head. “An anonymous person heard the scuffle, but nobody saw anything.” Except you and David. His unspoken words were clear.

Adaleigh hesitated. Did she really want to let herself be dragged into the middle of this? But then again, wasn’t she already there?

“Do you know who did this?” Chief Sebastian stared her down.

Adaleigh took three calming breaths. She understood what David meant by wanting to clear his dad’s name himself. Would Chief Sebastian stop with Mr. Martins, or would he dig deeper? Her experience with men like him—men who were stuck on themselves—said he’d take the easy way out to make himself look good.

“Walk us through your night,” Detective O’Connor said.

She could do that. “We stopped outside the Lightning Bug, I think it was called. I saw Amy there, but I didn’t speak with her.”

“Did David?” Chief Sebastian asked before biting into a scone. He huffed as if it burned his mouth. Good.

“I can’t say who all spoke with her,” Adaleigh said.

“Where did you go next?” Detective Sebastian finally settled in his chair, ignoring the rest of his scone.

“David and I wandered down the boardwalk.”

“Did you talk to anyone else?”

“Just a guy in a red tie.” Adaleigh glanced at Detective O’Connor, knowing he’d catch her meaning.

“From the shop?” He leaned forward, eager.

“What shop?” The edge in Chief Sebastian’s voice returned, as if he was afraid of being left out.

“New guy in town, a Joe Spelding.” Detective O’Connor spoke quickly, like he wanted to get back to his own questions. “He might be a key to my investigation.”

“You think he’s with Wilson?” Chief Sebastian asked.

“I don’t know.” Detective O’Connor turned back to Adaleigh. “Did you speak with him?”

“A few minutes.” Adaleigh shrugged, not wanting to go into it, especially with Chief Sebastian sitting there.

Detective O’Connor studied her for a minute. Could Spelding have harassed Amy too? Did it turn ugly when his advances were not received?

“How soon after did you see the suspect and the victim?” Chief Sebastian tapped his notebook.

“Not sure.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that. I’m not sure how long after. David and I were talking, so I wasn’t paying attention to the time.”

Detective O’Connor’s mustache bobbed. Adaleigh blushed. What did he think of her, that she’d been out with his grandnephew and lost track of time? Why did she care?

“How did you realize there was a crime in progress?” Detective Sebastian asked.

“I didn’t.” Focus. Don’t hyperventilate again. “David recognized his dad. Then we saw someone was hurt.”

“Did the suspect say anything?”

Adaleigh tensed as she mentally transported back to last night. She could smell the alcohol on Mr. Martins’s breath. Feel the grip of his hand on her wrist. Her heart began pounding against her ribs. Numbness crept into her cheeks.

“Do you believe David and Frank Martins were in cahoots to murder Amy Littleburg?”

“What?” Adaleigh stared at Chief Sebastian. The man was certifiable. “I think I’m done answering your questions.” She needed to get away from him before she broke down completely—or shared something that would only hurt David.

“Did you have any other dealings with Amy Littleburg?” Chief Sebastian stood, intimidating in his stance. Funny that his action should instead bring clarity through her panic. Intimidating men didn’t scare her, they reminded her of her past life.

Her rescue of young Matt was common knowledge, and now she had no patience left for the pudgy man. For the first time since she left home, Adaleigh wished she could contact the family attorney, Harold Binatari. He’d eat this small-town chief alive.

“Ms. Sirland, I asked you a question.”

“Good day, Mr. Sebastian.” Adaleigh nearly ran into Mrs. Martins at the back door as she made her dramatic exit.