The aroma of sizzling bacon greeted me when I lumbered into the kitchen early the next morning, still wearing short-sleeved summer pajamas. Grammie, who was standing at the stove flipping pancakes, laughed. “You two are quite the pair.”
I glanced behind me at Quincy, who was padding along, looking as tired and slothful as I felt. “Neither of us got much sleep.” Sometimes the racing thoughts and worries I managed to keep at bay during the day attacked me at night. Last night it was all about Hailey. Who killed her? Was it Brendan? Theo? Even Lukas? Would we ever find out? As a result, I was restless and up three times in the night, disturbing my poor cat.
Yawning, I staggered to the coffee maker and poured a cup. “Madison and I are going to run over to Eleanor’s this morning. She found some things that belonged to her mother. Maybe they’ll help us with our research.”
Grammie used tongs to remove strips of bacon from the pan and place them on a paper-towel-lined plate. “I hope so. The whole thing is quite the mystery.”
I pulled out the kitty kibble and filled Quincy’s dish. “Not to be mercenary, but a good backstory will help us sell the Chanel clothing and everything else too.” I’d learned that customers loved buying things with a story behind them. Claudia’s history would only add to the cachet of linens and aprons from a historic summer cottage, which I’d already factored into the prices. Every time someone used a pair of those sheets or tied on an apron, they could dream about staying in a romantic summer cottage on the coast. Or in the case of the European sheets, a castle, maybe?
“And that will help Eleanor,” Grammie said. “The auction houses are going to love it.” She put two steaming hot pancakes onto a plate and added bacon, then placed it on the island, next to butter and Vermont maple syrup. “Here you go.” At the sound of Madison’s Mini roaring up the drive, she pulled out another plate.
I went to let Madison in, and we pulled up stools to the island to devour breakfast. “I’ll drive this morning if you want,” she said around a mouthful of pancake. A tiny piece of bacon accidentally fell from her fingers to the floor, where Quincy pounced.
“Sure.” I chased syrup around my plate with a piece of pancake. “We go right by here so you can drop me off after.”
After we helped Grammie clean up, Madison had another cup of coffee while I showered and dressed. Today I was in a floral mood, so I wore a full-shirted frock with a pale lavender print. Matching flats completed the outfit.
On the way out to Shorehaven, I filled Madison in regarding my talk with Anton. The prohibition against blabbing didn’t extend to my inner circle, I was pretty sure—and almost definitely not to his crush.
“It’s got to be someone either staying at the house or with easy access,” Madison said as she expertly changed gears, sending us flying around corners and over hills. “And obviously someone who knew which jacket belonged to Lukas.”
“You think the killer used his on purpose?” I asked, thinking that such a move showed premeditation. “That would be truly fiendish.”
“More fiendish than pushing a young woman off a cliff and leaving her there?” She flipped on the signal and braked, then turned onto Cliff Road.
“Good point,” I said, my stomach clenching with anger. “We need to know more about the people involved.” One benefit of working on Eleanor’s research project was that it gave us an excuse to go to Shorehaven and talk to Hailey’s colleagues. Listening to myself, I realized I’d made the decision to investigate. Well, to help, I clarified, without treading on toes or angering a killer, as I’d promised Anton.
“Um, there is one more thing,” I said as we slowed to enter Shorehaven’s drive. “I kind of let it slip that Ruben asked you out.”
She shot me a glance. “But I said no.”
“Yeah, and I didn’t mention that part. Not on purpose. There wasn’t a good time, since we were really talking about Hailey. Now I feel bad.” And I did. While part of me wanted to let Anton squirm, let him worry about Madison dating someone else, it wasn’t really my MO to play games. Nor Madison’s.
Madison sighed. “Tell him I said no, okay? While I wish he would go ahead and ask if he’s going to, I’m not going to try to make him jealous.” Then she grinned. “Not on purpose anyway.”
I laughed. “Oh, he reacted all right.” I pulled out my phone and sent a quick text to Anton. She said no. He’d get it.
Several cars were parked in front of Shorehaven, including a lime green VW, a white SUV, Lukas’s sports car, and Craig’s Mercedes. I groaned to myself. Hopefully Craig’s presence wouldn’t derail our plans today. We needed to speak privately with Eleanor.
“Ruben drives the SUV, which is a rental,” Madison said. “And how do I know this? We had to wrest the keys away from him the other night so Theo could drive. After that double Scotch.”
“Good times,” I said, picturing the scene. “I didn’t see Theo at the pub.”
“He showed up later,” Madison said, parking the Mini beside the VW. “With Jamaica.” As she turned off the engine, she nodded at the lime green bug. “I think that’s her car.”
I realized I hadn’t seen or spoken to Jamaica since the tasting at the Grille. “I’m glad she’s here. I’d like to know more about her seaweed farm. Plus maybe she knew Hailey.”
“Maybe so,” Madison said. “Since they were all working together.” She lowered her voice. “Iris and Madison, on the case.”
I laughed as I grabbed my tote out of the back. “Come on, partner. Time to get to work.”
Lukas and Jamaica were seated on the pool terrace, drinking coffee and looking at what looked like a marine chart. They both looked up when we walked through the gate. Today Jamaica wore blue overalls and a white T-shirt, a blue-and-white bandana constraining her braids. “Good morning,” Lukas said. “How are you today?”
We returned his greeting and then I asked Jamaica, “Is that the plan for your seaweed farm?” I marveled at the idea that someone could choose an area in the bay and call it a farm.
“It is.” She ran a finger along a rectangle out in the water. “I’m going to be a thousand feet off shore out here.” She pointed to a rectangle on land, the representation of a building. “That’s Shorehaven. But all you’ll be able to see from the cliffs are orange mooring balls. And lobster buoys when the lines growing seaweed are in.”
“In order to get lease approval from the state,” Lukas said, “the farm needs to be away from any navigational channels. It also can’t infringe on essential habitats.”
“And then there’s the sea bottom to consider so the moorings hold,” Jamaica said, “plus current, nutrient availability, and depth.” She laughed. “It’s been a process. Especially since…” Her words trailed off but she didn’t clarify.
Despite all the miles of shorefront and acres of water edging Maine, I could see that finding a good site might be complicated. But I had another question. “Ruben and Patrick mentioned something about a lab. Are you growing test-tube seaweed?”
I meant that as a joke and thankfully they laughed. “Kind of,” Jamaica said. “We collect spores from mature seaweed and release them into a tank, where they settle on tubes wound with twine. They grow in a tank until they are ready to be transplanted.” She smiled at us. “If you’d like to see the process in person, you’re welcome to come check it out.”
Madison and I exchanged glances. “I would love that,” I said, and Madison nodded in agreement. Jamaica’s invitation was another opportunity to learn more about Hailey. Plus I was starting to find seaweed farming interesting, even if I still didn’t want to ingest any of the end product. “When would be a good time?”
Jamaica thought for a moment. “How about tonight, around five? We’re hosting a Business After Hours with the Chamber of Commerce.”
“Does that work for you, Madison?” The store closed at five, so I could make it.
Madison checked her phone. “I’m free. This afternoon, I was planning to start building our boat at the store. So we can go together from there.”
That’s right, we had the cardboard boat race coming up. Another adventure I’d somehow agreed to. But I left that for now and said, “I’d like to bring my grandmother along, if that’s okay. I know she’ll be interested.”
They agreed that Grammie was a welcome addition to the event and we left them to get back to work. Eleanor had said on the phone to come right in, so we entered the house through the French doors that led to the sitting room.
Voices drifting from the kitchen gave us an indication where to find Eleanor. “Have a seat, Auntie Eleanor,” Craig said, his voice booming in the high-ceilinged room. “I’ll find your glasses for you.”
“I can’t imagine where they went … but I need them to read the cookbook.” In contrast to her nephew, Eleanor sounded weak, almost frail.
“Aha,” Craig cried as we entered. He backed out of the refrigerator. “They were in the butter keeper.”
Eleanor put a trembling hand to her face. “What were they doing in there?” She took the wire-rimmed eyeglasses from him and put them on. “I don’t remember putting them inside the refrigerator.”
I rapped on the doorjamb, to warn them of our arrival. “Good morning. Craig. Eleanor.”
Craig looked as if he were inhaling the aroma of sour milk. “Hello. What are you doing here?”
“Um, er,” I said eloquently, not wanting him to know the real reason.
Madison stepped in, thankfully. “Iris’s grandmother wants your recipe for seafood chowder.” That had come up during dinner, when Eleanor said she made a lovely soup with fish, lobster, scallops, and clams.
“That’s right, I did promise dear Anne that recipe.” Understanding replaced confusion in the older woman’s eyes, I was glad to see. She began to leaf through the cookbook on the table, which was annotated with handwritten notes.
Probably bored by this discussion of cooking, Craig said, “I’m heading out, Auntie. Business to attend to.”
“Goodbye, Craig,” Eleanor said, her eyes not leaving the pages she was leafing through. She muttered under her breath as she searched.
He lingered in the doorway, scowling, as if he wanted to say more, but Eleanor kept her back resolutely turned. I gave him a big grin, hoping to irritate the man, who infuriated me. With a grunt, he flapped his hand in a wave and left.
Once he was gone, his footsteps receding and the French door closing behind him, Eleanor swiveled in her seat. “Now I remember. You’re here to see the compact.”
She hadn’t specified the item but I said yes, we were. “Anything to help us figure out Claudia’s background will be useful,” I said.
Eleanor rose. “Come with me.” She tapped the cookbook. “I’ll write out the recipe and give it to you later.”
She took us up the back stairs, which were right off the kitchen, handy for the servants who would have used them. We emerged in the upstairs hall. “My room is this way,” Eleanor said, leading us in the opposite direction of the guest wing.
As I’d experienced the last time I was there, roaming Shorehaven felt like stepping back in time. With the old-fashioned wallpaper and antique furnishings and fixtures, I could easily believe that nothing had changed since Eleanor’s childhood. Her room was more of a suite, with bedroom, sitting room, and en suite bathroom. Open French doors led to a balcony furnished with comfortable lounge chairs.
“My mother spent a lot of time out here,” Eleanor said, stepping outside. “She used to sit and read or do hand sewing. But she spent a lot of time looking at the view.”
“I don’t blame her,” I said, taking a deep breath of fresh, salty air. The view really was spectacular, south toward Blueberry Cove’s harbor and east to islands in the bay. Beyond them was the Atlantic, three thousand miles of ocean ending at the shores of Europe. Had Claudia thought about her home when she sat out here? Why hadn’t she ever returned? In those days, a trip to Europe might not be easy but it was far from impossible. And the Bradys had plenty of money, so it wasn’t due to lack of funds.
After enjoying the view for a few minutes, we went back inside. Eleanor rummaged through a carved highboy’s small jewelry drawer and withdrew a gold compact engraved with Claudia’s initials. “I forgot I had this,” she said, handing it to me. She grimaced. “It seems that I’m forgetting all kinds of things lately.”
I prayed it wasn’t anything serious. “What does your doctor think?” I asked gently.
She shook her head. “Dr. Morris said I was fine at my last checkup a couple of weeks ago. I’m only on one medication. And vitamins. Aren’t they supposed to help your memory?”
Only one medication, at her age. That was impressive, since many seniors had multiple prescriptions. I guessed Dr. Morris was Madison’s father.
“Don’t hesitate to go back,” Madison said. “Or call. Dad says he always wants to hear from his patients.”
“I’ll do that, dear.” Eleanor rummaged through the drawers again. This time she handed us a black-and-white postcard of a marching band dressed in berets and sashes. The watching crowd was a sea of white boaters. “That’s a postcard from the 1920 Olympics in Antwerp,” she explained. “Mother would have been ten.”
Evidence that suggested Claudia had grown up in Antwerp. As for the compact, the weight alone spoke to its value, as did the European gold hallmark—750—which meant 18-karat gold was used. This, like the clothing and sheets, was another object that would not normally belong to a working-class girl.
“And this,” Eleanor said, “is my mother.” The sepia-toned photograph showed a young Eleanor, about four years old, sitting between her parents. Walter was handsome, with dark, side-parted hair and a small moustache. Claudia had blonde wavy hair worn off a wide brow and killer cheekbones. Eleanor was a perfect mix of them both.
“You were so cute,” Madison said. “And your mom was a beauty.”
Eleanor smiled at the photograph. “She sure was, inside and out.”
I took quick snapshots of the items with my cell phone. “Lukas is going to help us research your mom’s background,” I said. “He’s from Antwerp, plus he knows French and Flemish. I hope that’s okay?”
After I handed them back, Eleanor placed the compact and the postcard in the drawer and shut it gently. “That’s wonderful. He’s such a nice young man.” She pursed her lips. “Despite what the police might think.”
She must be talking about his jacket, which the killer wore when pushing Hailey off the cliff. “Well, I have it on good authority that they aren’t making an arrest yet,” I said. “There isn’t enough evidence.”
Eleanor smoothed the bureau scarf, which was fine linen edged with lace. “I wonder how long it will take.” She turned to face us. “The whole thing is very disturbing. At least they finally finished searching the house. I thought Craig was going to have a heart attack, he was so furious at the intrusion.”
I had a realization. “You mean Hailey’s room isn’t off-limits anymore?”
“No, they released it,” Eleanor said. Her brow furrowed. “They told me I could pack up her things any time I want.” She shivered. “But I haven’t been able to make myself go in there. I guess I’m a wimp.”
“I don’t blame you a bit,” I said. Packing up a victim’s clothing and effects wasn’t a task any rational person would want to do. “But Madison and I will help you.” And take the opportunity to look for clues. I was sure the police had already removed anything obvious or important, like her laptop, but we might find something to help us figure out who killed her.
“Would you do that for me?” Eleanor sounded grateful. “I really can’t thank you enough.”
“We have time to do it now,” Madison said. “If that works.”
Eleanor agreed that now was perfect and led us to the other wing. Decorated in blue and white, Hailey’s room featured a canopy bed, an armchair reading area by a fireplace, and a private bathroom.
My belly clenched at the sight of the bed, the covers pulled back on one side and one pillow still indented. Untouched since that fateful morning. But by all appearances, she had slept alone, which eased the tension in my belly a trifle. Maybe Brendan was off the hook.
I glanced around the rest of the room, noticing discarded clothing hung over a chair and shoes scattered across the carpet. An empty area on the desk surrounded by books and folders spoke of where a laptop had once sat.
Eleanor turned on the light in the bathroom, which had only one tiny, high window, revealing a few toiletries on the vanity and used towels hanging over the shower curtain rod. “As the only woman, she got the one guest room with an attached bathroom. Sometimes men can be slobs.”
“You’ve got that right,” Madison said. She opened a closet door and pulled out a suitcase. “We’ll pack everything inside this. How’s that?”
Eleanor sucked in a breath. “I can’t tell you how much I appreciate your help.” She blinked rapidly against the tears brimming in her eyes. “Maybe I’m a foolish old woman, but I’m just devastated over Hailey’s death. Such a waste.”
I hugged Eleanor briefly, her bones delicate and bird-like in my arms. “I understand perfectly. That’s why Madison and I aren’t going to let this go. The truth needs to come out.”
Eleanor dashed tears away with the back of her hand with a tiny laugh. “I’m so grateful to you both.” She darted at me, then Madison, pecking us on the cheeks. “I’ll be downstairs if you need me.”
Madison picked up the suitcase and set it on the bed, open like a clamshell. “She is such a sweetheart. I wonder if she would adopt me.” She laughed to indicate she was joking. Madison had two sets of wonderful grandparents already.
“Seriously,” I said. “I love her too.” I glanced around with a sigh, not exactly looking forward to our task. “I guess we’d better get to work.”
Working together, we cleared the bathroom and folded Hailey’s clothes, checking each pocket for clues. We didn’t find much, only a crumpled dollar bill in one jacket pocket and a receipt from the Bean tucked in her jeans. Then we tackled the desk. The folders and books were related to the aquaculture project, which made sense. I flipped through a notebook but only found scribbles from lectures about seaweed.
“Wow,” Madison said, picking up the books to pack them. “She certainly was a dedicated student.”
“Seems that way,” I said. “But remember, her personal life and entertainment are probably on her devices. Even any novels she was reading.” In the interest of being thorough, I got down on my hands and knees and looked under the desk. There, in the back, I saw a small rectangle and reached for it.
It was a matchbook. I backed out from underneath, gripping it in my fingers. “Look at this, Madison.” The cover depicted a line drawing of a stone castle with turrets. I read the gold embossed script below, “Château de Mount-Gauthier. In Rochefort, Belgium.”
“Fancy,” Madison said. “Maybe she stayed there.”
Something didn’t sit quite right. “On a student’s budget?” I pulled out my phone and looked it up, learning that the hotel was an exclusive resort and spa. It was also totally gorgeous, perfect for a romantic getaway. On impulse, I snapped pictures of the front and back of the matchbook. Yes, I was grasping at straws, but we hadn’t found anything out of the ordinary in here. Except for maybe this matchbook.
The sound of a door shutting followed by footsteps in the hallway caught my attention. I peeked out through the partially open door to see Lukas striding down the hallway. Maybe he could shed light on the matchbook.
“Hey, Lukas,” I called. “Can I talk to you a second?”
He stopped and pivoted on his heel, waiting until I caught up to him. I showed him the picture of the matchbook on my phone, enlarging it. “Do you know if Hailey ever went there?” She might well have found the matchbook somewhere and picked it up.
A crease appeared between his brows. “I don’t. But”—muttering the name of the hotel, he tapped a finger on his chin—“something about the place rings a bell.” His frown deepened. “But I can’t remember what, exactly.” After a few more seconds, he nodded. “Tell you what, let me think about it. Okay?”
I watched him continue down the corridor, hoping that he would recall where and how he’d heard about the resort. Until then, we were exactly in the same position as before. Nowhere.