Four o’clock that afternoon found me helping Madison build our cardboard boat. She’d located a couple of huge cardboard boxes somewhere and managed to get them to the store in her Mini. Then we’d taken over the side room as we measured, cut, and glued a little boat barely large enough to hold us both.
“This is really going to work?” I asked with skepticism as Madison slathered glue onto a cross-brace. She set it in place and I helped push it down to make the glue hold.
“Long enough for us to finish the race,” she said, which wasn’t really reassuring. “We’re going to cover all the seams with duct tape, which will help.” She grinned. “Don’t worry. I watched tons of videos, plus talked to last year’s winners.”
While she cut another brace to size, I looked again at the plan she had sketched. Wrapping-paper rolls would form the mast, and I had a plain apron we could use as a sail. To carry out the catboat theme, a cardboard cat’s head and tail would adorn the craft fore and aft. And, instead of a solid color, we planned to paint the boat cream with orange stripes, like Quincy’s coat. It would be eye-catching and cute, that was for sure. I just wasn’t sure it would float.
As if he knew he was the inspiration for our work, Quincy sat regally nearby, watching. I reached out and fluffed the soft fur under his chin. “What do you think of our boat?” I asked him. He butted my hand with his head, purring in approval. We didn’t have time to take him home before the lab tour, so he’d be staying here until later.
Out in the main room, Grammie was waiting on the few customers we had. Although we’d seen some new faces, the festival was the main draw in town this afternoon. Who could blame people? The weather was spectacular. I’d rather be outside myself.
“Hold this, will you?” Madison asked. She pushed another brace into place and squirted glue while I held the piece steady. “After the tour we’ll come back here to tape and paint.” The race was tomorrow afternoon so we were really cutting it close.
Grammie appeared in the doorway. “Iris, you have company.” She moved aside to reveal Lars Lavely, local reporter for the Blueberry Cove Herald.
Great. Of course Lars had tracked me down. Hailey’s demise was big news for a publication that usually featured committee meeting minutes and photographs of children eating ice cream cones. Sweet small-town stuff, but not exactly hard news.
“Hey, Lars,” I said. “What brings you by?” I said that to make him work for it.
The reporter, who was short and bearded with dark-rimmed hipster glasses, sauntered into the room without answering my question, a knowing smile on his face. “Madison. Glad you’re here too. I can talk to both of you.” Without invitation, he pulled out a chair and sat.
“Make yourself at home,” I said, allowing a hint of sarcasm into my tone. In general, though, I wanted to stay on good terms with Lars. Playing nice had gotten us some good coverage in a paper that everyone read, locals and visitors alike.
Naturally he wanted quotes about our discovery of Hailey. We made our statements about the actual event as bland as possible, trying to be discreet and not sensationalize the event. Lars could do that all by himself.
“So, did you see anyone else up there that morning?” Behind the glasses, his eyes were alight with reporting fervor.
The part of me that always answered questions—am I well-trained or what?—wanted to share seeing Theo, Patrick’s boat, and then later, Lukas. But I refrained, not wanting to point fingers in the newspaper. It was up to the police to disclose that type of information. “There were a few walkers on the cliffs,” I said. “But I didn’t see Hailey with anyone. Remember, the sun was just coming up. Not the best visibility.” Madison echoed my evasion. “And make sure you say how shocked and saddened we are,” I added. “It’s a real tragedy.”
With a disappointed shrug, Lars made a final note. “Well, I guess that’s it.” He pushed back his chair and stood. “Got to go. On deadline.”
“Don’t let us hold you up,” I said, warming the words with a smile. Phew. That ordeal was over.
Lars rushed out, brushing past Grammie with a nod. “Iris, I just put out the closed sign,” she said, “and I’m going to cash out. Let me know when you’re ready to go.”
“We’ll only be a few more minutes,” I said. The last task right now was to make the mast. For the sail, I’d starched the apron until the skirt was stiff, so it’d stand straight out. We couldn’t rely on wind to make it look like a sail. In fact, I was hoping it wouldn’t be windy during the race. Swells and a headwind would make paddling much more difficult.
We taped the mast together and then I tied the starched apron onto it, using the sash strings. The white semicircle looked pretty cool, even if it wasn’t the typical triangle shape used for sailing.
“Not bad,” I said, setting the contraption aside carefully. “Is there a prize for originality?”
“There’s one for creativity.” Madison looked pleased as she surveyed our work. Then she studied her hands. “I’d better wash up before we go. I’m all sticky.”
“And I’d better feed you, Quince,” I said to my cat. We kept food and dishes here at the store for occasions like this one. After a short period of getting used to the routine, he enjoyed being at the store, with a rotation between his favorite napping and people-watching spots.
Since we were returning to the store after the tour, we rode together in Beverly to the lab. The facility was located on the edge of town, an old mill building that had once produced woolen cloth from sheep dotting the Maine hillsides. College of the Isles and a local development organization had turned the defunct mill into business incubators. And now a couple of spaces were dedicated to seaweed, according to the sign.
“Sea’s Best,” Madison read. “And Sea Gold. Huh. I got the impression Jamaica and Patrick were in business together.”
“Me too.” I found a space to park and pulled in. This time of day, the parking lot held only a few vehicles. I recognized Jamaica’s bug and Ruben’s rental SUV, but a battered blue pickup truck was unfamiliar to me.
As we climbed out, an old Volvo wagon pulled in. Sophie. “Hey,” she called, climbing out. “Here for the Business After Hours?”
“We are,” I called back, stopping to wait for her to reach us. A few more cars pulled in while we waited. They were getting a great turnout.
The four of us pushed through a glass door into a dimly lit lobby where an empty desk sat. Corridors stretched in both directions, with posted signs indicating where the different enterprises could be found. Straight ahead, an open door revealed a brightly lit conference room. I spotted Lukas with a plastic cup in his hand, talking to Theo.
“I think we’re meeting in there,” I said, walking that way.
Inside the conference room, people milled about, drinking fruit punch and eating cheese and crackers and grapes from a big platter. No seaweed dishes in sight, surprisingly. I said as much to Jamaica, when she joined me at the table.
Tossing her braids with a laugh, she lowered her voice. “To be honest, cheese and crackers were quick and easy.” She glanced around. “The chamber kind of sprung it on us last minute.”
More people pushed into the already crowded room, and I recognized faces from the Taste O’ the Sea event at the Grille. Local dignitaries, most of them, here to learn more about two of the town’s newest enterprises. I’d have to say that seaweed growing ranked among the most unusual, too.
I looked around for my friends and saw Sophie standing next to Lukas, smiling at something he was saying. Guilt panged. I hadn’t had a chance to talk to her since seeing Jake at the pub. And now certainly wasn’t the time. I’d have breakfast at the Bean tomorrow, I decided. I’d corner her there.
At Ruben’s whistled signal, I stuffed a cracker holding Brie into my mouth and washed it down with punch. Time to get started.
First, we all took seats and watched a short film. This took us through the seaweed life cycle and explained the process of farming the plants. Instead of gathering plants in the wild, which had been done for centuries, spores were carefully harvested from mature plants and germinated in a lab under strict and sterile conditions. Once large enough, they were set out in the water on lines that held them in place as they grew. After six months or so, the lines were retrieved and the plants harvested for further processing.
After the video ended to sporadic clapping, Ruben said, “We’re going to split into two groups for the tour. Jamaica and Patrick have almost identical lab setups, and since the rooms aren’t large, that will work better.”
I ended up in Jamaica’s group, along with Grammie and Madison. We followed the seaweed farmer down a hallway, where she unlocked a door. “How did you get into seaweed farming?” Grammie asked.
Jamaica pushed open the door to let us enter. “I studied marine biology in college, and I’ve always been interested in how we can make our oceans more sustainable. I also grew up on a small farm in Vermont, so you could say it’s in my blood. What I’m doing now brings everything together for me.”
Seaweed farming did sound perfect for her. I glanced around the lab with curiosity. Tables were set up with microscopes and other mysterious equipment that Jamaica told us was used to extract seaweed spores. Gurgling tanks full of seawater incubated them as they sprouted and grew. Right now the seaweed babies were just brown fuzz on the growing tubes.
“Everything has to be sterile, including the water,” Jamaica told us. “We can’t allow any contamination or it will ruin our crop.” She explained how the seawater filling the tanks had temperature, pH, light, and filtering requirements. “It goes from this”—she showed us a spore, which was almost invisible—“to this.” She held up a full length of slippery kelp, about fifteen feet long. Everyone oohed and ahhed.
“I think it’s amazing,” Grammie said. “We’ve always regarded seaweed as a nuisance, but now it’s a real moneymaker.”
“Well, we hope so, Mrs. Buckley,” Jamaica said. “That’s what we’re aiming at. Maybe in a few more years, there will be dozens of us growing weed in the water.” She gave us a sly smile, knowing how her words sounded.
“That’s a whole new topic,” Theo called out to laughter. “Check with us next year.”
The tour broke up then and everyone milled around, either leaving the building or grabbing more refreshments. I asked someone for directions to the ladies’ room. The one closest to the front door was occupied so I went to the end of the hall, past the nurseries.
No one was in this area now, and motion-sensitive lights flared on as I walked down the hall. It was kind of creepy at night, all the doors shut and my shoes squeaking on the waxed tiles.
The restroom was unisex, with room for one, so when I heard voices outside the door, my first thought was that it was other people wanting to use it. But when I opened the door after washing my hands, I saw two figures partway down the corridor, not right outside.
Jamaica and Patrick. Something about the intensity of their body language made me hesitate, Jamaica’s folded arms and Patrick’s hunched shoulders.
“It’s really not cool, Patrick,” Jamaica said. “It’s half mine.”
Patrick made a nasty scoffing sound. “You should’ve thought about that before—”
“Before I bounced your ass?” Jamaica’s brows rose. “Business doesn’t have anything to do with our former relationship.”
The scowl on his face said he didn’t agree. “Get an attorney then. See how far that gets you.”
“I plan on it.” Jamaica stabbed a finger toward him. “You’re not going to get away with stealing my work.”
Behind me, the automatic flush finally decided to do its job—loudly. I winced when they both glanced my way at the noise. Pretending I hadn’t been listening, I stepped out of the bathroom and let the door shut with a thunk.
The pair gave each other one last glowering stare before Jamaica whirled around and went into her lab. Patrick stalked down the hallway ahead of me, heading toward the main area. Trotting at his heels, I wondered if I should try to talk to him. After witnessing his hostility toward Jamaica, who I liked, I really didn’t want to. What if Hailey had gotten on his wrong side too? I shuddered slightly at the possibility.
“Hey, Patrick,” I called, deciding I needed to take advantage of this opportunity. He stopped dead and turned around, regarding me with a blank expression as I caught up. “I’ve been wanting to talk to you.”
He crossed his arms, a cynical expression on his face. “Really? About what?”
Half-formed sentences flitted through my mind as I tried to settle on an approach. Mr. Prickly certainly wasn’t making it easy. “Are you doing okay?” I moved slightly closer, my voice soft. Maybe an appeal to his better nature would work. He had met Hailey, right? Anyone who had would at least feel sad about her untimely death.
“I don’t know what you mean.” His gaze darted to Jamaica’s lab door. Did he think I was talking about the two of them?
“I was there … I found her. Hailey. When I was climbing.” I wasn’t faking the shock and sadness in my voice.
He reared back slightly. “Huh. I didn’t know that.” Arms still crossed, he regarded me with narrowed eyes. “That must have been rough.”
“It was,” I agreed. “But the terrible thing is, no one saw it happen. But people were around.” I made my eyes wide. “Theo was taking pictures. And I saw your boat. Did you notice anything while you were on the water?”
“My boat?” He thought about denying he was there, I could tell by his expression. But maybe he remembered telling me he had arrived at Shorehaven by water. “Oh, yeah, I was out there in my boat that morning. I visit my seaweed site every day. So does Jamaica.”
Jamaica? I hadn’t even considered her a possible suspect. “Was she out there that morning too?”
His dark eyes gleamed with an expression I couldn’t decipher. “I’m pretty sure I saw her. But back to your original question, no, I didn’t notice Hailey on the cliffs. I was busy navigating. Lots of rocks around there.”
“I’m sure,” I said, thinking of the ledges near the cliffs. “Oh well.” I started walking again, this time with Patrick by my side. He kept glancing at me, his mood seeming to have lightened.
“You said you saw Theo up there.” His voice was almost a whisper.
My senses sharpened. Where was this going? “I did. He was taking pictures. Along with other people watching the sunrise. It’s a great spot for that.”
His lips curved in a satisfied smile. “I bet.” He lowered his voice even more. “You are aware that Theo hated Hailey, right? She was trying to push him out of the program.”