While I stood there, frozen in my tracks, Patrick gave me a jaunty wave and sauntered off. His revelation had been calculated to throw suspicion in a new direction, and I had to admit he had succeeded. All by itself, maybe not, but it matched what Lukas told me at the pub. Hailey had attempted to undermine the other teaching assistant’s work, which, in the competitive academic world, was a gauntlet toss. Some healthy jockeying for position was to be expected, sure. I’d experienced it myself at college when other designers competed with me for awards. But still, there was an ethical line and it was beginning to seem that Hailey had crossed it. And most damning of all, Theo was aware of her tactics. According to Patrick, anyway.
A chill ran down my spine. Means, motive, and opportunity. Theo had all three. An unwelcome image formed in my mind: the confrontation on the cliffs, a struggle ending in a fierce push. Hailey flying backward, clutching at Theo’s jacket as she fell. The scenario was plausible. But had it actually happened? Had Theo meant to kill her or had it been an accident? And maybe, just maybe, he was innocent and this was all in my head.
“Iris?” Grammie called. “Ready to get going?” She and Madison were standing near the front entrance, looking impatient.
I shook off my dark and tangled thoughts. “Yes, I’m ready. Madison and I have more work to do on the boat tonight.” Right now, that was the last thing I wanted to do, but the paint needed time to dry before the race late tomorrow afternoon.
Back at the shop, Grammie drove off in her Jeep, heading for home. Before we got started, Madison tuned to lively rock music on her phone while I made chai tea. With those mood-changers, I was able to push aside thoughts of Hailey’s murder, for the most part. A couple of times I was tempted to tell Madison about my encounter with Patrick, but I couldn’t bring myself to raise the topic. The subject was a like a gloomy pit I was dancing around, trying to pretend it wasn’t there. One word about it and I’d slide back inside.
Using Quincy as our model, we painted the cardboard boat in orange and buff stripes with white sections at the chest and feet. It was going to be really cute. Unfortunately, our muse was quite uncooperative and kept trying to walk on the freshly painted cardboard. After he tracked kitty prints across the wooden floor for the second time, I gave up.
“He’s going to have go outside,” I said, getting up and chasing the cat, who naturally ran into the main room. I finally nabbed him as he was getting ready to leap up onto an antique patchwork quilt. “No, you don’t. You’re coming with me.”
Leaving Madison to wipe up the latex paint prints—again—I carried Quincy out to the alley behind the store, where Beverly was parked. “Sorry to do this, Quince,” I said, feeling guilty. “But you’re making a mess.”
This time of night, the alley was in near total darkness, lit only by a light over my back entrance and a streetlight down at the end. On both sides, three-story buildings loomed over this narrow passageway used mainly for trash and deliveries. Not wanting to linger, I hurried over to Beverly, parked a short distance away.
Despite struggling with a very unhappy cat, I managed to get the rear passenger door open. “I’ll give you a treat if you go nicely into your cage,” I said. He hated that thing, but I didn’t like transporting him loose in the car.
Keeping Quincy tucked firmly under one arm, I unlatched the cage then positioned us to do the “one two three, cat inside and door is latched” maneuver I’d perfected.
Bang. A nearby trash can fell over, the lid rolling away with a rattle. Startled, I jerked upright, hit my head on the metal doorframe, and dropped Quincy. Ignoring my throbbing head, I lurched forward and grabbed him before he could dart off. He had the bad habit of running toward trouble.
A scraping sound came from the same direction, as if another trash can was being pushed along the pavement. Narrowing my eyes, I squinted into the black shadows behind the adjacent buildings. Was it a raccoon? They loved getting into trash. Or worse, it might be a black bear. Once they got a taste for human garbage, they could become quite the nuisance.
Then a footstep rang out. Or what I imagined was a footstep. “Is someone there?” I called, my voice wobbling.
Silence. The hair on the back of my neck rose and I had the prickling sense that I was being watched. Not wanting to linger any longer, I bolted for the back door, leaving the car passenger door wide open.
Madison looked up with surprise when I dashed into the side room, panting. “I thought you were taking him out to the car.” She dabbed a bit of white paint at the end of the cardboard tail, matching Quincy’s.
Still holding onto the cat, I collapsed onto a folding chair. “I was. But something was out there. It knocked down a trash can.”
She made a final dab and set the brush across the can. “An animal?”
I’d heard footsteps. Or had I? With every minute that ticked by, my memory became hazier. “Maybe.” At her wide-eyed look, I amended that. “I mean, yeah, most likely.” Who would hang around in the back alley, anyway? It wasn’t a very pleasant place even in broad daylight.
Madison eyed the two of us, huddled together in the chair. “Why don’t I finish up while you keep him under control? There isn’t much more to do.”
I snuggled Quincy, burying my nose in his soft fur. “Sounds like a plan.” Hopefully by the time we left, whatever—or whoever—was lurking would be long gone.
Lit by shafts of bright sunshine, the alley was more dingy than menacing the next morning. But as I rolled Beverly to a stop in my usual spot, I noticed the tipped-over trash can still lying on its side. No scattered garbage as you might expect, though. No spilled bags, even. Hmm. Why would an animal try to open an empty can?
The truth hit me like a splash of cold water. Someone had been loitering back here last night. Part of me was relieved, to be honest, to know I hadn’t overreacted. But who would do such a thing? And why?
After locking the car, I trotted over to the fallen can. Maybe my spy had left something behind. But no, the entire area was surprisingly pristine, without a gum wrapper or a glob of discarded food in sight. I checked the other cans. They were all empty, which meant the noise hadn’t been someone making a late-night garbage run.
Decidedly unsettled, I set the tipped can upright and put the lid back on. There wasn’t anything worth reporting to the police, plus what would they say anyway? Avoid dark places alone. Even if accompanied by an attack cat.
The thought of Quincy defending me made me smile. Grammie was bringing him down later, when we opened. Right now I was headed to the Bean for breakfast—and hopefully a heart-to-heart with Sophie.
Naturally the Bean was packed, the usual summer morning crowd augmented by festivalgoers. I stood at the rear of the line, using the time inching forward to think about the day ahead. Business as usual—sell aprons, meet new customers … oh yeah, and sail a cardboard boat in the icy-cold harbor.
By the time I reached the front of the line, my mouth was watering, teased by the aromas of baking waffles and maple syrup.
“Hey, Iris. Great to see you.” Sophie stood ready to take my order. “What can I get you?”
My original plan had been a modest muffin with coffee. But the words that came out of my mouth were, “Belgian Benedict, with two eggs and extra hollandaise. And my usual large coffee.” I glanced over my shoulder at the line snaking behind me. “I was hoping we could catch up this morning, but I guess I wasn’t thinking. You’re slammed.”
“We are,” Sophie said, entering my order into the computer. “But grab a seat and I’ll take my break.” She tipped her chin to a two-top where a couple was getting ready to leave. She made a shooing motion. “Quick, grab that table. You can pay later.”
I hovered with a sheepish smile as the couple cleared dishes, gathered belongings, and finally departed, then plopped into one of the seats. Grabbing a restaurant seat during Maine’s busy season was almost a contact sport.
To kill time while waiting for breakfast, I picked up a copy of the Blueberry Cove Herald that someone had left neatly folded on the wide windowsill.
The question of whether Lars had made his deadline yesterday was answered the moment I viewed the front page. SLIP AND FALL—OR WAS IT? screamed the headline. A picture of the cliffs and a headshot of Hailey adorned the text.
Great. Not for the first time, I reflected that Lars was wasted in Blueberry Cove. Surely the tabloids paid better. Despite the cheesy headline, the article was solid, if not providing anything conclusive about Hailey’s death or information beyond what I already knew. He characterized his mention of me as the “local business owner stunned by a grisly discovery while enjoying a sunrise climb in the park.” Madison was the “supportive friend,” and Ian, “the intrepid expert climber who helped with rescue efforts.”
“Breakfast is served.” I looked up to see Sophie standing beside me with a tray. She set my breakfast and two cups of coffee on the table before taking the opposite seat.
“What’s new in the weekly rag?” she asked, picking up her mug and sipping. When I showed her the article, she winced at the headline. “Lars is something else.”
I folded the paper and put it back on the windowsill. “That’s one way of putting it.” Picking up my utensils, I made the first cut into the Belgian Benedict, allowing creamy sauce and egg yolk to flood the deep, crunchy waffle underneath. I took my first mouthful. The flavor was incredible, a blend of sweet and savory balanced by salty ham. Every cell in my body rejoiced.
Sitting with elbows propped as she cradled her cup, Sophie grinned. “I love watching you eat.”
“Really?” I was more gobbler than graceful diner.
“Yep.” Sophie took a sip. “You really enjoy your food. And that’s why I cook.”
I cut off another portion. “Please accept my gratitude for your efforts. This is one of the best things I’ve ever eaten.”
Her grin widened. “Give me a good review on social media, will you?”
“Five stars it is,” I promised. After a couple more bites, I said, “I saw Jake at the pub the other night. Ian and I were in the back hallway when he came in.”
Sophie set down her cup, her face paling. “The night I was there with Lukas?”
I nodded. “I told him Lukas was only a friend. But he wouldn’t go in and talk to you. He left.”
She stared out the window unseeing, fretting her bottom lip with her teeth. “How’d he seem?” she finally asked.
“Not good.” Might as well be honest. “He’s devastated, Soph. I think you should talk to him.”
Hope and fear warred in her gaze. “You think so? What if—” She broke off, swallowed, then shook her head. “No, he’s the one who pulled the plug. He should come to me.” With that, she pushed back her chair and stood. “I’ve got to get back to work.” She tapped the table. “Breakfast is on the house.”
“What? No, I’ll—” Before I could finish my sentence, she was halfway across the room, moving through the tightly packed tables and bodies like the pro she was.
I slumped back in my seat. That didn’t go as well as I hoped. Both of them were stubborn, that was for sure. After a second, I shook off my disappointment. This breakfast was too good to waste.
Up at the counter, Theo Nesbitt was paying for his order. Here was a welcome change of direction. When he turned around to scan the room for a seat, I waved him over. Come into my web, little fly, said the spider.
“That looks good,” I said as Theo settled into the seat across from me. He’d ordered a waffle with maple link sausage on the side.
“Sure does.” He swirled the ball of butter around with his fork, then opened the container of maple syrup and poured. “This is one of my favorite places to eat in town.”
“Mine too,” I said. Sitting back, I drank coffee while he took the first few bites. Not nice to interrogate someone on an empty stomach. Trying not to be obvious, I took a closer look at Hailey’s competitor.
Theo was unimpressive at best, pale and weedy with a lingering air of adolescence. Although he must be in his early twenties if he’d already graduated from college. Not terrible looking, but his eyes were slightly protuberant and his dirty-blond curls were limp and too long.
Was I sitting across from a killer? It was hard to fathom, although murderers came in all sizes and shapes. Some were charming, even—and intelligent. And many were adept at hiding the truth about themselves and their crimes.
Faster than I thought possible, Theo devoured the waffle and sausages. He sat back, resting a hand on his stomach and gave a gentle belch. “Whoops. Sorry.”
With a smile and a shrug, I signaled that I wasn’t offended. My nerves tensed. How to bring up Hailey? Maybe beating around the bush was the best method. “So tell me about your career plans,” I said. “What you’re doing with the seaweed farmers is really cool.”
Ripping open small packets, he added three sugars to his coffee. “Yeah, it sure is. My plan is to learn all the cutting-edge techniques I can and then work developing the seaweed industry in New England.” He picked up the cup and took a slurping gulp. “With all the issues around fishing, seaweed is a great option for diversifying.”
Another familiar face, Brendan Murphy, emerged from the back and began clearing a nearby table. Some customers didn’t realize we were supposed to bus our own dishes. I gave him a wave. Fly number two, if I could catch him.
“Where are you from?” I asked, turning my attention back to Theo.
“New Bedford, Mass.” His mouth twisted in a wry grimace. “So I’ve seen the struggles up close and personal. Relatives of mine are commercial fishermen.”
“I hear that.” New Bedford was one of the region’s major seaports, and as a Maine native I’d certainly watched the ups and downs of the fishing industry with interest. Much of our coastal economy hinged on availability of the lobsters, clams, and haddock our visitors enjoyed. “Tell me about the fellowship you’re hoping to win.”
His gaze dropped and he began to fiddle with the utensils on his plate. “Yeah. Well. Since I’m the only one in the running now, it’s more of a shoo-in.” He sighed. “Just have to work on the finances.”
He didn’t seem happy about winning by default. Interesting. “Was Hailey also hoping to get the fellowship?” Lukas had said so, but I wanted to hear it from Theo.
“Uh-huh.” The fiddling continued. “She had a pretty ruthless attitude about it too. But why should I be surprised? After what she did to me last semester…”
“Which was?” I lifted my cup to my mouth only to find it almost empty. Darn it. I certainly didn’t want to interrupt Theo right now. Getting up for a refill might squash the conversation.
Theo sighed deeply, his bony chest lifting and falling. “I made the mistake of helping her out. She was having trouble in one of our science classes so I agreed to tutor her.”
“And?” I felt like I was dragging the story out of him.
He leaned forward across the table, his features tense with suppressed anger. “And she cheated. She stole my work and turned it in as her own. And get this: she ended up with a better grade than me. And some extra perks.” His voice rose to an offended squawk.
Brendan appeared at my side with a coffeepot. He must have noticed my cup was empty. “Refill?” I nodded yes and as he poured, he said to Theo, “Hailey wasn’t a trustworthy person. But I guess you figured that out, huh?”
“How’d you know Hailey?” Theo asked, staring up at the other young man through his tangled locks.
“I used to date her.” Brendan lifted the pot with a flourish. “Many moons ago.” He held it out to Theo. “Want some?” At Theo’s nod, he dispensed hot coffee into his cup, then sauntered off to another table.
I’d never seen Brendan do the refill circuit, ever. Maybe he’d volunteered on purpose, to talk to Theo about Hailey. Which meant he was eavesdropping while clearing the tables. Understandable. If I heard Ian’s name bandied about, I’d listen.
“I really didn’t want this,” Theo said with a laugh, pushing the cup away. “But I hated to be rude.” He scraped his chair away from the table. “I’ve got to run. They’re expecting me at the lab.” He picked up his dirty plate. “Want me to take yours?”
“Sure,” I said, setting my plate on top of his. “Thanks. I’ll clear your cup for you.”
I watched as the teaching assistant ambled away, detouring to the bus pan to dump the dishes and silverware. Our conversation was a start at least. No confession yet but what he’d told me only strengthened the motive piece of the equation.
Hailey had obviously been a thorn in Theo’s side for months, trying to best him at every turn. No doubt his mild demeanor and willingness to help had made him an easy target, and once he caught on, he was justifiably upset. But some people didn’t express their anger well. They allowed it to fester inside until it exploded, often with disastrous results.
As a rationale for Theo’s guilt, this theory was plausible—but far from ironclad. No wonder the police hadn’t made an arrest yet. There were plenty of suspects but little real evidence pointing at a specific person. According to Brendan, Hailey wasn’t trustworthy. Who else had she damaged with her schemes?