The aroma of frying bacon and sausage guided me through the festival grounds toward the pancake breakfast tent, where lines had formed. This was the last day of the festival, but judging by the throngs of people milling around, it was still going strong.
No doubt the excellent weather all week had helped make the event a success. There hadn’t been a drop of rain until last night. And now the thunderstorms had blown away, leaving the sky over the glittering bay a deep, rich blue without a single cloud. I was thankful no storms were in the forecast for tonight, when the outdoor fashion show was being held. The stage and catwalk were already up in readiness, and workers were stringing lights and testing the sound system. Jake was helping with the lights, and so was Ian’s dad. I didn’t see Ian, though. He must be at the job site already.
A familiar figure was right in the middle of the action, giving orders—Bella. I wasn’t surprised, since the fashion show was her baby. She considered it her mission to make sure we were all well dressed here in the hinterlands of Maine. Flannel shirts and clumsy rubber-soled boots hadn’t made the cut for the show, I was pretty sure, unless she found fashionable versions.
I changed course and headed toward the stage, hoping I could drag her away for breakfast. The meeting had been her idea, after all, and I was starving. As I approached, Bella and Jake detached themselves from the other workers to confer over Bella’s clipboard.
“Hi, guys,” I said, walking up behind them. “Beautiful day, isn’t it?”
They turned to me with smiles. “It sure is,” Bella said. “And what a relief, after last night. I was worried the rain might hang on.”
Jake tipped his head back and studied the sky. “Nope. A high pressure front pushed it all out of here.”
Bella’s dainty brows knotted as she studied my face. “Madison told me what happened last night, over at the seaweed lab. Did she really tackle Theo like a football player?”
“She sure did,” I said. “And I helped hold him down, along with Jamaica, until the police got there.”
Jake laughed. “I can just picture that. Why were the police involved?”
I realized that Jake really had been out of the loop since he and Sophie had broken up. We hadn’t seen him much, which I regretted. I really liked Jake.
“Theo was trying to break into the building.” I gave them a condensed version, hitting only the highlights. “There’s a BOLO out for Patrick Chance, if you see him, Jake,” I concluded. “He owns an old lobster boat, painted pale green.”
“I know that boat,” Jake said. “It used to belong to a lobsterman who’s now retired. One of the old-timers.” He pointed a finger at me. “And I think I might have seen Jamaica down at the docks, too.”
“Probably,” I said. “She’s quite stunning.” I gave him a brief description of her.
“Oh yeah,” Jake said. “That’s her. She runs a little white skiff, sixteen-footer.” He laughed. “One morning I thought she and I were going to crash right into each other, she was moving so fast.” He made a whining noise while gesturing with his hand and laughed again. “I blinked and there she was, coming right at me. It can be hard to see a small boat at that time of day.”
“When was that, Jake?” I asked, almost afraid to hear the answer. My intuition already knew. But maybe it was wrong.
“Hmm.” He scratched his cheek, thinking. “When was that?” Light dawned in his eyes. “It was the day before the festival. I remember because I was thinking about how many lobsters we were going to need.” He laughed. “A lot more than usual.”
The morning Hailey was killed. Jamaica had plainly told me that she had been at home drinking coffee. But instead, Jake had seen her racing across the bay in her boat. “Which way was she going?” I asked, barely able to force the words past the lump of disappointment and sorrow in my throat. I knew the answer to that too.
He looked puzzled at my question but he answered. “I was cutting across the mouth of the harbor, headed south. She was coming the other way.”
Toward the cliffs at the state park. Jamaica had lied to me. She had been at the crime scene that day, not at her apartment.
“Are you okay, Iris?” Bella asked in concern when I let out a little groan.
I shook my head, not wanting to verbalize my fears in this very public spot. “I’ll be all right.” Once I got over my shock. “Do you still have time for breakfast? I understand if you’re too busy.”
“Yes, I do. We really need to talk about tonight.” Bella flipped through the clipboard then handed it to Jake. “Do you mind taking over supervision duties for a while? Everything is in pretty good shape.”
He took the clipboard and waved it at us. “Go, eat. We’ll be fine.”
Bella and I started walking toward the breakfast tent, where I noticed with gratitude that the line had shortened. Although after hearing about Jamaica, my appetite was pretty much gone. Bella didn’t press me for explanations. Instead she burbled on about the upcoming show, her light chatter giving me time to regroup, for which I was grateful.
We joined the back of the line and as we slowly moved toward the food, a little of my appetite came back. It all smelled so good. At one long griddle, a cook was expertly turning golden disks studded with fresh blueberries. Beside him, another cook used tongs to turn strips of bacon and link sausage.
After we handed over tickets, the cooks served plates holding three pancakes and three pieces of our choice, bacon or sausage. I chose sausage, then collected pats of butter, tubs of maple syrup, napkin-wrapped silverware, a cup of coffee, and orange juice. Huh. A lot of food for someone who wasn’t really hungry.
We found seats at one of the long tables, sitting across from each other. Bella unrolled her napkin and picked up a fork, which she used to scoop butter from the tiny containers onto her pancakes. “Madison texted me about last night.” She picked up a second pat. “Sounds like you guys were really busy. And I’m so, so happy that Eleanor is okay.”
When we’d gotten home last night, I’d gone right to bed, not even thinking to text Bella and Sophie with all the news. I was pleased that Madison had done it, since I hated leaving our friends out of the loop, even inadvertently.
“Me too.” I spread butter over my pancakes, watching it melt. “Grammie and I plan to go over to the hospital later and visit her.” Grammie was going to pick up flowers at the local florist for us to bring.
“Wish I could join you,” Bella said. “But with the show…” She ripped open a maple syrup tub and poured the sweet liquid onto her pancakes. “Please give her my best wishes.”
“I sure will.” I took the first bite of pancake, along with a piece of sausage. Mouthwatering maple goodness. “So, tell me what I need to do tonight.”
Bella explained that for the regular portion of the show, I would sit on a panel of judges. The models participating represented various local organizations and had put together outfits for different categories. Some of the clothing had come from Bella’s and other stores, while some was homemade, vintage, or otherwise sourced.
“We’re having Rich Hammond from the Grille do the announcing,” she said. “He’s going to describe each outfit and what pieces went into it. Then you and the other judges pick winners.” She showed me the scoring sheet. We would choose best in a category—say, summer sportswear—and then most creative, funniest, and best accessories for each category. There were a lot of opportunities for the models to win prizes.
“We used to just model outfits from various stores,” Bella went on. “But everyone got bored with that. This way it’s a lot of fun, and people come out to cheer on family and friends who are modeling.”
“It does sound fun,” I said. If the entries in the regular fashion show were anywhere near as creative as the lobster bib ones, it would be a hoot. “So, how is it going to work for the lobster bib portion?”
Bella chased a piece of pancake around her plate, mopping up syrup. “You’re the only judge, so you will pick the top three winners.”
That made sense, but I guess I hadn’t thought that part through. All eyes would be on me—well, once they could tear them away from those wild and wacky outfits. “Wow, that’s a lot of responsibility.”
“Don’t worry. There’s also audience voting, using a phone poll we’re setting up. So we’ll have the people’s choice for the top three as well.”
“Does that mean a mob won’t come after me if I don’t pick their favorite for the grand prize?” I was only half joking. I’d witnessed how vocal and riled up people could be when they disagreed with a decision, even if the stakes might seem small to many.
“We’re going to have Rich pull names for the prizes,” Bella said. “Once the six winners are chosen.”
This was all very elaborate for such a small contest, but I didn’t argue. Some of the people entering were going all out from what I could see, so we needed to give them full consideration.
Once we finished eating, we cleared our dishes to make way for the next wave of pancake eaters. Bella gave me a hug. “See you tonight, Iris. It’s going to be fun.”
“I think so too.” I watched as she bustled back toward the stage, thinking I might take a stroll along the shore before going to the store. It was such a lovely morning.
The noise and activity of the festival receded as I walked along the shore path, passing the library and then a row of historic homes along the waterfront. If I went far enough, I’d reach the yacht club, located on a spit of land extending into the harbor.
This was lovely, the breeze ruffling my hair and the warm sun on my face. Gulls cried and the incoming tide lapped gently against the rocky shore. Halfway along the spit, I saw a man sitting on a bench. When I got closer, I recognized Lukas.
But this wasn’t the groomed and gorgeous European dream I’d met only days ago. This Lukas was unshaven, his face gray and drawn, his broad shoulders slumped.
“Lukas,” I said, standing in front of him. “How are you?”
He looked up at me with bloodshot eyes. “Not so good, Iris. Ever see your whole world implode right before your eyes?”
Without invitation, I sat beside him on the bench, smoothing my skirts. I was already dressed for work in a pale blue dress and white pinafore. “Yes,” I answered simply. My parents’ deaths of course, then the loss of my beloved grandfather last winter. Oh, and being laid off from a job I loved, that had stung too, but paled in the light of greater losses.
“I’ve lost both my teaching assistants, one tragically, the other stupidly, my teaching career is on the line, and one of my seaweed farmers is wanted by the police.” His lips twisted. “Oh, all of it is nothing compared to what Hailey lost, but seriously, my life is a train wreck.”
It did sound dire when he put it that way. “You still have Jamaica,” I pointed out. “She’s doing okay.” Then my heart squeezed. She’d lied to me. I bit back further assurances, hating it when I got them from people who were well-meaning but basically minimizing the situation. “Honestly?” I said. “You’re screwed.”
That blunt statement startled a bark of laugher out of him and then he was roaring, doubled over, tears streaming. So was I, the belly laughter a huge release of the anxiety and tension I’d been stuffing down for days.
We slumped back against the bench as the laughter drained away. “I needed that.” I discovered clean tissues in my apron pocket and handing him one.
“Me too.” He wiped his eyes and blew his nose. “Thanks, Iris. You’re a good friend.”
I warmed at the compliment as we sat side by side for a few minutes watching small waves ruffle the shore. Far out in the bay, a tanker made its way toward Belfast. No sign of a pale green lobster boat. Where had Patrick gone? He couldn’t hide forever, could he?
Faint music drifted from loudspeakers at the festival as the first rides began to move. Tomorrow cleanup would begin and by evening, tents, rides, and booths would be gone. The park would be back to normal until the next event.
Would Lukas’s life ever be back to normal? I sure hoped so.
“Iris,” he said in a musing voice, “remember the matchbook from Chateau de Mount-Gauthier?”
It took me a second to catch up. “Yes, I do. Did you find out why Hailey had it?”
“Not quite,” he said. “But I did remember that Ruben attended a conference there. He was presenting his biofuel concept to a small group of industry experts.”
“And maybe Hailey was there, too?” If so, I hoped it was on a professional basis. The thought that Ruben might have been involved with a student disgusted me.
“I’m not sure if she went,” he said. “I didn’t see a list of attendees. But sometimes professors invite students along as a learning experience. She would have met some top names in biofuel that weekend.”
“Thanks, Lukas. I guess it’s more than we knew before.” But not much more. The matchbook might be merely a memento of a nice trip. Or maybe it wasn’t even hers. She might have picked it up somewhere.
Dead end or vital clue? Right now I had no idea.