Madison and I were on U.S. Route 1, halfway to Liberty and the Bards commune, before I finished telling her about the early-morning visit from the police to search our property and my encounter with Nancy at Bella’s. The skies had cleared, the clouds chased away by a brisk wind, and sunlight sparkled on the ocean.
“Wow, what a morning,” Madison said. “I would have understood if you wanted to make this trip another day.”
Sure, I was basically running on fumes at this point but I wanted—no, needed—to make some progress. Everything that we learned only raised more questions. “I can’t stop now. They might decide to arrest Grammie anytime.”
Madison’s eyes darkened. “That is so not going to happen. I won’t allow it.”
Her brave words made me choke up for a second. I had the best friends in the world. “I thought maybe we could use this ride time to talk through everything. Think about who else might be guilty. Figure out what we know and what we don’t.” I was desperate for a breakthrough.
Madison fished around in her bag and pulled out a small notebook and a pen. “Want me to take notes?” She grinned. “I promise they won’t fall into enemy hands. I’ll eat them if I have to.”
I laughed. “That won’t be necessary, I hope. Why don’t you finish your email to Sunrise while I get us something to drink?” I flicked the turn signal, preparing to pull into a convenience store and gas station.
A few minutes later, bottles of iced tea in hand, we set off again. “Okay,” I said. “We have two murders to solve. The first question is, are they connected?”
Madison wrote the names of the two victims in the notebook, at the head of a page. “You mean, did the same person commit both?”
“Or is Elliot’s murder revenge for Star’s?” I took another sip. “How weird that someone killed him right after she was found.”
“As opposed to another time?”
“Yes. From what I’ve gathered, Elliot wasn’t exactly husband of the year. And if the way he treated Grammie over the land is any indication, he must have had enemies.”
“My dad didn’t like him,” Madison said. “Actually, what he said was that he ‘had no use for a blowhard egoist throwing his weight around.’”
“Wow.” Dr. Horatio Morris was the most levelheaded, reserved, discreet man I knew. “That doesn’t even sound like him.”
“I know, right?” Madison laughed. “They got into it at the yacht club. Elliot was trying to run roughshod over the other members about something, I forget what.”
“So, write down all the members of the yacht club,” I joked. “No, I think it was someone a little closer. Like Ted Perkins.”
“Ted is connected to both victims, right?” Madison said.
“He’s top of the list right now,” I admitted. “Even though I kind of like him. But I got the feeling he cared deeply about Star when I talked to him at his house. And he was angry with Elliot over their business dealings.” I remembered what I had learned about other band members. “Gary Ball liked Star too. And guess what, so did Fergus Stewart.”
“Ian’s granddad?” Madison’s pen scratched across the paper. “Star was quite the femme fatale, wasn’t she?”
“Yeah, I suppose so. Gary said that both Fergus and Papa dated her. But Papa never did, according to Grammie.” Well, Grammie hadn’t said that exactly, only that she and my grandfather were a hot item when Star was killed.
“I remember Gary saying that,” Madison said. “What a jerk.” She tapped her pen. “But his motive for Elliot’s death?”
“I don’t know of any,” I admitted. “Unless it was the revenge thing.”
“Duly noted. And Fergus passed away,” Madison said. “So that lets him off the hook, regarding Elliot at least.”
The mention of Fergus brought me to the tender topic of Ian. “Speaking of the Stewarts, I really feel bad about Ian. He’s probably never going to talk to me again.”
“Oh, I doubt that.” Madison studied me with sympathy. “He likes you or he never would have offered to fix the motorcycle.”
My heart sank even further. “That was so nice of him. Then I turn around and report him to the police.”
“Don’t beat yourself up,” Madison said. “Talk about a rock and a hard place. You had to tell the police about the key and the truck. They don’t like it when you hold out on them. He’ll understand.”
“I hope so.” But I had plenty of doubts.
“If he’s half the guy you think he is, he will,” she said crisply. Then she gave a soft grunt. “Now I get why his mother gave you the evil eye the other day. I couldn’t figure it out.”
So I didn’t imagine Fiona’s attitude. Hopefully I could mend the relationships once the murders were solved. And Ian was cleared of using his truck to terrorize us. There was that. “Okay,” I said. “Moving on. Who else has motives? Baggie Bevins of course. That’s why we’re taking this field trip. Oh, and by the way, Anton is doing a records search on Bevins.”
Madison wrote “Baggie Bevins,” then began doodling on the page. “Iris, can I ask you something?”
“Sure.” I slowed our speed as we approached Belfast, a midsized town once known for chicken farms. Now it was a thriving and artsy destination. Soon we would leave Route 1 to head west. Liberty was one of many small rural towns dotting the countryside between the coast and Maine’s metropolitan areas of Augusta and Bangor.
She continued to doodle hearts and flowers. “I’m kind of getting a vibe from Anton. Think I’m imagining it?”
Uh, no. “I picked up on that too.” I studied the road signs, not wanting to miss the turn. “But what do you think? Are you interested?” I navigated through the intersection.
Madison didn’t say anything, and when I glanced over, she was gazing out the window. “I don’t know,” she finally said. “Maybe.”
I gave her advice I had received so often. “Take it slow. Be his friend.” The local traffic going in and out of shopping centers thinned and I hit the gas.
She was quiet another long moment. “All right, back to business. Obviously Nancy is a suspect, right? And maybe Charlotte?”
“They were both at the breakfast meeting, so yes. Although I can’t imagine what Charlotte’s motive would be. She was complaining to me that Nancy is now her landlord.” And I supposed she was ours too. But we hadn’t heard from her.
“I’ll put her down anyway.” Madison tapped her pen in a pensive manner. “What about Nancy? You really think she’s innocent?”
I thought back to the scene at Bella’s. “Either that or a fantastic actress. Her grief seemed totally genuine. She’s devastated. I mean, crying on my shoulder? I barely know the woman.”
“Hmm.” Madison thought about that. “But they do say it’s usually the partner, right?”
“Yeah, they do,” I agreed.
We lapsed into silence the rest of the way to our first stop, the woman selling old linens. Her house was a ranch on a side road, probably built in the late 1950s, I guessed from the style. The place was in good condition, which encouraged me to believe the inventory would be as well.
I was right. An hour later, we drove away, thrilled with a stash of sixties flower-print sheets and barkcloth tablecloths and kitchen linens. A few hostess aprons rounded out the sale, and with the interest in mid-century modern, those would go fast.
Madison kept turning around to admire an aqua barkcloth tablecloth and napkins in a boomerang-and-guitar print. “I want that.”
“And you shall have it. Early birthday present.” Her birthday was in June.
With a squeal, she lunged in for a hug then thought better of it. “Sorry. You’re driving.” She looked out the window at woods and fields. “Where are we going next?”
We crested a rise and a cluster of about six buildings appeared. Liberty’s tiny village. “I have no idea. The Bards commune isn’t marked on the map.” I pulled into the library parking lot. “So hopefully someone here can help.”
The library was small and simple, basically one large room. But the elderly woman checking books in behind the desk gave us a friendly smile. “How can I help you?”
I introduced us. “We’re looking for information on the seventies communes here in Liberty. Especially the Bards on Stratford.”
Thankfully, like wonderful librarians everywhere, she didn’t ask why. But she did burst into laughter. “Now there’s a blast from the past. I haven’t thought about the Bards for ages.”
“Did you know them?” I studied the woman, who looked to be a little older than Grammie. Dressed in polyester slacks and a matching sweater set, she wore her hair in tightly permed curls.
“Not personally.” She made a rueful face. “But of course we all knew who they were. They were quite the characters and this is a very small town.”
“It is,” I agreed. “They’re all gone now, I suppose.”
To my surprise, she shook her head. “Not all of them. A woman still lives on the property. Mary Ellen Richards. Keeps sheep and spins the wool.” She pointed to an exhibit of handmade goods along one wall. “She made that fisherman knit sweater for our charity auction.” The piece was expertly crafted in thick ivory wool.
My heart began to beat a little faster. Not only was there someone left at the commune, she was active in town instead of an odd recluse, as I had feared. “Does she sell wool?” If so, there was a good pretext to break the ice. Plus Grammie liked handspun yarn.
The librarian nodded. “Probably. I’ve seen it in the gift shops and at the craft co-op.”
I took a deep breath. “I’d really like to talk to Mary Ellen. Can you give us directions?”
“I’ll do even better than that. I’ll draw you a little map.” She rapidly sketched out a diagram on scrap paper and handed it to me. Then she pursed her lips, looking us up and down. “You’ll need good footwear, which I see you have on. Oh, and watch out for Alfie.” The phone rang, a shrill and piercing warble that demanded her attention, so we didn’t have an opportunity to ask who or what Alfie was.
“Ready for an adventure?” I asked Madison outside the library. The directions looked fairly simple. We had to head down the road a couple of miles and look for a three-way intersection.
“Sure.” She pulled up a pants leg to reveal hiking sneakers. “I can’t wait to find out what we’re getting into.”