Chapter Eight
“Zane.” I smiled at the slender distiller. He stood in the front door of my shop backlit by the afternoon sun. And he held a paper bag that looked suspiciously like it held a six-pack of beer.
He held his package aloft. “Got time for a cold one?” Zane ran Zane King’s distillery and high-end liquor store, Cape King. He made rums and whiskeys to die for, and also stocked other fine local alcohol like Nor’easter bourbon from Nantucket as well as some eminently drinkable wines with price tags to match. Zane had been at book group last night with his husband, Stephen, Town Clerk for Westham. Both men loved reading mysteries, but I thought Zane was more into cozies than Stephen. The clerk was a brilliant cook, though, and we all loved it when it was the couple’s turn to bring the food.
“My place is pretty quiet this afternoon, so I put my GONE FISHING sign on the door,” he said.
“Fishing for information, you mean.” I glanced at the clock. Mac’s Bikes was officially open until six, but it was after five and Orlean had left for the day. I wasn’t expecting any rental returns. Why the heck not share an ale with my friend? Maybe it would take my mind off my increasing anxiety about Derrick. And since Zane loved gossiping about the town almost more than he loved Stephen, maybe I’d pick up some delicious tidbits of news. “Let’s do it. I’ll keep the doors open in case somebody drops in.” If I sat in exactly the right spot at the picnic table, I could see all the way through the shop to the front door.
Two minutes later we were clinking bottles across the picnic table. An onshore breeze had set in, and I zipped up my hoodie to keep it out.
“Flo says we’re meeting tonight to solve the mystery.” Zane leaned toward me, eyes sparkling like the afternoon light on Buzzard’s Bay. “So what do you know?”
“Wait a sec, Zane. We’re going to talk about it, not solve it.” Geez. First Gin, then Flo, now Zane.
“Of course.” He flapped his hand, dismissing my concern. “Still, if we put our heads together, who knows what we’ll come up with.”
He might have a point. And if we did figure anything out, I’d simply pass it along to Detective Haskins.
Zane went on. “For example, I saw a new guy around town today who didn’t look anything like a tourist. Tall hefty dude, dark hair with some silver in it, kind of ambled when he walked. But he was alone, not wearing shorts, no camera. Maybe he’s somebody suspicious.” He sipped his beer with eyes aglow.
“Flowered shirt, kind of comfortable body?”
“Yes. You saw him too?”
“Yeah, but no.” I shook my head. “Sorry. He’s the police detective.”
His mouth dropped open. “No sir.”
“His name is Lincoln Haskins. He interviewed me for a while earlier today.”
“So much for that theory.” He lowered his head as his posture deflated.
“The good thing is that he’s on the case and he seems smart.” And he told me to watch my back. I’d been so busy I hadn’t even thought about the detective’s words of caution since he’d left. But now? I glanced around. It was the same sunny coastal tourist town it had always been. How could it include murder?
“Earth to Mac.” Zane waved a hand in front of my face.
“Oops. Brain wander.” I laughed and sipped my beer. “So you haven’t seen any other strangers around town?”
He frowned. “Lots, of course. Some actually interested in locally distilled beverages. Nobody looking like they just killed Jake.” He tapped his bottle. “Not that I would know what that looks like, of course. But there was a girl who wandered in.”
“A kid in a liquor store?”
“Sorry. Not a kid, a young woman. She wanted directions, but she looked lost in another kind of way, you know? Like emotionally lost or something.”
“Light hair? Turquoise cross bag?”
“Sounds like you saw her, too.”
“She walked by on the sidewalk while I was out here having lunch. I thought she’d been crying.” My phone vibrated on the table where I’d set it. I checked it to see a text from Tim. “Excuse me a sec.” I drew the phone onto my lap to read the message. Rats. He wanted me to come over for dinner, which I couldn’t do tonight. I texted back that I had book group and wouldn’t be home until nine or so, but I ended it with Xs and Os to soften my words. I looked up at Zane again.
“Have you seen Derrick anywhere?” I asked. “He didn’t come to work today and isn’t returning my texts.”
“That’s odd. Isn’t it?”
“Of course it is. He’s usually pretty reliable.” Or was he? Since he’d come back from his two-year retreat in the Swiss monastery, Cokey in hand, he’d been a little flaky. Derrick was my big brother, but I often felt the older, more responsible one.
Zane drained his beer and stood. “Off I go. See you in a couple of hours.”
“Thanks for the drink, my friend. Keep your eyes open.”
He gave me a thumbs-up and sauntered away, leaving the rest of the six-pack on the table.
“Hey, take your beers,” I called after him.
“Save them for next time.” He waved.
I could do that, or I could bring them tonight instead. I took the beer inside, locking the back door once I was in. After I completed my shop-closing checklist, I locked up the front and took the beer to my house.
* * *
Except I didn’t go home and relax. I had to find out where my brother was. If he was at home, he’d return my calls and texts, so I didn’t head for his lighthouse.
I stuck the beer in the fridge, gave Belle a few grapes in a bowl and a promise, and hurried down the road to the parsonage right beyond my father’s church. I heard happy-girl squeals from the backyard, so I headed around the side of the shingled Greek revival house. Pa was pushing four-year-old Cokey in the rope swing hanging from a big old oak tree. It was a newer version of the same swing I’d played on for many happy hours as a kid. Cokey loved hanging out with my parents when Derrick was working or out socializing, and the love was mutual.
“Titi Mac,” Cokey called, using her version of the Kriolu word for auntie, pronounced tee-tee. “Come and puth me,” with “push” coming out in her trademark lisp. Her blond angel curls flew every which way in their ponytail as she swung. The late afternoon sunlight shining through the tree cast dappled shadows on her yellow t-shirt and shorts.
“I’d love to. How’s my favorite niece?”
“Good.” She was way too focused on the fun of pumping her legs, taking her higher and higher, to give much more of an answer than that.
I gave the tiny human pendulum a wide berth. “Hi, Pa.” I kissed my dad’s cheek and stood next to him behind the swing.
“Hey, sweetie.” He put his arm around my shoulders and squeezed. He’d been six feet tall in his prime, but had lost an inch or two with aging. His kinky black hair was half silver but he wore it touching his collar as he always had. His arm was still strong from splitting wood for the winter wood stove and his hug provided comfort. “You’re welcome to take over grandpop duty here.”
“Sure, but don’t go anywhere.” I pushed Cokey next time she swung back, but as she went forward and up, I murmured, “Where in heck is Derrie?” I rarely called my brother by my childhood name for him anymore.
He frowned as he turned to face the back of the property, which was rimmed with high grasses and reeds that bordered the salt marsh behind. “I don’t know. He left her with us early this morning and said he’d be back tonight. You know we love having Cokey, but your brother usually checks in a few times during the day. He’d better keep his word tonight or he’s going to have one upset little girl.”
Derrick had had a few rocky years in high school and my father—well, our father—Pa and my mom had raised Derrick since he was a toddler and he was the only dad Derrick had ever known. Anyway, Pa had struggled to maintain a loving but firm discipline with him. I could hear some of that firmness in his voice now. But Derrick was in bigger trouble than with Pa if he didn’t appear soon.
“He never came to work at the shop today,” I told him. I wasn’t sure if I was more angry with my brother for dropping out of sight or more worried about where he was and if he was all right. What if the murderer had targeted Derrick next?
Pa made a tsking sound.
“I told you about the murder.” I spoke in a near whisper as I gave Cokey another boost.
“And of course it was on the news, too. I’m so sorry you had to have that shocking experience, honey.”
“I’m all right.” At least mostly all right. “What I didn’t tell you on the phone was that the knife Jake was stabbed with looked exactly like Derrick’s.”
“What?” He whirled back to face me.
I glanced at Cokey but she hadn’t heard. I pushed my hand down a couple of times to indicate he should speak softly. “And I’m sure at least one of the local police officers would have recognized it by now, too. You know, somebody who went fishing with him.”
“Derrick wouldn’t . . .”
“Of course not. But the detective on the case wants to talk with him and they can’t find him, either.”
“I know. Lincoln called here today.”
“You know Detective Haskins?” I watched Cokey pump her strong little legs.
My father smiled. “Yes. He’s a good man. A very good man.”
“Maybe Derrie had a job elsewhere on the Cape and is coming straight to our Cozy Capers meeting tonight. Maybe he simply forgot to tell me. Or you.” On the other hand, a murderer was out there. Someone who had stolen Derrick’s knife. Was my brother even safe?
“Maybe.”
A lean, athletic-looking man in his twenties rounded the corner of the house. His arms held an open laptop, arms so heavily tattooed I couldn’t see a square millimeter of plain skin. “Father Joe?” he called out, studying the display.
“Who’s that? And Father Joe? Does he think you’re a priest or something?”
“That’s Edwin. He’s the church’s new accountant. I’m over here,” Pa called in return. “You haven’t met him yet?”
The dude finally looked up and steered in our direction.
“I have not.” I was frankly curious. The name Edwin matched the brainy occupation. But the arms, the green do-rag, even the cocky saunter—those didn’t compute for me. Where had Pa found him? The clock on my musings ran out right about then, however.
“Edwin, meet my daughter, Mackenzie. Mac, this is Edwin Germain. He’s a pretty serious cyclist.”
I hoped Pa wasn’t trying to fix us up, with our mutual devotion to bicycles likely the only middle ground. For one thing, the guy had to be at least ten years younger than me, and for another, I already had a boyfriend. I extended my hand. Edwin shook it with a firm touch, but not that knuckle-breaking clench some men seem to feel obliged to use with women.
“Glad to meet you,” I said. “You’re an accountant?”
“Yes, ma’am, a CPA. I decided it was a more reliable occupation than working as a repo man. Safer, anyway.” The green in his do-rag picked up the green in his eyes but it contrasted with black hair that curled like mine out from under the scarf.
“I guess it would be.” I glanced at the laptop. “Sorry, did you two have business to discuss?”
“Can it wait a few minutes, Edwin?” Pa asked.
“Abo Joe, I’m hungry.” Cokey jumped off the swing. “Hi, Edwin.”
“Hey, Miss Cokey.” Edwin held out his fist for a bump.
“Then let’s eat. Edwin and I have to do a little work together, too.” Pa held out his hand for his granddaughter. “Does my seashell want a carrot or an apple?”
Cokey giggled at her nickname. Coquille, her actual name, meant seashell in French. Derrick and Cokey’s mom had chosen to honor both the Cape and Derrick’s ex’s Gallic heritage in their choice of name for the girl.
“I want apple with cheese, please,” she lisped. “Are you gonna have a snack, too, Titi Mac?”
“No, I have to go, sweetie. You have fun with Abo.” I had to go look for her father.
She held up her arms for a hug. “Okay. Bye.”
I bent over and embraced her, inhaling the sweet sweaty scent of her hair. I straightened, looking at Pa. “Call me if . . .” I held my thumb and pinkie to my ear.
“I will. You, too.”
“Of course.” I watched the tall, the tiny, and the tattooed start back to the house. Cokey began to skip, and Reverend Joseph Almeida skipped right along with her. Edwin Germain, CPA, did not skip.