She piled the jagged mess of crab shells on the platter and wiped the butter off her chin. She felt sluggish and fought it. She shook herself, then went after Cap and gave him a hug.
“I’m sorry, Cap. It’s just that….You know what I want to do? I want to stay right where I am.” She couldn’t be upset with him. There was no future in it. She’d learned the hard way to let Cappy have his say—even though he wouldn’t have his way.
He shook his head and went back to stirring the lentils. He had more on his mind. She could see it like she was watching wheels turn in a clock. And she wished he’d get on with it. He turned sharply and stared at her.
“What is it, Cap?” She braced herself.
“For one thing, Bob.”
“Yes. Someone killed him, and it is terrible.”
“I’m afraid it goes further than that.”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s not going to stop. Think about it. He didn’t want the destruction of the island any more than you do, and he got murdered because of it. At least that’s the theory.” He measured the words. “I didn’t want to mention it, but I should. I got back early to the dock and saw Duncan. He’d been talking to Liza.”
Liza! What did Liza know? Blanche needed to get over to Sunny Sands.
“What’d they say?”
“Bob talked with those developers, and he didn’t like what they were up to. Liza’s got something on that. But it just doesn’t make sense. He set up that preservation group for improvements at the park near the point. Didn’t that come up at that meeting? I hear he even produced a check for playground equipment, and he had the backing of the state historical people. He was against that turquoise and pink mall. Would’ve wiped out most of the park land. Don’t you see?”
“Now he’s dead.”
She really wished she could get hold of Liza. And Duncan. The sooner the better. And that would have to be after the memorial service, probably the first of several.
He reached across the counter and took her hand. His fingers were smooth as a new leaf. “Why do I have to walk you through this?” His eyes were pleading.
“Please, Cap. Don’t be worried. I see you are, but don’t be,” she said. She could understand it, but she was pulled in another direction.
She ransacked her brain for a new topic.
The guy and the van. Not now.
“It’ll take some time to resolve this mess. We’ve got a lot of digging to do.”
“We? No. They, Blanche! Leave it to the authorities. I’m saying, Bob was against it, and he ended up dead.”
Cappy picked up her plate, opened the lid on the trash can, and dumped the empty crab claws. He looked up at Blanche. She could see it coming. “You know what I’m going to say, Blanche. I worry more than ever with you over there on the beach by yourself.”
“Oh, Cap. Here we go again.”
“Wish you’d find a nice fella. Ain’t too many around here, but I know there’s some lucky guy out there for you. Just waiting. Now, if you sell that cabin…”
“Cap, that is not going to happen.” They all wanted her out of her beloved cabin. For very different reasons, to be sure. But it irked Blanche—She did not want to leave her home. Not to the goons with two million dollars, or anyone.
She jumped off the stool and went around the counter. “And, besides, I have a nice fella.” She gently reached up to his shoulders, her hands settling on the knobby bones under the flannel. “You know what Gran used to say, ‘Shut up about that fella stuff already. That‘ll come.’ I can just hear her.”
“Maeve did not like complications. Or meddling.” He bent his head and chuckled. “She’d say, ‘Leave it alone, Cap.’ But I can’t leave you alone, my Blanche.” The blue eyes misted over.
“I don’t want you to.”
He headed to the fridge. “Now, how about key lime pie? That should fix everything.” He swirled whipped cream on top of the green mousse and set it in front of Blanche. A proper deflection from Santa Maria, murder capital, and Blanche’s non-existent love life. She pushed away troublesome thoughts—including those of persistent snowbirds pecking at her property on Tuna Street—and replaced them with pie.
She enjoyed every bite, but it couldn’t make her forget that change was in the air. One thing was for certain: the end of things. Cappy reminded her of that. He was concerned about her and the cabin and her future, but he reassured her that she would always have a place in his heart and in his home. Blanche looked at his sturdy back as he moved across the counter from stove to sink. He was aging, to be sure, but he appeared to be indestructible. Blanche tried to convince herself of that while she knew the truth. One day he’d be gone, too. Yet, he looked out for her with an urgency that made Blanche think Gran had appeared to him that morning to tell him to watch over her granddaughter. Gran was always there even when she wasn’t.
She wanted to stay in the moment. Their moment. “You know,” Blanche said, holding up a fork full of pie, “all is not lost. Not yet anyway. Bob helped the association file for preservation status. Those hairballs can’t tear down a single stick if we get the state historical designation. I’m thinking, it would be nice to get a petition going and name that park on the north point after him. What do you think? Blankenship Beach?”
Cap had been pensively drying the same bowl for a full minute. He nodded in agreement.
Blanche leaned over the counter. “And, we probably should be extra careful in those meetings. Not let Langstrom get hold of that plan for historical status. They know Bob had that check, and that’s all. He and that bunch don’t know all we’re up to, so let’s not stir it up. They could head off the whole park project. They have bags of money, and I’m afraid of what they can throw at all the work we’ve done on preservation.”
“They don’t know Santa Maria, or what they’re getting into,” said Cap. ‘“Just keep a low profile on this. That business with the historical society might be enough to hold them off, and you’re making headway there. In the meantime, stay out of that murder business. More trouble is brewing. I just know it.”
“My God, Caps.”
“Like I said, Blanche, I know you’ve been asking questions, and you have to stop.” He stacked a few dishes and flapped the wet dish towel on the counter. “Promise me, Blanche.”
“Who’s going to bother about me? I haven’t done anything. I’m just a reporter, walking the beach. Maybe a bit nosy…”
“You’ve drawn attention. You ask questions. It’s just your nature, and let’s not forget, it’s your job.”
“I hear you.”
He smiled ruefully and patted her hand, the one that didn’t have fingers crossed behind her back.
She was sorry she’d gone off like that. But now it was time. She couldn’t hold back anymore. Not from Cap. “I came by earlier today. I wanted to talk to you about something.” She took a deep breath. “I haven’t seen Duncan yet, or said anything to anyone about this. I wanted to tell you, I saw a guy and a white van, hanging around in the parking lot right after Bob was killed. I got the description. He looked pretty fishy is all I can say. I have to tell the chief.”
Cap seemed to consider this bit of news. “It was probably Omar delivering chum for those crazy shark hunters. You know they take those bloody fish guts out into the Gulf and see what they can scare up.”
Blanche was relieved at his response even though it had to do with sharks. “Don’t think so. Omar drives a black jeep, and I never saw this guy and his white van.”
Cappy’s face was hard to read. She hesitated, bit her tongue. Her timing never felt right.
She tried to appear nonchalant and avoid a contentious discussion about the stranger. She leaned forward on the stool and bent over the pie. “Caps, this is great. Did you make it yourself, graham cracker crust and all?”
“Well,” said Cappy. He shook his head, his mind clearly not on pie. “You have to get to Duncan with this. Soon. Before things get too cold. As far as I know, the chief and the lot of them haven’t got any idea who’s involved in this mess. There’s a lot of ideas floating around out there and nothing of substance.”
Blanche nodded, relieved he didn’t take off on the guy and the van.
Maybe I’m way off.
“We’ll talk more about this in the morning,” Cappy said. “Maybe you ought to stay here tonight.”
Her resolve returned. She carried her plate to the sink, scrubbed it, and went back to the counter. “Caps, I’ll be fine.”
“You know what I mean. Don’t think I like the idea of you by yourself, is all.”
“The Belsons are coming back from Canada next door, and Bertie will be on the other side soon. She may be back already. It’s not like I’m alone over there.”
“Just the same. I don’t think we can be too careful.”
“That’s why I came over here. I wanted the hell scared out of me. I’m sorry I said anything about the guy and the van.” Then she was sorry she brought it up again. “And, Cap, please, keep this door locked—I have a key. It was open earlier today when I came by.”
He looked weary. She was sad for him. For everybody.
“Yes, I will,” he said. “And you make sure that phone is working. Follow up with Duncan as soon as possible with the description of that fella, and keep out of it. Nothing’s the same around here anymore. Something’s been broken.”