Chapter 15
Having Kevin on board was a huge help to everyone. When Francine went to work, he tackled Earl’s morning jobs while Earl stayed home with Bella. At one o’clock Earl dropped Bella off at Annie’s and joined Kevin, so they accomplished twice the work in an afternoon. Annie was able to work on her book most of the day because afternoons were Bella’s naptime. By the time the baby woke up, they went for a walk. Or rather, Annie went for a walk with Bella tucked into the stroller.
By Friday, she still hadn’t heard from John, and she’d resisted calling him. Somehow able to keep her angst at bay, she was making progress on her last draft of Renaissance Heist, the final-final. It was the part that Annie loved best: closely reviewing word choices, reading the text out loud, checking to be sure she had captured the perfect rhythm for the story. She saw the process as the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel, a sign that she was almost done, that the book would soon be birthed. The End.
To clear her head of her world of fiction, she took Bella to the toddler playgroup at the community center.
At first, the children sat in a circle on the floor, their moms or their summer au pairs sitting behind them. The children tossed a beach ball back and forth across the circle, accompanied by lots of shrieks and giggles and the unhappy cries of one young boy who clearly did not want to be there. The sounds reverberated off the beams of the cathedral ceiling and the big stone fireplace. Then the children were given cardboard boxes filled with sensory toys for them to transfer into smaller boxes while the leaders sang nursery rhymes.
After half an hour, Annie had a headache, which must have been apparent.
One of the leaders, who looked to be Francine’s age, squatted next to Annie and whispered: “We’re going to do the musical segment next. If you’d like to step outside and stretch your legs, I’d be happy to help Bella.” Annie hesitated until she spotted another young woman pull several small drums, four miniature cymbals, and a bag of metal triangles from a toy chest. She said, “Thank you,” then stood up and stepped out onto the deck.
Which was where she ran into Taylor, who was brushing a new coat of stain across the wood.
“It never ceases to amaze me how people keep volunteering to lead the playgroup,” Taylor said. “All that racket would drive me nuts.” Her hair was pulled back into a ponytail and fastened with a length of twine; her hands, surprisingly small for all the rugged work that she did, were encased in what looked like the thin type of gloves worn to dye hair. Maybe that was how her hair kept its vibrant auburn color.
“I used to be an elementary school teacher,” Annie said, “but apparently I’ve forgotten how much noise kids can make.” The last part wasn’t the truth, but Annie really did try and be on good terms with Taylor. She did not need to be her best friend, but being cheerful might make life more pleasant.
“I heard your brother is working for Earl now.”
How Taylor learned so much island gossip in record time remained a mystery. “He’s helping out until Claire is back on her feet.”
“She goes to rehab Monday, doesn’t she?”
That was news to Annie, though she did not want to admit it. “I guess that’s the plan. She’s doing well. Thanks again for tracking me down so I could get to the hospital and rescue Bella.” Rescue was probably one of those word choices she would change to something less dramatic if this were a final-final and not a conversation. But something about being around Taylor made Annie nervous.
“Speaking of rescue,” Taylor said, “have you heard any more about the Littlefield girl?”
“No.” Not wanting to encourage conversation about Fiona, Annie turned back toward the door. “I’d better get inside.”
“Wait,” Taylor said, setting down her brush. “You find a place to live yet?”
Annie had no idea whether Taylor had heard about a potential rental on Chappy or if she was simply being nosy. Maybe that was how she knew so much; maybe she was a pro at pestering people with personal questions. Annie shook her head. “I’ve been too busy to realize how desperate I’m about to become.”
“You can always rent my place.”
Annie froze, her hand on the door. Her place? What the heck did that mean?
“I have a garage apartment,” Taylor continued. “Finished it as one of those in-law things. Mother wanted me to have the house to myself, though God knows why. But she’s too old now to do the stairs, so I convinced her to move back in with me. I can keep an eye on her better. Make sure she eats and showers, you know what I mean.”
Nodding seemed like a cheerful thing to do.
“The apartment is sitting there gathering mice. It’s small, but, hell, it’s a roof. Be glad to show it to you if you think you might want it.”
If Taylor saw Annie blink, she didn’t react. “Really?” She knew the pause that followed was too long and might be too revealing, but Annie could not pull any words together. “Wow,” was what finally came out. She tucked her hair behind her ears and willed her brain to engage. “How much are you asking?”
“I haven’t thought about it yet. But you could take a look. I’m sure we could work something out.”
This was real. Her chance to stay on the island. And it had dropped into her lap from a most unlikely source. “May I come by tomorrow?” The question rolled out before she’d thought it through.
“Four o’clock? I mow lawns on Saturday, but I’m usually home by then.” Taylor told Annie how to get there. “Look for the wide-mouth-bass mailbox. My dad was a fisherman.”
Annie nodded slowly. “Okay. Well. Okay, then. And thanks, Taylor. Thanks.” She ducked back inside, where the music had ended and the children were quietly sitting, tossing the beach ball back and forth. Bella seemed to be well-watched by the young leader, so Annie meandered over by the kitchen, sank into a comfortable chair, and wondered what on earth she’d just agreed to. After all, desperate or not, having Taylor for a landlord might be the most ridiculous thing Annie had ever considered. But if the place was adequate and the price was right, was she in any position to say no?
* * *
“You want me to go with you?” Kevin asked after Annie had arrived at Earl and Claire’s to drop off Bella. He was at the kitchen table with Earl; they were drinking iced tea while Bella crawled around on the kitchen floor. By the look of the sweat-stained T-shirts and ragged hair on the men, Annie presumed they’d had a long bout of work in the sun. However, it appeared that they’d grown companionable, for which she was grateful.
“Don’t you have to work tomorrow?”
“We’ll be done before four,” Earl replied. “Shouldn’t be a problem for Kevin. Besides, bringing a bodyguard to Taylor’s might not be a bad idea.”
“Oh, no,” Annie cried. “What am I getting myself into?”
“I’m kidding.” He winked at Kevin. “But bear in mind that the two of you are very different ladies.”
“I’m doing my best. And I am pretty desperate. But do you think it’s a bad idea?”
“Not if there’s a decent roof over your head and the rent’s right.”
“Have you seen the place?”
“Not the apartment. But before her father died, I was in the house once or twice. Nice enough, for a fisherman. I suppose it’s got more of a female look now that Taylor’s there, though. You want some iced tea?”
As curious as she now was about Taylor, Annie needed to get home, grab something for dinner, and get to work on designing the program for the garden tour. Having taken the afternoon off, she felt slightly guilty. But the house was so comfortable and Earl so welcoming, she said, “Thanks. Iced tea would be great. But don’t move, I’ll get it.”
“Who’s Taylor?” Kevin asked while Annie half filled a small glass. “I’ve heard the name; I first thought she was a man.”
“She’s nicer than most people think,” Earl said. “Especially when they first meet her. She was a curious kid. Smart, too. Went to Berklee College up in Boston. The music one. She played the cello.”
“Taylor?” Annie asked, not hiding her shock.
“Yup. You wouldn’t have guessed that, would you? After college she played with the symphony for years until her dad got sick. Cancer. She came home to help her mother nurse him. By the time he died, her mother needed nursing, so here she is. A shame, really.”
Annie was stunned. “Wow. From a cellist to a caretaker. That’s quite a switch. Did she ever marry?” She took a drink and marveled at how little people often knew about others.
“She’s always been single, as far as anyone around here knows. Or is telling. I don’t think she has many friends, though. She changed after she moved back. Became a gossip, then. Like everyone else’s business was more interesting than her own. But you already know that, Annie. Anyway, I always figured you can’t really blame her. Her life kind of went out the window. She became a real island character.”
Kevin drained his glass. “That settles it. I’ll go with you tomorrow, Annie. If I’m going to be here a couple of weeks, I might as well meet as many ‘island characters’ as possible. Present company excepted, of course.”
Earl chuckled, but Annie was too fixated on what she’d learned about Taylor to join in. “I feel terrible,” she said. “I’m afraid I haven’t given her much of a chance to befriend me.”
“Well,” Earl continued, “you two didn’t exactly get off on the best foot. And just because she has a sad past doesn’t mean her place will be a good fit for you. Her mother’s not well, and is a little bit nuts. And, like I said, Taylor changed. But the way I see it, lots of folks have a sad past and still find a way to adapt to the world.”
Annie fell silent; Kevin did, too. Those with “sad pasts” were, after all, in the majority at the table.
“Well,” she said, finishing her tea and clearing her throat.
“I’ll take that as my cue to leave. If I want a future that’s happier than my past, I need to get back to work. Tonight I’m going to finish the brochure for the garden tour. Speaking of which, Taylor told me Claire goes to rehab on Monday?”
“As long as she behaves.”
“That’s good news, Earl. Really good news.”
“It sure is. My own cooking stinks.” He said it as if Claire were the “little woman,” and Earl the master of the house.
“I won’t tell her you said that,” Annie replied with a smile. “But Francine cooks, too, doesn’t she?”
He cocked the same endearing smile as John’s. “Sure. Well, kind of.” Then his smile faded and he let out a big sigh. “Between us kids, Claire’s stroke scared the crap out of me. I’m not ready to let go of her yet.”
Annie gave him a quick hug. “And you won’t have to. Hopefully, not for a very long time. Don’t forget, when Francine is here and has a free minute, the three of us need to work out a schedule. When Claire gets home, she’ll need one of us with her. At least for a week or two.”
Earl looked over at Bella, who must have decided that the basket of clean laundry in the corner was a perfect place for her nap. “First Bella, now Claire. I guess at some time or another, we all need one another.”
“That we do,” Annie replied. Then she turned back to her brother, still amazed that she’d come to know him so easily. In fact, she still had a hard time grasping that she had a brother at all. “Are things okay for you at John’s?”
He nodded. “Yup. Like a good houseguest, I even put the key back under the mat.” He laughed. “I still don’t believe he does that.”
“He’s just an island boy at heart,” Earl said.
And Annie was learning that she was an island girl. If only the twain should ever meet, she and John might actually live happily ever after. If there was such a thing.
* * *
After saying goodbye to Kevin and Earl, Annie started her short drive home. Though Bella didn’t require much effort, it was tiring to look after a little one. She knew it would be more convenient for the people she cared about if she rented Taylor’s apartment and stayed right there on Chappy. It would be better for Claire, Earl, Francine, and even Bella. And it would be easier for her than to have to schlepp back and forth from Edgartown. It had been such a long time since she’d been part of a family, she remembered now that along with the closeness came occasional compromise. But as she recalled, the bottom line had always been worth it. And now that she knew more about Taylor’s backstory, maybe Annie could adjust her attitude.
She was pondering how she could go about that when she pulled into her driveway. Immersed in her thoughts, it took a few seconds before she realized a girl was sitting on her front porch steps, her head bent, her long blond hair draping down both sides of her face. But as Annie stopped and turned off the ignition, the girl lifted her head: It was Fiona Littlefield, who looked more like a girl than a woman, her tiny frame contradicting visible crow’s feet at the corners of her eyes. A ballerina’s body, Annie thought, now that she knew her neighbor’s passion.
Annie got out of her car and walked toward her. “You’re out of the hospital. That’s great.” She noticed she was dressed in the short cotton dress and the flip-flops that Annie had packed for her.
“He did it,” she said. “My brother. He really did it.”
Lots of folks have a sad past, Earl had said. In Fiona’s case, she seemed to be having a sad present.
“Has something else happened?” As Annie started to sit down, she saw streaks of tears on Fiona’s pale cheeks. “Would you like to come in? Maybe have a cold drink?” Don’t get involved, her inner voice—or Murphy—warned her. Fiona’s problem is none of your business.
Fiona stood and nodded weakly. And when she wrapped her arms around her slight middle as if she were shivering, Annie knew she could not turn her away. Fiona had no one that Annie could see whom she could count on, and she needed help. So Annie led her into the cottage and gestured to the table. “Tea? Hot? Iced?”
“Hot, please. If you don’t mind.” Her voice was a whisper.
While Annie busied herself making the tea, Fiona sat, silent. Neither of them spoke until Annie set two steaming mugs on the table. With the heat and humidity of the day enveloping the room, she badly wanted to turn on the fan, but it was clear that Fiona was still cold. Fear, Annie knew, often did that. She’d been reminded of that when she’d stood outside the Littlefields’ in the pitch dark, scared that because Colin’s Porsche wasn’t there, it meant that her ex-husband had found her instead.
“Fiona,” she said quietly, trying to ease into a conversation, “what happened? Did Colin . . .” She searched her mind for a question. “Did your brother do something else?”
Gently shaking her head, Fiona picked up the mug and cupped it with both hands. “I ate the honey cake. I’m the only one who did. It must be how he poisoned me. But the box is gone now. Colin came back and destroyed the evidence.”
Annie was baffled. Could it have been Colin after all? Could the Porsche engine sound have been real and not in Annie’s dream? Maybe he had gone back to destroy the evidence. . . and when she’d heard the engine, maybe he had been leaving, not arriving.
But . . . Annie wondered, what the heck was honey cake? And what did it have to do with Fiona being poisoned?
“I don’t understand,” Annie said. “Can you start at the beginning?” The only thing for certain was that something had caused the young woman to wind up facedown on the lawn, passed out, and then have a seizure. And with the police short-handed, maybe Annie should help. After all, she did have a history of solving mysteries, factual as well as fictitious.
“The day of the wedding, I didn’t eat,” Fiona began. “I was nervous about fitting into my dress.” By the diminutive look of the girl, Annie couldn’t imagine that any dress, short of a doll’s, would be too small for Fiona. “Earlier in the day, after the ceremony, but before the reception, I ran home to use the loo. I saw the cake in a box next to our kitchen sink. The label said it was honey cake. I love honey cake, not that it mattered. By then I was so hungry I would have eaten anything.”
She was chattering now. Some color had returned to her cheeks; Annie decided not to interrupt.
“I grabbed a huge piece and ate every bit. It tasted strange. Bitter, you know?” She lowered her eyes. “But like I said, the box is gone now. Colin must have thrown it out. So I can’t prove anything.” The girl seemed frightened and sincere.
“What makes you think the cake was poisoned?”
“It had to be from that. I didn’t have anything else to eat or drink all day. And Colin knows how much I love honey cakes. When we were kids, he and Dana made them out of local honey every summer.”
Annie deduced it must be some kind of white cake or pound cake, sweetened with an ample amount of honey. Something a child might especially love. She wanted to ask how, if it had already been in a box, had Colin—or anyone—bought it knowing it was poisonous—if, in fact, it was. But not wanting to upset Fiona further by presenting logistics, Annie asked, “And your brother has left the island?”
“I guess. They finally let me out of the hospital this morning. Mr. Flanagan brought me home. I decided to be brave and check Colin’s room. Everything’s gone. Except his stupid mattress that’s still on the floor like we’re homeless or something.”
“But he isn’t there?”
“No. And the Porsche is nowhere around.”
The Porsche. The fewer times Annie heard the name of the car mentioned, the happier her subconscious—and her conscious—would be. “Fiona? Why did you come to my cottage that night?”
“Your light was on. Everyone at the party was watching the fireworks. And drunk. But I felt really weird. I knew I needed help.”
Annie nodded. “Well, it was good that you came here, then.” She wanted to reach over and place a reassuring hand on top of Fiona’s, but a voice in her ear warned her to be cautious: You don’t know this girl, Murphy (she knew it was Murphy) said. So Annie took a sip of the tea that she hadn’t really wanted and asked, “Have you talked to the police?”
“Mr. Flanagan indulged me and stopped there. We waited in the lobby a long time, but they were really busy. I could tell he was getting annoyed at waiting, so I told him I’d go back later.”
“Are you going to stay at your house?”
“I can’t. I’m afraid Colin will come back and try to finish me off. And Mr. Flanagan’s grandson is at his house. That artist kid who’s going to move into your cottage. I don’t really know him, and I’m not comfortable being around strangers.”
Annie wondered if by “strangers,” Fiona meant men. But for once she was grateful the cottage was so small, or she might have offered Fiona a room. Neither John nor Murphy would have been pleased. “What will you do? Go back to Manhattan?”
“I might as well.” She stared down at her mug. “I guess it’s the only home I have left. Too bad I’m almost thirty-four.” Thirty-four was certainly older than she appeared. With the exception of the crow’s feet.
“If you can stay on the island a few more days,” Annie said, “I can ask around.” She wasn’t sure if she should, but she did want to help. Whether or not Fiona’s brother had tried to kill her, something had definitely happened to Fiona. And it was anyone’s guess what effect it might have on Chappy if the Littlefields’ once-lovely house fell to total ruin . . . or into unsavory hands. Besides, how long would it take to solve such a simple mystery?
“Okay,” Fiona replied. “I can probably stay at the Kelley House. It’s a big place; they might have a room.”
Annie didn’t say there was a good chance they did because Kevin had just checked out. She gave Fiona her phone number. “Let me know where you are. And please, don’t go searching for your brother until we’ve talked with the police.” She realized she’d said the word we as if they were in this together. Apparently, she’d become a sucker for girls who showed up on her doorstep. And who had a family at stake.