Chapter 12
Kyle and Clemmie Nolan live out by the airport. I didn’t know Kyle, but I was friendly with Clemmie, who works at The Bean. Our acquaintance began one day when my best friend, Emily Gardner, and I were paying for our coffees. Somehow, Em and I had gotten into a conversation about a bench on Main Street that has the names of beloved Nantucketers inscribed on it. We promised each other that whoever kicked the bucket first, we’d find a way to dedicate a bench to the other. Unbeknown to us, Clemmie was working her first day there, and she was listening.
“You silly girls,” she had said with warm exasperation.
Clemmie is about our age, but she looks even younger. Even though her hair was covered in a net while at work, I remembered admiring its pale blue color, which popped against her dark skin and high cheekbones.
“What are you waiting for?” she had said when we looked at her questioningly. “If you drag your heels like that, the old folks will have snatched up your bench by the time you need it. Mark your territory, women.”
You can see why I liked her. After we left, I think I had promised Emily that I’d do the research on how to put a plaque on a bench, but we hadn’t gotten around to doing anything about it yet, aside from debating what the plaque should say.
Of course, I never imagined that I’d ever be curious about whether Clemmie’s husband had somehow had a hand in killing a man, but Kyle didn’t have the same warm reputation as his wife. Kyle Nolan had grown up on Nantucket, his parents having arrived from the Caribbean before he was born, whereas Clemmie arrived here from Florida after high school to live with her aunt. While Clemmie took to Nantucket’s life immediately, Kyle always seemed to be a fish out of water, so to speak. Even as an adult with a successful gardening company, the man was known to have a temper, although I’d never seen it myself.
When I pulled up to the house, I realized immediately that the police had already reached the Nolans before me. Kyle was out front. My window was up, but I didn’t need to hear Kyle’s words to get the gist. A vein on his neck had become so large with anger I could see it from across the street.
I was about to leave—I mean, timing is everything—but then the screen door of the Nolans’ house opened, and Clemmie came running out. She headed right to my car.
I opened my window. Clemmie is of average height; her figure is a healthy plus size, and she rocks it. Right now, she was wearing a form-fitting T-shirt and curvy jeans. She wore no makeup, opting instead for five sparkling studs up each ear, framed by pale blue tresses.
“Hi, Clemmie,” I said. “You OK?”
“Hell, no, I’m not OK,” she said.
The sunshine I always associated with her had been replaced with a cloud that rivaled the day’s fog.
“Do you know anything about why the police are hassling Kyle?”
I turned off the car and got out. Behind Clemmie, their dog barked.
“Quiet, Buster,” said Clemmie.
I was impressed. Buster not only stopped barking, but he settled by Kyle’s feet.
“Ma’am,” said the officer, a man I knew by sight but not by name. “Please get back into your car. You are intruding on a police matter.”
“She’s intruding on nothing,” said Clemmie with a ferocity that could equal Kyle’s.
“My wife has a social engagement,” said Kyle, backing up his wife. “You have a problem with that? If so, I’ll have Clemmie come right here to stand by my side. If you think I’m mad, get ready for my lady.”
“Come on,” said Clemmie, heading down the road, away from the men. “Kyle thinks the cop is here because he’s been double-parking in town all month. He saw on TV that if you don’t give the policeman a chance to tell you your offense, then they can’t press charges. I think he’s confusing that with getting a subpoena. Me? I don’t think they send an officer over for things like parking spaces. And it seems an odd coincidence that you chose right now for our first social engagement outside of The Bean. Do you know what’s up?”
“Kyle did a job for my cousins, Ted and Docker,” I said. “A man was murdered this morning on the site where they worked. Before he was killed, a tree fell in front of him. When the police checked the tree, they found that it had been axed just enough in advance that someone could have pushed it over while we were there.”
Clemmie stopped in her tracks.
“Kyle wasn’t killing anyone this morning by pushing a tree on them. I’ve been with him all day.”
I looked back at Kyle, who still hadn’t let the policeman get a word in.
“Kyle likes a good fight,” said Clemmie, as if reading my mind. “This is like a day at the beach for him. He’s gentle as a lamb with me, though. As good a husband as there is.”
Kyle began to pace around his porch, lecturing the policeman about the problems with piping plovers, a bird that has had protection issues on the island. The policeman crossed his arms but nodded in agreement.
“He would have been a good lawyer,” said Clemmie. “Or politician. Instead, he’s my crazy husband, who picked a few fights in his younger days and decided to embrace the role. He says it has its perks. He gets to cut in line at the movies, people let him have a parking space. You should see how good our service is when we dine out.”
“But does he know that the police are here about murder?” I said. “This isn’t a misdemeanor they’re checking up on.”
“He hasn’t stopped talking since that officer arrived, so no. But I’m not worried. And nor should he be. He has an alibi. He was here, and I was here with him.”
“Can anyone else vouch for you guys?”
“Sure,” she said. “Buster and Kyle were playing fetch out front, and half the neighbors were complaining about Buster’s barking. I was just bringing them both a snack when the police arrived. Who died, by the way?”
“Has Kyle ever mentioned the name Robert Solder?” I said.
Clemmie shook her head.
“Does he live on the island?” she said.
“No,” I said. “He was here working on an anthropological excavation of a skeleton from the early eighteen-hundreds.”
“The one they found at Halloween Haunts?” she said. “Or the one in the well?”
“Both.”
“Maybe Solder dug up the past, and it came back to haunt him.”
“That’s what I think.”
We both shook our heads and watched Kyle turn and face his house, his back to the officer, who was beginning to look impatient.
“I hate to ask this, but the police probably will at some point,” I said. “Do you think someone might have hired Kyle to give the tree an extra chop? To make it vulnerable?”
“I doubt that,” she said. “For a few reasons. One, he wasn’t too happy, to begin with, that he was clearing out wetlands. Even the smallest bit of human intervention upsets the balance of nature on this island. Everyone’s slicing their tiny bit back, and there’s repercussions, you know?”
“I do know,” I said. It’s a topic of great debate on Nantucket.
“Second,” she said, “Kyle’s the kind to pick his own fights, but he wouldn’t help someone else make trouble in this world. I know that man. Trust me. He’d look down on that kind of behavior.”
Behind us, Kyle began to sing the national anthem.
“And third, look at that man. You think he had a hand in murder?” she said, shaking her head at his antics. “I’d better go bail Kyle out of this. He’s going to feel really stupid.”
“Need help?” I said.
Clemmie looked at my Beetle.
“You date the reporter, right?” she said.
“Peter Bailey.”
“Hang around,” she said. “Let Kyle give him a few quotes so you have his side for the record. In case this blows up.”
“Deal,” I said.
Clemmie walked over to Kyle, and I walked to my car, where I called Peter.
“Where’ve you been?” I said.
“Right now I’m at the gas station getting a new tire,” he said. “I’ve had quite a day.”
I smiled and let him talk, although I knew I had his day beat.
“First, Brenda Worthington showed up at the Morton house after you left,” he said. “Apparently you had tea planned for this morning?”
“Oh, no. I forgot. I’m sorry,” I said. “Did she talk your ear off?”
“No,” he said. “She talked the ear off of Patience Cooper. I found her in The Shack, communing with the spirits.”
“She broke through the gate?” I said. “It’s supposed to be closed.”
“I guess so,” he said. “Tinker was actually the real trouble. After Brenda left, I realized he’d disappeared, but I didn’t want to bother you during the excavation. I looked for him for forever, and in the end, he was on the roof of my car. Then, when I went to get him, I saw that I had a flat tire. So I put him inside and got a tow truck. You know what he did? He took a nap, right away. Can’t imagine why he wanted to come with me in my car if that was all he wanted to do.”
“Maybe because Brenda was able to have a chat with Patience,” I said. “Cats have a sixth sense, right?”
As I was listening to Peter, I had watched Clemmie talk to the police officer, who seemed happy to have any rational conversation at this point. Up until Clemmie had begun to speak, Kyle had been singing, but he quieted down as the reality of the situation sank in.
“I need your help,” I said.
“Sure,” said Peter. “What’s up?”
“Kyle Nelson wants to give you a statement. He’s being interrogated by the police right now about Robert Solder’s murder.”
“Robert Solder was murdered?” said Peter.
I caught him up while I watched Kyle, who was reconciling with the officer. I could tell that Clemmie was giving Kyle an alibi for the murder. And even though the officer’s back was to me, I gathered he asked the same question of Kyle that I had asked Clemmie: Had anyone asked him to cut the tree so that it could be toppled over? Kyle’s vein popped up from his neck again, but Clemmie put her arm through his. He kept his temper, shook his head, and a moment later, the policeman turned around and left.
Kyle and Clemmie headed toward me. I put Peter on speaker.
“I’ve got a comment,” said Kyle when I told him why I had called Peter. He spoke through my open window without waiting for me to get out.
“OK,” said Peter.
“My comment is this,” said Kyle. “Whoever killed Robert Solder, I’m sure you had your reasons. I’m not one to interfere with another man’s business. When your affairs show up at my front door, however, you need to know you’ve messed with the wrong guy. You’d better watch out, or there will be another murder on this island.”
“Got it,” said Peter.
“OK, man,” said Kyle, fairly calm for someone whose pulsing veins were just starting to recede.
“I’m sure the police asked you already,” I said, “but where’s the axe you used?”
“Left it with Old Holly,” said Kyle. “Stella, I hate to say this, but you might want to talk to your cousins. Docker was bragging about having some unexpected cash on him when I saw him last night. Maybe someone asked for their help cutting the tree.”
“You think they’d do something like that?” I said, shaking my head.
“Not in a million years,” said Kyle. “But murder has to be taken seriously.”
“Meantime,” said Clemmie, “we’re twenty minutes late to have lunch with my auntie.”
I took the hint and said good-bye. I realized that if I wanted to solve the mystery of how and why the tree had been left half-chopped, I would need to speak with my cousins again. I hated to admit it, but I feared what they might say. After all, they had taken on some debt recently to buy the new truck. What if they had unwittingly helped a murderer?
“Meet me at the airport for a snack?” I said to Peter as I drove away.
“See you in ten,” he said.
I drove down the street to the airport restaurant, Crosswinds. They have the best dinner specials, but it was too early, and anyway I was so hungry I would eat anything. I opted for a grilled cheese and French fries, plus a chocolate shake.
“So, Brenda Worthington,” I said when our food arrived. “She tried to speak to Patience?”
“Oh, she was more than talking to Patience,” said Peter, popping a French fry into his mouth. “I was on my way to the car, ready to meet up with you, when I heard a thump in The Shack. I thought maybe one of the Girl Scouts was checking things out, so I headed back there before hitting the road. Sure enough, Brenda was inside. She freaked me out. When I walked in, I pushed the door back loudly, but she didn’t seem to notice me. She was sort of humming while talking. I can’t explain it. But then she told me she had been speaking with Patience, and I had scared her soul away.”
“Did you ask what Patience was saying to her?” I said.
“Of course, I did,” he said. “I’m a reporter. It’s not often I get to walk in on someone chatting with a ghost. I even got a picture.”
“Oh, no,” I said. “Please don’t tell me that she had her arm around a ghost.”
“No, but you’re not too far off,” said Peter, pulling out his phone.
He flashed the phone to me to reveal a photo of Brenda Worthington. Topping off her usual fashion statement of slightly worn and dated leisurewear, she was wearing a Quaker bonnet.
“She thought the hat would help her connect with Patience. When I walked in, she was telling Patience about overdevelopment on the Island, but not to worry because the Quaker cemetery had not been desecrated.”
“Did Patience have anything to share with her?” I said.
Peter opened his notebook.
“And I quote,” he said, “ ‘Don’t throw out the baby with the bathwater.’ ”
He laughed, then stopped when he noticed me staring at him.
“She mentioned a baby?” I said.
It was really odd that Brenda would mention a baby, but I found myself thinking about the diary of Mary Backus and her concern for the Coopers’ offspring. I seriously doubted that Brenda had spoken to Patience, but the connection was unsettling.
“I need to visit Emily,” I said about my best friend.
“Really?” said Peter, sipping the edges of a root-beer float. “I just told you that I found a woman talking to a ghost, and the next thing that comes to mind is a trip to see your best friend?”
“I think there’s a connection between Robert Solder’s death and the discovery of Patience Cooper and Nancy Holland. It’s all connected to the story of these two friends. This feels like a murder of passion, not something that was premeditated.”
“Why?” said Peter.
I knew he wasn’t disagreeing with me so much as encouraging me to think through my idea.
“Yesterday we found Patience Cooper, long thought to have stolen money from her friends, but who, as it turns out, was a murder victim. Then today we confirm that her friend, Nancy, died down in the well and Solder told us all that he found a map beside her, perhaps a treasure map. A few minutes later, the map was gone, and Solder was dead. By the way, Andy doesn’t want anyone to know it’s missing. That’s off the record.”
“The map might still be down in the well,” said Peter.
“I don’t think so, because in a rare moment of agreement, Solder and Bellows both seemed to think it was an important find,” I said. “If Solder bothered to bring up the bonnet, why not bring the item of real value with him too? Why leave the map behind?”
“And how can Emily help?”
“I’m thinking two good girlfriends can figure out what two other good girlfriends had been thinking.”
“I see what you’re saying, but mind if I pass on the trip to Emily’s?” said Peter. “I’d like to go to the office. I have a couple of deadlines to meet.”
“Are you going to print Kyle’s quote?” I said.
“Not unless the police make real trouble for him,” he said. “Otherwise, we might end up goading a murderer into disliking Kyle.”
“I like how you’re thinking, Bailey,” I said.
A few minutes later, I was at my car. As I began to pull away, Peter waved his hands for me to stop. He jogged up to me.
“Forget something?” I said.
“Yup,” he said.
He leaned into the car to give me a kiss. Then, in true gumshoe fashion, he headed to his car. I smiled all the way to Emily’s house.