Murder at the Rusty Anchor

Edwin showed up on time. Orlean and I had each taken our lunch breaks, and the store was pretty quiet by one o’clock.

“I’m going across the street on a couple of errands,” I said to Edwin.

Equipped with EpiPen bag and a credit card in my phone case, I headed out into the now-sunny afternoon. I wanted to grab a bottle of wine that would pair well with pad Thai, and Cape King Liquor was the place. If I could pick Zane’s brain a little about Uly or anything else, so much the better.

In the store, Zane was behind the counter frowning at his phone. He glanced up and flashed me a wan smile.

“Is everything okay?” I asked.

“What? Why wouldn’t it be?”

Something didn’t ring true about his words.

He came around the counter, sliding his phone into the back pocket of his stylish jeans. I’d never seen him without his signature bow tie, which today featured pink seashells on an azure background. His crisp Oxford shirt, the cuffs neatly folded up on his forearms, matched the seashells. “What can I help you with, Mac?”

Whatever was bothering him, he didn’t want to talk about it.

“I’m making chicken pad Thai tonight, and—”

“You’re what? Did I hear Mac Almeida say she was going to be preparing an actual dinner?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.” Or I’d try, anyway. “So I wanted to get a nice bottle of wine to go with it.”

“Hmm,” he said. “Thailand isn’t renowned for their vintages. But you’re going to want to drink a light and cool wine, I think. Have you ever tried Vinho Verde? It’s Portuguese.”

“I’m not sure. If you recommend it, I’ll give it a try.”

“I think you’ll like it.” He selected a bottle and rang it up.

I glanced around to be sure no one else was keeping us company in here. “Any progress on your action item?” I left out Uly’s name in case an inquisitive customer might be lurking in the beer aisle.

“Uh, no. Not really.”

“Did you try talking with him or asking around?”

“I haven’t had a chance.” He looked relieved when the door opened to admit what appeared to be a couple of tourists.

“Let me know when you do, okay?” I picked up my paper bag of wine and slipped out. I’d never seen Zane so evasive, and I didn’t have a clue why he’d answered the way he did.

I probably still had a few minutes before I needed to get back. I’d love to talk with Yvonne again. Except after the way she’d reacted to Gin this morning, I thought I shouldn’t. The Cozy Capers were all about staying out of danger. Bugging one of the persons of interest with questions about the body she’d discovered wasn’t a safe choice.

From where I stood, I could see the Rusty Anchor across the street and down a few storefronts. An actual rusty anchor swung from a rod that extended out from above the door. Carl emerged onto the sidewalk in front. If that wasn’t serendipity, I didn’t know what was. I waited a moment. If he moved in my direction, I would head that way. If he turned away, I’d return to my shop.

Fate smiled on me when Carl pointed himself to the right—that is, toward me. I crossed over and moseyed along the sidewalk. When he approached at a fast clip, I slowed and smiled at him.

“Carl, right?”

“That would be me.”

He looked me up and down in a way that made me want to go take a shower without delay. Or slap him. Or both.

“I’m Mac Almeida, a fellow business owner here on Main Street.” I extended my hand, even though I’d rather have kept it to myself.

“What’s your business?” He shook my hand a bit too vigorously. “You look kind of familiar.”

I detached my hand. His was callused in a way that seemed to clash with his slick demeanor.

“I own Mac’s Bikes. Rental, repair, and retail. I haven’t seen you at any Chamber of Commerce events here in town. Are you a new owner of the pub?”

He peered at me. “How did you know I own the Anchor?”

“I was in the pub right after the body was found.”

“You were, were you?”

I nodded. “In fact, I was in the kitchen speaking with Detective Johnson when you came in.”

“That’s where I’ve seen you. So, you found the victim. How did that happen?” He folded his arms on his chest. “The pub wasn’t even open yet.”

“I didn’t find Mr. Byrne, but I was passing by, and Yvonne called to me to help her. She actually discovered the body, not me.” He must already know that. Yvonne was his employee, after all. Perhaps he was testing me.

“You were acquainted with the man, I gather?” he asked.

“Like almost everybody who has attended Westham High in recent decades, I had him for English one year.”

His lip curled for a brief second before he rearranged his features into a bland expression.

“Did you know him?” I asked.

“A long time ago.” He cleared his throat. “I’ll let you get on with your day, Mac.”

“I hope we’ll see you at the next Chamber event.”

“I seriously doubt you will.” He sauntered away.

He’d gone in the direction where I should be heading, that is, back to my shop. I couldn’t follow him, at least not until he was out of sight, since I’d been pointed in the opposite direction when I’d waylaid him. I sank down on a bench to people watch for a couple of minutes instead. And to think.

Carl had been as vague as possible about how and when he had known Byrne. He also hadn’t explained why he wasn’t active in the Chamber. Who could blame him for not wanting to talk with me? I was a complete stranger. But I hadn’t missed that flash of scorn when I’d mentioned Byrne’s association with the English department at Westham High School.

A text came into my phone. Edwin wrote,

Getting busy here.

That was my cue to stop woolgathering and get serious.

BRB

But first I picked up a paper bag of lunch detritus from the ground next to the bench and tossed it in the town trash barrel. Litterers offended my sensibilities, big-time.