But the other reason I’d moved back was that I’d been terribly hurt by Clive. I’d left that marriage feeling like I was worthless. In order to sooth that pain, I’d run back to the one place where I’d always felt safe and secure. Oyster Cove. And buying the Guesthouse gave me a way to rebuild my self-worth. Well, as long as I could be successful at it, and I doubted this murder was going to help with that.
‘And then it’s all made worse by Barbara Littlefield running around town telling everyone we should be closed down because it’s unsafe. So if Chamberlain doesn’t arrest me for murder, Barbara Littlefield might close me down. Either way there goes my savings down the drain.’
Jen clucked in sympathy. She knew how important it was for me to make a go of this on my own.‘Don’t worry, no one listens to Barbara. She’s always grousing about something.’
‘Right, except as the building inspector, she does have a lot of power.’
‘I wouldn’t worry about Barbara,’ Jen assured me. ‘She doesn’t like change but she just wants to make sure the town doesn’t get too built up. She comes off as a hard ass, but she has all our best interests at heart. The tourists come for the quaint ambiance of an old-fashioned Maine fishing town and she wants to make sure that’s what they get. She’d never close down the guesthouse, it’s part of the town history.’
‘I suppose.’
‘She’s just crotchety.’ Jen tossed some mail into the cart. ‘But you have to give her credit for finding the Furbish Lousewort and working to get the government to declare that a protected area. Otherwise they would have built that big hotel. That would have changed the town forever. And not in a good way. Probably would have put the guesthouse out of business.’
‘Yeah, I guess,’ I hated to admit I might owe Barbara one for stopping the construction. I knew she hadn’t done it for me, but Jen was right about the hotel.
‘You hang around long enough, you might be able to thank her in person.’ Jen pointed to a pile of packages. ‘She gets a lot of packages. Some of them are dirty.’
My eyebrows shot up.‘You mean she gets porn?’
Jen looked at me and laughed.‘No. Dirty like with dirt. I don’t know, she might get special fertilizer for that Lousewort, you know how she babies it.’
‘Oh, that kind of dirt. For a minute there I thought maybe I could have some sort of blackmail to leverage over her.’
Jen made a face.‘Eww… just the thought of Barbara and porn makes me glad I had a light breakfast.’
‘Ditto.’
‘So what about this Tina person? Do you think she could’ve done it? Lover’s quarrel?’ Jen asked.
‘I really have no idea. She was very upset when we discovered the body, but she could’ve been acting,’ I said. ‘I just can’t imagine her being with Charles. I mean she’s kind of pretty.’
I glanced out the window to see a seagull perched on the back of one of the benches they had set at intervals on the sidewalk. They were kind of pretty with barrels of flowers beside them. The gull made me think of Stella Dumont.‘And I still don’t know why Stella’s been lurking around the guesthouse.’
‘Does she have a connection to the victim?’
‘I’m not sure. I couldn’t find anything. When I looked online the only review I found was the one for the Marinara Mariner. She sure was acting suspicious yesterday, but she was distracted because the gulls were flocking around her deck like she was putting out a buffet for them.’
Jen glanced out the window.‘Yeah, what about the gulls? It’s weird what’s happening to them, isn’t it?’
‘For sure. But Stella probably isn’t unhappy about it. They congregate around her deck and I don’t imagine her guests appreciate them begging for scraps when they are dining outdoors.’
‘I don’t know. I think some tourists like to feed them. That’s how they got in the habit of stealing sandwiches out of their hands on the beach in the first place.’
‘Hmm…’ I glanced at the gull who appeared to be watching people as they strolled past. Probably sizing them up for culinary handout. ‘Maybe people have stopped feeding them and that’s why they are dying off.’
Jen shook her head.‘I don’t know, Gordon Swift from the Audubon Society was in here the other day saying something about experts looking into some kind of a disease.’
‘Oh. Well that’s not good. I hope it doesn’t spread to other animals.’ I thought of Nero and Marlowe. Could cats catch a disease from seagulls? I certainly didn’t want something happening to them.
‘Anyway, it can’t be that they’re starving. They eat those flockenberries up on the cliff. That’s why they poop orange, you know? The berries are orange and pass right through,’ Jen said. ‘And there are tons of those berries. Those things are invasive. They practically choke out anything else nearby. Mrs. Landsdowne had them in her garden and they killed all of her tomato plants.’
‘You don’t say.’ As I made a mental note to make sure I didn’t have any flockenberries in the gardens that I’d be redoing at the guesthouse, something on the street caught my eye. It was my mother and Millie dressed to the nines and making a beeline for the post office. ‘Looks like I better get going. Millie and my mom are coming and it looks like they’re dressed to kill for our lunch at the Marinara Mariner.’
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Despite its kitschy name, the Marinara Mariner was a pretty decent upscale Italian restaurant. It was located a few doors down from the Post Office and had a definite Tuscan vibe. The hostess led us through the dimly lit room, across the clay tile flooring, through the arch and into a grotto area with one wall made out of large stones and the others painted a pleasing Tuscany mustard color.
We were seated at a cozy table in the back. Our water glasses sparkled under the chandelier, our silverware gleamed. The plates were simple white china with a gold rim and the acoustics were such that we could only hear muted snatches of the other diners’ conversations. I could tell Mom and Millie were straining to eavesdrop on Carolyn Wheatly and her boss John Collingsworth, who looked particularly cozy in the corner.
Even the menu was classy, all done in dark brown quality faux leather with nice printing inside. I scanned the items—antipasto, eggplant, veal—while inhaling the tang of tomato sauce and freshly baked bread.
‘What are you going to have Josie?’ Millie looked at me over the top of her menu. ‘It’s my treat.’
‘I can’t let you do that, Millie.’ Though it would be nice because I didn’t really have any money for eating out. I scanned the side dishes. Maybe I could make do with a side of broccoli?
‘Don’t be silly. I’m rolling in it now that I have all that money from the sale of the guesthouse.’ She leaned across the table and lowered her voice. ‘And besides, if we play our cards right, we won’t have to pay a dime.’
Worry set in. Mom and Millie were known to play fast and loose. My eyes narrowed.‘Just what are you two planning?’
‘It’s nothing bad.’ Mom put her menu down. ‘I’m having the lasagna.’
‘I’m going for the veal scallopini. What about you, Josie?’ Millie asked.
‘Salad. Now tell me exactly what you are planning to do.’
Millie pressed her lips together and looked over my shoulder at the waitress who had appeared with a pitcher of water. Saved by the waitstaff, but it was only a temporary reprieve. The waitress would have to leave sooner or later, though it looked like it would be later given all the questions Mom and Millie were asking about the food.
Finally, after they found out about every dish, ordered what they wanted and demanded a basket of rolls, the waitress left.
I resumed my inquisition.‘Okay, fess up ladies. What do you have planned? How are you going to figure out if Tony Murano is our clog-wearing killer?’
‘Why we have to look at his feet, of course.’ Millie fluffed out her napkin and deposited it in her lap with a flourish.