Murder in a Different Light Page 2

  Without hesitation, Grace jumped into the pool, the sparkling water splashing over her head and swam with Bella right behind her, who moved through the water with the surprising ease and strength of a seal, to where a man floated face down in the water.

  “It’s Ben,” Bella said, her voice wavering, as they turned him over. “He’s dead,” she added with a sob.

  “I’m calling 911!” Mary shouted.

  “Pull him over to the stairs,” Grace said to Bella who, apparently in her shock and distress was treading water and staring at the sky as though expecting some sort of divine intervention. Taking hold of one arm, they propelled the nearly weightless body to the stairs and lifted it as far as they were able, and left Ben sprawled on the steps in his green striped bathing trunks. His blue eyes were wide and a dark hole, the size of a dime, was in his upper chest.

  Chapter Four

  Later, three of the Merry Widows, no longer merry, were huddled together on a saggy porch swing while Bella sat nearby, a blanket wrapped around her sodden shoulders, gripping the arms of a rocking chair, and staring into the distance. Grace, her jeans and shirt soaked from plunging into the pool to try to save a lifeless Ben Walwyn, leaned wearily against the post at the top of the stairs, hoping that what was left of the heat from a dying sun would soon stop her shivering.

  “Do you know who that neighbor is who showed up just before the emergency people arrived?” Grace asked Bella.

  “Yes, his name is Roone Seymoor. He’s a customer. He had a first rate lamp cleaned recently.”

  “He said he heard screaming and ran right over,” Grace said. “He vanished pretty quickly though. I guess I can’t blame him for disappearing. It’s a gruesome scene.”

  “That it is,” Bella replied, dabbing at her eyes with the edge of the blanket.

  Two emergency medical technicians were busy unloading a stretcher from an ambulance, when a Massachusetts State police vehicle arrived in a cloud of sand and pulled up next to Grace’s car.

  “Wait here, I’ll talk to them first,” Grace told Bella who started to get up.

  Grace watched as Detective Andre Cruz stepped out of the car and stared for a full three seconds at her car. He shook his head, frowned, and moved toward the women on the porch as Grace descended the steps. At the same time that Emma Rice, his partner, stepped gracefully out of the car, pushing a few strands of silky hair out of her eyes.

  “Grace?” Cruz said, making no attempt to hide his apparent astonishment. “What are you doing here?”

  “Hey, Andre. I was hiking with the Merry Widows. Found a body,” Grace tried to sound as nonchalant and calm as she could. After all, it wasn’t that long ago that she first met the detective at another death scene.

  “What’s going on? Someone’s been shot?”

  “Behind those bushes,” Grace told him. “It’s Ben Walwyn. He’s dead.”

  Chapter Five

  That evening Grace roamed aimlessly around the front room of Pearl’s. Not wanting to go home and with the faint hope that a busy mind might block out the grisly memories of the past few hours, she stopped by her shop intending to plunge into the sorting and unpacking that needed to be done before she could reopen. Normally, she would have enjoyed being alone without the daily chatter of customers and staff. But, tonight, despite the disorder of the shop and all that she had to do, she couldn’t bring herself to accomplish much of anything. She brewed a cup of green tea, sorted through some boxes packed with lampshades, and tried unsuccessfully to locate her painting supplies. She soon turned off the lights, lit an oil lamp, and curled up in her Martha Washington chair, no longer shivering, definitely feeling unsettled after the earlier events of the day. The Merry Widows had given their statements to the police and headed home hours ago. Bella said she was shook up but would try to relax with a hot bath. Now, Grace, surrounded by the clutter of old lamps, piles of ribbons, and fabrics tried to unwind by gazing around the shop at the wide plank floors and high ceilings. She imagined for a moment, that she might be a woman of the nineteenth century, working late, feeling exhausted, and enjoying a quick rest and cup of hot tea.

  A sharp knock on the door aroused her from her brief respite. She looked out her front window and saw the detective, Andre Cruz, standing on the porch. He was checking his watch when she opened the door. When he looked up, she was greeted by the unforgettable intensity of his deep green eyes.

  “Working late?” he asked. “Kind of dark in here.”

  Andre Cruz was a detective with the Massachusetts State Police and Emma Rice was his attractive partner. The previous winter Grace and Andre started going together after they met and became embroiled in a local murder investigation. It was the first time she had found herself falling for someone since her husband, Jack, a police officer with the Barnstable Police department, had suffered a fatal heart attack while swimming at Craigville Beach.

  Andre had appeared at her cottage one snowy day last winter to talk to her about the murder of a woman who lived in the village. Circumstances forced her to become involved in the investigation. It was then that she and Andre began a tentative romantic relationship that slowly evolved into one that she believed was sure and true. At least that’s what she’d told herself when she wasn’t obsessing jealously over his partner, Emma Rice, and her omnipresent presence.

  There was undeniably lots of passion and heat in the beginning, but there were also issues that wouldn’t go away. Most importantly, that Grace was jealous of Andre’s relationship with Emma. Too close even for partners she thought. Andre seemed to be unsure of what he wanted and unwilling to make her feel that she wasn’t imagining things going on with Emma. Finally they had gone their separate ways.

  “I have so much to do, I thought I’d come here and get some things organized, but after what happened...” Grace said.

  “It’s nice to see you.” Andre interrupted.

  “You, too. You look… well…”

  “Well what?”

  “Good.”

  “Good,” he repeated. “Okay... then, let’s talk about today’s events. No point in getting sidetracked.”

  “Of course.” Grace said, rousing herself to the present. “What brings you to Pearl’s? How did you know I was here?”

  “I’m a detective.” Andre smiled, his dimple visible even in the dim porch light.

  “Ah, yes. I do remember that,” Grace said. “Well, come in then.”

  Andre took in the crowded room. “You made the big move, I see. Smells like fresh paint. Lots of work to do.”

  Grace tried to see the store through his eyes. “It’s coming together. I’m going to re-open in a few days.” She removed a pile of fabrics from a dusty chair and gestured for him to have a seat. “Shouldn’t you be out hunting down suspects?”

  “I am checking out suspects.”

  Grace felt herself cringe. “Me? You’re not serious are you?”

  He shrugged. “I thought maybe you could fill me in on Ben Walwyn. We need to find out more about him, who his friends and associates were. Bella mentioned that he and Mason Crawford had an altercation when he was leaving here.”

  “Yes. It was a shoving match, some threats made. I don’t know what they were arguing about. I recognized Mason from the courthouse and the probation department.”

  “I figured you would know who he is. He’s been in trouble since he was a kid. But, so has Ben.”

  Once again, Grace was momentarily distracted as she watched Andre sweep his fingers through his thick black hair which he was wearing longer than he had when she last saw him. He was dressed in jeans and a black tee shirt, and she noticed that his olive skin, reflecting his Portuguese heritage, was summer tanned. She briefly imagined him kayaking around Cape Cod Bay shirtless, the sun beating down on his back and arms. When she realized that he was watching her, she managed to ask, “Have either of them been to State Prison?”

  “Mason has. Twice, then parole, and now he’s on probation again. Ben was on probation too. Your friend Audrey was his probation officer.”

  “Have you talked to her yet?”

  “Emma interviewed her.”

  “Okay, good,” Grace said briskly. “Is there anything else? I really should close up now. It’s getting late.”

  “Just a couple of more things,” Andre said, flipping back a page of his notebook. “Bella was a friend of Ben’s mother, Imogene?”

  “Yes, they were both nurses in Korea and the best of friends. Bella’s known Ben since he was born.”

  “Do you know why he came to see Bella today? He doesn’t appear to be the type of fellow who would be frequenting a lamp shop.”

  “Michael said he would come by now and then and have a smoke with Bella.”

  “I didn’t know Bella smoked? Something new?”

  “No, apparently not. According to Michael, she and Ben occasionally smoked cigars. I really don’t know why. Some kind of custom.”

  Andre looked up at her from his notebook. His eyes were bright, and he looked like he was trying to hold back a laugh. “I’m sorry,” he said, “I’m having a wonderful image of Bella enjoying a stogie with such a rough looking character.”

  Grace felt a momentary release of tension. “We both know that Bella can be full of surprises,” she agreed.

  “She certainly can be,” Andre said. “Okay, back to Ben’s visit. Did he stay long?”

  Grace remembered Andre’s quicksilver nature. He had the ability to be laughing one moment, and serious the next. “I don’t know. I arrived at Pearl’s right before he left.”

  “Did you talk to him?”

  “No, he seemed pretty intoxicated to me. I was glad he was on his way out,” she said. Realizing that she had finished her tea and that Andre might well be thirsty, she said, “
Would you like some tea? Or a beer? That’s all I have, except water.”

  “Beer sounds good.”

  When she returned from the shop’s kitchen, she found Andre at the front window staring out into the street. He stood in the deep shadows of the shop, barely illuminated by the faint light of the oil lamp. Grace poured the amber liquid into a glass, and joined him, hesitating for a moment, not wishing to interrupt his intense silence. She figured that he was also trying to sort through feelings that had arisen from the discovery of Ben’s body. She was well aware that homicide detectives weren’t immune to the pain and sadness of the discovery of a murder victim. She felt confused and suddenly shy as she stood behind him, close enough to arouse an unexpected sense of longing.

  “Thanks, it’s been a long, thirsty night,” Andre said, taking the glass from her hand and this time, avoiding her eyes.

  “Tell me about it, I feel ill every time I remember the sight of Ben, floating in the pool,” Grace told him. “After we managed to pull him out of the water I checked his pulse, just to be sure, and he seemed like he was staring intently at me, even though there was no life left in him.”

  “Sorry, Grace. I know you had a rough day. But, even though I saw you with my own eyes, I’m having a hard time believing that you were at the scene of Ben’s murder.”

  “Well, I didn’t want to be there,” she protested, suddenly feeling defensive. “You make it sound like I was there on purpose or something.”

  “It wasn’t long ago that you were at the scene of another murder.”

  “I guess it is kind of strange, huh?”

  “More than strange,” Andre said. “Hopefully, you won’t be involving yourself in this investigation.”

  “No way. I have no interest in finding out who killed Ben. I’ve got a shop in total disarray.”

  “Why were you and the other ladies at Salty Cove this evening?”

  “Didn’t Officer Gelb get all of the statements today? Can’t you get his notes?” Grace didn’t like feeling that she was being interrogated by Andre, particularly since she’d had that unpleasant experience once before.

  “Okay.” He closed his notebook. “I can see that my being here is making you uncomfortable. If you think of anything else, call Officer Gelb. I’m going to be out of town for a day or two.”

  “Gelb?” Grace knew that in Massachusetts, State Police were in charge of homicide investigations, with the support of local officers such as the young officer she had encountered during last winter’s investigation. “Does he have the experience to work a homicide?”

  “Everyone has to start somewhere. He might surprise you.”

  Although Grace thought being surprised by Gelb would be an unlikely occurrence, she simply said, “Sharon took some photos. Has anyone checked them?”

  “I’m sure someone will.”

  “When do you leave?”

  “I’m heading for Boston tomorrow morning.” André put down his beer without taking another drink. “There’s a homicide conference. An instructor is ill, and I’ve been asked to teach some classes.”

  “Is Emma going too?” Grace asked, regretting it the moment the words spilled out of her mouth. How stupid could she be? Sorry,” she murmured. “I didn’t mean to go there.”

  Andre nodded, pushed open the screen door and stepped onto the porch. “Well, I better go. Thanks for the beer.” He took a final glance through the door at the messy and disorganized room. As the words that she wanted to say caught in her throat, there was silence between them. He turned, and in a moment, vanished into the night, leaving her with only the faint echo of “Boa noite,” as he reached the sidewalk.

  Chapter Six

  Grace opened her eyes to find that she was dangerously close to falling out of bed, in large part because Clambake, her black and white cat, was nestled at her side, taking up a vast amount of bed space and snoring sweetly. Gray, early morning light filtered through her bedroom curtains. It had been a humid, soggy, night, more typical of mid-summer, and she’d spent the night flailing and thrashing in her bed.

  Reaching down, she laid a gentle hand on her sleeping cat. He twitched, but his snoring continued and was echoed by the rumble of thunderheads. Rain, intermittent during the night was now steady and it would have been a good morning to roll over and catch some extra sleep. Instead, Grace found herself thinking about Ben Walwyn. Those eyes of his, appeared to stare directly at her. Imploring her? To do what?

  She was curious about his relationship with Bella. There was her friendship with Imogene, and he was her son, but Bella never mentioned anything specific about Imogene’s family. She had never met Ben and was surprised when Michael said he was an occasional visitor to Pearl’s. Although Andre had joked about Bella sharing a cigar with rough company, it did seem odd to her. Ben seemed like a troubled sort.

  Excited voices followed by an insistent screech roused her from her daydreams. Moving her curtains aside she looked out at the foggy, opalescent marsh. Dark clouds drifted above Cape Cod Bay and hovered close to the dunes on Sandy Neck, the barrier beach that separated the bay from the Atlantic Ocean. An easterly wind was blowing strong and white caps churned a metallic gray. Marsh grass bowed down to the wind and swept mud in tiny rivulets toward her cottage.

  The Great Marsh lapped the edge of her yard barely thirty feet from her back door. Spartina, eel and turtle grasses thrived in the sand and mudflats. All manner of wild life including; clams, crabs, and barnacles flourished in the mud. Whimbrels, sand pipers, snowy plovers and green herons flew above the sandy soil and grass. An osprey nest, atop a repurposed telephone pole, perched like a flag above the marshland. She knew that it would soon be time for the resident ospreys to leave for their long vacation someplace warm and sunny, like Cuba or South America, only to return in March and nest atop the pole in their house of sticks and marsh leavings. All in all, the marsh was alive with activity, including the occasional raccoon that emerged onto Grace’s lawn for a poke around her garbage cans.

  Grace was startled to see two men in hooded windbreakers, hurrying across the marsh carrying a ladder and stepping carefully on wooden pilings that formed a bridge of sorts. Staring through a pair of binoculars she kept handy on her bedside table, she focused on the unfolding scene.

  “Clambake, I think those guys are running out to our Osprey nest. Uh oh! There’s a bird dangling from it. I better get dressed and find out what’s going on.”

  Grace ran across her damp lawn, the stiff, moist breeze working against her. Goldfinches chattered in the tree branches, reminding her that their feeder socks were empty. Ignoring them, she cautiously managed to weave her way avoiding deep rills and cracks, along the familiar marsh trail, where she joined one of the men now standing under the untidy nest.

  “Can I help?” she asked before she realized that one of them was Mason Crawford. His hair, an unruly mass of gray and brown, protruded from underneath his hood. She had last seen him in front of Pearl’s a few hours before Ben was killed.

  “I was driving by with my boss,” Mason told her. “He told me to stop. There’s a problem in the bird nest.”

  Grace followed his gaze upwards. At the top of the ladder peering into the nest, was none other than Roone Seymoor, the neighbor who arrived at Salty Cove shortly after Ben’s body was discovered. An osprey dangled over the edge, flapped enormous wings, and pecked at something wrapped around one of its legs.

  “I called the Cape Wildlife Center and the Long Pasture Wildlife Sanctuary,” Grace said. “Someone will be out to help.” Wind whipped her chestnut hair into her eyes. She tucked a few strands behind her ears. “Those are my ospreys. I’ve adopted them.”

  “Looks like this one’s caught up in some kind of rope or twine,” Roone said, leaning against the ladder, and adjusting his gloves as the pole shifted an inch or two. “You wouldn’t believe how big this nest is and what a load of stuff is in it. There’s a bunch of fishing wire, a stuffed animal and what looks like part of an oar. I’ve got some wire clippers. If he’ll let me, I’ll try to untie him. What do you want me to do?”