Read Online Murder On the Rocks by Karen MacInerney - Free Book Online Page B

time we had finished our scones and tea, I was feeling much better. John headed back to his cottage with Biscuit on his heels, promising to let me know as soon as he found out anything else. I checked my watch. It was almost four. I decided to clean up the kitchen and then run the scones down to the store before dinnertime.
    I was just closing the dishwasher when someone knocked at the kitchen door.
    “Come in!” I called.
    Barbara Eggleby poked her head through the door. “Hi, Nat. Sorry to bother you, but do you know where I can get some dinner around here?”
    “Spurrell’s Lobster Pound down on the wharf is good,” I said. “By the way, have you heard the news?”
    Barbara looked puzzled. “News? What news?”
    “Bernard Katz is dead”
    Barbara’s face paled. For a moment, a brief flash of something like triumph flashed over her features, but it was quickly submerged.
    “That’s awful,” she breathed. “How did it happen?”
    “Apparently he fell off a cliff,” I said.
    “Fell off a cliff?”
    “Yeah. I found him this morning. He was right above the terns’ nests” I shuddered at the memory of Katz sprawled across the rocks like a discarded doll.
    Barbara’s eyes hardened. “Well, if he was down there messing with those nests again, he deserved it” She looked at me. “What do you think this means for Premier Resorts?”
    I shrugged. “I don’t know yet. We’ll have to wait and see.”

    “I suppose you’re right. Still, this may change things a bit,” she said. She stood in the doorway for a moment. “Anyway, thanks for the dinner info. I don’t suppose you’d care to join me?”
    “No, not tonight, I’m afraid. Too much to do.” And not enough money in my bank account. “Say hi to Connie and Ned for me, though.
    “I will. See you later, Nat.” She disappeared through the door.

     

SIX
    I STRAPPED THE BOX of scones onto the back of my battered blue Schwinn and started down the road toward the store. The smell of spruce and balsam wafted past me as I rode, and the only sound was the whir of the wheels and the distant crash of waves. It felt good to be outside in the cool air. The sky was robin’s egg blue, with puffy clouds here and there, and the rain had intensified the deep green of the tall evergreen trees and clumps of bayberry bushes that lined the road. My worries faded under the bright Maine sun.
    Before I knew it, apple trees and raspberry patches began to replace some of the towering pine trees, and the Schwinn was rolling past a cluster of painted wood-frame houses. In the winter, many of the houses had lobster traps stacked in front of them; at this time of year, though, the traps gave way to soft green grass and flowers.
    The Cranberry Island Grocery looked just like a small-town grocery store should. The wooden building was painted brick red with creamy trim, and four rocking chairs decorated the wide front porch. A variety of signs and notices had been posted in the mullioned front windows, and the window boxes below them overflowed with brilliant red geraniums and trailing ivy.

    As the bike nosed into the driveway, I wondered how many curious islanders were congregated inside. Charlene had converted the front of the store into what locals called the island’s “parlor,” a comfy little seating area filled with overstuffed armchairs and a big, saggy sofa. As I stepped onto the porch, I noticed that the line of La Marne rose bushes Charlene had pampered all winter were looking the worse for wear. Something had eaten most of their leaves, and only one feeble pink rose bloomed among the battered branches.
    The bell above the door jingled as I entered the store. I glanced around the large, sunlit room. The narrow aisles were empty, and I didn’t see anyone lounging on the chairs by the windows. Charlene rose from her seat behind the cash register. Her eyes were lined in dark blue to match her long denim dress, and her shellacked hair barely moved as she shook her