“Don’t be ridiculous.” Andre grinned and handed her the cup of French Roast. “It’s too hot for that blanket and it’s not like I haven’t seen you...”

  Grace shot him a look and took a tentative sip of the hot black coffee.

  “Ugh!” she muttered. “Cop coffee.”

  She liked hers with cream and sugar. Apparently, Andre had forgotten. Still, she supposed it was thoughtful of him to bring her a cup.

  “I thought you would be gone by now,” she said. “You startled me.”

  “I think I deserve thanks for sleeping on that tiny loveseat of yours,” he said, taking the cup and helping himself to a gulp. Not that I haven’t slept in worse conditions. “Clambake likes me though. He slept on my feet most of the night.”

  Grace looked at him skeptically. “Clambake always sleeps with me.”

  “Go ahead. Ask him,” Andre said playfully.

  Grace still in shock that he was in her bedroom, was not in the mood for Andre’s games. “I need to get up and feed him. Why don’t you go downstairs? I’ll be down in a minute.”

  “Take your time, Grace. I’ve already fed him.” Andre assured her finishing off the coffee.

  “Wait, isn’t that my coffee?”

  “Nope, this is mine. There’s more in the pot. You do like yours with cream and sugar, don’t you?”

  He smiled, a dimple piercing his left cheek. “Adeus,” he said. “I’ve got to go. I’ll check in with you later. And, by the way, there’s no sign of your houseguest. Maybe he’s found himself a lover. Lucky guy.”

  Grace leaned back on her pillows. He could be so obnoxious, she thought. But, he had remembered how she liked her coffee. Now, she wondered if that was a good thing or not.

  Chapter Seventeen

  It was six in the morning, and Clambake was fast asleep in his bed by the fireplace. There was no sign of Felix, so maybe Andre was right. It was hard to imagine, but it was possible Felix had met someone at the writers’ conference. He’d certainly left in a hurry last night when Andre arrived.

  Grace rubbed her head and peered at herself in the hall mirror. Although she had a headache, there was no visible injury to her face, but there was a large bruise on her elbow and a cut on her knee. Other than a general stiffness, she didn’t feel too bad, considering her wild ride on the hood of some crazy person’s car. What bothered her most was why anyone would break into Pearl’s. She didn’t keep a lot of cash around. Although some lamps had considerable value, none seemed worth burglarizing her store.

  This morning, a gentle mist was hovering over the marsh, without even a breeze to rattle the tall grasses. She decided it might be a good time to take a walk and check on her ospreys, or sea hawks, as they were also known. She’d spent more time than she cared to admit peering through her binoculars at the fascinating creatures as two adults raised three chicks. When she got close to the nest, she could see that it was seriously sagging after a summer of intense use by the birds. She figured all it needed was a strong breeze, and it would be down.

  It was pleasant out on the marsh in the early morning. When she was troubled, lonely, or simply wanted a breath of fresh air to clear her mind, she would step out her back door and soak up the wild, unique serenity. Of course, the Great Marsh had its moods. At any time, any season, storms might swoop down on the quiet water and whip it into a frenzy of wind and grass, sea and silt, snow and ice. She often watched, holding her breath, as nature’s fury descended on her cottage.

  As Grace approached her back porch she could smell coffee brewing. Opening up the screen door, she picked up Clambake as he tried to launch himself toward freedom, and placed him on a kitchen chair. She didn’t want him out chasing birds, or worse, getting hurt by a raccoon or other wild animal. After all, it wasn’t that long ago, a bear spent several days sniffing around the shores of Cape Cod, and the last thing she needed was a bear attack.

  Almost as startling as thoughts of bears was the scene she encountered in her kitchen. Felix and Bella were sitting at her table, each with a mug of coffee, noisily munching on fresh pastry. Her houseguest, dressed in khaki shorts, sandals, and a blue tee shirt covered with crumbs was telling Bella how he had saved Grace’s life the previous night.

  “Morning Grace,” Bella said, taking a bite of her muffin, and leaving Felix to return to his plate filled with scrambled eggs and bacon. “Apparently, someone broke into Salty Cove last night too. William called and asked me to come and take a look around with him, because I know the place so well. He’s not sure what, if anything, is missing. I thought you’d want to come with me, since we’re investigating the case together. You can fill me in on the way about the incident at Pearl’s. We must get to the bottom of this!”

  “Ah,” Grace thought. Bella’s not so subtle pressure was beginning. Still, she couldn’t really be serious about trying to find out who murdered Ben. Finding his body had been frightening enough. Whoever killed him was a vicious killer. The whole incident was best left to the police.

  But she couldn’t let Bella go out there without her. What if there was some connection between the two incidents? And what if William was Ben’s killer? After all, with Ben out of the way, he would now inherit half of Imogene’s estate.

  Getting up from the table, Felix dropped his plate, a skillet with sticky egg residue, and his cup in the sink. “I’ve got an early class today,” he said, gathering up a stack of notebooks and pens. “Nice meeting up with you, Bella.”

  “Interesting houseguest,” Bella said as the door shut behind him.

  “Interesting isn’t the word that first comes to my mind but, it will do for now,” Grace called back, over her shoulder, as she ran upstairs to get ready to go to Salty Cove, returning a few minutes later carrying an umbrella and a stack of empire shades.

  “Is rain predicted? Surely, this mist will blow over soon.”

  “I can’t take any chances. These are very fragile hand cut shades. Some of them are painted in watercolor on silk paper.”

  “William will be waiting for us,” Bella said. “It does seem like the perfect opportunity to go to Salty Cove and snoop around. And, with this latest development, maybe we can pick up some clues.”

  Remembering the last time she and Bella had visited Salty Cove where one of the Walwyn brothers would be waiting, Grace shuddered. With any luck, there would be no surprises today.

  Chapter Eighteen

  Grace closed her eyes as Bella hurtled her old Volvo down the potholed sandy driveway toward the big house where they had found Ben’s body less than a week ago. Her neck was wet with sweat, although she wasn’t sure whether that was because of the muggy air or the sheer terror of riding with Bella.

  The mist had moved on and droplets of rain were cascading down the windshield. Bella screeched to a stop in front of the house, as William, dressed in jeans and plaid shirt, plastic gloves on both hands and arms loaded with two bulky garbage bags, emerged through the front door. Grace, who was used to seeing him a suit and tie, was surprised to discover that he appeared leaner and yet more muscular than she had realized.

  “Hey, ladies,” William said. “Come inside. You’re going to get soaked.”

  They followed him into the front hallway, where Bella stopped, her hand over her chest. “Oh my,” she exclaimed. “I didn’t realize how difficult this would be. I spent so much time here with Imogene and Ben. And, of course, you and Portia, when you were kids.”

  “It was a lovely place back then. Unfortunately, Ben didn’t keep up with things and the place is a mess. Portia and I are still hashing things out, but I expect we will sell. There’s a neighbor just up the hill, Roone Seymoor. He told me that he’d like to make an offer. And, if that doesn’t work out, there are plenty of buyers who’d love to have waterfront, despite the condition of the house.”

  “I know Roone,” Bella said. “He stops by Pearl’s every now and then for lamp repairs or a new shade. He and his wife, Julia, even had me come out to their house to appraise a lamp that they inherited. They’re very sophisticated antique collectors. Especially Roone. The lamp in question was awfully nice. A Pairpoint Puffy.”

  “I’ve always wanted to see one of those,” Grace said wistfully.

  “Speaking of lamps,” William said, maneuvering past them with another plastic garbage bag. “I’ve been looking around here trying to find out what might have been taken during the break-in. I’m making a list of things that I can’t locate. I’m also going through all of the papers that were scattered around. I’m hoping that you may be able to help me, specifically of course, with any lamps that Mom had that might be of value. And, if you think anything is missing, let me know. “Morgan’s in the kitchen making ice tea. Help yourselves to anything in the fridge,” he said, as he headed toward the back door.

  “Follow me, Grace,” Bella said, “We’ll tour the house and check out the lamps as we go. Did you bring a notebook? No? How do you expect to investigate a murder when you don’t have a notebook?”

  *****

  An hour later, Bella and Grace were sitting on a lumpy sofa under lattice windows cranked open to let the hot, soggy breeze find its way, into the house from the nearby sea.

  William and his wife, Morgan, were lounging in a pair of overstuffed striped chairs, their feet resting on matching ottomans.

  “William, dear, I saw Portia and Trevor pull into the drive a few minutes ago,” Morgan said. “They’re still sitting in the car.”

  “Probably arguing,” William said.

  “Between you and me,” Bella whispered to Grace, “I never was too fond of Portia. She’s a bit bratty, if you know what I mean.”

  Grace knew exactly what she meant, even though the term bratty usually referred to a child. Remembering her encounter with Portia on Main Street, she could think of a more descriptive word, but, she didn’t say it.

  Several minutes later, Portia and her husband entered the room and sat down next to each other on a sagging wicker couch.

  “I was suggesting to Trevor on the way here, that maybe we should reconsider selling Salty Cove,” Portia said. “Perhaps it would be better if we keep it in the family. We could all chip in and remodel it. The property is gorgeous and the house historic, though run down.” She turned to her husband and patted his knee. “But, I don’t think we need to rush into any decision.”

  She glanced at her brother who was now sitting at an old desk sorting through papers. “Isn’t that right, William? You’re not in a hurry are you? Are you listening to me?”

  William swung around, exchanged a look with Trevor and sighed, rather dramatically, Grace thought. “Yes, I’m listening,” he said.

  Bella scooted toward the edge of the sofa. “I think maybe we should leave now. William, I can give you my list.”

  “Portia, I think we need to sell,” Trevor said, ignoring Bella. “What are we going to do with two properties? And think of all the work it would take to bring this place up to twenty first century standards. You know you like everything first- rate.”

  “Come on, Portia,” William said, “Roone Seymoor is salivating over the possibility of owning Salty Cove. Let’s strike while the iron is hot. There is some serious money to be had. We can talk about this later. I invited Bella here today to help me assess some of Mom’s antique lamps and to see if she notices anything missing. Whoever he was, our thief has made a mess of things.”

  “Or she was….” Bella injected, still trying to free herself from the low couch.

  “Yes, Bella, you’re right,” William said. “It could have been a woman. No reason at this point to exclude half the population in the investigation. Well then, maybe we should divide up the house, while we search. The police are relying on us to go through things and make a list so they can put out a bulletin.”

  “Do you know what time the break- in occurred?” Grace asked.

  “No. Most of us were at the funeral home last night.” William glanced at Trevor.

  “Are you insinuating something?” Trevor asked, eyes blazing.

  William shrugged.

  “William!” Portia said. “Trevor was quite ill last night. There were plenty of folks we know who weren’t there. How could you even suggest such a thing?”

  “I didn’t suggest anything,” William muttered. “Let’s get on with the task at hand.”

  Grace remembered the crowded funeral home. Trevor hadn’t been there, but neither had Mason Crawford. Even Gink had taken off. She wondered why William would make note of Trevor’s absence. The Walwyn family sure had plenty of issues, and they weren’t very good at concealing them.

  “Let’s concentrate on what we know for sure is missing,” Portia said in a sullen voice. “I think we should hunt for that lamp first.”

  “Which lamp are you referring to?” Bella asked.

  “The one that Ben probably sold to buy that fancy looking diamond Freesia Foster was flashing around at the funeral.”

  “I’m quite sure that was Imogene’s,” Bella said.

  “Then it should be mine,” Portia said. “William, you need to look into this. Maybe Freesia killed Ben to get the bracelet.”

  “I’m sure the investigators will be questioning Freesia, if they haven’t already. Any one close to Ben is a potential suspect.”

  “Not me,” Portia huffed. “In any case, I’m not convinced about selling our beloved homestead, and I won’t be pushed into making a hasty decision.”

  “I’m the executor, and I want to get this done, and move on,” William said in his courtroom voice, which had what was probably its intended effect because everyone in the room was silent for a couple of minutes. Grace had observed William in court. He could be charming and persuasive, but he was also very skillful, and she had heard him referred to as an attack dog on more than one occasion. Surely that was silly courthouse talk. At the end of the day, he hung around the local bars with cops, attorneys and the locals, like anyone else.

  “We should all come to an agreement soon,” Morgan said.

  Portia glared at Morgan, as if to insinuate her thoughts on the matter were not appreciated. “I think it’s time we spoke about the elephant in the room,” Portia demanded. “Mom’s special lamp.”

  “Not now, Portia,” William warned, glancing at Grace.

  “Why not?” she demanded. “It’s worth a fortune, and we can’t find it, can we?”

  “Shut up, Portia,” Trevor said. “This isn’t the time.”

  “I thought that’s what we were here for today. Isn’t that why we invited Bella here? To find out more about the lamp Mom kept by her bed?”

  There was an awkward silence, of the sort that made Grace feel supremely uncomfortable. Bella cleared her throat. “I do have something important to tell you all about Imogene’s lamp,” she said. “It’s worth a lot of money. And, this is hard to say but,...”

  “We know it’s valuable!” Portia snorted.

  “There’s something you need to know about the provenance of the lamp,” Bella said.

  “Who cares about the provenance?” Portia said. “It’s been by Mom’s bedside for years. I want to know where it is now.”

  Bella managed to finally get out of the couch. “We’ve got to go,” she said briskly. “We’ll talk about this some other time. That said, I do remember a specific lamp that was by Imogene’s bedside. If that is what you are talking about, I didn’t see it today. Is it possible that she may have given it away?”

  William shook his head. “No, I don’t think so.”

  “Well, perhaps it will turn up,” Bella said, handing a sheet of paper to William. “Here’s my list of what lamps I did see when Grace and I were looking around earlier. “There’s a very nice lamp by the Handel Company in the dining room. ‘Birds of Paradise. It has a lovely chipped ice shade that I think, if authentic, is worth a nice sum.”

  “Oh!” Portia exclaimed. “How much exactly?”

  “I couldn’t say, without a closer inspection.”

  “But, William, what if there is another burglary?” Portia asked.

  “I’ve hired some temporary security,” William said. “I’ll take the Handel lamp home with me.”

  Portia was starting to object when Trevor stood up, held his hand out to Bella and nodded at Grace. “Nice seeing you again.”

  As Bella and Grace were escorted to the front door, it seemed to Grace that they were being hustled out as fast as possible, especially by Portia and Trevor. She figured that Portia was eager to check out the Handel. She made a mental note to ask Bella about that chipped ice shade. What in the world was that?

  A crunch of stones announced the arrival of another vehicle. Cruising around the last curve of the driveway was a white, vintage Mustang convertible. The driver steered the car carefully around the potholes and slowed gently to a stop in front of the porch stairs. A young man emerged, stood by the car for half a beat, and then strode purposely toward them.

  “Now who can that be?” Portia said. “Are you expecting a handyman, William?”

  “No. It’s probably security,” William said, starting down the steps toward the visitor. “Can I help you?’

  Grace froze, briefly locking eyes with the young man whose tan face, Hawaiian shirt, and deep blue eyes were shockingly like the recently deceased Ben.

  “Uh oh,” Bella whispered, propelling her firmly toward the Volvo. “This is going to be really interesting, but I think we better get the heck out of here.”

  With Bella’s strong hand on her elbow, Grace looked over her shoulder to see the young man stop in front of William, a smile playing around the corners of his mouth.

  “Yeah, you can help me,” she heard him say “And you can start by getting the hell off of my property.”

  Portia’s hand flew to her mouth. Even William appeared so startled that he was momentarily silenced before demanding, “Who do you think you are?”

  “I’m Owen Walwyn, Ben’s son. And you all are trespassing.”

 

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