CHAPTER TWELVE

CHAPTER TWELVE

Astrong hand grabbed my shirt as I started to fall and hauled me back onto the landing. I was in Tom's arms while Jamie stared at us.

"Hello!" The call came from the foyer below.

My heart slowed, thumping so hard in my chest that I felt every beat. The voice belonged to my brother-in-law, Sonny. Of course, it did. We were on an island, and the sea was much too rough for anyone to arrive. It had to be someone who was already here.

"It's us," my sister, Livvie, called. Livvie and Sonny and their two kids stood dripping on the rug in the foyer below.

I hurried down to greet them and help them out of their sopping outerwear. "What are you doing here?" They were fully decked out in lobster-fishing gear—oilskin pants and jackets. Jack and Livvie wore headlamps. Sonny and Page carried heavy flashlights.

"The waves were crashing against the house," Livvie answered me.

"They almost came through the windows!" Six-year-old Jack's eyes burned with fear—and excitement.

The front of their house was set on pilings and stuck out over the Gulf of Maine. The front windows were at least ten feet above the waterline, even at high tide.

"We were scared. We saw the lights were still on up here, so we thought we'd come someplace a little safer," Livvie said.

Standing behind Livvie and Jack, water dripping from their identically colored bright red hair, Sonny and my niece, Page, wore the same expression. "Jack may have been scared," their faces said, "but don't lump us into that category."

"This place may not be safer." I said it under my breath. I intended it only for Livvie, but Sonny and Page heard and leaned forward with interest. "We have a few extra people here tonight," I informed them. "Why don't you stay in Mom's apartment?"

"Extra people?" Sonny asked. "Who in the world—"

Livvie seemed to understand this wasn't the time for a lengthy discussion. "Good idea. Let me get us settled in." She started for the stairs. "What the heck are you talking about?" she whispered as she walked by me. I shook my head hard, to indicate not to discuss it in front of the kids.

Sonny took another look, scanning across our faces—Jamie's, Tom's, and mine. "I'll come up with you," he said to Livvie. "To get you settled. Then I'll come down the get the story."

"I'll come up and walk you down," Jamie said. "We're using the buddy system tonight."

That earned a squint of inquiry from Sonny. Livvie was already moving toward the stairs with the kids.

"Lock both doors," I reminded Sonny as he walked by me. My mother's apartment, carved out of the old master bedroom, dressing room, and study, had two doors, one out to the landing for the grand staircase, and one to a narrow set of stairs that in Windsholme's original design had led to the kitchen, allowing staff to come and go without being observed by family or guests.

Sonny nodded to show he understood. "Where will you be?"

"Billiards room."

When Tom and I got there, Pete, bored to death with no one to talk to but a corpse, was eager for news. We told him he'd have to wait until Sonny and Jamie arrived, which they did five minutes later. Sonny was toweling off his hair.

"What is going—whoa!" Sonny had spotted our unwanted guest. "What the what?"

Evidently, Jamie hadn't tipped Sonny off to anything. It was worth it to see his response.

"It's a long story," I answered. "We should all sit down."

Sonny fetched a dining chair from the main salon and joined the circle.

After we'd explained the dead man's continuing presence and our assumptions about the manner of his death, Sonny said, "Livvie's gonna want to hear this."

"I'll walk you up to stay with your kids and escort Livvie back here," Pete volunteered.

When Livvie arrived, we had to start all over again. She'd changed into a soft green sweatshirt and sweatpants that belonged to Mom, who was eight inches shorter. The sleeves fell just below Livvie's elbows and the pant legs just below her knees.

We told the beginning again, and then Tom and I went on to relate our conversations with the wedding party and our other guests, tag-team fashion.

"So let me get this straight," Livvie said when we were finished. "Neither Zoey nor Jamie knows this guy, but he was at the rehearsal dinner, yukking it up with the other guests like he belonged."

"And then he got himself murdered," Pete said. "Extreme behavior, even for a wedding crasher."

"We think he got himself murdered," Tom added for absolute accuracy.

"Right," I confirmed. "Did you talk to him at the cocktail party or the rehearsal dinner?"

"I was in the kitchen the whole time." Livvie stood up and went to look at the man. She studied him for several moments, head bent toward him, eyes intent. "I didn't see him at the cocktail party," she said, slowly. "But I'm sure I've seen him before."

"Where?" Tom asked. "When?"

"This week in Busman's Harbor," Livvie answered. "Tuesday, I think."

"Where, specifically?" Tom pressed.

Livvie drew in a deep breath and then said very quickly. "He was going into Lupine Design on Tuesday as I left work. Zoey let him in the studio door."

We were silent for a moment, all eyes on Jamie. Zoey had lied to all of us, but on the eve of their wedding, her lie to him felt like a particular betrayal. Why would she have done that? The Zoey I knew was honest and direct. It was a major reason our business partnership, and our friendship, worked.

We all shifted in our chairs. What to do next?

Livvie made the suggestion. "I think Julia and I should talk to Zoey, so she doesn't feel like she's being grilled by the police. No offense." She looked at Tom.

Jamie said, "I'm going with you." He didn't say more, but his face said it all. He was hurt and confused.

"Jamie," Livvie cautioned, "you're upset. There must be a reason Zoey claimed she didn't know the man. It's probably something embarrassing. It might be easier for her to tell us if you're not there."

"Or maybe I'm the only one she'll tell."

"She hasn't so far." Livvie let that statement sit there for a moment before she went on. "Let us try. If we don't get anywhere, then you can try. It's better to have more than one chance."

Jamie didn't react immediately, but then he gave a short wave of his hand to move the discussion along. He was giving in for the moment.

Tom looked at Livvie. "You're right. Zoey may be embarrassed if she's confronted. She's most likely to talk to you two."

* * *

When we got to my door, I was pleased to find it was locked. Constance let us in and read our expressions correctly. "I'll be in my room if I'm needed."

I wanted to urge her to get some sleep but didn't know what the night ahead held. I couldn't be sure we wouldn't want her to sit with Zoey again. I remained silent as she floated past us in the hallway and entered her room.

Zoey was still on the window seat, but she looked a little better. Her eyes were swollen, but not red, and the pile of used tissues by her side was much smaller. She had changed out of her rehearsal dress and wore a pair of pink pajamas. The bottoms were printed with graphics of bouquets and veils, rings, and white high heels. The T-shirt top had one word on it, "brIDE!" It was the exclamation point that nearly broke my heart. This night was turning out so differently than she'd hoped.

Livvie went to Zoey immediately, kneeling by the window seat and taking her hand. "I am so sorry this happened."

Zoey waved a hand at the air, as if batting away a troublesome gnat. "No. I'm sorry. I'm being silly and selfish. It's just a wedding. Not even a wedding, a rehearsal dinner. That poor man is dead, and I'm fine. We're all fine." She gave me a tentative smile that seemed to ask for confirmation. We are all fine.

I smiled back, equally tentatively. "Honey," I said, "Livvie has something to ask you."

Livvie hesitated a moment, as if figuring out how to start, and then began. "Zoey, just now I saw the body of the man who died. I've seen him before. He came to the studio at closing time on Tuesday. Do you remember? You let him in."

Zoey's brows came together over her nose, a look of puzzlement—or consternation. "That was the same man?"

"Yes," Livvie said. "I'm sure."

Zoey was silent for a moment, thinking. "I remember now. He had some sort of business proposition. I told him he should talk to Julia in the morning." She looked at me. "Did he?"

"I'm certain I never saw him before today." I was very sure no one had come to me during the week with "some sort of business proposition." And if they had, I certainly would have told Zoey about it, even if I'd turned it down. Our partnership was built on the free flow of information. And, if it had happened that way, on any of the following days wouldn't Zoey have asked me if I'd spoken to the man? Both of us had been up to our eyebrows in wedding prep, and Zoey had been putting in massive hours at Lupine Design to complete her own work and provide instructions to the other potters so she could take off the time for her planned ten-day honeymoon. Maybe that explained the lapse. Still, I shifted uneasily, foot to foot.

Livvie squeezed Zoey's hand and looked into her eyes. "Zoey, honey, whatever it is, we'll understand. Everyone will understand."

"No." Zoey took her hand from Livvie and clasped it around her knees. Her whole body was turned inward on itself. She was shutting down. She was shutting us out.

I put a hand on Livvie's shoulder. I thought pushing Zoey might make things worse, diminishing the chances she would tell us whatever it was later.

"We have to go. There are still things to clear up." I said. "Should I get Constance?"

"No." Zoey didn't look at either of us. "I'm okay."

She obviously wasn't. "I'll be back as soon as I can," I assured her.

"Don't worry about it," Zoey swung her pajama-clad legs off the window seat. "I'm going to try to sleep."

"Lock the door," I reminded her. "I've got my key. If you're asleep, I can let myself in."

Livvie rose, after giving Zoey's shoulder a squeeze, and we made our way out the door.

"That was a complete failure," Livvie said after the lock had turned behind us.

"Yes," I agreed. "What could possibly be so important about this man that she won't tell us what she knows?"

"You don't think—" Livvie didn't finish the sentence.

Not without her reasons, Zoey had something the three of us jokingly called her "daddy issues." That explained the man she'd had an affair with before Jamie. He was twenty years older and not quite divorced. But Mr. Clarkson? I tried to imagine them together romantically and stopped with a shudder. "She invited at least one other ex," I said.

Livvie and I looked at each other in complete agreement. "No," we both said at the same time. "No."

On the landing outside Mom's apartment, Livvie said good night and went to be with her kids. "I'll send Sonny out to walk you down."

* * *

Tom, Pete, and Jamie were in the billiards room when Sonny and I entered. I told the group what Zoey had said, not bothering to hide my skepticism that it was the whole truth. I wasn't going to accuse Zoey of lying, especially in front of her fiancé. I had only a feeling to go on.

As it was, Jamie paced around the room like a caged animal, his fists clenched at his sides. He needed to do something, anything. His face betrayed his anger and his helplessness.

Zoey was an honest person, but she wasn't beyond having secrets. She'd spent her growing-up years keeping her own counsel, hiding the chaos of life with her mother from teachers, friends, and their well-meaning parents. After her mother was murdered by a boyfriend, Zoey had soldiered on, keeping most of her former life secret. She'd had to tell Derek, because he'd been her boyfriend during the trial, which had been highly publicized. Besides, he'd been her lover at the time.

But so was Jamie. He was her lover, soon to be her husband, and the father of their child. I couldn't imagine what would cause Zoey to lie to him. Something big. Huge. That she could barely admit to herself.

I knew Jamie and Zoey well and had faith in them as a couple. I was sure Zoey would come clean to Jamie soon. Otherwise, it wouldn't be a good way to start married life. My ex, Chris Durand, had been a five-star keeper of secrets, so I knew how it felt when they were finally revealed. Terrible.

"I'm going to talk to her," Jamie said.

We couldn't tell him not to. He was her fiancé. The only hope was persuasion. "Give her some time," I urged him. "She's trying to rest." I looked at Tom and said as calmly as I could, "I think it would be better if we waited until we had more information to share with her, and therefore more reason to go back and ask again." Zoey was trapped in a disintegrating lie. We had to find a way to lead her out of it.

We'd been talking to people all evening and knew little more than we had known from the moment Tom had found Kendall Clarkson's wallet.

"Is it time to tell the other guests this man was murdered," Pete asked, "for their own protection?"

Tom shrugged his shoulders, the muscles rippling under his shirt, and then looked at the back of his hands. His cop's instinct was to keep his cards as close to his chest as possible. But that was warring with his duty to keep everyone in the house safe. "We have no reason to believe the killer is here. Numbers alone suggest that whoever it was went back on the tour boat."

"We've told them all to lock their doors," I pointed out.

"Which won't prevent them from opening them when someone knocks," Pete argued. "You've just proved that."

"Okay." Tom gave in. "But we need to get something out of the disclosure. We'll question the guests again to see if knowing the man was murdered knocks anything loose." He paused. "Jamie and Pete, you talk to Dan Dawes. Maybe a friendly face will jog his memory. Julia and I will talk to Constance Marshall and then Bill Lascelle. Each of them was holding something back. Sonny, are you okay to stay with Mr. Clarkson?"

"He's safe with me."

"Are you sure you want to be here on your own?" I was certain Sonny could take care of himself, but I felt I had to ask on Livvie's behalf.

"Don't worry about me." Sonny crossed his arms over his chest. "I'll be right here."