A Fatal Feast (8 page)

“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “It could be. Tomorrow is Sunday, so we have no mail delivery. We’ll have to wait until Monday to see if there are any more.”

“We have people at the Yard who specialize in deciphering obscure codes. Of course, your FBI is good at that, too. Have you contacted them?”

“No. I didn’t think it warranted getting the FBI involved. There haven’t been any direct threats.”

“Well, no need to create a kerfuffle just yet. Let’s keep it in your pocket for the future.” George yawned.

I smiled. “You must be exhausted with the time change and all. I think it’s time I delivered you to Seth’s house.”

Mentioning his name reminded me of Seth’s errand in Portland. That he hadn’t said anything was curious, but of course he was allowed his own secrets. We all were, hard as that was to accomplish in Cabot Cove.

“I must look like I came home with the milk,” George said, rising. “I’m knackered. I hate to end this conversation. We see so little of each other as it is, and I relish every moment.”

“I do too, George, but I want you to get settled in for a good night’s sleep. I’ll call Seth to tell him we’re on our way, and then I’ll call a cab.”

To my surprise, Seth said he would swing by to pick George up. He arrived fifteen minutes later. The men greeted each other warmly, and we walked together to Seth’s car, where George deposited his suitcase in the trunk.

“What’s the schedule tomorrow?” George asked. “Will I have time to hire a car? I don’t want to keep badgering my generous host here.”

“Not really a problem,” Seth said gallantly. But I thought renting a car would be a good idea. I didn’t have an extra bicycle. I didn’t even know if George knew how to ride one, although I assumed he did. A car would allow us to get around easily without inconveniencing a friend or relying on local cab service. I hoped George would be okay driving on the “wrong” side of the road for him.

“We should have plenty of time,” I said. “I thought it would be nice to just hang out, as the teenagers like to say. A pancake breakfast at church, and then a walk around town. There’s a rental agency near the docks.”

“Sounds good to me,” George said.

“I brought in some dinner for George and me,” Seth said. “Nothing special, already cooked. Just needs to be heated up. Join us, Jessica? I bought plenty.”

“I’m tempted,” I said, “but I’ll pass. I’ll let you gentlemen become reacquainted over your dinner, and George, I’m sure, will want to head to bed early.”

Although it was somewhat awkward in front of Seth, George and I embraced before he climbed into the front passenger seat, and Seth got behind the wheel.

“I’ll drop Inspector Sutherland here at eight, Jessica. That too early for you?”

“Not if it isn’t for you and George. See you then.”

I watched them drive away and a sadness descended upon me. I hadn’t wanted the evening to end, and briefly regretted not taking up Seth’s invitation. But it was best for Seth and George to have time together alone. George was going to be a houseguest for a week, and I wanted them to establish a good relationship. They were both intelligent, thoughtful men who would have much to discuss. My presence would only interfere with their “man talk.”

I returned to the house and sat in my study reading through chapters I’d already written in the hope that it would spur some creativity. It didn’t. I contented myself with leftovers for dinner, changed into my nightclothes, and went back to reading a novel I’d started earlier that week. Maybe good writing by another author would get my own literary juices flowing. I enjoyed the novel and finished it a little before ten when I got up sleepily from my recliner, brushed my teeth, and climbed into bed.

It promised to be a wonderful Thanksgiving week with George here to be part of it. That reality brought a smile to my lips as all other thoughts—letters from some crazy person, Hubert Billups’s odd behavior, and my stalled novel—floated into the ether and sleep descended upon me.

 

 

 

 

W
hen I’d gone to bed, the sky put the lie to Jed Richardson’s forecast of nasty weather. It was overcast, but breaks in the clouds allowed stars to twinkle through. As it turned out, however, he was right. It just took longer for the storm to arrive than he’d anticipated. It erupted at three o’clock Sunday morning. Winds rattled the house, and torrents of rain poured down. It passed quickly, but lingered long enough to awaken me. I tried to get back to sleep but finally gave up at five.

I made a pot of tea, and read the morning papers, which had been left at my door until the sun came up over the eastern horizon, painting the clouds a vibrant orange. I usually enjoy early mornings, although I would have preferred to sleep a little longer this day. If sunrise was any indication of what the weather would be like, we were in store for what Seth would term “a fat day,” plenty of sunshine in which to enjoy my walk with George.

Showered and dressed long before Seth pulled up in front of the house, I was anxious to ascertain the sort of evening they’d spent together. Had it been pleasant and easygoing? I hoped so. I looked for signs in Seth’s expression. From what I could see, he seemed in good humor. I intended to ask him about his secretive trip to Portland, but that would have to wait until we enjoyed some private time together.

“What did you two do in my absence?” I asked when George got out of the car and held the door for me.

“Seth gave me a tour of his surgery,” he said. He climbed into the backseat and added, “or rather ‘doctor’s offices’ I believe is the correct term here.”

“For a while there, I wasn’t certain we were speaking the same language,” Seth said with a chuckle as he backed from the driveway. “Served him one of Charlene Sassi’s pies for dessert and he thanked me for the ‘pudding.’ And later he wondered if I played ‘draughts.’ ”

“Drafts?”

“That’s checkers.”

Language differences aside, judging from the demeanor of both men, their time in each other’s company had been positive. Spirits were high, and they took turns recounting what they’d discussed during their meal.

“Of course,” George said, “I didn’t last long after dinner.”

“I didn’t know whether he was tired from the trip, or was bored with the conversation,” Seth said.

“I assure you it wasn’t boredom,” George said quickly through a chuckle. “I slept like a baby. It’s a lovely flat, Seth, and I hope you know how much I appreciate you taking in this weary traveler.”

“My pleasure,” Seth said, sounding as though he meant it. “George was telling me about the psychological training Scotland Yard offers. They’re teaching their staff how to judge whether or not someone is lying.”

“How interesting,” I said. “Is it usually accurate?”

“Spot on,” George said. “It requires careful observation, but I’d say it’s close to infallible, although there are always exceptions. If the criminal element know the same signals we do, they can always find ways to outsmart the system.”

“Still, the information could come in handy in my practice. Patients are not always straightforward with their doctors.”

“Did he teach you?” I asked Seth.

“A few tips.”

“I’d love it if you’d teach me, too,” I told George. “I can use it in one of my novels.”

“Happy to.”

Seth dropped us at the church, where after the service we enjoyed a pancake breakfast served up by members of the congregation.

“I’m ready for that walk,” George said as we stepped outside, “and let’s make it a brisk one. I never should have had that last pancake.”

We set off for downtown, saying little and enjoying the bracing fresh air touched with the briny aroma of the waters that define much of Cabot Cove. As usually happens when I walk through town, I ran into friends who want to stop and chat. I was delighted to introduce George to those who hadn’t met him during his previous visit to Cabot Cove. Of course, I knew that our appearance together was going to spur on the gossips, who most likely would conjure up a closer relationship between us than was the case, but I really didn’t care. Rumors have a way of developing legs, as they say, and there’s nothing you can do to dissuade people once they’ve bought into them.

We stopped at the car rental agency downtown, and George arranged to pick up a vehicle later that morning. We wandered to the docks and watched the boats come and go, commercial fishermen hoping for a plentiful catch, and some die-hard recreational boaters who wouldn’t put their crafts up in dry dock until the first snow.

“What a charming place this is, Jessica,” George said after lighting his pipe. The aroma reached me and caused me to smile. My late husband, Frank, smoked a pipe on occasion and I’ve always enjoyed the aroma of pipe tobacco.

“Living here as I do, it’s easy to forget how wonderful it is,” I said. “I’m afraid I sometimes take it for granted. It takes a visitor from out of town to remind me of its charm.”

“It’s so—it’s so quintessentially American,” he said.

“Just a slice of America,” I said, “but a precious one.”

As we looked out over the water, I turned to allow the sun to play on my face. As I did, I saw Hubert Billups standing at the far end of the dock. George had rested his hand on my arm and felt me tense. “Something wrong?” he asked.

“No, it’s just that—”

George glanced in the direction I’d been looking. “Is it that bloke?” he asked. “The one who looks like a tramp? ”

“Yes. Well, no. He’s not a tramp. He lives in a rooming house near one of our industrial parks. He’s new in town. His name is Billups. Hubert Billups. He seems to spend a great deal of time watching me.”

“Watching you?” George scowled in Billups’s direction. “Has he threatened you?”

“No. Never. I haven’t even spoken with him,” I said, “but he has been spending a lot of time on the road across from my house.”

“That’s a bit sticky.”

“Probably not,” I said. “He’s harmless enough.”

“How do you know that?”

“I don’t know. I—”

“Is your Sheriff Metzger aware of this?”

“Yes. I mentioned it to him.”

“And?”

“He said he’ll send one of his officers to speak with him if he causes me any trouble.”

“I’m not persuaded we want to wait until he causes trouble.”

“I don’t want to create problems for someone unnecessarily,” I said. “I know when to call for help.” I smiled up at him. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a long time.”

“So you have,” George replied, looping an arm around my shoulder. He focused his attention on the water and boats again, taking contemplative puffs on his pipe.

“Let’s continue our walk,” I suggested.

We were leaving the dock when we bumped into my new neighbor.

“Hello, Linda,” I said.

She seemed in a rush but stopped to return my greeting.

“I’d like you to meet my friend, George Sutherland,” I said. “He’s with Scotland Yard. He’s visiting Cabot Cove for the holiday.”

“Oh. That’s nice,” Linda said, but she didn’t smile.

“A pleasure meeting another of Jessica’s friends,” George said.

“We’re not. I mean we just moved here recently,” Linda said. “I’d better get home. Victor is waiting for me.”

She scurried off, causing George to laugh and ask, “Is she always in such a rush?”

“It seems that way. I don’t know her that well. She and her husband bought a house down the road from me a few months ago. I invited them to join us for the holiday dinner on Thursday.”

“How large a gathering will it be?”

“Twelve.”

“And you’re doing all the cooking?”

“Not all of it. Linda is going to bring a pie, and Sheriff Metzger’s wife, Maureen, is helping.”

“Nice lady. I remember her from when you and your friends visited my family homestead in Wick.”

“And a wonderful visit it was, I might add.”

“A shame that a murder took place while you were there. You seem to have a penchant for being where murders occur.”

“Don’t remind me,” I said, laughing. “Come on, let’s go pick up your car. I think we’ve walked off those pancakes.”

 

“I’m so glad you and Seth had a nice evening together,” I commented as we settled at my kitchen table with steaming mugs of black coffee in front of us.

“He’s a fine gentleman, Jessica. He’s certainly fond of you.”

“And I of him.”

“He seems quite concerned about you.”

“Oh? What’s he concerned about?”

“Me, I suspect.”

It took a second for me to fathom what was behind the statement. “You mean he’s afraid that you and I might run off together?”

“He never said that in so many words, but it’s obvious that it’s behind his concerns.”

“Oh, dear,” I said, sitting back and shaking my head. “Did you say anything to him on that subject?”

He took a moment before saying, “I was tempted to but decided it was not my place to reassure him.”

“If you had said something, what would it have been?” I asked.

He paused again before saying, “A good question, Jessica. Had I been honest, I would have said that the vision of us running off and marrying is, indeed, a pleasant one to contemplate.” He smiled. “But you already knew what my answer would be.”

I nodded.

“Of course,” he added, “that doesn’t necessarily reflect what your answer would be—should you be asked, of course.”

“The truth is, George, it’s a pleasant contemplation for me, too. But we’ve had this conversation before.”

He held up a hand. “I’m not trying to raise it again, Jessica. But you asked.”

“And you answered honestly.”

“I’ve accepted the conclusion we’ve come to, that we are both busy, independent people, who while we obviously have feelings for each other have decided to leave things the way they are in our respective lives, at least for the near future.” A warm smile crossed his lips. “But—you did ask.”