Carrie Alexander - Count on a Cop Page 13

  Sean passed his jacket from hand to hand. “I’m a grouch?”

  “That tends to go with being a hermit. But don’t worry. Pippa seems to have cured you.”

  Of course she was right. He’d come to the island to stew in his own juices, and what a waste of time and energy that had been. Would have been, if they hadn’t made him a part of their lives. At least for the short time that they were on the island together. There was no saying what would come tomorrow.

  He looked at Connie and said quietly, “You, too. You helped.”

  She patted his shoulder, then pulled back her hand when Pippa glanced up. “I’m glad that we were able to get to know you, Sean. Pippa and I have been alone…” Her eyes went to her daughter. “Alone on the island, even with my job. It was good to make a friend.”

  A friend. Was she trying to tell him to forget about the kiss? That since he’d stopped it, the kiss was no big deal to her, either?

  He went over to the fountain and dipped a hand into the water in the wide stone basin, then patted inside his collar and along his hairline. The sun was no longer high overhead, but he couldn’t stop sweating.

  Maybe because Connie appeared to be saying so long, goodbye, it’s been nice to know you.

  Hell.

  “What are you going to do,” he asked, “now that the party’s over?”

  “I thought we’d stay a few more days, spend some girl time together.” Connie’s eyes shadowed for a moment when she looked at Pippa, who remained absorbed in her notebook, and he supposed that she was leery about the girl delving into the goings-on at the Sheffield estate. “Tomorrow I thought we’d go on a hike and a picnic, then there’s a regatta in the afternoon. How does that sound, Pip?”

  “Can Mr. Rafferty come?”

  Connie opened her mouth. “Uh…”

  “Not this time, Pippa.” He forked a damp hand through his hair. “Your mom wants you to yourself.”

  “But you said you’d teach me more about investigations.” Pippa climbed to her feet. “I’ve been practicing. I made lots of new observations and I wrote them all down.”

  Connie shook her head. “Maybe we’ll see Mr. Rafferty at the regatta. There’ll be lots of new things to observe there.”

  “Actually,” Sean said, “I may be off the island.”

  Connie’s eyes widened. “You’re not going home so soon?”

  That was more gratifying. “No. But I’ll be having a guest. My son. He’s flying out from California.”

  Pippa caught her lower lip between her teeth. “Joshua.”

  “That’s right. I don’t remember telling you his name.”

  “I observed.”

  “You eavesdropped.” Connie dropped a heavy hand on her daughter’s shoulder. “Pippa, really. What have I told you? It’s not a nice habit.”

  The girl pushed her smudged glasses up her nose. “Sorry.”

  Connie let the matter slide. “Well, this is unexpected, but we look forward to meeting your son.” She blinked. “I mean, if we happen to run into you two.”

  “We’ll see about that.” He smiled grimly. “Apparently Josh got into some trouble out west and threatened to run away. His mother called his bluff by sending him to me early. I usually get him for most of August, but now she’s had enough of his behavior and wants him out of the house.”

  “Could be a good opportunity for you two,” Connie said.

  “Or it might be very bad. He’s angry with me, too. I can’t get anything out of him on the phone.”

  Connie gave Pippa a loose-armed hug. “Osprey Island will bring you together. Wait and see.”

  Sean wasn’t so sure. “Josh is bound to be dis—”

  He broke off at the sound of stamping feet as someone made their way through the maze. He’d thought all the other guests had departed. The Sheffields and their entourage had returned to the house. Even the caterers and orchestra had packed up and gone.

  Connie put a finger to her lips. “A straggler,” she whispered. “Don’t give away our location.”

  They waited in silence, grinning at each other with cozy coconspiracy as the maze walker made a wrong turn. “Goddamn friggin’ maze,” said a male voice. “The last thing I need…”

  Connie sobered. “I know who that is.”

  “So do I,” said Pippa. Her eyes were big.

  The footsteps stopped. In one of hedge doorways stood an older man, his bulk wizened by age. He wore dark work clothes and a sullen, sunken-eyed expression. His spade dropped to the ground with a pebbly crunch. “What the—What are you folks doing here?”

  “Walking the maze,” Connie said pleasantly. “Why are you here, Graves?”

  The gardener grunted. “Maintenance. This place ain’t nothin’ but a whole lot of extra work for me.”

  “Hmm. If you’re doing maintenance, you should have a rake, not a spade. And a waste bag.” Connie pointed to the small pile of trash she’d collected, mainly candy wrappings, as she’d trailed Sean through the maze. The older children hadn’t been as pleased as the younger ones that the Sheffields had awarded only goody bags at the completion of their race. “Since you’re here, you can clear the trash away. Thank you.”

  Graves scowled, not moving.

  Connie smiled, equally determined.

  The gardener gave up. He scooped up the refuse and walked away muttering, one weathered brown hand locked on the neck of the spade.

  Connie had a funny look on her face. “Graves has come around. He never wanted a part of the maze until the past few days. Lucky me—I get to give him instruction on hedge trimming before I leave the island.” She put her hands on her hips. “And did you see that he was carrying one of my spades? I believe that man has light fingers.”

  Over on the bench, Pippa opened her notebook.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  SLEEPING LATE wasn’t a luxury Connie had indulged in for a very long time. The experience was so unfamiliar that when she slowly came awake the next morning, she mistook the less-than-comfortable bed for her own at home. She tugged the sheet up to her neck and rolled over against a solid shape. She reached for Phil’s shoulder, but when he turned the face she saw was Sean’s.

  She bolted upright. No, the sailboat-patterned walls were not hers, but there was an extra body in her bed.

  She licked her dry lips. “Pippa?”

  “I fell asleep.” Pippa rubbed her eyes. She was on top of the covers and already dressed in boxy white capri pants and a sleeveless top. “You wouldn’t wake up.”

  “I was dreaming.”

  “I know. You said Dad’s name.”

  Connie blew out a breath. At least she hadn’t said Sean.

  Pippa sat up. “I still dream about Daddy, too.”

  “Aw, sweetie. I hope we always do.”

  “But sometimes I don’t remember his face. Or, like, he’s Dad but he’s different. And sometimes I just hear his voice and he’s not there at all. Then I wake up sad.”

  Connie hugged her. “You should come and talk to me when that happens.”

  “You’re always up already and running around the house yelling at me to hurry up.”

  “Not today. We’re officially on vacation. We have days and days together, to do anything we want to do.”

  “Anything?”

  “Whatever your heart desires.”

  “I want to see Cutter Head.”

  “Fine.” Connie got out of bed and into a robe. “After I take a shower, I’m going to make blueberry pancakes for breakfast. Then I think I’ll do tabbouleh for our picnic lunch. Except that needs to sit awhile, so maybe we should go on our hike first and take the picnic to the regatta.”

  She babbled on, through a lick-and-a-spit shower. That’s what her dad used to call it when she was racing at full speed as usual, on her way to cheerleader practice or her summer job lifeguarding at the community pool. She pulled on her skinny jeans and the striped boat-neck top she’d bought for the island because it looked so nautical. Not until Pippa and she
were sitting at the table in front of stacked pancakes and a bottle of blueberry-infused syrup did she ask the question she’d wanted to from the start.

  “Where did you hear about Cutter Head?” Her voice wasn’t as casual as she’d meant to make it.

  “I asked some of the kids.”

  “Asked them what?”

  Pippa concentrated on slicing into her pancakes.

  Connie sighed. “I guess I already know.” She could hardly expect Pippa to open up without going first. “I did the same thing. There’s a rock in the harbor, too, near the yacht club. I think that one’s more likely as a meeting place.

  “But, Pippa, you have to listen to me now, and I mean it. Just because you overheard a suspicious conversation is no reason for you to get involved. You’re not Trixie Belden. She’s fictional. Nothing bad will ever happen to her, even when she gets into a fix. Real life doesn’t necessarily go that way.”

  “Yes, Mom.”

  Connie almost regretted the lecture. If any kid knew that life could be harsh and hurtful, it was Pippa.

  But that didn’t change the present situation. “You are not to go off on your own. Under no circumstances, let alone ones that might be dangerous. Do you understand?”

  Pippa’s chin jutted a little, but she nodded. “Yes, Mom.”

  “Good. Because our primary object is to have fun. If we happen to overturn some…uh…”

  “Clue?”

  “All right,” Connie said with a laugh. “Have it your way. If we happen to find a clue that actually means something, we’ll tell the authorities. All right?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Trixie should always do the same.”

  “Usually she does. And then she solves the case anyway.” Pippa squinted one eye. “Mr. Rafferty is an authority, isn’t he?”

  “Technically, but he’s not on duty. This isn’t even his state.”

  “How far is Massachusetts from us?”

  “Not very far. Depends on the traffic, but at most a couple of hours by car. Why do you ask?”

  “I just wondered.” Pippa brought her empty plate to the sink. “I kinda wish he was coming with us today, but not if his son has to be there. I bet he’s a mean boy. He’ll tease me.”

  “I doubt Mr. Rafferty would let that happen, but if it did, you’d just have to tell me and we’d come up with some good comebacks for you.”

  Pippa giggled. “Uncle Ray told me about the names you used to call him.”

  “He deserved every one of them, too. Sez Spud.”

  THE HIKE TO CUTTER HEAD was uneventful, although they had a wonderful time picking shells on the beach and scaling a hillside starred with daisies and buttercups. The tenacity of the small but sturdy pines that clung to the rock with gnarled roots summoned up an overwhelming thankfulness in Connie, as did the sheer, wild beauty of the place. She was glad to be alive.

  They returned to their cottage at noon, rested for a few minutes, then packed up their lunch and headed downhill to the regatta. Pippa swore she’d never been to a regatta, but Connie told her how they used to take her every Fourth of July to see the fireworks and the boats sail by with their colorful flags. Her heart ached as she watched her daughter absorb that detail to add to her small store of memories of her father.

  When they reached the village, Pippa was complaining about all the walking. So they decided to rent bikes for the remainder of their stay. They coasted the short way to the harbor, the old-fashioned wicker picnic basket Connie had found in the guesthouse strapped perilously to her handlebars.

  The races had already begun. Sloops dotted the water. Connie looked hopelessly for an empty patch of grass or rock among the crowd of spectators until Jilly Crosby caught her attention. She called them up to join her and Kay on the deck of the yacht club. Most of her VIPs had departed on the morning ferry, so there was plenty of room.

  Anders was nowhere in sight. When Connie asked, Kay shrugged and retreated behind a pair of big round sunglasses and a hat with a floppy brim that covered most of her face. Jilly kept up a steady stream of chatter to fill the silence, until her voice began to sound like the squabbling ducks. Connie tuned her out.

  The seemingly random comings and goings of the boats was confusing, but she and Pippa enjoyed the spectacle. Now and then they would hear the flat pop of a starter’s gun across the water, and another small fleet of boats would glide out to sea.

  Pippa went to the deck railing with her binoculars and her notebook, turning to burble to Connie whenever she made an especially exciting discovery: a sailor clinging to the line of a racing boat; a striped spinnaker; two boys winging pebbles off a row of mailboxes; and a fuzzy black dog who stole a hot dog out of a little girl’s hand.

  The afternoon grew long and Connie felt the flush of too much sun on her cheeks. She called to Pippa to come and help her pack up the hamper. Kay and Jilly had grown bored with the boat races and had disappeared into the club. They’d been laughing over martinis with several male admirers, but now even they were gone. Connie had thought of Sean on and off, and had searched again for him among the colorful crowd. But the only person she’d recognized was Rachel Wells, who’d been watching her from a plastic lawn chair parked along the side of the road. They had exchanged waves.

  The ferry bleated its arrival. Rumpled day-trippers gathered at the wharf to board for the return trip to the mainland.

  “Pippa, time to go. We’ve got a long trek up the hill with the bikes.” When there was no response, Connie realized that her daughter had vanished.

  She shoved her sunglasses up, anchoring them in her hair. The vivid, distorted colors of the harbor scene hurt her eyes. She squinted. “Pippa, where’d you go?”

  Connie found her around the corner of the wraparound deck, leaning perilously over the railing with both hands locked on her binoculars. She had them pointed at Siren Song, the Sheffield yacht. The couple was out on the deck. Even from a distance, Connie could hear their angry shouts.

  Connie grabbed the back of Pippa’s waistband and hauled her down. “Give me those.”

  “But, Mom, the Sheffields are fighting.”

  Connie bent to speak in Pippa’s ear. “That’s none of our business.”

  “Mrs. S. said she was going to throw her diamond ring into the bay,” Pippa persisted. “I wanted to watch where it landed. What if a seagull swooped in and grabbed the ring before it reached the water?”

  Connie hustled Pippa away. “Nonsense. They’re having a fight. Grownups do that. I’m certain no diamonds are ending up in the bay.” She looped the binoculars around her neck. “Go and get the picnic basket.”

  Pippa went, dragging her feet on the wooden deck. Connie lifted the glasses to her eyes, spun the knob to focus on the yacht. Just a quick look.

  Kay’s arm swung wide and her palm cracked across her husband’s face. Infuriated, he yanked her toward him, knocking her hat off as he got in her face.

  Connie dropped the glasses. She didn’t want to see any more. Ashamed that she’d looked at all, she moved swiftly to get herself and Pippa away from the club and its prime vantage point. But she half expected to hear the splash of a body hitting the bay.

  They were wheeling their cycles out of the bike stand when Sean called out. “Connie! Pippa!” He was just leaving the wharf with a teenage boy at his side. “Wait up.”

  Pippa moaned under her breath.

  “Hey,” Sean said when he reached them. His eyes creased. There was something different about him, beyond the boy at his side. He seemed…happier. “I’m glad we caught you.”

  Connie yanked a strap taut around the picnic hamper. “This must be your son.”

  “Joshua Rafferty.” Sean put a hand between the boy’s shoulder blades, bringing him forward. “Josh, these are the Bradfords, Connie and her daughter, Pippa. They’re the ones I mentioned, staying in a cottage across the island from ours.”

  Connie nodded. “Nice to meet you, Josh.”

  “Yeah, you, too,” he said without
quite meeting her eyes. He was tall for a thirteen-year-old, rangy like Sean but with a rounder face and a mop of wavy dark hair that brushed his eyebrows and neck. He wore a backward baseball cap, a baggy T-shirt and shorts that reached past his knees. He carried a backpack in one hand and a skateboard under the other arm.

  Connie smiled, relieved that Josh seemed like a typical teenager. “Welcome to Osprey Island.”

  He kicked a stone across the pavement.

  Pippa pushed her bike toward the road. She was usually shy around new kids, but she cocked her head at Josh and said, “You know you can’t use a skateboard here.”

  He tilted his head and sneered at her, pulling an I’m-older-and-cooler attitude. “Says you.”

  “I’m afraid I said it, too, son.” Sean set down the duffel bag he’d been carrying. “There’s no pavement except right around here. The rest of the island is all dirt roads.”

  Josh looked at the barren track of the steep road that led up into the forest. “What a stupid place.”

  “No, it isn’t,” Pippa said. “It’s the best place in the world.”

  Josh scoffed and turned his back. Pippa’s down-turned face was flushed, and she stabbed at the pedal of her bike with her foot, making it spin.

  Sean’s expression was apologetic, but Connie shook her head. “You two should rent bikes. We just did. It’s going to be a haul to get up the hill, but I’m looking forward to the next ride into town. All downhill.”

  “What do you think, Josh? The skateboard for a bike?”

  “I don’t care.” Josh put the board down and slung his backpack over his shoulder. “Do they have mountain bikes?”

  “We can check.”

  Connie and Pippa accompanied them to the bike-rental shop but stayed outside while the two males went inside. “I don’t like him,” Pippa said, but she had the same look on her face that she got with Molly Wells, the teenage babysitter. Guarded fascination.

  “Give him time. This is all new to him and he’s bound to be a touch defensive.”

  Pippa’s shoulders hunched over the handlebars of her bike. “Mr. Rafferty won’t want to spend any more time with me.”