“A cheeseburger would be fine by me,” Will answered. “Although something that doesn’t require cooking would probably be a more intelligent choice, since I suspect we’ll lose power somewhere along the line.” He switched on the television set.
“Hurricane Tasha is currently passing over the eastern end of Long Island,” the announcer was saying. “She’s still a Category Three hurricane, with winds of approximately ninety-five miles per hour. Towns along the coasts of Connecticut, Rhode Island, Cape Cod and the Massachusetts Islands are preparing for her to hit there later this afternoon or early this evening, before she heads further north, becoming the first hurricane in more than a decade to make landfall along the coast of Maine.”
Will clicked off the television. “No change in the forecast. I hope Aunt Nettie will be all right.”
“Tom’s with her. And you said you’d already taken the porch furniture in and closed everything up.”
“And I have her car, so if it’s crushed by a tree it’ll be a Massachusetts tree,” Will said, pacing the room. “Her home won’t flood. It’s on that hill, and too high above the river to be touched by tidal surges. Wind or rain would be the problems, or falling trees or branches.”
“You’ll be home in two days,” said Maggie. “And other people in your family are near Waymouth. She’s not alone, Will. You deserve a few days off.”
“I do. You’re right. But I worry just the same.”
“Let’s get some breakfast downstairs, and then call Gussie and check in. Jim probably left hours ago to pick up his mother in Providence, assuming she made it in last night. If there are wedding-related errands we should do them before the weather starts going downhill. And I wonder if anything will change with Diana’s status today.”
“I’d guess the police will be focused on the hurricane for the next twenty-four hours,” said Will as they headed to the dining room. “They know where Diana is, and they’ll have to wait for forensic reports before they do much more. This isn’t CSI. Results take time. I’ve heard that hundreds of times from my friend Nick Strait. You drove him crazy about that case last summer, Maggie, but since I moved to Waymouth I’ve seen him a lot. He keeps calling to ask me to have a beer and tell me his State Trooper stories.”
Maggie nodded. “You see? I helped you renew an old friendship. Give Nick my best.”
“I’ll do that.”
“Speaking of talking to people, there are a couple of people I’d like to see before everyone closes up today,” she added, sitting down at the table. “Those blueberry pancakes look delicious. And are those pumpkin muffins?”
“They are,” said Mrs. Decker. “After all, it is the end of October. Even if we are expecting Southern company tonight.” She sniffed and headed back to the kitchen.
“Southern…oh, Hurricane Tasha.” Maggie slathered butter on her muffin. “Let’s stop somewhere and find diet soda.”
“My poor lady,” said Will, pouring himself a cup of black coffee. “I should have thought of that last night at the pizzeria. No diet soda for breakfast.”
“I’ll manage.” Maggie sipped orange juice. “I can be flexible.”
“Oh, I know that,” said Will, his eyes twinkling.
“Shush!” she said, elbowing him and blushing in spite of herself. “It’s already Friday, and we have to head for our respective homes Sunday. I don’t feel comfortable leaving…” she glanced meaningfully toward the kitchen door “…the situation the way it is. I’d like something resolved before we leave. I don’t want to drive off and leave Gussie and Jim newly married with…the situation…on their hands.”
“Maggie, it’s not your issue. They’re grown-ups. They live here. Jim’s a lawyer. It’s his job to handle…” Will lowered his voice and whispered dramatically in her ear “…situations.”
“Oh, shush. You know what I mean.”
“Drink your juice and finish your pancakes. Call Gussie and see what she has in mind for us to do. We’re here for Gussie and Jim, remember? Their wedding? Tomorrow?”
“I do, Will,” said Maggie, wickedly. “I certainly do.”
But as it turned out, Gussie had no immediate plans other than to “get a little more rest.” Diana was happily engaged in making medium-sized white bows for the church pews, and as Maggie’d guessed, Jim had left early to drive to Providence. Lily’s plane had touched down at one o’clock that morning.
“You and Will take some time for yourselves,” Gussie said. “Relax. Tonight and tomorrow are totally booked. You haven’t seen each other in a while. Enjoy!”
“We’re on our own?” said Will after Maggie got off the phone.
“We are,” Maggie replied. “But you won’t mind if I steal a smidgen of time to drop in on the wife of the chief of police, will you?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“I won’t take long. Promise.” Maggie dug in her bag. “I looked up the address at Gussie’s last night. It isn’t far. And she might not even be home.”
“I know there’ll be no peace if I don’t agree. Normally I’d check out the antiques shops in town, but I suspect nothing will be open hours before a major storm is expected to hit.”
“I’ll make it up to you.” Maggie kissed him. “The rest of the day is yours.”
“Promise?”
“Until the parties tonight, or until Gussie needs something, anyway,” she modified.
“Go ahead. I’ll call Maine and see how Aunt Nettie is. And I did bring a book,” Will admitted. “The new Paul Doiron mystery. Just in case. I’m discovering Maine’s home to some terrific mystery writers.”
“Love you!” Maggie blew him a kiss and headed for the door.
The storm might be several hundred miles away, but the sky was already darkening, and there was a freshening to the air. Occasional gusts sent the red, yellow, and orange leaves already on the ground whirling through the streets and up over rooftops, almost in warning of what was to come.
Most businesses in town were already closed; those still open had signs posted in their windows declaring NO BOTTLED WATER or WE HAVE CANNED FOOD. Maggie glanced at her fuel gauge when she saw a NO GASOLINE sign at one station and a long line of cars waiting at another. She had half a tank left. That would get her to Connecticut on Sunday, assuming the roads were open and not bumper-to-bumper. Would there be a shortage there, too? She hoped Will had enough gas to get off the Cape when he headed north.
Chief Irons and his wife lived on a street of medium-sized homes about a mile east of town. She pulled up in front. A grayed wooden jungle gym was in the side yard, the posts sunk safely in concrete. The street and yard were silent.
Mrs. Irons would probably think she was crazy. Maybe she was. But in case she wasn’t, she wanted to do this for Diana. And Cordelia.
Would the chief of police have already talked to his wife? On the other hand, not all couples shared everything in their lives.
Maggie had a quick flash of guilt about her decision to adopt that she hadn’t yet shared with Will. But that was different. She and Will weren’t married.
She rang the doorbell.
Although she hadn’t consciously pictured Ike Irons’s wife, the woman who answered the door wasn’t what she’d expected. Taller and slimmer than Ike, at about five feet ten inches, Annie Irons was a bleached-blond knockout. And knew it. Her skin-tight designer jeans and low-cut top left little to the imagination, and she was wearing more makeup than Maggie had seen on any four women since she’d been on the Cape.
Interesting at-home attire for nine-thirty on a Friday morning.
“Yes? May I help you?”
“Mrs. Irons?”
“Yes.”
“I’m Maggie Summer, a friend of Diana Hopkins. And Cordelia West. Could I talk with you for a few minutes?”
Mrs. Irons hesitated. “I guess so. Come in. Do you mind the kitchen? I was about to stuff a turkey.”
“That’s fine,” said Maggie, following her through an immaculate living room beautifully decorated with antiques, including a pine corner cupboard displaying a half dozen pieces of Fairyland Lustre that immediately caught her eye. Was Chief Irons’s wife a trust-fund baby?