A Zen For Murder Read online

  Claire laughed. “I guess she doesn’t like pistachios. I think most of the neighbors feed her—she’s well fed. I think she makes the rounds, and I’ve seen her sunning herself in the gardens up at the conservation area.”

  “Near the zen garden?”

  “Yes. Too bad she can’t talk,” Claire said. “She probably knows a lot about what’s going on around the island. She might even know who killed Zoila.”

  “Meow!” The cat looked up at Claire, then glared at Dom before continuing on her path along the length of the dock.

  “That’s exactly what we need. Someone who might have seen something but didn't realize it was important, so they didn’t come forward,” Dom said.

  “Yeah. But preferably someone who can actually talk,” Claire replied.

  Dom watched the cat amble lazily down the wooden dock toward the shops, thinking what a great source of information it would be, with the run of the island and no one censoring their conversations around her. The cat would be privy to all sorts of information.

  A light blinked in Dom’s brain, and he thought of someone else who might be in a similar situation but could actually communicate with them. “Kenneth said the Flannery kid rode his bike past Zoila’s yesterday on his way through the conservation area. Do the kids ride through there a lot?”

  “I think so. I remember Robby saying he has to give them a talking to a lot because the bikes are wearing down the paths.”

  “Maybe one of them saw something and was too scared to say so, or didn’t realize it might be significant,” Dom suggested.

  “Could be. We should definitely ask around,” Claire agreed. “If I was being called in as a consultant, I’d know exactly what to do next. But now that we aren’t with the police, things need to be handled differently. What do you suggest we do?”

  Dom was glad Claire was asking his opinion instead of dictating the tasks. Maybe this partnership would work out, after all. “I say we talk to Norma and find out just what Zambuco is up to. We might be able to figure out what he is thinking and anticipate his next move by the questions he asked her. Maybe you can talk to your nephew and see if he will give us any insider information on the case.”

  “Sure, I can do that. I don’t know what he’ll share with me, but every little bit helps and I feel like we had better get to the bottom of this ourselves before Zambuco comes up with the wrong conclusion and arrests the wrong person.”

  “And the real killer gets off scot-free.” Dom glanced over at the shops in time to see Mae coming out of the fish store with a brown paper package in her hand. Apparently, she’d traded jam for fish. Life was going on as normal here on Mooseamuck Island—the islanders seemed to be unconcerned that a killer was running around loose.

  An icy finger danced up his spine, causing an involuntary shiver as Dom wondered if Zoila would be the only victim, or if the killer was already busy planning his next murder.

  Chapter Twelve

  “And what do you two want?” Norma glared from her desk at Dom and Claire, who stood just inside the doorway of her studio.

  “We’re trying to help you,” Claire said softly. “Zambuco’s coming by. He found out you had a fight with Zoila.”

  “Already been by,” Norma snapped. “Asked a lot of annoying questions, just like you did.”

  Dom stepped inside the small studio and Claire followed behind him, then shut the door. The sun filtered in from the large window in the front, highlighting the bright colors of Norma’s paintings that hung on every inch of wall space. The closed-in space intensified the smell of oil and turpentine, and Dom stifled a sneeze. “What, exactly, did he ask?”

  Norma waved her hand in the air dismissively. “Oh, you know. Where was I this morning? What did I fight with Zoila about? Did I kill her? The usual interrogation stuff.”

  “And what did you tell him?” Dom asked.

  “I told him it was none of his business, just like it’s none of yours.”

  Claire flapped her hands against her sides in frustration. “We’re just trying to help. If you tell us what this is all about, we can try to figure out who the killer is and get Zambuco off your back. But when you remain silent like this, you’re making it seem like you did kill Zoila.”

  Norma pushed herself up from her desk and took a few steps toward them. Dom looked down at her feet and noticed she wore men’s work boots with round toes. The image of the footprint left in the sand at the zen garden drifted to his mind.

  “Is that what you think?” Norma thumped her cane on the floor loudly. “That I killed her?”

  “No, of course not,” Claire soothed.

  “Well, I didn’t.” Norma crossed her arms over her chest. “But I’m also not going to tell anyone what the argument was about or where I went. That information is confidential.”

  Dom and Claire exchanged a frustrated glance.

  “Can you at least tell us what you think Zambuco was getting at? Did he mention any evidence or what he thought a motive might be?” Dom asked.

  “He seemed to think that Zoila might have seen something in one of her readings. Some sort of premonition, and whatever it was, someone didn’t want her talking about it.”

  “Is that what you were arguing about? A premonition she had?”

  Norma shook her head. “No. And I’m not exactly sure Zambuco is barking up the right tree. See, Zoila had made a strange discovery, and if it was true … well, let’s just say there’s someone on the island who might not like it very much.”

  Dom’s eyebrows tingled. “Enough to kill her?”

  “Maybe.” Norma glanced out the window and Claire’s heart twisted as she noticed Norma’s eyes were moist. Was she about to cry? She’d never known the older woman to shed a tear before.

  Claire reached out and rubbed Norma’s arm. “Then why don’t you tell us what it is? We can help.”

  Norma pressed her lips together, then looked at Claire with clear, determined eyes. “I wish I could, but sometimes one has to honor their word above all. Even if it means becoming a murder suspect.”

  ***

  “Well, that wasn’t very helpful,” Dom said as they walked down the sidewalk past the quaint Crab Cove shops after leaving Norma’s studio.

  Claire chewed her bottom lip. “Why won’t she tell us? It doesn’t make sense. Is she covering for someone?”

  “Maybe she is trying to throw up a smoke screen.”

  “You mean like to throw us off track? Why would she do that if she wasn’t guilty?” Claire stopped walking and looked over at Dom. “You don’t really think it is her, do you?”

  Dom looked up. Two gulls flew overhead, their raucous cries piercing the air. “A lot of the clues do point to her, but still, I can’t see it. And there’s too many unanswered questions. We need to find out what was on that paper and where it is now.”

  “Not to mention the murder weapon.”

  “And the footprint. I couldn’t tell what kind of shoe it was, but it looked like a large boot with a rounded toe.”

  “A man’s boot?” Claire asked hopefully.

  “It could be either, and let’s not forget some women wear men’s boots.” Dom glanced back at Norma’s studio.

  Claire’s phone burst out in eerie science fiction music, and they both jumped. Cell phone reception was spotty on the island and they weren’t used to phones blaring out at random times. She pulled it out and looked at the caller ID. “It’s Robby. I’d better answer it.”

  Claire walked away a few paces, and Dom stared out at the harbor. The scene usually calmed his nerves, but it wasn’t very calming now. Too many thoughts were clamoring for attention in his head. And a murderer was on the loose. He noticed the ferry pulling up to the dock. Just as they had suspected, Zambuco wasn’t able to stop the ferries for long, which meant the killer could have easily slipped off the island. That might make finding him harder unless the killer was an islander, because if it was, their absence would soon become suspicious. Everyone knew everyone el
se's habits on Mooseamuck Island, and if someone deviated from the norm, there was sure to be talk about it.

  Claire joined him again, her face grim.

  “Did he tell you anything of interest?” Dom asked.

  “He was reluctant to divulge too much information, but I did manage to get one clue about the footprint out of him. I had to promise to bake him an apple pie, though.”

  “Oh? What was the clue?” Dom’s eyebrows started to tingle, and he unconsciously smoothed them with his fingertips.

  “They couldn’t make out the model of shoe, but they did find some interesting tiny pieces of shell in the impression. Jonah crab shell.”

  Dom’s high hopes deflated, and his eyebrows stopped tingling. “Crab shell? I hardly think that will help narrow things down. This place is loaded with crabs. That’s why it’s called Crab Cove.”

  “Not Jonah crabs. Those are only found in one remote place on the island. It’s off the beaten path so hardly anyone ever goes there, but it has a nice view of the lighthouse and I know one person who manages a visit at least once a week.”

  “Oh, really?” The tingling started up again. Dom didn’t need to ask who the person was, but he did anyway. “Who?”

  “Norma.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Claire thought about Zoila’s murder as she pinched the spent blooms from the purple petunia that hung from her back porch. The sun was just starting to set behind her as she took her last look of the day out over the Atlantic. It was unusually calm, which Claire thought was funny given the hectic events on the island.

  Her thoughts turned to the information Robby had given her and her gut tightened. Just because there were crab shells in the shoe imprint and Norma was known to go to that stretch of the island didn’t mean she was the killer. Lots of people wore work boots with round toes. And lots of people could have gone there, though Claire knew most people didn't bother because the beach was all rocky and there were nicer places that were easier to get to.

  Norma had implied someone else might want to silence Zoila … but who? And why wouldn’t Norma tell them? It didn’t make sense. Norma knew something, and the fact that she wouldn’t tell anyone didn’t bode well for her.

  “Meow.”

  Claire looked down to see the stray Maine Coon looking up at her with curious, green eyes. The cat had something in its mouth and Claire bent down to see what it was.

  “Hi, there.” Claire rubbed between the cat’s ears and was rewarded with a loud purring. The cat spit out the object—a shiny green leaf. Claire picked it up and then turned it over curiously.

  “Where’d you get this?” she wondered. It was a smooth, winterberry holly leaf. The plant was very rare in this part of Maine. In fact, Claire knew of only one place that it grew. “Have you been to Anna’s garden?”

  “Meow.”

  Claire stood with the leaf still in her hand. Anna Campbell was an avid gardener, just like Claire—at least she had been, before cancer made her so weak she couldn’t do anything but lay in bed. Thinking of Anna, who lay in hospice on the mainland with only a few weeks—maybe even days—left to live, reminded her of Ben and her heart clenched for him.

  She thought about how Ben’s name kept coming up in the investigation. That had to be a coincidence—Claire was sure sweet, simple Ben couldn’t be involved.

  Dom had said that Sarah and Shane acted strange when he asked them about Ben, and Kenneth had seen Ben speeding away from Zoila’s. She rubbed the smooth leaf in between her thumb and forefinger, her forehead creasing with worry. Ben was under a lot of pressure, with his mother being sick and off the island. That pressure could make him act strangely … but murder? No. Claire didn’t think so. He would have no reason to kill Zoila.

  Claire knew Anna and Norma were best friends. In fact, Norma had promised Anna she would look after Ben once Anna was gone. Though Ben was a grown man in his fifties and could function on his own for the most part, his simple outlook and limited capabilities sometimes made people think they could take advantage of him. Norma would protect him from that … but was she protecting him now?

  There had to be more to it. Something was going on, but Claire was sure neither Norma nor Ben had anything to do with Zoila’s death. She needed to find out who was up at the zen garden that morning, and it looked like her best bet was to talk to some of the kids around town and see if they’d noticed anyone. She made a mental note to seek them out before she met Dom at Chowders in the morning.

  “Meow!”

  Claire looked down to see the cat sitting at her door expectantly.

  “Oh, I see. You’re looking for your saucer of milk, are you?”

  The cat flicked its ears and looked from Claire to the door, and back to Claire.

  Claire laughed. “Okay, you win.”

  She went inside and poured some milk into a small bowl, which she left outside for the cat to drink at her leisure. She considered inviting the cat inside, but she never seemed to want to come in. Maybe when the weather got colder she would accept the invitation. It might be nice to have another living creature in the house to snuggle with on the long winter nights.

  Claire snapped on the light beside her favorite oversized chair that sat next to the big stone fireplace in the sitting room of her cottage. It was too warm for a fire, but sitting next to the hearth made her feel cozy.

  She picked up the crossword puzzle she’d been working on and settled into the chair, grabbing her half-moon reading glasses from the side-table. Then she opened the drawer of the table and peeked inside hopefully. She was in luck—a tiny piece of dark chocolate sat inside the drawer, right where she’d hidden it. She picked the piece out and unwrapped it, savoring the slightly bitter taste of the chocolate. It was an indulgence she allowed herself because of the many health benefits, and she often placed small squares of chocolate in various places around the house, usually forgetting just where she'd put them. It was always a nice surprise to find one.

  She finished the chocolate and turned her attention to the crossword. Just a few more words and it would be complete. Then she would turn in early … she needed to get a head start tomorrow if she wanted to get ahead of Zambuco before he came to the wrong conclusion.

  ***

  Further up Israel Head Hill, Dom sat in his kitchen, a plate of ravioli on the table in front of him. He’d tried his hand at making them … rolling out the pasta dough and placing a spoonful of ricotta filling inside. They weren’t as good as his Nonna’s or Sophia’s, but they were okay.

  He ate carefully, cutting each ravioli exactly in half, and eating one half then the next while he reflected on the events of the day. Working with Claire might not be so bad. Sure, she used emotion too much, but he had to admit getting an insight into how people thought and what motivated them to act a certain way could be fascinating. And she did come in handy given her connection to the police, even though Robby hadn’t given them too many good clues.

  He thought about the one clue they did get—the crab shells found in the footprint impression. Something didn’t sit right with that. How could they know for sure who had been to that part of the island? Dom wasn’t sure if the footprint was too smudged to be able to pinpoint the exact size and model of shoe. He’d have to wait to find out.

  A chattering from the birdcage caught Dom’s attention and he looked up to see Romeo preening Juliet’s aqua and white feathers. A feeling of sadness descended on him—the birds reminded him of what he’d lost when Sophia died.

  He balanced the last piece of ravioli on his fork and brought it to his mouth. No sense in looking back. Sophia was gone now, and he’d better make the best of the rest of his life, just like he’d promised her he would. And besides, he did have something to look forward to—Zoila’s murder case. For the first time in years, he felt hopeful again, as if a dark shroud was being lifted and he could finally see clearly. He just hoped he was up for the task.

  His eyebrows tingled, and he smoothed them out as he thought
about the many questions yet to be answered.

  What was Norma hiding?

  Why had Sarah and Shane acted so strangely?

  Was Ben involved somehow?

  Most importantly, what had Zoila discovered that someone wanted so desperately to keep quiet that they killed her?

  Another disturbing thought poked into Dom’s mind—Zoila might have told someone what she’d discovered and, if that was the case, the killer’s work might not yet be done.

  Romeo scuttled over to the edge of his cage and watched Dom intently.

  “Are you looking for a treat?” Dom picked a small piece of spinach out of his salad bowl, taking care to make sure it had no dressing on it, and held it up to the cage.

  Romeo looked sideways at the spinach with his bright, black eyes, and then reached over with his tiny beak and pulled the leaf through the cage. He chewed it quickly, then flew to the side of the cage, clinging onto the grates and looking right at Dom.

  “Burber Peepon,” he squawked.

  Dom smiled. Romeo’s words were getting easier for him to understand, but he wasn’t sure if it was because the bird was talking better or his ear was becoming more accustomed to the sounds. Either way, the bird had an uncanny way of saying the right word at the right time.

  “That’s right, my little friend.” Dom fed another piece of spinach to the bird. “We have yet to find the murder weapon … and when we do, will it lead us to the murderer?”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chowders was abuzz with locals finishing up their breakfast when Claire slipped into the seat across the Formica table from Jane the next morning.

  “Morning.” Jane slid a tea cup in front of Claire. “Where have you been?”

  “I was talking to some of the island kids.” Claire glanced down the table and nodded at Dom, who tipped his coffee cup toward her in acknowledgment.