Berried to the Hilt by Karen MacInerney Page A

with all the brouhaha, I’d forgotten dessert.

What was I going to do? I had absolutely nothing planned for dessert … and I had a New York Times food writer at my table. “It’ll be a surprise,” I said, not mentioning that it would be a surprise for both of us.
    Excusing myself, I hurried back to the kitchen and opened the freezer.
    “What’s wrong?” Gwen asked. “Did I mess something up?”
    “No,” I said. “I forgot dessert.”
    Normally I would serve cookies, but I had just sent my reserves to the co-op. The only thing I could see was my two half-gallons of Blue Bell Homemade Vanilla Ice Cream which John had had shipped up from Texas especially as a treat for me.
    “I guess I can make parfaits,” I said, feeling a pang for the loss of my favorite ice cream. I kept waiting for it to be available in Maine, but the brand had only gotten as far as North Carolina—I had a while to wait.
    “No way,” Gwen said, closing the freezer. “You’re not digging into the Blue Bell. Not when we’ve got a whole tray of goodies in the next room.”
    “You mean the samples for the bake-off?”
    “Absolutely,” she said.
    “Not the cranberry pickle chutney, though. Or the gumdrops.”
    “Think streusel cake and pudding,” she said.
    “You’re brilliant, Gwen.”
    “You can thank me by doing dinner clean-up,” she said.
    “Done.”
    She retrieved the trays from the next room, and ten minutes later, we put the finishing touches—including a very small scoop of my beloved Blue Bell ice cream and a dab of cranberry preserves—on each plate.
    “Cranberry Island Medley,” she dubbed it. “We’ll tell them to fill out comment cards and pop them in the jar.”
    “Perfect,” I said, and ferried the first tray of plates out into the dining room. I hoped Gwen never went back to California; I’d be lost without her.
    _____
    I had just put the last dish into the dishwasher—the dessert, thankfully, had been a hit with everyone, including the food writer—when the phone rang.
    “Gray Whale Inn,” I said as I picked up the phone. I gazed out the window at the lights sparkling on the mainland, beyond the dark stretch of water behind the inn.
    It was Charlene. “I’m on my way over with Claudette and your groceries,” she said.
    “I’ll put her up in the Beach Rose room,” I said. “Thanks for staying with her this afternoon.”
    “I was poking around online today, and found out some interesting things about our recently deceased treasure hunter.”
    I leaned back against the wall. “Oh, yeah?”
    “He got engaged last week,” she said as if she were imparting an incredibly juicy detail.
    I didn’t catch the relevance. “Well, it’s got to be terrible news for his fiancée,” I said, “but how does that help with Eli?”
    “It’s all about motive, Nat.”
    “Why would someone kill him because he was engaged?”
    “That woman he’s down here with. What’s her name?”
    “Audrey?”
    “That’s the one.”
    “What about her?”
    “Well, someone saw the two of them kissing on the stern of the Lorelei ,” she said.
    Interesting. She had seemed upset the other day—was that just because of her boss’s death, or because he had lied to her? Although if she was involved with him and he’d died, of course she’d be upset. “How was your informant able to spot that?” I asked.
    “He was out hauling traps, and was watching the wreck site as they cruised by. It’s big news right now, and everyone on this island’s got binoculars, Nat.”
    “Still—it doesn’t make sense. If they were kissing, why would she kill him?”
    “Jealousy!”
    “I still don’t see it.”
    “Maybe she didn’t know,” Charlene suggested. “Maybe she found out last night, and killed him in a crime of passion.”
    That didn’t explain the cutlass and the missing research boat, but it was still a potential lead. “I guess it’s worth checking out,” I said.
    “Of course it’s worth checking out.