Nantucket Grand by Steven Axelrod

Lab, who had followed us up the stairs and was pawing Andrew’s knee at every break in the petting. “Great dog. If there was a Nantucket flag, the black Lab would be on it. Maybe not this black Lab—” The dog cocked his head, sensing the change in tone. “Just kidding, buddy.” The dog’s tail thumped on the floor. I gave him a pat myself, while Andrew attacked the computer keyboard. “So how can I help you, Chief?”
    I didn’t know what I was looking for, or exactly why I had needed an immediate follow-up to his interrogation at the cop shop. I had no specific questions—just a general one: who was this guy?
    I glanced around the cramped office: floor-to-ceiling bookshelves, a canvas-covered wing chair with a floor lamp, and one of Jane Stiles’ Madeline Clark mysteries on the end table next to it. An oval hooked rug on the wide-board floor held a scatter of newspapers and magazines and a plate that had obviously been licked clean by Buster. It struck me as odd: the downstairs was scrupulously neat, with the exception of the kitchen table, which had the look of a very temporary glitch in the clean machine. I would have guessed the office was Thayer’s sanctuary from the housekeeping tyranny of a more exigent wife or girlfriend. Having done my homework, I knew Thayer was divorced.
    Suddenly the trip seemed worthwhile. “I’d like to talk to your girlfriend when she gets home.”
    He flinched. “Girlfriend?”
    â€œWhen does she get off work?”
    â€œI don’t have a girlfriend. Currently.”
    â€œFine—roommate, then. I just need to double check some things with her—or him.”
    â€œWhat are you talking about? I live alone.”
    I sighed. “No you don’t.”
    â€œHow can you say that?”
    â€œWell, there were two coffee mugs on the kitchen table when I came in.”
    â€œI leave dishes for the maid.”
    â€œOne of them had coffee in it.”
    â€œI’m absent-minded.”
    â€œCoffee with milk.” I nodded toward the mug on his desk. “You drink it black.”
    He stared at me. “You noticed that?”
    â€œIt’s my job description. Noticing stuff.”
    â€œWe walked past the kitchen door. The table was visible for two seconds! We didn’t even go in.”
    â€œI’m a snoop.”
    â€œThis is ridiculous.”
    I pushed on. “As we were walking upstairs I could have sworn I heard the back door open and close. And a minute or so later, I heard a car start. It’s probably just a coincidence, but your house backs onto the town parking lot. So the timing is good.”
    â€œThat’s crazy.”
    â€œWho is she?”
    â€œShe’s no one.”
    I smiled. “So, it is a she.”
    â€œWhat does this have to do with my house burning down?”
    â€œYou tell me.”
    He took a breath and let it out slowly, jammed his eyes shut and opened them as the carbon dioxide vented. “Okay. There is someone staying with me. Temporarily. But she’s not an—an arsonist. There’s no—it’s not possible. I don’t want her caught up with any more—with any trouble. She needs a break.”
    â€œWho is she?”
    â€œJust a friend.”
    â€œA high school friend? A new friend?”
    â€œShe used to come here in the summer. She’s had a shitty life, and it’s—oh, I know what you’re thinking—poor little rich girl. Nantucket summer chick couldn’t find the right lipstick at Murray’s. Well, sorry, but rich people have problems too. Just not money problems. There’s lots of problems besides money problems. You’d know that if you ever had any money.”
    â€œFather issues?”
    He coughed out a humorless laugh. “Stepfather.”
    â€œWhat happened?”
    â€œJust about everything. I’d rather not talk about it and it’s not my place anyway.