and made a shrugging face: Whatcan you do? Ned was … well, Ned was a dishrag, that was all.
At the other tables, talk had turned to the latest obstacle in Eastport’s race to historical correctness: the big white luxury yacht, parked down at the dock.
“Well, if we can’t find out who owns it, how’re we gonna get ’em to move it?” Matt Fairbrother, an Eastport town councilman, wanted to know.
Apparently the vessel had gotten tied up in the spot that the historical committee wanted for the pirate-fight tableau, the dramatic presentation in which my ketchup-and-wax bullets were intended to play an important part. But not, it seemed, if they couldn’t relocate the
Triple Witch
.
“Don’t worry,” Fairbrother’s companion said. He wore bib overalls, a T-shirt, and high boots turned down low. “I hear them yachts is fragile. Go bottoms-up, you look at ’em cross-eyed.”
Dark laughter greeted this statement, and I thought that the
Triple Witch
’s owner had better be found soon or a sinking party could be in the offing. Downeast seafarers can get pretty sniffy about mooring spaces, especially ones occupied by expensive toys.
“Listen, George,” I said, taking him aside as we went out. “How are you doing about all this? The murders, and Ellie feeling the way she does.”
George set his cap on his head and squinted. “Well,” he admitted, “I’ve been wondering about it myself.”
He took a deep, considering breath. “ ’Cause what she’s all het up about, basically, is an old boyfriend.”
“Yeah. And that’s why, I guess, I was wondering.”
When I was new in town, George came to my house to remove a bee’s nest from my attic vent. When the job was done, he was dripping with decades-old honey, the yard was littered with ancient honeycomb, and he’d been stung twenty-four times.
But he wouldn’t take a penny. He just said I coulddo him a favor sometime, maybe, and not to fuss about it.
“Did you know,” he said now, “that she taught him to read?”
“No. I didn’t.” Those books, I realized, and the look in her eyes when she saw them at Ken’s trailer. She’d been proud of him.
“Well, she did,” George said. “And I guess she told you she broke up with Ken, couple months before she started seeing me.”
“She did say that.” Suddenly I knew what he was about to say.
“I’d asked her, though. A number of times. Turned me down. She had something to take care of, she said, before she could.”
Wade and Ellie were coming down the wooden deck steps toward us. George watched her, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.
“She broke up with him,” I said, “so she could start seeing you. But she waited a decent interval so it wouldn’t be …”
George nodded. “A slap in the face to him. She’s like that. And I appreciate your concern, Miz Tiptree—”
No matter what, I could never get him to call me Jacobia—
“—but as for Ellie and me, anything she does, or anything she ever wants to do—”
She came up and took his arm confidingly.
“Well,” he finished, smiling down at her, “don’t worry about me in that regard.”
“What are you two talking so seriously about?” she asked, looking from my face to his.
“Old times,” he replied comfortably. “And about those dogs of Tim’s. I’ll do for them until the shelter can find ’em homes.”
Because, he meant, he didn’t want Ellie out there anytime soon, refreshing her memory of Tim’s death scene.
I looped my arm through Wade’s as we strolled downtown, while Ellie and George headed up to Calais to see a movie, George hoping it would take Ellie’s mind off things and her agreeing to it for his sake.
“Why’d you pay Ned’s check?” I asked.
Wade chuckled. “I didn’t. I paid his wife’s check. You know it’d come out of her household money.”
He shook his head. “Carla Montague. Pretty girl, once. Bet she wishes she’d married Kenny instead. She’d be shut of him.”
At the other tables, talk had turned to the latest obstacle in Eastport’s race to historical correctness: the big white luxury yacht, parked down at the dock.
“Well, if we can’t find out who owns it, how’re we gonna get ’em to move it?” Matt Fairbrother, an Eastport town councilman, wanted to know.
Apparently the vessel had gotten tied up in the spot that the historical committee wanted for the pirate-fight tableau, the dramatic presentation in which my ketchup-and-wax bullets were intended to play an important part. But not, it seemed, if they couldn’t relocate the
Triple Witch
.
“Don’t worry,” Fairbrother’s companion said. He wore bib overalls, a T-shirt, and high boots turned down low. “I hear them yachts is fragile. Go bottoms-up, you look at ’em cross-eyed.”
Dark laughter greeted this statement, and I thought that the
Triple Witch
’s owner had better be found soon or a sinking party could be in the offing. Downeast seafarers can get pretty sniffy about mooring spaces, especially ones occupied by expensive toys.
“Listen, George,” I said, taking him aside as we went out. “How are you doing about all this? The murders, and Ellie feeling the way she does.”
George set his cap on his head and squinted. “Well,” he admitted, “I’ve been wondering about it myself.”
He took a deep, considering breath. “ ’Cause what she’s all het up about, basically, is an old boyfriend.”
“Yeah. And that’s why, I guess, I was wondering.”
When I was new in town, George came to my house to remove a bee’s nest from my attic vent. When the job was done, he was dripping with decades-old honey, the yard was littered with ancient honeycomb, and he’d been stung twenty-four times.
But he wouldn’t take a penny. He just said I coulddo him a favor sometime, maybe, and not to fuss about it.
“Did you know,” he said now, “that she taught him to read?”
“No. I didn’t.” Those books, I realized, and the look in her eyes when she saw them at Ken’s trailer. She’d been proud of him.
“Well, she did,” George said. “And I guess she told you she broke up with Ken, couple months before she started seeing me.”
“She did say that.” Suddenly I knew what he was about to say.
“I’d asked her, though. A number of times. Turned me down. She had something to take care of, she said, before she could.”
Wade and Ellie were coming down the wooden deck steps toward us. George watched her, his eyes lighting up at the sight of her.
“She broke up with him,” I said, “so she could start seeing you. But she waited a decent interval so it wouldn’t be …”
George nodded. “A slap in the face to him. She’s like that. And I appreciate your concern, Miz Tiptree—”
No matter what, I could never get him to call me Jacobia—
“—but as for Ellie and me, anything she does, or anything she ever wants to do—”
She came up and took his arm confidingly.
“Well,” he finished, smiling down at her, “don’t worry about me in that regard.”
“What are you two talking so seriously about?” she asked, looking from my face to his.
“Old times,” he replied comfortably. “And about those dogs of Tim’s. I’ll do for them until the shelter can find ’em homes.”
Because, he meant, he didn’t want Ellie out there anytime soon, refreshing her memory of Tim’s death scene.
I looped my arm through Wade’s as we strolled downtown, while Ellie and George headed up to Calais to see a movie, George hoping it would take Ellie’s mind off things and her agreeing to it for his sake.
“Why’d you pay Ned’s check?” I asked.
Wade chuckled. “I didn’t. I paid his wife’s check. You know it’d come out of her household money.”
He shook his head. “Carla Montague. Pretty girl, once. Bet she wishes she’d married Kenny instead. She’d be shut of him.”
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