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Chapter 3

Gilligan’s Waterfront Restaurant overlooked the Lewes-Rehoboth Canal that cut through downtown Lewes. Before its major renovation it looked like a boat used as a bar, with a restaurant that had seemingly sprouted from it.

Wayne was at the bar when we walked in, wearing jeans and a mostly yellow Hawaiian shirt. He smiled and held up a beer mug. I was hoping I hadn’t started anything I had no interest in pursuing. Surely, he knew if I wanted to date him, I would have by now. He was surrounded by a couple I knew from the Lighthouse Foundation Board and a couple I knew from surfing. If you can call what we do at Cape Henlopen surfing. Mostly we sit on our boards, joking around and talking about nothing. This was the town that had welcomed me back after my years of roaming.

“You’re about as far out of uniform as you can get.” I pointed at Wayne’s flip-flops and laughed. He laughed back. “I thought you’d be working overtime.”

He shrugged his broad shoulders. “For now, the case is being handled by the city police. Lucky for us, it happened on the street instead of at the ferry terminal.” That unapologetic lack of ambition was part of his charm.

“Let me introduce Lady Anthea Fitzwalter.”

Wayne transferred his beer to his left hand, dried his right on his jeans, and then held it out to her. She smiled and then pumped it up and down with such vigor that his beer sloshed. Obviously this was all unfamiliar to her, but she was making a when-in-Rome effort. Considering she was only here for a week, then she’d be gone, I appreciated it. Next I introduced Barb and Red Moulinier from the Lighthouse Foundation, and the surfers, Jerry and his wife, Charlie. All four put their drinks on the bar before submitting to Anthea’s athletic grip.

Wayne turned to talk to Jerry and Charlie about the repair work being done on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse, and Barb and Red moved closer to me and Lady Anthea. Red tilted his head toward Wayne. “Why won’t you go out with him?”

“Yeah, what could possibly be wrong with him?” Barb ran her eyes up and down Wayne’s pretty darn close to perfect body and giggled.

“Easy, now,” her husband of forty years said.

“I know him too well,” I said.

Barb looked at Lady Anthea. “That’s a new one. There was the guy whose hands were too small. The guy that mispronounced potpourri. The guy who used air quotes.”

Red picked up the list of the reasons I had ended, or never begun, relationships. “The guy with teeth that were too white.”

“Time to change the subject,” I said. I turned to Lady Anthea. “Red and Barb are finding musicians for the gala.”

Red pulled a business card out of his shirt pocket and presented it to Lady Anthea. “It’s just something we started after we retired.”

“He’s being modest. They run the best booking agency in southern Delaware. Every other event in Lewes uses them.”

“We aim to please,” Red said in an aw-shucks way. “We found your classical guitarist. Can we talk about that other matter?”

“An Elvis impersonator? Still, no.”

Barb reached out a hand to me. “Sue, we were just thinking you could sing a duet with someone.”

“You sing?” Lady Anthea sounded surprised.

“Maybe. A little,” I said. “But not with Elvis impersonators.” Just to be clear.

Red looked at Barb. “You can’t say we didn’t try.” He turned to me. “The guitarist will play while the guests eat, then you’ll sing, if we can find someone who is not an Elvis impersonator to sing with you, and then the disc jockey will play Elvis music for everyone to dance to on the beach.”

“Perfect!” I said.

Lady Anthea began laughing and took a step back, bumping someone. “Oh, pardon me.”

A slight, older man with thinning hair and a gentle smile had joined the crowd at the bar. I’d seen him around town but never met him. “It was my fault entirely,” he said.

Actually, it was. I wouldn’t have said so for the world, but he had moved in right behind her.

He held out his hand to shake hers, and my eyes automatically went to his drink. It was in a safe zone. “Peter Collins.” Brown eyes twinkled behind his round eyeglasses.

“Anthea Fitzwalter.”

“Is that a British accent I hear?”

“Yes.” To allay the fears of the pet parents she’d played super-duper British all night. Now her one-word answer made me think she was tired of it. “Do you live in Lewes?” she asked him to shift the conversation.

He took a sip of his cocktail. “I recently retired here from the cellular phone industry.” Then he turned to me. “You’re Sue Patrick, right? And you own Buckingham Pet Palace if I’m not mistaken.”

I smiled then pointed at Lady Anthea. “We’re co-owners. And you own the new antiques store on Second Avenue?”

“Guilty as charged,” he said with a chuckle. “I was on a buying trip to Manhattan just today.” He turned his attention back to Lady Anthea. “The Best of the Past is the name of my little shop. It’s an antiques store and art gallery combined.”

“Do you specialize in a particular period?” Lady Anthea asked.

When Collins hesitated in answering, I said, “I’ll go put our name in for a table.” I turned a little too quick and ran into a wall. With arms. Which reached out to steady me. “Chief Turner, how tall are you?” I asked. I had almost called him Chief Tall Drink.

“Tall enough.”

“Sorry, I meant to say how are you.” I really had misspoken. The serious buzzkill look on his face took away any fleeting inclination I may have had to tease him. He was in uniform—he seemed like the kind of guy who was always in uniform. His thick black hair had a little gray at the temples. He’d pocketed his Ray-Bans, and I saw that his eyes were blue. His tanned face was lined more by the sun than a lot of years. My forty-something estimate for his age stood.

“I saw your Jeep parked out front.” Something in his tone sounded like an apology, so I assumed I was about to get a ticket. Lord knows it wouldn’t be my first. “Can we talk?”

He walked away without waiting for an answer.

“Good to see you, Mr. Collins,” I said. The chief could wait.

Lady Anthea smiled at the antiques store owner, seconding my motion. “Any menu recommendations?” she asked him.

He gave the room a supercilious once-over, as if he smelled something bad. “I consider myself somewhat of a gourmet, so I’m not the best person to ask.”

Chief Turner was standing at the open door leading out to the deck. I’d made him wait long enough. “Would you excuse us, Mr. Collins?”

I pulled her arm, and when we were out of earshot, I whispered, “He’s not with the health department, so I don’t care what he thinks. Everything on the menu is good.”

She nodded that she’d heard me. I thought Chief Turner was going to lead me outside for our confab, but we stayed there blocking the doorway.

He scanned the room before he spoke. “We reached Ms. Trent.” The way he said the name should have alerted me that there was more to the story, and it would have if I hadn’t been getting tired. “She’s not Henry’s sister. She’s his fiancée, and for some reason she was very annoyed with us for getting that wrong.”

“As in engaged to be married? I mean, he planned to go back to Albany? Upstate New York is so far away.”

“Yes, she says he came here to take a job with you.” I probably imagined the emphasis on the last two words. “Says he works such long hours they haven’t seen very much of each other since he took the job. And not at all in the last month.”

“Long hours?” Before I knew it, I was speaking ill of the dead. “We’re talking about Henry Cannon, right?” Turner didn’t answer; I hadn’t expected him to. “I wonder why he never mentioned her?” I looked out into the night, like there might just be an answer out there. Or not.

“You can ask her tomorrow, when she comes to identify the body.”

That brought me back. “I can?”

“No, I didn’t mean that literally. Also, the number he gave you wasn’t a working number.”

I shrugged. “Wait, maybe it was when he filled out the employment application three months ago. Have you thought about that?”

“The area code was wrong for Albany, New York. I had my administrative assistant find Ashley Trent.”

“You’re implying he intentionally gave a bogus emergency contact? Why would he, or anyone else, do that?” I felt like he was blaming the victim, and doing it awfully early. “I have something to ask you. A rumor started almost immediately that Henry had stolen the dogs. One pet parent even said he was taking them to Canada to sell them! How did word get out about the murder within the hour, and how did that crazy rumor get started?”

“Not from my office, if that’s what you’re implying. And what makes you so sure he wasn’t about to drive that van onto the ferry?”

“Well, for one thing, he wasn’t in the driver’s seat.”

“He could have been when he drove up.” Both of the chief’s hands were in his pockets, and he was doing that leaning over me thing.

I gave him what I hoped came across as a sarcastic smile and raised the collar of my Buckingham Pet Palace polo shirt. “Where is his shirt? He was wearing it when he left Buckingham’s.”

I shook my head because I wasn’t ready for the image my mind had started playing and replaying of Henry leaving with the last of the four dogs. Shelby, who had helped him load the van, said something to him and he’d snarled, “Later,” without looking back.

I realized I had closed my eyes and snapped back to the here and now. Turner was really invading my space. “You’re in luck.”

He straightened and ran a hand over his hair. “How do you figure that?”

“The ticket stalls have security cameras,” I said.

“The van didn’t enter the parking lot,” Chief Turner said, “but, who knows, maybe the range of the closest one will include at least some of the street outside.”

“There’s an outside camera at the far end of the stalls. It would provide coverage of Cape Henlopen Drive, wouldn’t it?” I looked back at Wayne. No one from DRBA had told the new guy in town, Chief Turner, about that last camera.

“Sue, are you saying a CCTV camera could show someone wearing his uniform shirt to the ferry?” Lady Anthea asked. Honestly, I had forgotten she was standing there.

“No,” I said.

“No,” John, that was his name, said at the same time. He smiled. “Go ahead. I’d love to hear your theory.”

“Really?” A real live police chief wanted to hear my theory?

“Uh, no. Not really. But please, be my guest.”

I sighed. “His work shirt is probably covered in blood and holes from the stabbing,” I said. “I doubt the killer put that on. And he, or she, definitely wouldn’t drive the van wearing it.”

“The forensics team can tell me if they find fibers from it in the wounds. And I’ll look at the camera footage later tonight. If someone else drove your van to the ferry, it suggests the rumor isn’t true. And could be a big break in the case.” He grinned then said, “Hmm, isn’t there an old song about having that kind of luck?”

I did a double take at that last bit. “There is! It’s ‘All Shook Up’!” He was still being sarcastic as hell, but I loved that song. There was hope for this guy. “You’re an Elvis fan?”

He chuckled. “Uh, no. I am not in the Elvis army.” With that, he walked back into the restaurant.

I leaned closer to Lady Anthea. “Is there no end to that guy’s smart mouth?”

Turner stopped walking, but he didn’t turn around. His shoulders bobbed up and down. He was laughing, so I knew he could hear me. “We’re on the same team,” I said. “I have some very nervous pet parents. I’m afraid they won’t show up for the gala on Friday night….”

“Or that the unpleasantness will cause them to take their business elsewhere,” Lady Anthea added.

At that, Chief Turner turned back to face us and our eyes met. We had had the same reaction to her referring to the ending of a life as unpleasantness.

But that’s not what he spoke about next. “Why do you use that term, pet parent?”

Did I really want to get into that with him? I wasn’t up to any more eye rolling, so I just shrugged my shoulders. Besides I had just seen someone come in the front door that I wanted to talk to. “Good night,” I said.

I motioned for Lady Anthea to follow me and walked away. “Henry left Buckingham’s with four dogs. The pet parent whose dog Henry dropped off just came in,” I whispered to her. We pushed past the three-deep crush at the bar and made our way to the front door. “Dayle, this is my friend Lady Anthea Fitzwalter. We were just about to have dinner. Can you join us?”

She hesitated then nodded. “I would enjoy that, but I doubt I’ll be very good company. I’m pretty beat.” I wouldn’t have said it for the world, but she did look pretty wrung out. She was wearing a baseball cap with the LSD logo, Lower Slower Delaware, not her usual stylish self.

We snaked our way through the crowd to the hostess stand. “Long day?” I asked.

“Yeah,” Dayle answered, looking at the floor.

“Want to eat outside?”

They both did and the hostess accommodated us, seating us at a table on the deck and leaving us with menus.

I told Lady Anthea that many of the pet photographs at Buckingham’s had been taken by Dayle. There wasn’t much my partner could say since this was her first visit and I had dragged her out almost as soon as she walked in.

“I look forward to a more detailed look at all of them,” Anthea said diplomatically. Wow, there’s something to be said for this good breeding business.

Speaking of business, it was time to get down to it. It was just a matter of time before Dayle was on Captain Turner’s radar. I leaned in. “You heard what happened to Henry Cannon?”

“No.”

“Then you may be the only one in town who hasn’t,” I said.

Lady Anthea gave a snort, which was just this side of unladylike.

“You know how rumors start around here. Anyway, the fact of the matter is that he was killed this afternoon some time after bringing Dottie home.” The waitress had come to take our drink order. That was convenient because Dayle seemed to need a moment to get used to the idea that she was the last person, except the killer, of course, to see Henry alive. I almost forgot that I was at Gilligan’s, not at On the Rocks, and ordered an Orange Crush, but caught the error in time to order a glass of Chardonnay.

“How did he seem when he dropped Dottie off?” I asked.

“Fine.” Her left hand had flown to her lips and stayed there so she spoke through her fingers. One of those body language experts could probably say what that meant, if anything, but to me it looked like she might be sick.

Anthea put a reassuring hand on Dayle’s arm. “Dear?”

“I’m okay. This is quite a shock. Do you mind if I don’t stay for dinner?”

“Do you need a ride home?” Anthea asked.

“He didn’t seem nervous or …?” I asked.

“I can walk. My house is just a couple of blocks away. The night air will feel good.” She was getting up to leave, but stopped. “He was fine, just his normal self.”

She was off her stool, but Peter Collins was walking by and blocking her escape. “Oh, Peter,” she said to him. “I got your phone message. I’m sorry I haven’t had a minute to call you back. Can I telephone you in the morning?”

“No need. Everything’s been taken care of,” he said and walked on.

We waved goodbye to Dayle and watched her make her way back through the restaurant.

“Well, at least we found out Henry’s state of mind just before his murder,” Anthea said.

The waitress was back with our wine and took our food order. I ordered a crab cake—which you cannot go wrong with in Delaware.

“I’ll have the same.” I didn’t know if she really wanted that to eat, or if it was for expediency.

“Dayle said she’d had a long day, and she looked it. Don’t you wonder what a short day would look like if being home before five o’clock constituted a long one?” I mused.

“Hmmm.” She took a sip of her wine, then studied the glass. I noticed she’d almost emptied it. Finally, she looked up. “If it’s not too personal, may I ask if you’ve ever been married?”

“No, I’ve never been married.”

“You’re certainly attractive, so you must have had offers.”

“Yeah, I guess I’ve had my share of marriage proposals. How about you? Are you married?” I asked.

“I’m widowed. I was married to my soul mate.” Then she changed the subject back to me. “I enjoyed hearing your friends teasing you about being very picky about who you’ll date. Have you just never met the right person?” I guessed even an upper-class Brit would ask personal questions if you mixed jet lag with wine drunk too quickly in the summertime night air.

How much did I want to say? We were business partners and all our communications had been Pet Palace-related. “I’ve seen how cruel people can be to one another. How things can start out so right, and go so wrong. No thank you. I would rather be on my own.”

Something over my shoulder caught her eye, but she looked down right away. “Here comes the police chief. The young constable is right behind him.”

“What’s a young constable? Do you mean Wayne?”

She nodded.

John Turner sat down, uninvited. Wayne took the chair Dayle had freed up. Chief Turner was empty-handed, but Wayne had switched from beer to a mixed drink. Whatever happened to police officers eating donuts?

“Ms. Patrick. Lady Anthea.” The chief gave us each a nod.

We nodded back.

“We’ll be reconstructing the victim’s day. This business about taking dogs to their homes—do all the dogs get a ride home?”

“No, just when the owner requests it,” I answered.

“And pays a chunk of change,” Wayne interjected.

“Had he made any of his…?” John searched for a word. “Deliveries?” He hadn’t taken his eyes off me.

“Yes, one,” I said.

“Where was that?” His tone was very and where were you on the evening of blah, blah, blah.

I thought about how Dayle had looked drained and tired and not herself. I couldn’t sic this new police chief on her until she got some rest. “I’ll have to look at my records at the office,” I said. “I can do that in the morning.”

“It was Dayle, the pet photographer, with the dalmatian named Dottie,” Lady Anthea said. “We were just talking to her, but she left.”

Turner swiveled his head and scrutinized me, one eyebrow raised in disapproval. This sent my mind into cleanup-on-aisle-seven mode, but I was too worn out to think of a clever rejoinder that would say, this woman is not a justice obstructer. The look on Wayne’s face told me he was laughing on the inside.

I pinched the bridge of my nose and squeezed my eyes shut and thought about how a thousand years of upper-class British reserve had just succumbed to a cold glass of a fairly good Chardonnay. “Looks like she has a better memory than I do,” I said.

Lady Anthea looked at Wayne, by far the more approachable of the two men. “You’re from a different agency than he?” she asked. Both men nodded. “Is that why he’s in uniform, and”—she hesitated here, taking in his outfit—“you’re not?”

“No, ma’am.” Wayne’s big hand wrapped around his glass, dwarfing it, and he lifted it to toast her. “I’m dressed like this because at this hour, I take my orders from Captain Morgan.”