“I think cooking for me gives her a reason to keep going. She hasn’t wanted to go to her genealogy group or her book group at the library, or invite any of her friends over. And she hasn’t been going out for walks, the way she did last summer, remember?”

Aunt Nettie’d walked everywhere in town. She’d scolded if Maggie or Will said they were driving to the post office. “You have perfectly good feet. You young folks should be hoofing it.”

“She says she’s too tired to walk too far. And once winter sets in it’ll be harder for her to get out, because of the ice. So if cooking keeps her busy, then I encourage it. I make the sacrifice of having to eat it all.”

Maggie grinned. For over ten years now Will’d been a widower who didn’t cook for himself. She suspected he was enjoying being the object of Aunt Nettie’s home-cooking demonstrations.

“You give Aunt Nettie a big hug for me. Tell her I miss her.”

“She doesn’t understand why you don’t come up and visit more often. She likes you, Maggie.”

“I assume you’ve told her I have a job, and an antiques business. I can’t exactly race back and forth to Maine all the time.”

“I’ve mentioned those other activities of yours. Of course, she seems to think Maine holds certain attractions which should pull you away from everything else in your life.”

“You tell her Maggie has bills to pay,” said Maggie. “I’ll send her some postcards from the Cape. And I’ll see you soon.”

“Looking forward. Very forward,” Will whispered softly.

“Hmmm. I won’t mind that,” said Maggie. “Miss you.”

“Love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Maggie lay awake, wishing Will were there. But if he were, she’d have to tell him about the murder. He was very patient, but she had a feeling he wouldn’t be enthused about her getting involved. Not to speak of the adoption issue, which she was trying to repress this week.

She touched her R-E-G-A-R-D ring, rolled over, and punched her pillow. Hard.

Chapter 15

Homard et Langouste. (Two species of lobsters.) Signed aquatint by Swiss artist Fifo Stricker (1952- ) First strike of eight. Two orange-red lobsters, tail to tail, behind jade architectural window-like frame; Art Deco sun above them. Matted in gray; narrow black frame. 25 x 28 inches. Price: $895.

Since all that was left in Gussie’s kitchen was teabags, cans of diet cola, and two of the bottles of champagne Maggie had brought, Jim’s arrival the next morning bearing hot breakfast sandwiches from the Salty Dog Diner was a happy surprise. “My kitchen’s pretty much empty,” he admitted. “I had a feeling yours was, too.”

“Have you heard anything about the investigation of Dan Jeffrey’s murder?” Maggie asked, she hoped casually.

“Talk around town is it was a drug deal gone bad,” said Jim. “Bob Silva’s saying he was always sure Jeffrey was responsible for his kid’s death last spring. He’s just sorry he wasn’t the one to kill him. Frankly, no one seems too interested. I’m surprised a murder in town hasn’t stirred up more feeling.”

“Dan had only been around a couple of years. If he was involved with drugs and someone from Boston or somewhere else far from Winslow killed him, then no one here’s in danger, so no one needs to worry,” said Gussie. “Makes sense. This is a closely knit community.”

“Bob Silva. He’s the one you were telling me about, right, Gussie?” asked Maggie, taking the last bite of her sandwich. If anyone believed Jeffrey was responsible for his child’s death, wouldn’t that be a good motive? In addition to a mysterious drug dealer from Boston, whom she wasn’t ruling out. Or someone connected to the victim’s previous life in Colorado.

“Silva’s the one. When his son died of an overdose, pretty much the whole town went to the funeral.”

Jim nodded. “At first his dad, Bob, blamed everyone. His teachers, for not teaching drug education. The police, for allowing drugs in the community. Chief Irons had a hard time with him. Then Bob decided someone in the community must have given Tony the drugs, and got the idea it was Dan.” Jim shrugged. “No one ever proved where the boy got the drugs. They were prescription meds, so they could have come from anywhere. But Dan was the newest face in town, and he didn’t have a history here. Bob followed him around and harassed him. I think he threw a rock through the window at Cordelia’s once.”

“That’s more than just bad-mouthing someone,” Maggie pointed out.

“True. Ike talked to him about it more than once, I know. Bob has a tendency to drink when he’s angry, and he gets angrier when he drinks. After his son’s death…well, the whole town was making allowances for him. I guess Ike was, too. Or else he couldn’t do anything about it. Anyway, everyone pretty much ignored the situation.”

“It sounds awful for Dan.”

“Must have been,” agreed Jim. “As I think about it, that’s probably why I hadn’t seen him around town much the past couple of months. He was probably staying out of Bob’s way.”

“He’s the one Ike Irons said he’d be checking out when you asked if he had any leads in the case. He certainly sounds as though he had a motive.”

Jim shrugged again. “I guess. But I suspect Ike thinks he’s what they call in Texas, ‘all hat and no cattle.’ Bob yelled a lot, but I’ve known him all the years I’ve been here and the only time I’ve seen him throw a punch was once last spring when he and Dan got into it at the Lazy Lobster.” He looked at Maggie. “But, you’re right. He had motive. I’m sure Ike’ll be checking him out.”

Maggie wasn’t convinced. Besides, Dan Jeffrey, as he was called here in Winslow, was shot. You didn’t need to get up close and personal with someone to shoot them. “If I were making a list of suspects, Bob Silva would be on it. Just sayin’.”

“You’ve been spending too much time with your students,” said Gussie. “Or maybe with Diana.”

“Diana?” asked Jim.

“Remember? You said it would be all right if she helped us with the move and the wedding. She was here yesterday to help us pack,” said Maggie. “She’s had a rough time of it.”

“True,” Jim agreed. “Just don’t get too involved.”

“Does he sound like me?” asked Gussie.

“I mean, you’ll be heading back to Jersey after the wedding,” said Jim. “I don’t know how long Diana will be staying here, or what she’ll want to do next. She has no roots now. I suspect she’ll want to stick around here until she gets some answers about her father’s death.”

“Do many people in Winslow know Dan Jeffrey was her father?” Maggie asked.

Jim shook his head. “She’s only been here a few days. Dan didn’t tell anyone he had a daughter so far as I know.”

“You don’t think she’s in any danger, then.”

“Diana? I wouldn’t think so.” Jim looked at her. “Let me guess. You looked up her father on the Internet. Right?”

Maggie nodded.

“You didn’t think I’d take her on as a client without a bit of background checking, did you? Sure, I’ve got some reservations about her father and why he left Colorado so suddenly. But that guy he saw doing the shooting was freed.”

“What’s this all about? What guy? What shooting?” asked Gussie, looking from one of them to the other.

“I’ll fill you in after Jim’s gone,” said Maggie. “Promise.”

“In any case, there’s no double jeopardy. He couldn’t be tried again. There’d be no reason for anyone connected with that situation to follow Diana or her father to Cape Cod and kill him here. Unless there’s something we don’t know, that problem was solved. Over. Finito. Somehow I think the now-Mr. Jeffrey got himself into another mess here on Cape Cod. And this one he really did have to die to get out of.”

Maggie put up her hand. “One minute.” Her phone was ringing. She glanced down. “Diana’s texting. She wants to know if we’d like her to help again today. Chief Irons’s wife brought over flowers and she’s allergic.”

“Sounds to me like an excuse to get out of the house,” said Gussie. “But, sure. Tell her to come over. The more the merrier.”