Binkie raised an eyebrow but said nothing.
"Suppose he had hidden himself by camping out on the far side of the island, and Michael and I had found the remains of his campsite."
Mr. and Mrs. Dickerman started.
"I mean, if we were absolutely sure it had nothing to do with the murder, Michael and I wouldn't have to go out of our way to report the campsite to the police," I said. "In case they got the idea that someone on the island was aiding and abetting a fugitive by bringing Will food and beer."
Binkie thought for a moment.
"Hypotheticalry, if I were representing any parties involved in the situation you describe, I would work with the district attorney to arrange immunity from prosecution on the aiding and abetting charges in return for providing vital evidence in a homicide."
"But if what you say is true, the campsite isn't vital evidence, is it?"
"To the extent that a defense attorney might use the campsite to muddy the waters in a trial, the police might find the true explanation of its origin rather vital, now wouldn't they, dear?" Binkie smiled gently.
I gazed at her round weathered face and wondered how many sharp young district attorneys had, over the years, come to grief by mistaking Binkie for a harmless, wellbred New England matron.
"So in the unlikely event that we found this hypothetical campsite, we could safely assume it had nothing to do with the murder?"
"I imagine you could safely assume it was abandoned three or four days before the murder," Binkie said.
And from the look on her face, I doubted we'd pry any more information out of Binkie. I stood up to go.
"Sorry to barge in," I said, looking at the Dickermans. I felt sorry for them: Not their fault, really, how Fred and Will had turned out; or if it was, they were certainly paying for it now. "I hope you can work things out with the power plant and all. I know Aunt Phoebe's not sold on it, but I'm sure a lot of people around here would hate to see it shut down or change hands."
"Don't worry, dear," Binkie said. She smiled--not the gentle smile I'd seen previously, but the sort of smile that made me feel very, very sorry for anyone who might attempt to take the Central Monhegan Power Company away from the Dickermans.
Just then, we heard frantic knocking at the door. Both of the Dickermans leapt to answer it, then returned almost immediately with Mamie and Dad at their heels.
"Ah, Mamie thought we'd find you up here!" Dad exclaimed. I was about to ask what he wanted me for, but then I realized he was looking at Binkie.
"Dr. Langslow suggested that we might want a couple of doctors to examine Resnick's body," Mamie said. "Just in case there's anything significant that doesn't… uh, last. Seemed like a good idea."
"Yes," Binkie said. "Provided you have some responsible witnesses to supervise the proceedings, of course."
"We thought perhaps you could do that," Mamie said.
"Of course," Binkie said. "Shall we go now?"
"Well, first we have to find John Peabody," Dad said. "He's the only other doctor we know of on the island, and we haven't seen him all day."
"Off finding a bit of peace and quiet, I imagine," Winnie said. Having met Mrs. Peabody, I imagined he was right.
"Winnie and I can find John, then meet you at the Anchor Inn," Binkie said. "We'll see you later, then," she told the Dickermans, and shooed the rest of us out. She and Winnie hiked off in search of Dr. Peabody while Mamie, Dad, Michael, and I took what Mamie assured us was a shortcut to the Anchor Inn.
"Oh, Meg," Dad said as we strolled. "Mrs. Peabody said you had her digital camera and could take some pictures."
"What a great idea," Michael said.
I rolled my eyes, wondering whether I really wanted to be involved in this.
Just then, we rounded a turn in the path and I caught sight of a cottage I hadn't seen before.
"Mamie," I said. "That's Rhapsody's cottage, isn't it?"
"Why yes," she said, beaming. "How did you know?"
"Just a lucky guess," I murmured.
Chapter 27
Touch Not the Puffin
Unlike Aunt Phoebe's cottage, which was just a small weathered saltbox, this really looked like a fairy-tale cottage. Rhapsody had painted it various shades of lilac and lavender, with blue trim. The blue tile roof hadn't weathered the hurricane well, and several of the blue-and-lavender shutters had come loose, revealing, rather than protecting, the small diamond-shaped windowpanes. Dead vines covered the front. The vines probably bore purple flowers during Monhegan's brief summer, but they looked pretty stark now. Still, the effect was charming, in a cloying sort of way. I half-expected to see Hansel and Gretel walk around from the backyard, munching on chunks of marzipan windowpane and gingerbread woodwork. The door knocker was shaped like a unicorn's head, complete with a wickedly sharp horn, and I wondered how many people had impaled themselves on it.