Murder With Puffins(80)

We set out finally, with her battered velvet-covered sketchbook wrapped in several layers of plastic in my knapsack. Rhapsody stood in her doorway, waving a fond goodbye to us.

"Now look what you've done," Michael said. "I'm sure she'll come down to the cottage in a few hours, panting to know what clues you've discovered in her sketchbook."

"The sooner the better," I said.

"Do you really want her hanging around?"

"I want to get her into Mother's clutches as soon as possible," I said. "Now that Dad's home safe, Mother will start getting restless and looking for something to do. I think Rhapsody's just the thing."

"And what's your mother supposed to do with Rhapsody?" Michael asked.

"Well, either Mother will decide to take Rhapsody in hand or Rhapsody will be overwhelmed with Mother and begin imitating her. Preferably both. Rhapsody's an attractive woman, but I get the feeling she's been stuck in that Haight Ashbury Pre-Raphaelite-style garb since the late sixties. She could do worse than pick up some of Mother's style. And Mother would love to have a docile, cooperative protègé; she's certainly had no luck working her magic on me."

"Thank goodness," Michael said. "Much as I adore your mother, I like you just fine the way you are."

Well, those were encouraging words, I thought. Not to mention the look that went with them, which went well past encouraging. As a teenager, I'd always resented how easily Mother charmed my boyfriends. With some of them, I'd never shaken the feeling that they only took up with me in the hopes that ugly duckling Meg would eventually blossom into a swan like Mother.

Just then, Mamie, who had stayed behind to talk to Rhapsody, came out of the lavender cottage. She saw us standing there and strode up.

"I heard Jeb tell you to keep your nose out of this," she began.

"Yes, but when Mrs. Peabody insisted on dragging that miserable puffin up, I knew we had to do something," I said. "I mean, if we hadn't cleared this up, Rhapsody might have had to talk to the police!"

I tried to give my voice an authentic quaver, calculated to create the impression that Rhapsody was in genuine danger of being beset by the minions of the law, bearing handcuffs, rubber hoses, and truncheons. Whatever truncheons were. Mamie frowned, then nodded and walked off.

"Bring the damned camera," she said over her shoulder.

We followed Mamie to the Anchor Inn, where Jeb, Binkie, and Dr. Peabody already waited.

Considering how cold, wet, and miserable conditions still were outside, I found myself surprisingly reluctant to step inside the Anchor Inn. Get a grip, I told myself. It's dry, warmer than outdoors, and solidly built. Compared with some of the island buildings, the Anchor Inn, I felt sure, could withstand whatever huffing and puffing the departing Gladys could manage outside.

Yes, quite solidly built, and rather well insulated. Once we all stumbled inside and slammed the door shut behind us, the noise of the storm was a lot less overpowering. Almost muted. For some reason, that wasn't comforting. In fact, it was downright spooky.

"Quiet as a tomb in here," Jeb remarked. He sounded nervous.

"Let's not waste time, then," Dad said.

"This really isn't my specialty," Dr. Peabody said apologetically. "I'm a dermatologist."

Smart man, I thought. In grade school, when Dad had managed to give us the impression that as Langslows we were doomed to medical careers, Rob and I had debated at length what kind of specialist to become, our main criteria being the ease of avoiding dead bodies and large quantities of blood. I'd opted for psychiatry, but I had to admit dermatology seemed a reasonable choice for someone like Rob, who fainted at the sight of rare roast beef. Fortunately for the skins and minds of our countrymen, neither of us had actually allowed Dad to bully us into medical school. Evidently, Dr. Peabody's parents had found him more malleable. He looked greener than any of us, and we hadn't even gotten near the deceased yet.

Jeb led the way through the silent front room of the restaurant and back into the kitchen. We stood around looking at the door to the meat cooler as he fumbled through his pockets and finally located the key to the padlock holding the door closed.

"In here," he said after he'd unlocked and opened the cooler door.

Dad and Dr. Peabody peered in. I looked over their shoulders at the blanket-covered bundle on the floor of the cooler.

"Well, let's get him out here where we can take a look at him," Dad said.

Jeb and Michael looked at each other. Having taken my turn carrying Resnick's body when Michael and I first found it, I decided I could honorably wimp out this time and let the men do the heavy lifting.

"You'll need more light," I said. "I'll see if I can find some lanterns."