Of course, murder had to be a new experience for the chief too. The nearest thing to crime Pirate’s Cove experienced was a bit of drunk and disorderly on the weekends. Maybe Carson was also feeling defensive. Maybe he was worried the State Police were going to take away his first and only murder case.
“When was the last time you spoke to Maples?” Carson asked. This too was not a new question. Did he think if he changed his wording, he might get a different answer?
“I told you,” Ellery replied. “This afternoon. He offered to buy the Crow’s Nest again. He told me I could name my price—within reason.”
Were Carson’s eyes more green than blue? It was hard to tell. The only thing for sure was they were as bright and hard as sea glass. “And what was your price?”
“I told him I didn’t want to sell.”
The dark and forbidding line of Carson’s brows rose skeptically. “And did he buy that?”
Ellery was momentarily confused. “Did he—”
Carson said with a trace of impatience, “Did he accept your refusal?”
“Oh. No. I don’t know. I think he thought I was still negotiating for a better price.”
“Were you?”
“No.”
“No?” Carson didn’t bother trying to hide his disbelief.
Ellery shook his head. “I like it here. I told him that. I wouldn’t be going to all this trouble of renovating the shop if my plan was just to sell.”
Carson looked taken aback. Or at least as taken aback as someone like him could look. “You’re planning to stay in Pirate’s Cove?”
“Well, yes. That was the idea. That was my great-aunt’s idea.”
Brow furrowed, Carson jotted down a couple of notes in a small black book. He had long fingers. His hands were tanned and strong, but the nails were neatly trimmed and filed. He wore a plain-gold wedding band on his left hand. Not exactly conclusive proof, but… The scratching of his pencil was the only sound filling the void of silence stretching between them.
Ellery watched uneasily. His mind was racing. Carson couldn’t think he’d done it. Could he? That was preposterous. And yet, there was something going on here, something in Carson’s attitude that made Ellery nervous. What was it that Carson knew and Ellery didn’t?
“How’s the shop doing?” Carson asked without looking up from his notes.
Ellery shrugged.
Carson raised his head. “Could you be more specific?”
“From what everyone tells me, this is the slow season.”
Carson’s mouth curved without humor. “But you’re turning a profit?”
“No.”
“You’re breaking even?”
Ellery grimaced. “No.”
“You’re losing money.” It was not a question.
Why was Carson hammering away on this point? Ellery said cautiously, “The renovations cost money, but that’s to be expected.”
Carson pushed back in his chair, said almost conversationally, “I remember your aunt. She was quite a character. And not one to beat about the bush. According to her, the Crow’s Nest had been running in the red for some time. The last time I spoke to her, she was weighing whether to sell up or close the doors for good.”
Ellery’s sinking confidence sprang another leak.
“Was she going to sell to Trevor Maples?”
“You tell me.”
Ellery stared into Chief Carson’s eyes. He could see Carson wanted to get his reaction, so okay. His reaction was confusion and guilt. If Great-great-great-aunt Eudora really had agreed to sell to Trevor, Trevor’s persistence made more sense.
“All I know is my great-aunt left the bookstore and her house to me, and I’m doing my best to turn things around. The business is doing as expected for this time of year. If there was an agreement with Trevor, I’m unaware of it. And Mr. Landry, Great-great-great-aunt Eudora’s lawyer, was unaware of it.”
Chief Carson nodded, made another note. “How would you describe your relationship with Mr. Maples?”
Trevor had been telling the truth the whole time. No wonder he had been so impatient and exasperated with Ellery’s decision to stay in Pirate’s Cove. Especially when it was probably obvious that Ellery had no more chance of making the Crow’s Nest a success than Great-great-great-aunt Eudora had.
“Mr. Page?” Chief Carson’s voice broke through Ellery’s reverie. He stared at the chief. Carson was tall and lean. He had an athletic build, but he didn’t tower, he wasn’t physically imposing. So why did it feel like he was taking up all the space in the small office?
“What?”
“Tell me about your relationship with Mr. Maples.”
“There was no relationship. He wanted to buy the bookstore. I didn’t want to sell. He wasn’t used to being told no.” Ellery shrugged.
“It’s fair to say the relationship was contentious?”
“I don’t know that it’s fair to say that. It’s not like we exchanged words.” Actually, yes, today’s encounter probably qualified as exchanging words. Both he and Trevor had been testy, and toward the end, Trevor had bordered on threatening. Ellery revised, “It’s not like we came to blows.”
“How many times would you say you and Maples argued?”
Meeting Carson’s cool and steady gaze, Ellery felt his scalp prickle with unease. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this, Chief, but you saw me in the Salty Dog this evening. I have an alibi. You can confirm my alibi. Right?”
“I saw you in the Salty Dog just after seven this evening. You were there for about forty-five minutes,” Carson agreed. “The ME’s preliminary examination puts Maples’s time of death between five and seven p.m. So as alibis go…”
Ellery could think of nothing to say. Should he keep quiet? Should he keep trying to explain? What was the real-life protocol? He had nothing to hide, and yet it was increasingly clear that Carson believed he was somehow involved.
Did Carson believe that? Or were these just basic interrogation tactics? It felt like they’d been sitting here covering the same ground for a very long time, but maybe that was how it was supposed to work.
Carson said briskly, “Mr. Page, if I may ask, where were you tonight between five p.m. and seven p.m.?”
“Here. In the Crow’s Nest. The shop was still open at five o’clock. I didn’t close up until six thirty.”
“Can anyone confirm that? Did you have customers? Deliveries? Did anyone stop by to chat?”
“I…”
No. His last sale had been at three that afternoon. He had received no deliveries that day. After the sale of the bookmarks, he did not recall anyone walking into the shop even to use the restroom.
Ellery had never been a fan of crime shows or mystery novels, but three months of running a mystery bookstore had given him a rudimentary understanding of how murder investigations worked. At least in fiction.
He said, “Wouldn’t someone have heard the shot?”
The downcast black crescents of Carson’s eyelashes flicked up. He studied Ellery. “Shot?”
“Yes. The businesses on either side of me stay open until five. If Trevor had walked into the Crow’s Nest and I’d shot him, surely someone would have heard that?”