“She said the whole island was buzzing with rumors and misinformation. She didn’t remember much about the Martins, except that they didn’t live on the island for long. Naomi came out here to work at the inn and was very private. You know my mom, she gets everyone’s life story in no time, but not Naomi’s. She thought Naomi was hiding something, maybe an abusive ex, but that was just her speculation. Naomi had two cute little blond kids, a boy and a girl, who loved to build sandcastles on the beach.”
It took a moment for that to sink in, but when it did, Jack stood up straighter. “You said blond kids? And sandcastles?”
“Yeah, why?” Tilting her head, Heather flipped her ponytail over her shoulder.
“Something my sister painted, a watercolor.” He pulled out his phone and found the photo he’d taken of the piece of sketch paper that had slid under the refrigerator. “It shows a blond boy and girl building a sandcastle.”
Gabby got to her feet to look more closely at the photo. “I mean, it’s a common island activity, building sandcastles.”
The others came closer as well, everyone except Tina, who was scowling at him. He hadn’t mentioned the watercolor to her, mainly because she’d been busy with the shooting investigation.
“Cute kids, very blond,” said Heather. “But I’m not sure how this helps.”
Luke Carmichael was staring hard at the photo. “That looks like the inn’s private beach, the one you can only access by the stairs cut into the bluff. I recognize that rock formation.” He pointed to a rock jutting from the cliff, its profile like the beak of an eagle. “Was your sister spending time at the inn, Jack?”
“I doubt it. Jessie sticks close to home. If she went to a beach, it would have been one close by. When we used to come here in the summers, we’d go to Tern Beach.”
“Which looks nothing like this watercolor,” Heather pointed out. “So either she did go to the inn or she was working off someone else’s description.”
Everyone started talking at once, until Tina’s clear voice cut through the noise. “Let’s get to the point here. Gabby and Heather, what do you know about the two Martin children? Anything? Gabby, did you talk to them?”
“I asked Kate Mansfield about them, but she refused to say a word. She said she wanted to protect them from all that drama.”
“I checked the school records in Woodstock,” said Heather. “Linette and Lloyd Mansfield both graduated from high school there, two years apart. She’d be about thirty-seven now, and he’d be thirty-five. I did an Internet search on them but didn’t find anything on either one.”
“I followed up, and same.” Gabby nudged Heather with her shoulder. “Nothing against the quality of your work.”
Heather rolled her eyes. Obviously this was a familiar dynamic between them.
Tina was writing all this down in her notebook. “Marigold, how old would you say Adam Johnson is?”
Jack had almost forgotten that Marigold was there. She was standing guard at the door of the lockup, following the convo but not participating. “Mid-thirties. He never said exactly.”
Tina snapped her notebook shut. “We need to find out more about this Lloyd Mansfield. I know it’s a stretch, but he’s someone who has a connection to the island and a traumatic incident at the inn. Maybe he came back under a different name for some kind of revenge?”
For the first time in a while, Jack felt a seed of hope bloom in his heart. Tina had been right. This meeting had been very much worth it. They had a solid lead to follow up on. He could have kissed her.
13
After the meeting had dispersed, Tina confronted Jack in the pale sunshine outside the constable’s office.
“I should have told you about the watercolor,” Jack said before she could scold him. His gray eyes held hers. “It slipped my mind when the bullets started flying.”
“I want to see this watercolor and exactly where you found it.”
He jerked his head toward his truck. “Come on, then.”
“That’s okay. I’ll follow you. I borrowed a golf cart from the inn.” She was finding it difficult to concentrate while she was around him. The admiring way he’d been looking at her inside the constable’s office unnerved her. She needed to keep some distance.
“Fine, but first tell me how you’re feeling. Is your head okay? How about your arm?”
“All better. Never to be spoken of again.”
He shrugged and slid into his truck. She chugged along after him in the golf cart, cursing her own stubbornness. The thing only went about ten miles per hour, and she wouldn’t be surprised if it ran out of gas soon. He quickly outpaced her and disappeared down the road. As a silver lining, she had time to enjoy the beauty of the turning birch leaves and flaming red sumac bushes, and to think.
Sea Smoke Island was so beautiful, in a haunting, moody way. Had it been difficult for Naomi Martin to leave? Did her fear of a little gossip really explain her departure? Gossip usually died away when there was nothing to feed it. If they’d stayed on, and no further evidence surfaced to implicate Naomi, surely it would have all blown over.
She was still thinking about that question as Jack pointed out the spot under his fridge where he’d found the watercolor. That was how her mind worked. Things lodged in there and refused to quiet down until she resolved them.
