“You’ve probably had breakfast,” he said when she picked up the phone.
“Are you kidding? I haven’t had time. My son’s finally here—well, he’s not with me right now. He’s off on an adventure with his uncle Joe. His twice-removed great-great-half-uncle, I think?”
He chuckled. “Things are happening fast for you. How’s the foot?”
“Better. Sometimes I even forget I’m lugging a concrete abutment around.” Today, that was true. “How’s your mother?”
“She’s well enough to be helping out at the artisan fair today.”
“Good for her. She wasn’t having a great time the other day.”
“Yeah,” he said solemnly. “That happens sometimes.” Then he perked up again. “So how about breakfast? Or call it brunch? Jeremy had to stay in the city, so I’m on my own. I was hoping you’d want to ride up to the cliffs. The restaurant up there has great omelets. Or you can get my favorite—two fish cakes with poached eggs, salsa, and melted cheese. And it comes with a view that can’t be beat.”
“Sounds fabulous.” She didn’t have the heart to say she’d been there with her father. Or that it seemed like this whole trip was designed around good food.
“Can you be ready by ten thirty?”
She said she was ready anytime.
In what felt like no time at all, she and Brandon were on the deck at the restaurant, sitting by the railing atop the Gay Head Cliffs, gazing out over the water toward Cuttyhunk. Brandon explained that “Cutty,” as it was often called, was the most western island of the Elizabeth Islands, and that only a handful of people lived there year-round. The rest of the Elizabeths were privately owned by one family and were mostly populated by birds and flowers. As with every day that she’d been there, Maddie was enchanted.
Once the food arrived—Maddie chose blue-corn pancakes, because they sounded like one of the tribal recipes in her grandmother’s collection—she brought up the business of Grandma Nancy’s ashes.
“I can’t believe we’re still waiting for the death certificate,” Brandon said. “My mother says because it’s summer, people are on vacation. I guess it makes sense. But I mostly deal in real estate, so some of this is new to me. The death certificate comes from the medical examiner who works out of the regional office in Sandwich. George somebody, according to my mother. Apparently he either hasn’t determined the cause of death . . . or he hasn’t had the time to work on her case yet. My guess is it’s the latter.”
At least she now knew something. She hated to ask the next question but really wanted to know.
“Brandon? How long can they keep a body before it has to be cremated?” At least by saying “a body” and not “Grandma Nancy’s body,” she hoped she hadn’t sounded insensitive.
He shuffled his fork around the plate. “With cremations, they have to wait until they’ve signed off on the paperwork. If it takes weeks, they have ways to keep the body preserved. Because, unlike with burials, once the cremation happens, there’s no going back to double-check.”
And then came the big question lingering in Maddie’s mind. “Do you think the delay is because he suspects foul play?” There. She’d said it.
Brandon looked surprised, then slowly said, “Not that I know of.” It was obvious he hadn’t considered the possibility. “Why?”
She tried to brush it off. “I don’t know. I guess I’m just still trying to make sense of all that’s happened. And why it’s taking so damned long.”
He seemed appeased. “I’m afraid it’s a reflection of our times. Aside from short-staffing almost everywhere, these days some autopsies—unattended deaths require one—aren’t even handled in person, so to speak. The ME can use photographs, consult the person’s medical records, and follow other clues to come up with the cause. And the fact that Nancy was almost ninety will most likely be added to the mix.”
“So he might never see her . . . body?”
“Maybe not.”
“How bizarre.”
“I thought so, too, when I first heard it. But I’ve been told that with today’s technology, it’s become a solid method for learning cause of death.”
“And probably saves money.”
“For the state, yup. But I think if they do suspect foul play, they do a full-blown, old-fashioned autopsy.”
“No matter how they do it, I hope they get it right. And soon.” She was glad she’d at least addressed the possibility.
They ate in silence.
Then Brandon asked, “Maddie? Do you honestly think someone killed your grandmother?”
The words “killed your grandmother” jolted her. According to Lisa, no one on the island would have wanted to kill the “nice old lady.” Would CiCi have killed her to profit from the commission she’d get selling the property? Or what about Lisa? Could she have somehow hoped to cash in on Grandma Nancy’s death? But she’d known about Maddie all along, so she wouldn’t have expected the property would go to her.
