Boiled Over (A Maine Clambake Mystery) by Barbara Ross Read Free Book Online

never on a leash. Bud ignored the harbor’s leash laws, just as he ignored scores of other rules he viewed as infringing or annoying. But Morgan was so well trained, usually no one objected. Bunnie had ignored the dog since she’d come through the door with Bud.
    Bunnie ignored Bud’s remark as well. “As you know, we’re here to talk about Founder’s Day.” She looked at us expectantly, got no response, and continued. “Founder’s Day will be at the height of the summer season. We’ll have a windjammer parade and an art show. All the shops can have sidewalk sales. It will bring the tourists flocking.”
    “I like it,” Dan said.
    “You would,” Vee Snuggs responded. “Your ice cream shop is right on the pier. You’re selling an inexpensive, impulse purchase. Any day-tripping tourist is catnip to you. But I don’t see how a day-long celebration helps those of us in the hospitality industry.”
    Her B&B was across the street from my parents’ house. I’d been in and out of the inn all my childhood, hoping for some leftovers of the delicious scones Vee always had on hand for their guests.
    Bunnie looked momentarily confused, so I clarified. “A one-day event helps the shopkeepers, but for the lodging owners to get on board, the event needs to last the whole weekend, so tourists stay overnight.”
    “Founder’s Weekend, even better. I am loving this.” It was the first time Stevie Noyes spoke in the meeting. “Fireworks! I see fireworks and a concert in the park at night. A fabulous reason to stay over. And more events on Sunday.” He looked pleased with himself.
    I knew he’d come to town From Away nine years earlier and bought the RV campground. The place had a reputation as clean and well managed. My dad had liked him, and that was all I really needed to know.
    As much trepidation as I had about this committee, and about whether I could take on another thing beyond saving the clambake, I had to admit Founder’s Weekend was a great idea. The economy was still tough and Busman’s Harbor needed ways to bring the tourists back. If they came, we all would benefit.
    “How much is this shindig going to cost?” Bud Barbour asked. He ran a hand across his face and down his white beard. If he’d had a better disposition, he would have made a great Santa Claus. What was Bud doing on the committee anyway? He had no direct ties to tourism. He owned a small boat repair business on the back harbor used by the local lobstermen and fishing boats.
    “We’ll have to do a budget, of course,” Bunnie answered. “I’m sure we can get donations to cover most of the costs.”
    “But there will be extra cop details and fire and rescue, extra shifts for the harbormaster. Will my taxes pay for those?” Bud demanded.
    “Of course—” Bunnie started to answer.
    “Then I object,” Bud snapped. “We don’t need to spend our hard-earned money to bring even more terrorists to town.”
    “Tourists,” Vee Snuggs corrected quietly.
    “Tourists. Terrorists. As far as I’m concerned, they’re in the same boat. And hopefully it’s sinking.” With that, Bud stomped to the door, Morgan at his heels, and slammed it behind them.
    Bunnie sat at the front of the room blinking. Evidently, she’d never had the full Bud Barbour treatment before. But she recovered quickly. “I move this committee organize a Founder’s Weekend for Busman’s Harbor.”
    “I second the motion!” Stevie Noyes chorused.
    “All in favor?”
    Reluctantly, slowly, came a chorus of “ayes.”
    “Who, actually, is our Founder?” I asked.
    “That would be a good job for you, Julia,” Bunnie answered. “Why don’t you figure that out?”
    Too late, I remembered the first rule of all committees—keep your mouth shut.

Chapter 8
    August
     
    After the pancake breakfast I was free for awhile. Dan Small was overseeing the next event, the B&B Bed Races, where a dozen B&Bs attempted to beat each other in two-bed heats that pitted souped-up