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

opening day at the Snowden Family Clambake religiously for the last fifteen years. As they reminded me, they’d attended far more opening days in recent years than I had. The Kellys came out to Morrow Island several times during the season, usually when they had friends visiting. Over the years they’d developed a fond acquaintanceship with my late father, which they’d just this year transferred to me.
    Chuck came to the door behind Cindy. Like her, he was round and soft, with gray hair and glasses. They were retired schoolteachers from Massachusetts who’d been coming to Maine for the length of their fifty-plus year marriage. They were among the first people to move into Camp Glooscap when Stevie started it nine years before.
    “Come sit, come sit,” Chuck called.
    “Yes, of course, dear.” Cindy recovered from the surprise of seeing me at their door. “I’ll get some lemonade for us.”
    Chuck settled me on the redwood settee on the porch and sat in a matching chair across from it. While Cindy was in the kitchen, he inquired after Mom and asked me to give her their regards.
    “I’m surprised you’re not downtown for the Founder’s thingie,” he said to me.
    “I could say the same about you.”
    “Oh, much too crowded and crazy.”
    Cindy elbowed the screen door open and carried a tray with a pitcher of lemonade and three matching glasses onto the porch. “We stay away from town on tourist days.”
    Ah, one of the eternal conflicts of a resort town. The locals, who tended to live, at least partially, off the tourist trade, wanted as many visitors as possible, while the retirees, who had their own incomes, wanted just enough tourists to keep their favorite restaurants and shops open, and no more.
    “I’ve come to talk to you about Stevie,” I said, after Cindy had poured the lemonade and handed it around.
    Cindy’s hand flew to her mouth. “So it was Stevie in your clambake fire!”
    “The police told me this morning the dental records were a match.” Those same police had also asked me to keep that information to myself, but I didn’t see how I could have this conversation if I did.
    Cindy began to cry softly. “I knew it.”
    Chuck went into the house and emerged seconds later with a box of tissues. “Stevie wouldn’t disappear in the middle of the season. He hardly leaves this place except to go into town.” Chuck perched on the broad wooden arm of his wife’s chair and patted her shoulder.
    “Did the police talk to you?” I asked.
    Cindy nodded. “Yesterday. We told them he was missing.”
    “Did they ask about his family? I understand they’re having trouble notifying his next of kin.”
    “They did, but we couldn’t help them.” Chuck shook his head. “We were the first people to rent a site from Stevie. Signed the paperwork and gave him a deposit before the park was even finished. It was a big risk to take, but worth it. We had first pick of all the sites and ended up with this one, which I’ll argue is the best at Camp Glooscap.”
    As he spoke, he gazed beyond the porch, taking in the entire sweep of the campground as well as the water. A couple little boys fished off the long dock that extended into the bay. Kayaks and canoes sat upside down on the beach, their bottoms gleaming. It was an idyllic spot.
    “Stevie often joined us in the evenings for a little libation as he made his rounds,” Chuck continued. “In the beginning, our conversations were pretty impersonal, but over the years, we became close. We’re usually the first ones to come in the spring and the last to leave in the fall.”
    “We push it right up to the day the water gets turned off,” Cindy added. For the moment, it seemed her tears had ended.
    “We talked of lots of things,” Chuck said. “His hobbies—trains and the Civil War. Politics and the town. Cindy and I told Stevie about our family. He met our three kids and our grandkids over the years and always asked after them. The truth