Fogged Inn Read Free Page A

breakfast, especially now that winter was closing in and most of them had their boats out of the water. “What’s goin’ on?”
    Bard looked pointedly at Jamie and Howland’s cruiser parked on the street and Dr. Simpson’s navy blue compact SUV next to it.
    â€œGus is closed,” I explained, reluctant to say more.
    â€œNo, he isn’t. Everyone knows Gus only closes for February when he and Mrs. Gus go to visit their kids out west.” Bard craned his thick neck, attempting to look down the stairs into the restaurant. “Something happened to Gus?”
    â€œGus is fine.” I wasn’t sure what else I should say, but Bard and his friends didn’t budge, so I added, “There’s a bit of a situation.”
    Which was like opening Pandora’s Box Full of Questions. The lobstermen bombarded me with plenty, until I finally announced I had to go. I shut the door, wondering what kind of rumors I’d just started.
    As I reentered the dining room, Jamie clicked off his cell phone. Dr. Simpson finished her call too. “They’re on the way,” she said to Jamie. He turned toward Chris and me. “You’d best cancel any reservations you have booked for tonight.”
    â€œGus is open every day, but Julia and I don’t serve dinner on Tuesday and Wednesday evenings,” Chris informed him.
    He nodded. “That’s a break. Did you lock both outside doors last night?”
    â€œYes,” Chris and I said at once.
    â€œWhich one of you did it?”
    â€œI locked the kitchen door.” Chris raised his hand.
    â€œWhat time was that?”
    â€œAbout eleven.”
    â€œI locked the street door,” I said. “At around twelve forty-five.”
    The layout of Gus’s restaurant was quirky. The old former warehouse sat on pilings on a boulder that thrust out into the harbor. The harbor walls were steep at that point, so Gus’s public entrance, which was at street level, led to a staircase that customers took down to the restaurant level. The front room housed a lunch counter and a few small tables. An archway opened to a second, much larger dining room, which had faux-leather red booths along the walls and tables at its center. The dining room offered one of the town’s best views of the back harbor, the working part of the waterfront.
    The second exit, the kitchen door, was at the back of the first room, behind the lunch counter and the open kitchen area where Gus cooked. The passageway to the walk-in refrigerator and the little hallway that led to the door to my apartment stairs were also back there. The kitchen exit opened onto a flat area of asphalt that offered a few parking spaces and a Dumpster. From there, a steep driveway climbed back to street level.
    â€œDid you lock the refrigerator?” Jamie asked.
    Gus glanced at the old walk-in with something that looked like affection. “Wouldn’t even know how. Bought it used in ’84. Never had a key.”
    â€œRight.” Jamie addressed Chris, Gus, and me. “You all can go. We know where to find you.”
    â€œThe hell I will,” Gus said.
    â€œCan I stay upstairs in my apartment?” I asked.
    â€œBetter not,” Jamie answered. “And we’ll need your permission to search it. I’ll get you the form.”
    â€œYou don’t think the dead man was up there?” I couldn’t keep the alarm out of my voice.
    â€œI don’t think anything yet.”
    â€œWho was at the door?” Gus asked.
    â€œBard Ramsey and some of the other lobstermen,” I answered. “I told him you were closed.”
    Gus sighed. “I’d best phone Mrs. Gus before someone calls to ask her if I’m dead.”
    â€œOfficer Howland will stay to secure the scene,” Jamie said. “I’m heading over to the Snuggles Inn to see if we can find out who this guy is.”
    â€œYou should bring me with you,” I