Free Hide Yourself Away by Mary Jane Clark

Charlotte’s murder on that miserable husband of hers, or on anyone else for that matter. Other than thefireplace shovel, the only evidence was Charlotte’s diary, the earring, and the remarkably preserved silk handkerchief that had been balled up in the pocket of her evening gown. How, or why, Charlotte had gone to Shepherd’s Point, instead of to her marital home at Seaview, after leaving the country club on the night she disappeared was anyone’s guess.
    “Are you ready, honey?” Seanna’s eyes sparkled as she stood in the bedroom doorway, wearing her new outfit. His wife was thrilled about being invited to the clambake hosted by those rich “summer people.” Seanna had met Vanessa Vickers when she came into the antiques shop where Seanna worked part time. They had struck up a conversation, and Vanessa, after dropping a wad of dough, had magnanimously invited Seanna and her husband to the party.
    “Be right there,” he called.
    Al couldn’t bring himself to let his wife down. Seanna didn’t have much glamour in her life, and he was sorry about that. She deserved more than he was able to give her. She never complained about his long hours or the paycheck that never went quite far enough to allow them to go on a grand vacation or buy a bigger house.
    “Want to take your car or mine?” she asked.
    “Let’s take yours,” he said, running a comb through his thick, black hair. Maybe the clambake would be fun, though he doubted it. But perhaps it wouldn’t be a total loss. You never knew what kind of information you could pick up at a gathering like this.

  CHAPTER  
20
    The process had begun early in the day, when Mickey sent his crew out to pick fresh rockweed, a dark green seaweed oozing with bubbles filled with salt water. The bubbles were essential to the traditional clambake process, providing the steam for cooking.
    The bonfire was built with care, alternating layers of wood and rock. The blazing fire would heat the rocks to very high temperatures, and once the fire settled down, a bed of hot coals and scalding rocks would be left behind. The coals and stones were covered with the mounds of damp rockweed, the saltwater bubbles bursting when heated, emitting the seawater that would steam and season the food.
    All of this was done hours before the first guest arrived. Mickey Hager was fastidious in his preparations and took enormous pride in his job as bakemaster. Presiding over the clambake, he took care that the traditional cooking process passed down from the Native Americans to the early New England colonists and on through three centuries was executed to perfection.Mickey was so good at his job that Seasons Clambakes was booked for parties, weddings, class reunions, and corporate functions right through the autumn and already had plenty of commitments for next spring and summer. On the beach, at a private home, or at one of Newport’s many scenic locations, Seasons Clambakes guaranteed a distinctive good time, and customers were willing to pay well for it.
    The Vickerses were repeat customers, and Mickey knew their property well. A restored carriage house that had once sheltered the carts and coaches of one of the wealthy Newport summer families had been converted into a home with every possible convenience. While the Vickerses’ house did not have the grand scale of the Bellevue Avenue mansions, it did have many features that the “cottages” did not. Central air-conditioning, satellite television, and a Sub-Zero refrigerator with ice that came on demand from the opening in the door made living in the twenty-first century a lot more comfortable than it was in the Gilded Age.
    Mickey worked quickly, nestling layers of lobsters, steamers, mussels, and corn in metal baskets into the rockweed, arranging the racks to guarantee perfect cooking and flavoring. He and his assistant covered the area with canvas, trying to capture as much heat as possible.
    Mickey stood back and surveyed his work with