Free Berried to the Hilt by Karen MacInerney Page A

innocent until proven guilty,” I reminded her. “And there were lots of other people who didn’t like Gerald McIntire. He had a long list of enemies.”
    She looked up at me. “Really?”
    “Trust me. One of the archaeologists threatened to strangle him over dinner last night,” I said. “I’ll make sure the investigators don’t overlook that fact.”
    The tension in her doughy features loosened a bit, and I saw a bit of something like hope in her eyes. She picked up her knitting and continued with her row.
    “Now. What we need to know is, what did he do with the cutlass?” I crossed my fingers under the table, hoping that Eli hadn’t left the house with it last night.
    Claudette gave me a sharp look. “What about it?”
    “Are you absolutely sure he took it with him that night?”
    “I just don’t remember,” she said.
    “But it’s possible, isn’t it?”
    “He was certainly home,” she said. “And he usually left it above the mantel.”
    “But you don’t recall exactly,” I confirmed.
    She shook her head sadly.
    It was still worth considering, though. If Eli left the cutlass at home when he went out to see Tom, then anyone else could have come and gotten it. “Did you tell the police he came home—and may have left the cutlass?”
    “They didn’t ask,” she said ruefully.
    “You can still tell them,” I said. “When I head out, I’ll let them know you’ve got something to add.”
    “Thank you, Natalie,” she said. “Since this happened, I … I just haven’t thought clearly.” She paused. “Wait—I did see it. Because he was polishing it something fierce. I remember him putting it back up there.”
    “So it was back over the mantel at what time?”
    “He was back in at five-thirty, and we had supper at six, so probably by five-fifty or so.”
    “He went back out after supper?”
    She nodded. “Said he was off to do an errand, and then out in the skiff, to patrol the area. I told him not to, and he usually listens, but yesterday …” She slumped.
    “He didn’t take the cutlass, then?”
    “I never looked,” she said. “Stupid of me.” The needles clacked angrily. “It’s gone now, that’s for sure.”
    He hadn’t taken it right after supper, but that didn’t mean he didn’t come back and retrieve it. “Were you at home the whole evening?” I asked.
    “I went over to Emmeline’s after supper,” she said. “I brought her a skein of wool I’d dyed for her—kind of a pale gray-blue. We had a couple of cups of tea and talked about all the goings-on. I walked home around 10 o’clock, but Eleazer wasn’t back yet.”
    “Was the cutlass still over the fireplace?”
    She gave me a tortured look. “I didn’t look. I never thought …”
    “Don’t blame yourself,” I said gently, reaching over to touch her arm. “How were you to know what would happen? And even if it was gone, there was no way to know who took it.”
    “I suppose you’re right,” she said, but the anguish in her face didn’t ease.
    “At least we know that if someone took it, it had to be after six,” I said. “And since the door was unlocked, anybody could have gone in and taken it. Assuming it was there.”
    “That’s true,” she said.
    As Claudette’s needles clacked, I thought back to the previous evening. All of the guests had attended dinner, but had any of them left the inn later that evening? I seemed to remember the front door opening and closing a few times, but I had never bothered to see who was coming or going. The bigger question, really, was whether anyone staying at the inn knew where the Whites’ house was—or that the cutlass was kept above the mantelpiece. Eleazer might have mentioned it to one of the university archaeologists; but only Eli or Carl could tell me if that had happened, and Eli wasn’t available.
    The teakettle started whistling, and as I got up to fix the tea, I glanced at the clock. Dinner was coming up, and I needed to know if I was going to