Free The Clam Bake Murder: A Windward Bay Mystery by Samantha Doyle Page A

what you have to say from out there?”
    “Because, frankly, your story insults my intelligence.”
    “Oh? I wasn’t aware you had any to be insulted.” I don’t know what made me crack wise like that, but it was all the excuse Mattson needed to cite probable cause and force his way in.
    “We traced your cell signal right away,” Kramer explained, “and it led through the woods. That alone would have been suspicious, but the way you’re dressed, your cagey behavior—”
    “Where did you go?” Mattson asked.
    “For a walk. Is that a crime?”
    “You went for a walk through the forest at night? Why would that be, then?”
    “I was looking for the Gingerbread Cottage. Always did have a sweet tooth.”
    My back porch light flicked out. The terrier from next door but one started barking, and that porch light switched on. Both officers palmed their holsters.
    “Did he threaten you, Sylvia?” Mattson asked.
    “Who? Bourne?” The Gaskells had named their little yapper after Matt Damon’s superspy. At least he’d finally lived up to his name, rooting out the bad guy.
    “Don’t play games with me,” he said. “I know Gordo McNair’s been here. You went out to meet him tonight, only he turned nasty. You felt threatened, so you called Deputy Langdale. God knows why he forced you to bring him here, or why you’re covering for him. Tell me where he’s headed.”
    I didn’t know why I was covering for him either, other than I wanted to find out myself—for certain—who the real killer was. Selfish maybe, but no one had wanted my help, they’d told me to sit back and watch. But the police and the FBI hadn’t found Gordo. I had. They hadn’t figured out the Elysium plot and the blackmailing of town officials. I had. Little old me, who everyone thought was a second rate baker’s assistant who’d done nothing with her life. This was my case to crack, my family to be avenged.
    But the gig was up. “I don’t know where’s he headed,” I said. “But I found him in the woods opposite Alice’s house. There’s a small hollow behind a fallen tree.”
    Mattson turned to his deputy. “He won’t be going anywhere near there again. I think you’d better call it in. Get Agent Jimenez on the horn.”
    “Just one thing before we do, Chief.” Kramer tore the orange and silver wrapper off a stick of gum as he addressed me. “Did McNair say why he stayed around in Windward? I mean if it was me, I’d want to get as far away—”
    “He’s trying to extricate himself,” I interrupted. “Alice’s murder—he’s adamant he didn’t do it. And he’s close to proving it.”
    “Did he give you a name?” asked Mattson. “Who he thinks killed her?”
    “No. But he’s convinced it was Alice’s lover, someone from Windward. Her diary confirms she had one. But I’m afraid all I have is an initial. If Gordo’s right, and that man is the killer, his name begins with the letter—”
    The shock of a gunshot made me cover my ears. Chief Mattson staggered back, clutching the wound in his chest. He tried to draw his own sidearm but the bullet had gone right through his heart. He was dead before he hit the carpet. His final glance never quite met the eyes of his killer, the man who stood over him, chewing NicoTime with cold, regular efficiency.
    “She called me Lee,” said Kramer. “She always liked it better than Jerry.”
    “L.”
    “Sylvia. She spoke highly of you. It’s a shame you’ll be meeting up with her again so soon.”
    The clues tumbled into my brain like loose tiles I’d noticed but hadn’t quite been able to reach. The answer was right behind them, written on the walls, only I hadn’t figured it out in time. He aimed his weapon at me. I was about to close my eyes and accept my fate when I glimpsed a figure racing up the front path, drawing a gun.
    “You were the perfect insider, but you forgot one small detail,” I said to distract Kramer, who hadn’t seen the stranger’s approach. “I