Boiled Over (A Maine Clambake Mystery) by Barbara Ross

Author:Barbara Ross [Ross, Barbara]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Kensington
Published: 2014-05-06T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 25

It was a three and a half hour drive from the Mi’kmaq camp back to Busman’s Harbor. Most people, used to the tiny, crowded states of the Northeastern U.S., didn’t realize how big Maine was. It took the same amount of time to travel from Portland, Maine to New York City as it did to travel from Portland to the Canadian border. I was spending the better part of my evening driving across a relatively small part of Maine.

The rain, which escalated occasionally to a downpour, and the fog, which crept in on the stretches where the road hugged the sea, had me sitting straight up in my seat, concentrating on my driving. Radio reception was so spotty, I stopped trying, and my mother’s old car offered no way to amplify the tunes stored on my phone. I rode along in the silent car, alone with my thoughts.

I sorted through the jumble in my head. What had I accomplished by playing hooky? More important, was I any closer to my goal of helping Cabe? Both the teacher Adam Burford, and the group home manager Emily Draper had confirmed my strong impression of Cabe. He was an honest, generally positive kid. He might seem a little closed off, but there were reasons for it. Now that I knew his background—the repeated losses, the false accusation, and the time spent in an institution—I was even more impressed by the strength of his character. Adam and Emily could tell a jury what a great kid Cabe was, but I didn’t want it to come to that. Given what Cabe had been through, it was important he never spend a single night in jail.

My mind drifted to Binder and Flynn. I was keeping four things from them—Cabe’s employment application, his phone call, the existence of the image on the thumb drive Phil Johnson had given me, and the possibility of more useful photos Phil had sent with his editor to Montreal. Maybe I should give the information to Binder. I wrestled with the dilemma as I drove along. It was my natural instinct to turn it over. But, I was mad. Binder had led me to believe I was part of the team and used me to get information, while keeping me in the dark about what he knew. Maybe Flynn’s disgruntled attitude was part of the act, too. No, that was real. The man just didn’t like me.

I’d gone to the Mi’kmaq camp to find Cabe, and instead had found the photographer, Phil Johnson. Coincidence? Phil claimed he’d never seen anyone meeting Cabe’s description. But he’d looked away from me when he said it. Could I trust him? Perhaps Cabe was at another camp. The woman at Wild Blueberry Land had said there were five.

What had I learned from the photo Phil had put on the thumb drive? Two things, admittedly neither of them big. The hairy kid had been on the pier in the morning before the body was found. That

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