Chapter Six
Maggie stormed into the Halibut Cove Police Station, her coat still damp from the drizzle outside. The receptionist, a young officer named Terry, barely had time to lift his head before she was past him, heading for Chief Jill Holbrook’s office.
“Mom,” Jill said, glancing up from the paperwork on her desk, “what are you doing here?”
“What’s this I hear about you arresting Waldo Duggan?” Maggie demanded, shutting the door behind her.
Jill sighed and leaned back in her chair. “Mom, I don’t have time for this right now.”
“You’ll make time,” Maggie said, planting her hands on her hips.
“I’ve known Waldo for years. Ever since your father and I were young and just starting out and trying to scrape by.
He may hold a grudge about that silly clam chowder recipe feud, but there’s no way he’d do something so reckless and stupid as to tamper with Ethel’s chowder.
Maybe with a little hot sauce as a prank but not a deadly poison! ”
“How did you hear about the belladonna plant?”
Maggie sighed. “This is Halibut Cove, dear. I suspect the whole town knew about it before you even had a chance to read him his rights. Now, where is he?”
Jill’s patience was visibly wearing thin. “Mom, I understand you want to help, but this is an official police investigation. I need you to respect that.”
“I do respect your job,” Maggie countered. “But I know this town better than anyone. I know its people, and I know Waldo didn’t kill Chips Hogan.”
Jill took a deep breath. “Okay. I’ll take it under advisement.”
Maggie softened her tone. “Can I see him?”
“No.” Jill’s reply was firm.
“What law prevents someone arrested from having visitors?” Maggie pressed.
Mason, Jill’s deputy, popped his head into the office. “Actually, Chief, I don’t think there is one.”
Jill shot him a glare. “Fine. Mason, take her down. Ten minutes. Not a minute longer.”
As Mason led Maggie to the small visiting room near the holding cells, she gave him a once-over. “You’re looking thin, Mason. Are you eating enough?”
Mason chuckled. “I think your daughter’s on a mission to starve me to death.”
Maggie smirked. “I’ll bring you some lobster rolls next time. My clam chowder might be out of favor right now, given the circumstances.”
Mason laughed ruefully as he led her to the cramped visiting room before leaving her.
Maggie sat down at the small table, her hands folded in front of her.
A few minutes later, Mason escorted Waldo Duggan in.
He looked equal parts surprised and annoyed.
Mason stepped out of the room and shut the door behind him.
“Well, now, Maggie Holbrook,” he sneered. “This is a surprise. Here to gloat?”
“Waldo, sit down,” Maggie said firmly. “We need to talk.”
Waldo sat but kept his arms crossed defensively. Maggie leaned forward. “I know there’s been bad blood between our families over the years, Waldo, but I don’t believe you killed Chips Hogan.”
“Hmph.” Waldo snorted. “Tell that to your daughter. She certainly thinks I did.”
“Jill’s just doing her job,” Maggie said. “But I want to help you, Waldo. Whether you like it or not.”
Waldo’s eyes narrowed. “Help me? Why?”
“Because Cecile was my friend. She never cared about the feud, and I owe it to her memory to make sure you get a fair shake.”
At the mention of his late wife, Waldo’s posture softened. He sighed and rubbed his face. “I didn’t kill Chips,” he muttered. “Yeah, I was at The Chowder House that night, but only because I was hoping to run into Ethel. I …” He hesitated, then admitted, “I’ve got a little crush on her.”
Maggie’s eyebrows shot up. “Oh?”
“Don’t make a thing of it, Maggie,” Waldo snapped. “She wasn’t there, so I left. That’s it. I swear I didn’t touch the chowder.”
“And the belladonna plant Mason found in your pantry?” Maggie asked.
Waldo looked genuinely baffled. “I don’t know how it got there. Someone’s framing me.”
Maggie looked down to take all of this in, then glanced up at Waldo. “Do you have bail money for after the arraignment?”
Waldo shook his head. “Cecile handled the money when she was alive. After she passed, I let things slide, so I’m pretty much going from paycheck to paycheck.”
“I’ll cover your bail,” Maggie said.
“You don’t have to do that, Maggie,” Waldo whispered.
“I’m not going to let you rot in jail while you await trial, especially since I believe you’re innocent. Now, what about a lawyer?”
Waldo shrugged. “I guess they’ll just assign me a public defender.”
Maggie raised an eyebrow. “Whip Butler? He’s a baby. He probably writes his legal briefs in crayon. No, you need someone more experienced, more dynamic in a courtroom.”
Waldo’s brow furrowed. “Like who?”
Maggie smiled. “I have just the right man for the job.”
An hour later, Maggie was sitting in her son Oliver’s office. The walls were lined with shelves of law books, and his desk was covered in neatly stacked files. Oliver listened as Maggie explained the situation, his expression neutral but his eyes betraying a hint of weariness.
“Mom, I can’t take this case,” Oliver said finally. “The Clyde Peterson trial is coming up. It’s going to eat up all my time.”
Maggie leaned forward, her tone cajoling. “Oliver, you’re a brilliant lawyer. You can handle two cases at once. And let’s be honest, the Peterson trial is a slam dunk for the prosecutor. Everyone knows he’s guilty.”
Oliver frowned. “He still has the right to a defense. It’s my job to give him that.”
“I know, I know,” Maggie said, waving her hand. “But Waldo needs you more. Whip Butler is barely out of law school. He’s going to get eaten alive in court.”
“Whip is finding his footing,” Oliver said. “He’s not as bad as you think.”
Maggie crossed her arms. “Maybe not, but Waldo can’t afford a rookie mistake. You’ve been in high-pressure cases before. You’re the best chance he has.”
“And you expect me to do this pro bono?”
“Either that, or I pay for it.”
“In what world would I ever agree to allow my own mother to bankroll a client’s case?”
“Then pro bono it is,” Maggie said with a sly smile.
Oliver sighed heavily, leaning back in his chair. “You’re not going to let this go, are you?”
Maggie grinned. “You know me better than that.”
He rubbed his temples. “Fine. I’ll do it. But I’m only agreeing because I trust your instincts.”
“That’s all I ask,” Maggie said, patting his hand. “Now, let’s talk about strategy.”
Back at the Holbrook house, the kitchen was alive with the sound of chopping and the smell of frying onions. Maggie stood at the counter, expertly preparing a batch of haddock chowder. Cord sat at the table, flipping through a newspaper, while Sandy leaned against the fridge, arms crossed.
“I still think Jill has the right guy,” Cord said. “Waldo’s been a pain for years. He’s always had a nasty temper.”
“That doesn’t make him a killer,” Maggie said, stirring the pot. “And tampering with chowder? That’s not just murder, it’s sacrilege.”
Sandy snorted. “Maybe, but they found the belladonna in his pantry. That’s hard to ignore.”
“I admit, it’s damning evidence. But someone obviously planted it,” Maggie countered.
At that moment, the door swung open, and Audrey breezed in with Flounder, trotting at her side. Flounder’s thick coat gleamed, and his tail wagged happily as he sniffed the air.
“There’s my good boy,” Maggie cooed, reaching down to scratch his ears. “Audrey, I’m so glad you’re home. I need your help.”
Audrey raised an eyebrow. “What kind of help?”
“Computer help,” Maggie said, nodding toward the table. “You know I’m hopeless in that department. Grab your laptop. We need to dig up information on Chips Hogan.”
Audrey grinned. “Sounds like fun. Give me a minute.”
Maggie turned to her two sons. “I suppose you’re both staying for dinner, so why don’t you go wash up?”
“Ma, we’re grown men in our twenties. You don’t have to remind us to wash ourselves,” Cord groaned.
“Yes, I do. You both smell like you wrestled a sea lion and lost. Go on, you’re stinking up my kitchen.”
Cord and Sandy shuffled out as Maggie joined Audrey at the table. Audrey was pulling her laptop from its bag. Within moments, her fingers were flying over the keyboard. Flounder lay at her feet, his head resting on her sneakers.
“What do we have here?” Audrey muttered, scrolling through search results. “Hmm, a DUI from the ’80s, some mentions of his business dealings … Oh, here’s something. Back in the ’70s, a guy named Griffin Mead tried to sue him for fraud.”
Maggie’s ears perked up. “Griffin Mead? I remember that! He and Chips were supposed to open a hardware store together here in town, but it all fell apart. Griffin lost everything.”
Sandy frowned. “Why would Griffin wait this long to act?”
“His wife, Felicia, kept him grounded,” Maggie said. “But she passed away recently. Maybe old wounds have reopened.”
Audrey looked up. “So, what’s the plan?”
Maggie smiled. “We’re going to pay Griffin a visit.”