Chapter Twenty-one
The aroma of Maggie’s famous seafood casserole filled her cozy kitchen as she pulled the bubbling dish out of the oven.
Layers of shrimp, scallops, cod, and creamy sauce were topped with a golden breadcrumb crust, the ultimate comfort food for a cold Halibut Cove evening.
Audrey leaned against the counter, arms crossed, watching her grandmother work.
“Are you sure Waldo’s going to eat this?” Audrey asked. “The man has made it pretty clear he’s not our biggest fan.”
“He’ll eat it,” Maggie said firmly, grabbing a tea towel to wrap the hot dish. “Waldo Duggan may hold a grudge, but he’s not going to turn down free food—especially not something this good. Besides, this is the third time I’ve cooked him dinner since his arrest.”
Audrey smirked. “You’re really trying to win him over, aren’t you?”
Maggie sighed, straightening up and brushing her hands on her apron.
“He’s been through enough. Being accused of murder, having someone plant that nightshade in his pantry—it’s taking a toll on him, and I’m not about to stand by and let him waste away.
Besides, it’s high time we had a civil conversation about this whole ‘Holbrooks stole the chowder recipe’ nonsense. ”
“Good luck with that,” Audrey muttered, grabbing her coat as Maggie picked up the casserole.
Waldo Duggan’s small, weathered house was tucked at the end of a narrow dirt road.
It had a crooked charm, with smoke puffing lazily from the chimney and a porch cluttered with fishing gear.
Waldo himself answered the door, his face lined with weariness but softening at the sight of Maggie and Audrey.
“Well, well,” he said, stepping aside to let them in. “If it isn’t the Holbrooks. What brings you out here tonight?”
Maggie held up the casserole. “I made this for you. Thought you could use a good meal.”
Waldo blinked in surprise, then grunted. “That’s mighty kind of you, Maggie. I’m starting to get used to you cooking for me while I’m out on bail. Come on in.”
The warmth of the house was a stark contrast to the chilly evening. Audrey’s nose immediately picked up the savory scent of something simmering on the stove.
“Smells good in here,” Maggie said, setting the casserole on the counter.
“Clam chowder,” Waldo replied, stirring the pot on the stove. “I usually just whip up a batch every week when I’m cooking at the Seaview, but now that I’m on leave due to all this murder nonsense, I decided why not make it at home?”
Audrey raised an eyebrow at Maggie, who hesitated before saying, “Well, it certainly smells delicious. You can freeze my casserole and eat it any time. It’s the perfect night for a steaming bowl of chowder. You wouldn’t mind if we stayed for a helping, would you?”
Waldo looked startled but then waved a hand. “Sure, why not? Pull up a chair. Bowls are in the cupboard.”
Maggie and Audrey settled at the kitchen table while Waldo ladled generous servings of chowder into bowls and placed them in front of them. Maggie took a tentative sip, her practiced palate immediately picking out the subtle notes of thyme and a faint smokiness.
“This is good, Waldo,” Maggie said genuinely.
Waldo sat down with his own bowl, eyeing her suspiciously. “I suppose it’s close to your recipe, huh?”
Maggie set her spoon down with a sigh. “Waldo, we’ve been over this. Your chowder and ours aren’t identical. They’re different recipes, even if they end up tasting pretty similar. I can still tell them apart.”
He shrugged, his expression guarded. “My grandfather swore that the Holbrooks stole the recipe. And considering how successful your family’s brand has been, it’s hard not to hold a little resentment.”
Maggie resisted the urge to argue further. “I can promise you, Waldo, our recipe came from my grandmother. It’s a Holbrook original.”
Waldo gave a noncommittal grunt, and they ate in silence for a moment before Maggie shifted the conversation. “How are you holding up, Waldo? With everything that’s been going on?”
He snorted. “How do you think? I’ve never been accused of murder before. Hard to get a good night’s sleep when you’re constantly thinking about how someone’s trying to frame you.”
Audrey glanced at Maggie, who gave her a small nod. “Do you have any idea who might’ve put the nightshade in your pantry?” Audrey asked.
“Like I told the cops, I don’t have a clue,” Waldo said bitterly. “But I wouldn’t put it past Jill to be working me over just to make herself look good.”
Maggie’s eyes narrowed. “That’s my daughter you’re talking about. Jill is doing her job, Waldo. And she doesn’t believe for a second that you’re guilty. She’s trying to clear your name.”
Maggie flicked her eyes toward Audrey, who knew that was a lie. Jill was ready to close the case.
Waldo huffed but didn’t argue further. “I’m more upset about Griffin Mead, to be honest. He was a good drinking buddy. Can’t believe he’s gone.”
Audrey leaned forward, sensing an opening. “Did you ever meet Ed and Lily Comstock when they lived here in town?”
Waldo blinked, his brow furrowing as he tried to remember. “Sure, I knew Ed. We used to go ice fishing together back in the day. He’d bring a bottle of bourbon to my shack on the lake, and we’d spend hours catching fish and talking about life.”
“What about the business deal involving my husband Wes, Chips Hogan, and Griffin Mead?” Maggie asked.
Waldo shook his head. “Ed never mentioned anything like that to me. But I do remember Lily being upset at a potluck supper once. She said Ed was in a pickle over something, and it was going to ruin them. Next thing I knew, they packed up and left Halibut Cove.”
“Did you ever find out where they went?” Audrey asked.
“I heard they moved to New Hampshire. Somewhere near Manchester, I think,” Waldo said, scratching his chin. “I tried to keep in touch, but they didn’t seem interested in hearing from anyone back here.”
Maggie tilted her head. “What happened to them?”
Waldo’s face darkened. “Word through the grapevine was that Ed killed himself.”
Maggie and Audrey froze, their spoons halfway to their mouths.
“What?” Maggie whispered.
Waldo nodded grimly. “Yup. Shotgun, I heard. Shame too. Lily had just given birth to a baby boy. Don’t know why poor Ed would go to such extremes, especially with a child to take care of.”
Audrey’s mind raced. “The baby … He’d be grown now. That has to be Dr. Comstock.”
Maggie looked equally shaken. “Ed must’ve been desperate if he took his own life. Something must have pushed him over the edge.”
“He was a good guy,” Waldo said, shaking his head. “I can’t imagine what would’ve driven him to do something like that.”
Audrey exchanged a glance with Maggie. They didn’t need to say it out loud to know they were thinking the same thing: what if Bradley had grown up harboring a grudge against the men who’d been involved in his father’s downfall? And now, all these years later, was he seeking revenge?
As Waldo continued talking about the Comstocks, Maggie’s mind churned with questions. She had a sinking feeling they were only scratching the surface of a much deeper mystery.