“It’s a barnacle,” he replied, watching her.
She cocked her head a little and frowned. “Oh, a barnacle. Okay. You have a barnacle.”
He lowered it. “It was found in your room.”
Her eyebrows flew up. “In my room?” She glanced at the ceiling. “You mean upstairs?” The sheriff nodded, not saying anything. Julia scowled. “You searched my room? Doesn’t that require–”
“I found it,” Maris interrupted. “I was turning down the bed and taking out the trash. It was on the floor and I picked it up to throw it away.”
“Oh,” Julia said, somewhat subdued. “Okay, fine. There was a barnacle on my floor.”
“The kind that one might find under a pier, for example,” Mac said.
Julia crossed her arms and glowered at him. “A pier where someone was murdered, for example.”
“Possibly,” he replied calmly.
“I see,” she said, her jaw clenching. “And I suppose someone would have waded into the water, scraped it off some wood, and then taken it as a souvenir.”
“Or it would have stuck to the bottom of someone’s shoe,” Mac replied.
Julia jabbed a finger at it. “That? On the bottom of a shoe without knowing it?” She glared at Maris as well. “Are you joking?” She crossed her arms again. “Because it’s really not that funny.”
“In fact,” Mac said, “I’m deadly serious. Can you tell me why this was in your room?”
She shook her head and smirked. “Because it was stuck to the bottom of someone else’s shoe.” She eyed Maris, but then returned her gaze to the sheriff. “Other than that, I have no idea.”
Mac nodded. “All right, Ms. Mendes. I don’t have any other questions for you now.”
The young woman seemed as though she was going to make some retort, but then thought better of it. Without a word, she brushed past them and then up the stairs. Then her door slammed.
Maris grimaced a little. “She has a point. I’m pretty sure I’d feel that under my shoe.”
“Under the shoe,” Mac said, “I’d agree. But what if it’d been caught on some laces, or stuck to the side.” He lifted the evidence bag again. “First, though, I’ll see if it can be identified. We’ll go from there.”
Maris nodded. “Sounds good.”
He smiled at her. “This time I really will see myself out.”
She laughed a little. “Okay, see you tomorrow.”
16
To the west, the sun had begun its slow descent to the sea, which meant that it was time to start assembling the cheeseboard, and thinking about some wine pairings. Maris went to the kitchen and opened the large brushed steel door. Although Julia might not be joining them this evening, no doubt Ralph and Lydia would be partaking, and perhaps Joseph. Then again, Maris hoped that Julia would surprise her and indeed come down, since she would very likely have something in common with Ralph and his globe-trotting adventure blog.
She let her gaze wander over the various cheeses but then found herself looking at Mojo’s smoked salmon. It might be nice to have a little company as she got ready for the Wine Down. She picked up the plastic container and gave it a little shake.
“Mojo,” she called out. “Would you like a snack?”
This would be the second night in a row—and she didn’t want to make this a habit—but it looked like she was also a stress feeder. She smiled when she heard his little paws padding down the hall.
“That’s my boy,” she said lowly, as she opened the container on the counter. “Are you ready for some salmon?”
Though she knew he’d come into the kitchen, and even heard him pad over to his bowl, he didn’t answer. The one thing that Mojo always seemed ready to talk about was food, and yet he was silent. Maris frowned a little and turned to check on him.
There he sat, as usual, at his bowl, but in his mouth he had a tarot card. As he stared up at her with his big amber eyes, he dropped it in the empty bowl. Then he gave her his signature meow—and a loud one.
“Good grief,” she said. “What have you got there?”
He gave her another meow, and placed his paw on the card.
“Yeah,” she said, “I can see it.” She bent to pick it up, but then remembered the salmon. As she used a big spoon to take a portion, she said, “Tell you what. I’ll trade you.”
As she moved the spoon toward the bowl, Mojo lifted his paw from the card and she picked it up. Almost before the salmon landed in the bowl, Mojo dug in. She barely got the spoon back in time.
“Um, I’d say that’s a fair trade.”
As she set the spoon in the sink, she gazed down at the card—the six of pentacles. A rich man dressed in a red robe was handing out coins to two beggars who knelt at his feet. In the other hand, he held a scale that was balanced.
“Hmm,” she muttered, and gave her temple a tap.
According to the small pamphlet of tarot interpretations that came with the deck, the scale represented fairness and equality. The six of pentacles meant that the tarot reader was either giving or receiving something, depending on where they were in the cycle of life.
She showed him the card. “So, is the rich man supposed to be North American Petroleum?” He ignored her, still gulping down his food. She turned it around to look at it again. “Or are the six stars supposed to mean something astronomical? Maybe six people?”
How many pylons were in an oil rig?
For all she knew, it could even be that someone involved with the case might own a red robe. No doubt it would all make sense later, but that might be too late to salvage the town’s reputation or save the bay. She set the card on the counter and stared down at it.
“Giving or receiving,” she muttered.
Who was giving or receiving anything?
Mojo had finished his snack in record time and now sat
