MacMillan Wharf

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Eight

MacMillan Wharf: Chapter Eight

by Richard Gifford

Annie slid into the back of the police cruiser next to Mary Ellen. This car was quite a bit older than the one in which they escaped from the crowd on MacMillan Wharf with the Chief, and as they sat down there was a noticeable creaking sound from underneath the seat. The cruiser had a sharp, stale odor that fell somewhere between locker room sweat and cat pee.

Mary Ellen was silent. She didn’t look at Annie or say a word as she clambered into the car. Annie supposed that Mary Ellen was in shock. She didn’t know what to say to her. Still, Annie was surprised to hear that she and Linda had an argument the night before Linda died.  What had she told the chief while she was out of the room? She tried to listen through the door while she was waiting in the hall, but couldn’t really make out any of their conversation.

“He thinks I did it.” Mary Ellen continued in a whisper so as not to be heard by Officer O’Neal. An uncomfortable thought crept into Annie’s mind. Mary Ellen couldn’t have had anything to do with Linda’s death, could she? Annie knew the couple only since the beginning of her internship this summer. It was only within the past month that she had spent any time with them socially.

“Sonofabitch,” Mary Ellen muttered.

“What?” replied a startled Annie.

“He thinks I did it.” Mary Ellen continued in a whisper so as not to be heard by Officer O’Neal.

“What are you talking about?”

“Listen, I know cops, and I know that once they get an idea into their heads, they’re too stupid to try to look for the truth. They see what they want to see.”

“What are you saying? Did he accuse you of something?”

“Didn’t have to. His questions, his looks, the way he was talking to me. He thinks I’m hiding something, but I’m not. All I know is that Linda’s dead. I don’t know what to do. What should I do Annie?”

“We probably shouldn’t talk about this until we get back to your place, you know.” Annie’s eyes shifted from Mary Ellen to the rear view mirror where she could clearly see Officer O’Neal watching them through her Oakley sunglasses.

“Right,” nodded Mary Ellen.

They rode in silence the rest of the way to Mary Ellen’s gallery and home on the east end of Commercial Street. As they pulled up to the front of the Dharma Gallery, Annie noticed that the door was open and that the front room was full of people.

Mary Ellen noticed this too and seemed confused that the gallery would be full of customers. She was sure she closed and locked the door hours ago when she went down to the wharf. As she approached the steps, she realized that these were not customers, but friends.

A crowd of what looked like twenty people were standing inside the front parlor of what was once a sea captain’s home crying and hugging each other. Linda and Mary Ellen were well known in Provincetown amongst the local artists, innkeepers and scientists, and, in a close knit community like this one, people came together during times of tragedy and loss. Word had apparently spread quickly around town about what happened.

Annie felt conspicuous and tried to stay out of the way at the edge of the room next to a large abstract oil painting. She watched as Mary Ellen was enveloped by the crowd and disappeared from view as she and the others made their way back into the living quarters in the rear of the house. Annie was left standing alone in the gallery.

She glanced at her watch and saw that it was nearly 8:00 p.m. Peering out the window, she could see that the sky was full of violet and orange streaks from another spectacular Provincetown sunset. Knowing that Mary Ellen was surrounded by friends and supporters made her feel a little better, but Annie was also caught up with the realization that she didn’t know Mary Ellen very well at all. She wanted to leave but didn’t want to appear rude. She walked through the door marked “Private” into the kitchen of the old house. Mary Ellen was sitting at the table with a glass of wine. When their eyes met, Annie mouthed the words, “I’m gonna go.”

Mary Ellen stood and crossed the room to give her a hug. “Thanks for being there for me, are you okay? Why don’t you stay?”

“I don’t want to be alone tonight. There’s just too much going on.” “I just need to get some air. A lot’s happened in the past few hours and I need to try to make some sense of it. Call me if you need anything, OK?”

“OK, Annie. Thanks.”

They gave each other a quick embrace, then Annie turned and went back out through the gallery onto Commercial Street. Her cell phone rang as she walked down the steps to the sidewalk. She looked at the caller ID and was relieved that it was Shane, her boyfriend.

“Hello?”

“Hey babe, I just got in, and I’m wicked hungry. You eat yet?” asked Shane.

“I’m not hungry. Have you heard what’s going on?”

“Whattya mean? Is everything OK?”

“No Shane, it’s not. Linda Hanscomb’s dead. She’s been murdered.”

Shane paused in silence at the news. Stroking his scruffy chin he said, “Damn. What happened?”

“It’s a long story. Are you at the boat?”

“Yeah, I’m just hosing down the deck.”

“I’m on Commercial Street now, I’ll be there soon.”

“Okay. Hey, you all right?”

“I don’t know what I am. I just feel numb. I’ll see you soon. Bye.”

“Yeah, see you in few.”

Annie walked down the street towards MacMillan Wharf where Shane docked his boat, the Lady J. She hoped that the crowds were gone from where the Explorer docked. After turning the corner across from the Governor Bradford Pub, she could see the bright lights of the NEWSACTION 10 truck on the Wharf. To get to Shane’s boat she would have to walk by them.

Annie walked briskly past the truck. She could see that they were still setting up for a broadcast later that night. The chief was right, she thought, Provincetown is going to be crawling with reporters pretty soon, and they’ll be hounding me for comments.

She could see Shane standing at the open stern of the Lady J, hosing the last bits of herring chunks that he used to bait his lobster traps off the deck. He was wearing a set of yellow bib overalls and a white tank top, with a faded blue Red Sox cap covering his curly blond hair. Annie fell hard for him about a month after coming to Provincetown. He was tall, smart, funny and very good looking. He joked with her that it was hard to meet a straight girl in Provincetown, and as a result, he hadn’t dated very much since moving back after college to take over his dad’s lobster boat.

Shane’s dog, Murphy, saw Annie coming and let out a series of joyful barks. Shane looked up, smiled, and turned off the hose as Annie’s footsteps clanked on the welded aluminum ramp that led down to the dock.

“Hey, babe. You look awful.”

“Thanks. You smell like fish.”

“Missed you.”

“I missed you too,” she said with a kiss. This was their usual greeting.

Shane wrapped his muscular arms around Annie’s tiny frame and pulled her close. She didn’t care that he was wet. She didn’t care that he really did smell like fish. She just needed to be held and Shane knew it.

“I’m sorry about Linda,” Shane said quietly.

Annie finally let go of the tears that she had been holding back all day, and they came in a torrent.

Shane held her until she stopped sobbing. By this time it was fully dark and the moonlight twinkled on the harbor like a million diamonds. The Provincetown monument was aglow with floodlights and dance music could be heard drifting across the water from one of the many nightclubs.

“Thank you,” Annie said sheepishly as she looked down at the deck, wiping her eyes on her sweatshirt sleeves. “I don’t want to be alone tonight. There’s just too much going on.”

“I had no intention of leaving you alone. Let’s go back to my house and cook up some of these bugs.” Shane nodded towards a gray plastic fish tote full of lobsters resting on the gunwhale of the boat.

Annie agreed and helped Shane secure the cabin of the Lady J. Each grabbed a side of the plastic tub full of live lobsters and walked up the ramp to his truck.