Death Runs Adrift (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries) (8 page)

eight

“
Agnes!”

There was a hole gouged in the side, and water was pouring into the small craft. Agnes was flailing in the water a few yards away. Horrified, I reached for a life jacket and tossed it into the water toward her. The jacket flopped a few yards away from her.

“OhmyGod!” Beryl stood staring at her friend, eyes huge, both hands over her open mouth, then down at the water that was quickly engulfing our feet. She turned to me. “What do we do?”

“Agnes!” I called. She didn’t answer, though. The flailing had stopped. Panic washed over me. I grabbed the two remaining life jackets and threw one at Beryl, then started stripping off my windbreaker. “What are you doing?” Beryl asked, her voice high and panicky.

“Going in after her,” I said, strapping on the life jacket and kicking off my shoes. “Put yours on; you’re going to need it soon.” By the time I snapped the last buckle of the jacket, Agnes was already sinking. I leaped after her, praying I’d get there in time.

The cold water sucked the air right out of my lungs, and I came up gasping.

“She’s over there!” Beryl called. I kicked my legs, which seemed abnormally heavy in their waterlogged jeans, propelling myself in the direction she had pointed. I couldn’t see her anymore. “Is she still there?” I yelled back to Beryl.

“I see her jacket,” Beryl said. “Hurry, Natalie. She’s going down!”

I splashed through the inky water, tasting the salt in my throat—I’d swallowed some water when I gasped—and hoping I was going in the right direction. “You’re almost there!” Beryl called, and a moment later, to my immense relief, my hand closed on the slippery fabric of Agnes’s jacket.

“I’ve got her,” I said as I grabbed her arm and hauled her up. She was heavy—a dead weight, I thought with a sick feeling. Had the boat hit her and hurt her, or was it just the shock of the cold water?

Her face was pale as it surfaced, and I struggled to keep her afloat. I glanced around for the other life jacket; it was a few yards away, on the open water side of the skiff. What was left of the skiff, anyway. Beryl was making panicked noises, and only an inch of the craft was visible above the waterline. Smuggler’s Cove had not been kind to the
Little Marian
, I thought; twice now, it had sunk her.

And me.

But it wasn’t only me. There was Beryl—and Agnes, whom I was struggling to keep from sinking again. My jacket wasn’t enough to support the two of us.

Lying on my back with Agnes’s head on my chest, I kicked toward the life jacket, reaching one arm back to grab it. I glanced toward Beryl, who had not yet abandoned the boat, but appeared to be up to her knees in water. “You okay?” I called.

“I’m scared.” Her voice sounded young, childlike.

“Can you swim?”

She nodded.

“You’ll be okay, then.” My words sounded reassuring, but I glanced toward shore, estimating how far we’d have to swim. Most of this coastline consisted of sheer cliffs. There was a beach not far from Smuggler’s Cove, but it was impossible to access from land. The other option was to go into Smuggler’s Cove itself and wait for the next low tide to get out. But without the skiff, we’d end up in the same boat, so to speak: stranded with no transportation and unable to do anything but swim for land.

If I didn’t get that third life jacket, though, none of that would matter. Agnes and I would never make it anywhere.

I kicked hard, but the tide and the current—not to mention the weight of an unconscious woman—were against me.

“Beryl!” I called. “Can you swim to get that other jacket?”

She was up to her waist now, and looking lost—until I asked for help. Something shifted in her. Her shoulders straightened, and I could hear it in her voice. “I’m on it,” she yelled, and before I could respond, dove headfirst into the icy depths.

She hadn’t been lying when she said she knew how to swim. Despite the jacket she’d neglected to remove, her arms sliced through the water, propelling her quickly toward the floating jacket. In less than a minute, she had reached it and was swimming toward Agnes and me. I felt for the unconscious woman’s pulse as I waited, relieved to feel the flutter of a heartbeat under my fingertips. There was no blood—at least none that I could see—and no sign of obvious trauma. Good news. I hoped.

It wasn’t long before Beryl had reached us. Together, she and I fitted the life jacket around Agnes’s neck and belted it around her waist. My fingers were going numb from the cold. If we were going to head for land, we’d have to do it soon. It might be summer, but the water was still cold—somewhere in the vicinity of 50 degrees—and I was losing energy fast.

Beryl was obviously thinking the same thing. “Where do we go from here?” she asked, pushing wet hair out of her eyes. Mascara streaked down her cheeks, and although she’d only been in the water a few minutes, her teeth were chattering.

I looked behind her at the sheer cliffs, and then beyond at the impossibly distant gray-shingled inn, nestled into the green hillside. We’d never make it back without a boat. Our only chance was to swim for the little sliver of beach where the black-chinned terns nested and hail a boat—or attempt to climb the cliff.

“Let’s head for the beach,” I said, nodding to where several birds whirled in the breeze. “We’ll figure it out from there.”

“Got it. I’ll take this side of the jacket and you take the other.”

Together we swam toward the little strip of sand. My skin was stinging from the cold by now, and my fingers were so numb I had to look back to make sure I was still holding onto Agnes’s jacket. Beryl’s strength pulled me along, though, and together we inched toward the shore. Despite the effort, questions kept bubbling up in my mind. What would we do when we got there? Would anyone find us? Was Agnes just knocked unconscious, or had something worse happened?

For the first time since the skiff had been hit, I found myself wondering who had done it—and why. “Did you see the boat that hit us?” I asked Beryl as we kicked toward shore.

“Only briefly,” she said. “It was a little one, about the size of yours.”

“Did you see any other boat?”

“I think there was a lobster boat,” she said. “But I wasn’t really paying attention.”

“Me neither,” I said, but wished I had. A lobster boat. “Did you see a buoy on it?”

“No,” she said.

I turned briefly and scanned the water, but there was no lobster boat in sight. Whoever it was had disappeared fast—and probably with the skiff that had hit us. Any local lobsterman would have stopped to help us, not disappeared. Which meant whoever had sideswiped the boat wasn’t local—and I was guessing they were displaying a turquoise and orange buoy.

By the time we made it to the beach, there was no sign of the
Little Marian
, and the boat that had sideswiped us hadn’t returned. Within a few minutes of laying her out on the beach, Agnes woke with a start and sat up.

“What happened?” she asked, teeth chattering. “Where are we?”

While Beryl explained what had happened and we helped her take off her waterlogged clothes, I scanned the water for a boat. I’d waved down the
Sea Queen
from here before; we’d be cold, but with any luck, George McLeod would spot us when he went on his next run.

As I hugged myself and shivered—it wasn’t cold, but the breeze sucked the warmth out of my wet clothes, and the icy water had chilled me to the bone—I thought again of the boat that had run us down. What had they been doing near the cove, and why hadn’t they stopped to render aid? Had they been about to enter the cove themselves?

Someone had been in Smuggler’s Cove recently. And it was a good guess that whoever had left that mud on the floor wasn’t there for sightseeing—and didn’t want anyone else there, either.

But who? I wondered.

And more importantly—why?

_____

We were lucky; the next mail boat run was only twenty minutes after we dragged ourselves ashore. I jumped up and down, waving my waterlogged jacket. Several passengers waved back, and when I saw George, the captain, hail me, I knew he’d send someone to retrieve us.

It was only another fifteen minutes before I heard the thrum of an engine, and John appeared in
Mooncatcher
.

“Is everyone okay?” His green eyes scanned us—both my guests had dark mascara streaks down their faces, and we all resembled drowned rats—but lingered on me. A deep furrow appeared between his eyebrows.

“We’re fine,” I said. “We probably want to get Agnes checked out, though—she took a nasty knock to the head.” There were no signs of concussion that I could see, but I was hardly a trained medical professional.

“How did this happen? Where’s your skiff?”

“We got blindsided on the way out of Smuggler’s Cove, and the skiff went down,” I said as I helped Agnes into John’s skiff.

“And they didn’t stop?”

I shook my head. “None of us got a good look at it, either. It was a skiff, and Beryl saw a lobster boat nearby, but that’s all we’ve got.” I was no Sherlock Holmes, I thought with a grimace. On the other hand, I’d been more worried about saving Agnes than about identifying boats.

“Well, let’s get you home and warmed up,” John said as I climbed into the boat after our guests. As he gunned the engine and we turned toward home, his face was grave, and his eyes were turned toward the now-disappearing cove in the side of the cliffs. “I’ll ask around and see if anyone knows anything. We’ll have to report this.”

As I huddled down and tried to stay warm, I knew both of us were wondering the same thing. Was there any connection between the skiff that had rammed us and the death of young Derek?

I sighed and looked back at the dark cove. Sometimes I thought the island might be better off if it were somehow boarded up permanently.

We were back at the inn within minutes, and less than an hour later, the three of us were warming up in the kitchen with mugs of hot tea. Beryl had called the hospital and was planning to take Agnes over on the next mail boat. She seemed fine, but it was best to get her checked out. When Agnes tried to decline, Beryl insisted. “That was quite a knock you took,” she said. “Better safe than sorry.”

Although I offered to accompany them over to the mainland, Beryl declined. “There’s no need for all of us to go. I’ll keep her company.”

“I’ll drive you to the mail boat dock at least. Do you have a car on the mainland?”

“The rental’s parked at the harbor,” Beryl told me. “All I need is directions.”

I drew her a map to the hospital and told her to tell me if they were back too late for the mail boat. “Call me and let me know which boat you’re coming back on, and I’ll drive down to the dock with the van. If you’re too late for the mail boat, I’ll head over and pick you up in the skiff,” I offered.

“Not your skiff,” Beryl reminded me.

I sighed. She was right; in all the excitement, I’d totally forgotten that the
Little Marian
was on the bottom of the ocean. I made a mental note to contact Eleazer ASAP.

“
Mooncatcher
will do just fine,” John said.

Agnes grinned. “Thanks for the offer, but after today, I think I’d rather go on the mail boat.”

nine

John was on the
phone when I got back from dropping Agnes and Beryl off at the mail boat dock.

“She’s right here,” he said when I walked in the door. “I’ll see if she’s up to it.”

I gave him an inquisitive look.

“Detective Johnson,” he whispered, hand over the mouthpiece, handing me the receiver when I nodded. I spent the next twenty minutes giving the details of what had happened to the
Little Marian
.

“You didn’t get a look at the boat or the person driving the skiff?” he asked.

“No,” I said. “I was too focused on getting out of the cove in one piece, and then, once we were hit
…
” I sat down at the kitchen table as John opened the fridge and took out a bag of lunch meat and a jar of mayonnaise.

“Going to be hard to find out who it was,” Johnson told me, stating the obvious.

“Do you think this might be connected with Derek’s death?” I asked.

“I don’t see how.”

My fiancé cut a few slices of French bread and slathered them with mayonnaise, then reached for a few tomatoes. “The accident happened right near where I found Derek,” I told the detective, thinking of the woman I’d seen crying just before I ran across the skiff with its awful load. Was it possible she was crying because she knew Derek was dead? It was highly unlikely, I decided; and besides, I had no idea who she was. I turned my mind back to the business at hand. “By the way, it looked like someone’s been using the cove for something; there was fresh mud all over the floor.”

“I thought you said the cove was empty.”

“It was,” I confirmed, watching as John laid thick tomato slices on our sandwiches. “But that boat could have been coming to drop something off.”

The detective sighed. “Did you see anything in the boat?”

“I told you, it happened too fast, and I was mainly worried about my passenger.” John, who was carrying two plates to the table, raised an eyebrow at the irritation in my voice. “I think it should at least be considered as a possibility.”

“It sure would help if we could ID the boat,” he said.

“I’ll ask around and see if anyone saw anything. But I was wondering if it might not be the boat with the turquoise and orange buoy. Any luck tracking that one down?”

There was a brief pause. “I’ll check, but I don’t think so,” he admitted, and something told me it had not been a top priority, to say the least. John had asked around; although the local lobstermen had noticed the buoys, they didn’t know whose they were.

“Maybe someone could take a closer look at that cove, too,” I said. “Or at least keep a watch on that, somehow.”

Again, the pause. “I’ll let the Coast Guard know,” he said. I could tell it wouldn’t go far. Maybe John would have better luck getting that through. I made a mental note to keep an eye on the entrance to the cove, which I could see from the back windows of the inn—and keep a camera handy, too.

“Is there anything else?” I asked. “Any progress on the murder case?”

“We’ll be sure to keep you informed if there are any developments,” he said, telling me exactly nothing, and I hung up a moment later, feeling grumpy.

“Didn’t go well?” John surveyed me from across the table, a turkey sandwich in his hands.

“Not particularly.” I reached for the plate with the sandwich, suddenly ravenous. “Thanks for this, by the way.”

“My pleasure. Now, eat. We’ll talk more when you’ve got food in your stomach.”

I scarfed down the sandwich in no time, then followed it with the remains of my tea. “You make a mean turkey sandwich, sweetheart.”

“So I’ve been told,” he said. “I’m planning on making a mean fettuccine Alfredo with shrimp for dinner tonight, too, unless you’ve got other plans.”

A perfect dish: easy to put together, warm and comforting, and it would hold well if the ladies were late getting back. Agnes had brought her cell phone with her, and as it worked on the mainland, they’d be able to be in touch. I smiled fondly at my fiancé, who had saved me in more than one way today. “You’re my knight in shining armor, you know that?”

He grinned. “If you would just stay out of trouble, I could leave the armor at home some days.”

“How was I supposed to know we’d get run down by a rogue boat?”

“That cove is jinxed for you, Nat.”

“I think someone’s using it.”

“The mud does sound suspicious,” he admitted, stretching out his long limbs while I watched with admiration. “But even if it is being used, there’s no evidence of wrongdoing.”

“What about the boat that ran me over?”

“That was a pretty aggressive act, and dangerous,” he agreed, “but the only thing you found in the cove was some mud. No sign of any other crime.”

He finished stretching and leaned forward, elbows on the table, fixing me with his green eyes. “I’m not saying we shouldn’t keep an eye on it. It’s possible you got rammed because someone didn’t want you in there.”

“You think?” I said dryly.

“There could be other reasons, too, of course. Someone having too much to drink, not paying attention
…
”

“In the middle of the afternoon? And it was awfully close to where I found Derek,” I reminded him.

“True.” John ran a hand through his sandy hair. “I’m not saying you’re wrong, Natalie; there’s a good chance it is connected. I’m just saying we shouldn’t jump to conclusions just yet.”

“Part of me thinks we should take another look at the cove, in case I missed something, but I’m in no hurry to go back in there.”

“I’m glad to hear it; I don’t want you anywhere near that cove, and in fact, I’m wishing I could get you a chaperone. You seem somehow to be a natural target.”

“I don’t think it was me in particular,” I said. “I think anyone who was in the cove would have been a target.”

“Be careful, Nat,” he said. “You didn’t see them, but they probably got a good look at you.”

“I thought you said it was probably an accident.”

“It might be, but I’ll admit it does seem suspicious. Sometimes,” he said, “I think the island would be better off if we filled that cove with concrete.”

“I’ve had the same thought,” I said. “It seems to attract trouble.”

“Just like you.” John gave me a pointed glance. “I’ll ask around, see if anyone’s seen anyone going in and out of there. On an island this small, someone’s bound to know something.” He stood up and walked around the table, putting his arms around me from behind. “Warmed up yet?”

“Not completely,” I confessed.

“I hear body heat works really well.” The seductive tone of his voice made me shiver in a way that had nothing to do with cold.

“Well
…
” I began. But before I could finish, the door opened, and Catherine walked in.

She eyed John and me. “I’m not interrupting anything, am I?”

“Of course not,” I replied, feeling my cheeks redden. Despite the fact that I was almost forty, she could still make me feel like a schoolgirl.

“Good.” She sat down at the table across from me, pushed John’s plate out of the way, and adjusted the pearls around her neck.

I glanced up at the clock and realized I had another secret to decipher: the contents of tomorrow’s breakfast menu, along with meal plans for the next couple of days. I stood up and stretched. “I’d better get the rest of the meals figured out,” I said. “Thanks for taking care of the rooms. You’ve been a huge help.”

“My pleasure,” she said. “I hardly need to do anything; they even make the beds themselves!”

My favorite kind of guests. “By the way,” I said, as a thought occurred to me. “Is Murray still trying to get the school closed?”

“He thinks the tax burden is unfair,” Catherine said. “I have to say I agree with him.”

“Does he realize that having no school on the island will decimate the year-round population?” I asked.

She smiled. “That would suit his plans, actually. He’d really like to make the island a resort.”

So he hadn’t given up his long-term plans. “But who’s going to be here to take care of things?” I asked. “Once it’s closed, you know, it’s almost impossible to undo. And many of the lobstering families will have to move off-island. Without a school, the Lockharts couldn’t stay.”

Catherine frowned. “I hadn’t considered that. Still, it’s not my business, is it? We’re only dating. It’s not like we’re planning to be married. Speaking of which, how are your wedding plans going?”

John and I exchanged glances, but neither of us wanted to respond. We had a good bit of work to do in that department. “Please, just put in a good word for the school if you can, Mom,” John said. “Murray listens to you.”

“I’ll think about it. I don’t know enough about it to have an opinion, really.” She sighed. “In the meantime, I need to go and get freshened up.”

John raised an eyebrow. “Freshened up? For what?”

“We’re going to Spurrell’s Lobster Pond for dinner,” she said as she brushed off her skirt and trotted toward the kitchen door. “Don’t wait up!”

John stared at the door as it swung back and forth in her wake. “I wish she’d picked anyone other than Murray Selfridge,” he said.

“I know.” I walked up behind him and wrapped my arms around
his
waist. “But I don’t think there’s anything either of us can do about it.”