Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) (12 page)

Everyone shook his or her head or said “no.” But in both George and Alyssa there was a nuance of expression absent in the others. Neither of them made eye contact with Brie. It was exactly what she’d hoped for. She suspected that each of them had seen Pete sometime between one and three o’clock. It was a place to start. She sat back down, and everyone continued eating in a thick silence.

Howard finally spoke, sending a ripple of relief though the group. “The captain’s told us we’ll be going to the inn this morning, where you’ll be asking us questions,” he said to Brie. “I, for one, will be glad to get off the ship and go for the walk, even if it is still raining.” He tried for an upbeat tone in his voice.

“It’ll feel good to stretch our legs,” Brie said. “The inn is a very comfortable place, and I think we could use some comfort right now.” Her comment took some of the tension from the air.

“I’ll prepare a nice lunch at the inn,” George said, trying to add his two cents of cheerfulness to the pot.

“If there’s anything you need help with on the ship, Captain, what with Pete gone and all, I’ll be glad to be of service,” said Rob. Everyone stared at him like he’d just grown another head.

“I appreciate that, Rob,” DuLac said diplomatically and then turned to the others. “As soon as everyone’s done, we’ll get the dishes cleaned up and start for the island. You should all bring along whatever will add to your comfort during the day. I have some books in my cabin—mostly sea literature of one kind and another—you’re all welcome to take a look and borrow anything you like. And Glenn and Betty have a great library up at the inn.”

Brie stood up and retrieved a piece of paper and a pen from her raincoat. “Before you leave I need each of you to write down your full name followed by your date of birth.” She half expected Will to give her a hard time about it, and when she glanced at him, he had opened his mouth as if he was about to speak. Catching the don’t-mess-with-me look in her eyes, he closed it again and said nothing. No one else asked any questions, and each of them stopped to sign the sheet as they got up from the table.

George had set a large pan of hot soapy water off the stove onto the end of the table so everyone could wash his or her dishes. A smaller rubber pan held clean water for rinsing. Each person took his turn at the dishpan, then dried his plate, cup and utensils and handed them to George, who stowed them in a cabinet at the back of the galley. One by one, they disappeared up the ladder to collect anything they wanted to bring with them for the day.

Brie took DuLac aside. “Captain, can you call the crew together for a brief meeting up on the stern of the ship? It will give me a chance to search their quarters.”

“How much time do you need?” he asked.

“Ten minutes should do it.”

“No problem. As a matter of fact, I have a few things I need to go over with them before we leave the ship. The crew’s sleeping area is accessed from behind the companionway ladder in the galley. You saw Scott go in there last night for his guitar.”

“Thanks. I’ll see you on deck in a few minutes, then.”

Within fifteen minutes the passengers and crew were climbing down to the yawl boat wearing their rain gear. John released the line holding the boat to the stern of the
Maine Wind
. As Scott steered toward the docks of Lobsterman’s Cove, Brie wondered about the edginess she’d seen in George and the watchfulness that Will had displayed. Could their reactions be written off as fear of a killer in their midst, or was something much more sinister behind the change?

T
HE YELLOW-CLAD ENTOURAGE wound up the hill toward the inn like some mustard-worshipping cult on the way to its temple. As they trudged along the wet road, Brie, who was bringing up the rear of the parade with John, mentally reviewed the list of suspects, motives and questions that were accumulating in her mind. The most obvious motive belonged to Rob. If he caught Alyssa with Pete, he may have murdered him in a jealous rage. From Alyssa’s reaction to her question at breakfast, Brie guessed she had seen Pete at some point before he died.

Will had the other obvious motive. He had killed Pete because Pete got the job he wanted.
Hard to believe
, Brie thought, but she’d seen stranger things. That marline spike she’d found in Will’s bunk troubled her, though. Had he put it there? Why would he keep it if he had murdered Pete? Maybe he had the kind of devious mind that thought in layers. You’re guilty, so do the thing a guilty person would never do, and it makes you look innocent. Kind of a reverse psychology strategy. And in the same vein—the Will’s-a-devious-thinker vein—if you’re going to commit a murder, why not bring your dear old dad along to remove some more suspicion from yourself?

As they climbed up the hill, mud stuck to their shoes, making obscene little noises.
So much for the obvious motives
, Brie thought. Now, moving on to the weak motive department. That would be John’s department—the captain-kills-second-mate-for-disobedience department. Suppose Pete, despite the captain’s warning, had met Alyssa during his watch—in fact went beyond merely meeting her. The captain wouldn’t need to kill him when he could simply fire him. Either way, he’d be out a second mate. Furthermore, she’d found nothing when she searched John’s cabin except the broken radio transmitter, and others had had the opportunity to tamper with that. If Brie was any judge of character—and she was—John didn’t have a killer’s bone in his body. And anyway, despite Pete’s shortcomings, John liked him. That was obvious from her interview with him this morning. So, pending some hidden motive that might rear its head, Brie felt safe eliminating the captain from her list of suspects. She heaved a sigh of relief as they trudged along.

“You okay, Brie?” John had been walking beside her in silence.

“Yup. Just processing,” she said. “It’s a big part of the job. Never become a detective if you don’t like to think. It’s nine parts analysis and one part action.”

She returned to her thoughts as they climbed toward the inn. Howard was too old to have committed the murder. His age and short stature ruled him out, along with the heart medication she’d found in his duffel. Sixty-eight-year-old men with heart conditions don’t overpower strong twenty-eight-year-old men.

Alyssa was unwise in her choices, but she didn’t seem malicious. It was obvious to Brie, from Alyssa’s apparent state of emotional collapse, that she somehow felt responsible for Pete’s death. But she did not think for a minute that Alyssa was actually the killer. She remembered Alyssa boarding the ship on Friday evening, carrying her duffel with two hands and not having an easy time with it. Brie had lifted that duffel this morning and could have easily carried it in one hand. Alyssa didn’t have the strength to kill Pete, unless, of course, she’d had an accomplice. Brie hoped questioning her would reveal why she was acting guilty.

No
, she thought,
the front-runners are definitely Rob, Will, Tim, and George.
There was something hidden in Tim’s life. Something he brooded about but didn’t discuss. Whether it related in any way to Pete or the murder, she would have to find out. And George’s behavior was also odd. Either he knew something about the murder or he had some motive for killing Pete.

As she mulled over the suspects, the inn came into view above the last curve in the road. Anyone lulled into a Zen-like state by the climb in the rain was slapped back to consciousness as they crossed the wide lawn against a stinging northeast wind. All nine of them broke into a jog, heading for the shelter of the porch.

John unlocked the heavy front door and they stepped inside the inn. The smell of lilacs from the pitcher on the hall table engulfed them. They removed their raincoats and hung them on a large brass coat rack that stood next to a parson’s bench in the front corner of the hall.

“I’m going to set up shop in the library, Captain,” Brie said. “When I’m ready, I’ll come and get you, one by one, for questioning.” Brie padded across the polished wood floor in her socks and disappeared through the second door back on the right.

“I’ll give everyone a tour of the downstairs, and then you can settle in wherever you’re comfortable.” John led the group through the door on the left into the living room. Glenn had left a fire burning in the fireplace, and John added a couple of logs to the glowing embers. He ushered everyone through the dining room and into the kitchen. Betty had left an urn of hot coffee next to a tray of mugs. Alongside the tray sat a large pan of blueberry cobbler with a note that everyone should enjoy it throughout the day.

John smiled. Betty was the perfect innkeeper. She mothered everybody, and because of that the inn had thrived, supported by a loyal clientele who wouldn’t miss their annual visit to Snug Harbor Bed and Breakfast for anything. But he knew there was another side to Betty. She was a survivor. Her life had called for a kind of strength most people would never have to find—the strength that allows a mother to go on after the death of her only child.

A few of the passengers helped themselves to coffee, and John led them from the kitchen back out into the hall, where he pointed out a bathroom tucked under the staircase. He indicated the library door, which Brie had closed, and then led everyone up the hall and into the game room directly across from the living room. A massive billiard table with ornately carved legs sat at the far end, and comfortable furniture in muted greens, golds and rusts filled the rest of the room. Two sofas, chairs and tables were grouped around a large entertainment center. In front of the windows, two wooden game tables, each with a set of upholstered chairs, invited guests to play a game of cards or Scrabble and take in the ocean panorama that stretched out before them.

In the library Brie prepared for a long day of questioning the passengers and crew. At least this was a great room to be stuck in. Being surrounded by books was one of the most comforting things she could imagine. Since childhood, she’d always loved curling up in a big chair with a good book. She looked around the room. Except for a large French window at one end, the fireplace and the door, every inch of wall space was covered with handsome walnut bookcases. A large mahogany desk sat in front of the window, facing into the room, and soft leather furniture and polished wood tables invited guests to settle in. An oriental rug of bold reds and blues warmed the already inviting room.

Brie stepped over to the fireplace. Glenn had set a fire there, and she stoked it back to life. Checking her watch, she walked over to the desk. It was 10:40—time to get started.

She unbuckled a large fanny pack from around her waist, zipped it open and took out an assortment of items she had brought with her. The small tape recorder, a note pad with the names and addresses of the passengers and crew, the sheet containing the birth dates, a pocket phone directory, and finally, a length of quarter-inch braided rope, grayed from lots of handling. She also took out the sock containing the marline spike that she had found in Will’s bunk, opened the top drawer of the desk and put it inside. Then she sat down in the leather swivel chair behind the desk, flipped open her phone directory, and dialed up Garrett Parker at the Minneapolis Police Department.

A voice came across the crackly connection. “Parker here.”

“Gare! Hi, it’s Brie.”

“Brie! My God, what a surprise! I thought you’d gone completely underground. Where are you? There’s a lot of static on this line.”

“Well, I’m on an island off the coast of Maine.”

“Jeezus, when you run away you’re serious about it, aren’t you?”

“You know me—never do anything halfway.”

“So, why do I feel like you’re not calling because you miss my voice?”

“I need your help, Gare.”

“I can hop a plane this afternoon, kiddo.”

“Thanks, but it’s not that kind of help. There’s been a murder.”

Silence spun down the wire.

“Well, well, Brie. You can run but you can’t hide.”