Dead in the Dinghy

by Ellen Jacobson

  “No problem. I’ll pull it down there,” Ben said, tucking the scarves into one of his pockets. He untied the line securing the dinghy to the cleat, then started to walk it down the dock. After a few feet, he said, “Um, it’s stuck, boss.”

  “Oh, that’ll be the stern anchor,” I said.

  “Here, I’ll get it,” Anabel offered. She leaned down and pulled on the line attached to the back of the dinghy. After she had hoisted the anchor out of the water, she held it up. “What should I do with it?”

  “Well, I don’t think we should toss it in the dinghy,” I said. “It will contaminate the crime scene. And I don’t want to leave it here, because the dock is also part of the crime scene. Do you mind carrying it down to the beach?”

  Anabel pointed at a shed near the house. “Why don’t I tuck it inside there? That way no one will accidentally step on it and it will be out of the way.”

  While Ben walked the dinghy down the rest of the dock and Anabel stored the anchor, I watched Victoria. She was now sitting on the beach, her legs crossed in front of her, stroking Mrs. Moto. As aloof as cats could be at times, Mrs. Moto always seemed to know when someone needed to be comforted.

  “Gosh, that was heavy,” Ben said as he positioned the dinghy on the beach. “Guess that’s what happens when you’re dragging dead weight. Get it? Dead weight?”

  “Hilarious,” I said.

  “Police sometimes make jokes like that,” Anabel said. “Helps relieve the tension when they have to deal with horrific things.”

  “Do you think I should apply to the police academy?” Ben asked. “I think I might be a natural at this.”

  “You realize it’s nothing like the movies, right?” I said. “Besides, I can’t see you giving up sailing. It’s in your blood.”

  “True.” He pointed at the scarves hanging out of his shorts’ pocket. “What should I do with these?”

  I looked at the area around the dinghy. “There’s really no way to cordon this area off. Maybe we should focus on collecting the evidence instead. We’ll need some plastic bags.”

  “On it, boss.” Ben raced back to the house, reappearing a few minutes later. He reached into the tote bag. “Okay, I have bags, a marker, and two more muffins.”

  I inhaled my muffin in less time than it took Anabel to peel the paper wrapper off the bottom of hers. Then I bent down and started to reach for the knife. “Oops. I don’t want to get my fingerprints on this.”

  “You really don’t,” Anabel said in between bites. “Chief Tyler would decide you’re his prime suspect based on the prints and arrest you without any further investigation. In addition to being corrupt, he’s also lazy.” She pulled an embroidered handkerchief out of her pocket and handed it to me. “Use this.”

  “That’s adorable,” I said. “Are those tiny unicorns?”

  “Uh-huh. And next to them are elves,” she said.

  “This is gorgeous,” I said, holding it up. “I don’t want to ruin this picking up the knife.”

  “It’s okay. It’s for a good cause.”

  I gingerly grabbed the knife with the handkerchief. Ben held a bag open while I dropped the murder weapon inside. Then he handed me a pen.

  “What do you think I should mark on it?” I asked.

  “The date and time?” Ben suggested.

  I scrawled those down, then added my initials and ‘DD-001’.

  Anabel stared at the bag. “What does ‘DD-001’ stand for?”

  “It’s our case number. ‘DD’ stands for ‘dead in the dinghy’ and this is evidence item number one.”

  “I think Tiny would be impressed,” Anabel said.

  Ben held out another bag. “What else do you have?”

  “Only our stuff—the cooler, the gas tank, and the broken oar locks. Wait, what’s that?” I pointed at a brown object lodged underneath the cooler. I used Anabel’s handkerchief to pull out what looked like a matted clump of something unpleasant. Had Mrs. Moto hacked up a hairball in the dinghy when we weren’t looking?

  “Is that hair?” Ben asked.

  “It could be.” I set the handkerchief down on the beach, took a picture, then grabbed a small twig and pulled it apart. “I think you’re right. It looks like long brown hair.” I inserted it into a bag, marking it ‘DD-002.’

  Ben tugged at his brown ponytail self-consciously. “It’s not mine.”

  “Strange how it’s matted like that,” I said, looking at the hair through the plastic.

  “Almost like someone pulled a clump out of someone’s head,” Anabel said.

  “During a struggle?” Ben asked.

  She nodded. “Exactly.”

  “Well Gregor’s hair is black so it isn’t his.” I looked at Anabel’s fiery red hair piled on top of her head. “I think it’s safe to rule you out.”

  “Ooh. Is this where you go through your list of suspects?” Ben asked.

  “I guess,” I said. “It had to have been someone here at the house.”

  “Someone could have come on foot,” Ben said.

  “I’m not sure about that,” Anabel said. “Thomas said that the nearest house is pretty far away, and who in their right mind would have trekked through that storm to get here?”

  “You’re right,” I said. “We should focus on who’s here at Warlock Manor. Obviously, we’re ruling out the three of us and Scooter. That leaves us with Sawyer—”

  “She has blond hair,” Ben said quickly.

  “Right. And Olivia’s hair is blue. Thomas has gray hair. That leaves us with…”

  As my voice trailed off, the three of us turned and looked at Victoria sitting on the beach, her long brown hair cascading down her back.

  * * *

  “You think that’s Victoria’s hair?” Ben asked.

  “Whose else could it be?” I replied. “I know this wasn’t in the dinghy yesterday. Scooter cleaned it out before we left for the barbecue.”

  “It could have been blown in there during the storm,” Anabel said.

  Having learned the hard way that it was important not to jump to conclusions when conducting an investigation, I considered this carefully. Maybe Anabel was right, and the hair was unrelated to the murder. I bent down and examined the body more closely. “Do you see that?” I asked. “Gregor seems to have some strands of hair in his hand, and it looks like there are some caught in his signet ring. I’m not sure a storm can explain that.”

  “You’re probably correct,” Anabel said. “But it’s so hard to believe that Victoria is a killer.”

  I gazed off into the distance. “I don’t like the idea either, but remember what Gregor told your ex about her mental health. Maybe she went off the deep end.”

  “Should I put her under arrest?” Ben asked, eager to undertake his self-appointed deputy duties.

  “We’re not in the arresting business,” I said. “Our job is to present a case to the authorities and then let them take it from there. Do either of you see anything else we might have overlooked?”

  While the three of us examined the dinghy, a dark four-wheel-drive vehicle pulled up in front of Warlock’s Manor. A tall, scrawny man dressed in olive green cargo shorts and a light green short-sleeved shirt got out. He walked over to a garden shed where Anabel had stowed the stern anchor and opened the door.

  “Who do you think that is?” Anabel asked.

  “The gardener?” I suggested.

  “Hey, that means the road is clear,” Ben said. “The police should be here soon.”

  I had to admit that I was disappointed. Now that we had found two important clues—the knife and the clump of hair—and had a potential suspect, I was loath to give up the investigation. Not many police officers could solve a murder in a couple of hours like we had, I thought as I mentally patted myself on the back.

  “Look, he’s coming back out,” Ben said. “What’s that he’s carrying?”

  The man had a large brown sack in his arms. He opened up the rear door of his vehicle and deposited it in
the back.

  “Could it be potting soil or mulch?” I asked.

  “Why would he be putting it in his car?” Anabel asked. “Shouldn’t he be using it in the garden?”

  We watched as the man repeated the process two more times.

  “Something isn’t right about this.” I said. “I don’t think those bags belong to him.”

  “Want me to arrest him?” Ben offered.

  “I was thinking more along the lines of telling Thomas,” I said.

  “Why don’t I do that?” Anabel offered.

  As she walked away, she said over her shoulder, “Don’t worry, Mollie. I’ll get you another muffin.”

  Before she could reach the house, Thomas came out and greeted the scrawny man before pointing to where we were standing. The man nodded, clicked his car doors locked, then sauntered down the beach with Thomas at his side and Anabel trailing behind.

  “This is Chief Tyler,” Thomas said when they reached us.

  “You’re the chief of police?” Ben asked. “Shouldn’t you be wearing a uniform?”

  The chief stared down his long crooked nose at Ben. “And you are?” he asked in a voice that sent chills down my spine.

  “Ben Moretti,” he stammered.

  “Wait here,” Chief Tyler said.

  He returned to his car, opened it, and reached into his glove box.

  “Do you think he’s getting a gun?” Ben whispered. “Maybe I shouldn’t have said anything about what he was wearing.”

  “A gun would seem like a bit of an extreme reaction,” I said. “Shush, he’s coming back.”

  The chief had a small notebook in one hand and a pen in the other. He opened up the notebook, then stepped so close to Ben that I was sure they could see the pores on each other’s faces. “Spell Moretti.”

  After Ben spelled his last name, he turned to Anabel. “Name?”

  “Anabel Dalton.”

  He scowled. “Dalton? Any relation to Chief Dalton in Coconut Cove?”

  “Yes, he’s my husband. I mean my ex-husband.”

  He looked Anabel up and down. “Interesting,” he said, writing something down in his notebook.

  He didn’t even bother to ask me what my name was. He simply stared at me until I spluttered, “Mollie McGhie.” When he didn’t add my name to his notebook, I didn’t know whether to be offended or relieved.

  “What’s that?” he asked, pointing at Ben’s shorts pocket.

  “Scarves,” Ben said nervously. “It’s not a crime to have scarves, is it?”

  “Hand them over.” The young man shook as he gave the chief the scarves. Chief Tyler inspected the knots Ben had made, then wadded up the improvised rope and stuffed it in his own pocket.

  “Do you think he’s going to stash that in the back of his car like those bags?” Ben whispered in my ear.

  The chief stared at Ben for a few uncomfortable moments, turned to a new page in his notebook, and jotted something down.

  “Maybe I should go back to the house and see how everyone is doing,” Ben suggested.

  “No,” was the monosyllabic reply from the chief.

  “Did you want to examine the body?” Thomas asked.

  The chief took one step toward the dinghy, looked at Gregor for a few seconds, then said, “Accidental death.”

  “Accidental? Did you see that gaping wound in his chest?” I said. “This is murder.”

  The chief fiddled with his notebook as though he was going to write something down before snapping it shut and tucking it in his shirt pocket.

  “He drowned,” Chief Tyler said with finality.

  “How would someone who drowned end up in a dinghy stabbed to death?” I argued.

  He shrugged. “Dolphins?”

  “You’re saying a dolphin swam into the inlet, through the mangroves, into this cove, then somehow stabbed Gregor before hoisting his body into the dinghy?”

  “This is Destiny Key,” the chief said, as though that explained it.

  “I told you this island is unusual,” Thomas said quietly.

  I shook my head. “Killer dolphins kind of go above and beyond unusual.”

  The chief walked back to his car and opened the passenger door.

  “See I told you, he’s stealing the scarves,” Ben said.

  “No, he’s not,” Anabel said. “Wait a minute, I guess he is.” We watched as he pulled the scarves out of his pocket slowly, like a magician does, before tossing them on the seat.

  “Now I really want to know what’s in those bags,” Ben said.

  “What bags?” Thomas asked.

  “He took three bags out of the garden shed and put them in his car,” Ben said. “You should ask him about it.”

  “Me? No,” Thomas said. “I just want to get this over with.”

  “Get this over with?” I asked. “You mean you’re happy that he thinks it was an accidental death?”

  “Maybe it was,” Thomas said. “That might be best.”

  “What? You want the killer to get away with it?” I asked.

  “I’m not saying that,” he said, crossing his arms across his chest. “But I think we can all agree that Gregor got what he deserved. Maybe we should just consider it justice served.”

  Anabel chewed on her lip, then slowly nodded.

  “You think he’s right, don’t you?” I asked her.

  Before she could respond, the chief returned. “Everyone needs to leave the island.”

  “We’re leaving on the ferry on Tuesday morning,” Thomas said.

  “No,” Chief Tyler said.

  “Yes, we are,” Thomas replied.

  “No,” he repeated. “You’ll leave now.”

  “Why would we do that?” Thomas asked.

  The chief looked back at the dinghy before responding. “Because I said so.”

  “Even if we wanted to leave,” Anabel said, “there’s no way off the island until Tuesday. The ferries don’t run on the weekends or Mondays.”

  He shrugged. “I don’t care how you get off the island. Just do it. There are plenty of boats anchored nearby. Get a ride on one of them. This is private property. If you’re still here when I return, I’ll consider you to be trespassers. We don’t take kindly to trespassers on Destiny Key.” Then he abruptly turned and walked back to his vehicle.

  “Did you forget something?” I shouted.

  He spun around, marched back to me, and snatched the evidence bags out of my hands.

  As he clicked open his car doors, I shouted, “I meant the body!”

  * * *

  “Now what are we supposed to do?” Anabel asked. “We’re stuck on this island until Tuesday with that insane chief of police who is insisting we leave immediately.”

  “I’m not leaving,” Thomas said. “Michael gave me permission to use his house.”

  “Didn’t you say that he and Chief Tyler are cousins?” Anabel asked.

  Thomas nodded.

  “Maybe you can talk to Michael and tell him what’s going on and he can straighten things out with the chief.”

  “Even if I had cell phone service, which I still don’t, I doubt if I could track him down,” Thomas said. “He’s off doing a play somewhere in Tuscany.”

  “We need to tell someone about what’s going on,” I said. “Maybe we can get a hold of Tiny on the VHF.”

  “They won’t be able to hear us back in Coconut Cove,” Thomas said. “The range is limited.”

  “Guys, remember, Chief Tyler drove in here, which means the road is clear,” Ben said. “We can drive down to the public beach and get Penny to meet us there. She can take us back to the regatta boats where there’s cell phone coverage and we can call Chief Dalton.”

  “Smart thinking,” I said. Ben beamed at the compliment.

  “We should get a move on before he gets back,” Anabel said. “I can go there with Ben.”

  “Take Michael’s golf cart to the trailhead that leads to the public beach. You’ll see a sign marking the entrance,” Thom
as said. “While you’re doing that, I’ll hail Pretty in Pink and Marjorie Jane on the VHF and let them know what’s going on.”

  “Hey, when you go back to the house, it might be better if you didn’t tell anyone that Gregor has been murdered or about the evidence,” I said.

  “What evidence?” he asked.

  “The bags Chief Tyler grabbed from me,” I said.

  “Oh, I must have missed that,” he said. “What was in them?”

  I breathed a sigh of relief. That meant that Thomas didn’t know about the knife or the clump of hair. I improvised. “Nothing important. Just some sand and seashells we found next to Gregor.”

  “What are we going to do about him?” Ben asked, pointing at the dinghy.

  “I’ll stay with the body,” I offered.

  After everyone left, I paced on the beach while keeping the dinghy in my sights. There was no way that this was an accidental death. Or a murder by a dolphin. I wasn’t sure which idea was more preposterous. Gregor was clearly murdered with a knife by a human. From what Anabel had said, the chief would probably bury the evidence, so I was glad that I had taken photos. But pictures might not be enough to prove what had really happened to the higher-up authorities, whoever that might be. What I needed was something tangible.

  I looked inside the dinghy again, hoping to find something else that would confirm that the killer was Victoria. Sweat poured off me while I examined the crime scene. The body really should be covered, I thought. Not just out of respect, but also because of the hot sun beating down on it. I decided to poke in the shed and see if I could find something I could use. When I opened the door, a spider ran out. Where was Mrs. Moto when you needed her? In addition to being a good seagull-chaser-offer, she was also an expert at insect management.

  I spotted a tarp on one of the shelving units at the back of the shed. As I reached up to pull it down, another spider ran down my arm. I shrieked and jumped back, tripped on a ladder and then fell onto the ground. As I sat up, I noticed a crumpled up piece of paper wedged by the door. I smoothed it out, keeping a careful eye out for other spiders, and examined it.