“When did they break up?” I asked.
“At the reception I was telling you about,” she said proudly. “He said that when he met me, he couldn’t imagine being with anyone else. He told her it was over that night.”
“Did she blame you for what happened?”
“No, she never knew. That’s one of the reasons why he said he wanted to keep our relationship secret. Sawyer was upset. He didn’t want her to take it out on me.”
While she twirled the bracelet on her wrist, I wondered if it had been Sawyer who had destroyed Victoria’s paintings as retribution.
After taking another sip of coffee, Victoria continued. “Gregor was driving her home that night. They stopped at the park and walked down to the waterfront. When he ended things, she grabbed his cane and threw it in the water, then stormed off.”
“She just left him like that?” Anabel asked. “He couldn’t walk very well without a cane, could he?”
“No,” Victoria said. “He had to hobble back to the car. Fortunately, he had a spare cane at home.”
“That carved one he had last night?” I asked.
“The one from Tahiti? No, he got that one later. His spare one was one of those metal ones.”
“I’d love to go to Tahiti one day,” Anabel said. Her phone buzzed. “I better get that. It’s Tiny.”
While she sat at the stern of the boat to speak with her ex, Victoria drank the rest of her coffee then went down below for a refill. I leaned back against the cushions. Mrs. Moto padded over and crawled into my lap. While I stroked her, I thought about Gregor’s cane. It was almost like a piece of artwork in its own right with its intricate carvings and mother-of-pearl handle.
“Oh, my gosh,” I said to Mrs. Moto. “The knife. The cane. They’re connected. Can you believe it?” The calico yawned in response, rolled over on her back, and demanded belly rubs. I petted her with one hand and did a search on my phone with the other.
“What are you looking at?” Anabel asked as she sat next to me.
“Look at this,” I said, holding up my cell.
“It’s a cane,” she said.
“Not just any cane,” I said, swiping my phone. “Look at this picture. When you pull the handle out, there’s a knife. Just like the one we found next to Gregor.”
“So you think someone stabbed him with his own cane?”
“Uh-huh. And that person would have had to know there was a knife inside.”
“Not necessarily,” Anabel said. “Gregor could have pulled it out for self-defense and then the killer grabbed it from him.”
“I don’t think so. Remember how slippery the dock was? You saw Gregor. He couldn’t stand on his own without his cane. There’s no way he could have lifted it up and pulled the knife out without losing his balance. No, I think the killer took the cane from him, knowing there was a knife inside. Gregor probably grabbed one of the pilings for support. The killer stabbed him, then he either fell into the dinghy or he was pushed into it.”
“So the murderer had to have known about the cane,” Anabel said.
“Correct. It all points back to Victoria. She was seeing him when he got his new cane from Tahiti,” I sad. “He probably showed it to her. She had to have known there was a hidden knife.”
“Well, it doesn’t really matter, in any event,” Anabel said. “Tiny said that Chief Tyler has everyone convinced that it was an accidental death. There isn’t going to be a formal investigation.”
“But what about the evidence—the knife and the hair?”
“He denies there being any evidence,” Anabel said.
“But we were there. We saw it. We bagged it.”
“Do you really think anyone is going to believe us?” she asked. “They’ll paint Ben as some sort of unreliable surfer dude. They’ll say I’m making it up to get back at Chief Tyler on behalf of Tiny. And you…”
“What about me?” I asked.
“They’ll bring up your involvement with FAROUT and how you believe in UFOs and alien abduction to discredit you. You’ll end up a laughingstock.”
“But we have photos,” I said.
“Scooter is starting a YouTube channel, right? They’ll say he knows all about editing videos and photos and that he doctored them. That they’re fake.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. “What are we going to do?”
“I’m not sure,” she said. “Let’s talk with Tiny when we get back to Coconut Cove tomorrow and come up with a game plan.”
8
The Ghost of Coconut Carl
After the race that afternoon—and the less said about that the better, as we came in third place—everyone headed to the beach for the Fourth of July festivities. At first, there had been some debate as to whether we should skip the picnic and volleyball game, given Chief Tyler’s threats about what he would do to trespassers on Destiny Key, but Nancy was adamant that the beach was public property and that we had every right to be there. In the end, everyone came around to her way of thinking.
While the rest of the Marjorie Jane’s crew went ahead, I stayed behind to finish cooking my contribution to the potluck. My mother had sent me a cookbook specifically designed for cooking aboard a boat. She hadn’t been hugely supportive of us moving aboard a sailboat, so I was surprised by the gift. But maybe it was her way of saying that she’d come around to the idea.
The dish I was making utilized canned ingredients, something sailors relied on when making long passages. As I looked at the recipe, I wondered what kind of food Olivia had eaten when she did her circumnavigation. After my chicken enchiladas came out of the oven, Ned and Nancy picked me up in Pinkie and we headed to shore.
“Thanks for the ride,” I said, as Ned helped me out of the dinghy.
“No problem,” he said. “It’s hard to be carless when you’re on a boat.”
“Carless?” I asked.
“Boaters think of their dinghies like cars,” he said. “It’s how you get around. You need a reliable dinghy to get to shore, go shopping, head to snorkeling spots, or just to visit other boats.”
“That makes sense,” I said. “We really need our dinghy back.”
“Why would you want it back?” Nancy asked. “Someone died in it.”
I grimaced. “True. But it would cost a fortune to replace it. I’m not sure that our insurance company will allow us to make a claim on it due to murder.”
“Murder,” Ned said. “I thought it was an accident.”
“Um…” I mumbled.
“Speak up, dear,” Nancy said.
“It wasn’t exactly an accident,” I blurted out. “Someone killed him, but Chief Tyler is trying to cover it up.”
“Someone?” Ned asked.
“My money’s on Victoria,” I said.
After I explained about the knife and hair that we had found, and that I thought Victoria had killed Gregor in a moment of jealous rage, Nancy surprised me by saying that she thought I should drop the investigation.
“Normally, I’m one for following the rules,” she said. “But in this case, maybe it’s best to leave things alone.”
“But Chief Tyler is trying to cover it up,” I said. “We can’t let him get away with that. It’s just like Roswell, all over again.”
Ned gave me a blank look.
“You know, the government cover-up in the 1940s of an alien landing in New Mexico.”
“Oh, I think I saw a movie about that once,” Ned said.
“This is nothing like Roswell,” Nancy said. “Flying saucers aren’t responsible.”
“Well, it’s a bit like it,” Ned said. Nancy shot him a look and he hastened to add, “No, there aren’t any UFOs or alien life involved, but you know what they say about the ghost of Coconut Carl.”
“Coconut Carl? The pirate?” I asked with surprise. The man they were referring to had been known in these parts for his love of plunder, booze, and women. There was a wooden statue of him at the Tipsy Pirate bar, which tourists flocked to see. They w
ould rub his belly three times for good luck while drinking shots of rum. I had been known to do the same thing from time to time when I needed help with a case.
“The very same one,” Ned said. “Legend has it that during a storm dolphins guided his cutter to safety to the cove in front of Warlock’s Manor.”
“But the inlet is shallow. How could he have sailed into the cove on a sailboat?”
“No one knows. That’s part of what makes it so mysterious,” Ned said. “But here’s the interesting part. Once he was safely anchored, one of the dolphins turned into a beautiful woman and lured him to shore. While she plied him with drink, the other dolphins crept onto his boat—”
“How do dolphins creep onto anything?” I asked. “They don’t have legs.”
Nancy snorted. “Finally, you’ve said something logical.”
Ned held up his hands. “I’m just telling you how the story goes. Anyway, the dolphins took all the gold from his boat and buried it somewhere on Destiny Key.”
“What happened once Coconut Carl discovered his gold was missing?” I asked.
“He never did find out about it…at least not while he was alive. As he was going back to his boat, a coconut fell off a tree and knocked him on his head. He died instantly. They say his ghost still haunts the island in search of his loot.”
“There’s no such thing as ghosts,” I said.
Nancy nodded approvingly. “See, even Mollie doesn’t believe that nonsense.”
“How do you explain the freak storm yesterday then?” Ned asked. “That’s the kind of mysterious thing that always happens on this island.”
“I’m sure there’s a perfectly reasonable explanation for the storm yesterday,” she said. “Anyway, what’s happening here doesn’t have anything to do with ghosts, dolphins, or aliens. It has to do with that despicable man—Chief Tyler.”
I furrowed my brow. “Anabel told me how he covered up drug smuggling, but why do I have a feeling there’s more to it than that?”
Ned and Nancy exchanged glances, then he said, “The less you know, the better.”
“It’s safer if you drop the whole thing,” Nancy said. “Let’s just forget you ever said anything about a murder. Now, let’s get this food over to the potluck. Grab that cooler, Ned.”
As they bustled off, a chill ran down my spine. Maybe it wasn’t such a good idea to have our picnic on Destiny Key. After what Ned and Nancy had said—or hadn’t said—I was more afraid of the chief of police than I was of the fact that there was a murderer in our midst.
* * *
After depositing my dish with everyone else’s, I walked over to where Olivia and Sawyer were sitting. Sawyer was leaning against a palm tree, sketching the boats at anchor. Olivia was running along the beach, waving a palm frond back and forth for Mrs. Moto to chase. “Do you mind if I join you?” I asked. “I brought some dinner over for the admiral.”
As I set a plate of Frisky Feline Ocean’s Delight down, Sawyer held up her sketchpad. “Do you like it?”
I was amazed at how she had captured Marjorie Jane’s likeness, yet somehow made her look like she’d had a makeover. Maybe that’s what she would look like once we finished fixing her up. “You’re a wonderful artist,” I said after looking at the drawings she had made of the other boats.
“Thanks,” she said. “I’m thinking of turning them into note cards and selling them at the Sailor Corner Cafe.”
“That’s a great idea,” I said. “Tourists will snap them up.”
“That’s what I figured,” she said. “They like walking around the marina looking at the boats. The cards would be nice souvenirs.”
“You should talk with Nancy about selling them at the marina office as well,” I suggested.
“Good thought,” she said. “You know, Thomas was the one who gave me the idea about the cards. I wonder how he’s doing. Do you think we should walk up to Warlock’s Manor and check on him?”
“I don’t think that’s a smart idea,” I said. “We’re kind of pushing our luck just being here on the beach.”
“I suppose you’re right.” She pulled a box of oil pastels out of her backpack and started coloring in the sketch she had made of Marjorie Jane. “I’ll give him a call later.”
“Are you a self-taught artist?” I asked.
“No, I went to art school in New York City. That’s how Olivia and I met. We were roommates.”
“Was that where you met Gregor?” I asked. “He ran a school there.”
“There are a lot of art schools in the city,” she said.
“But you did know him, didn’t you?” I asked.
“He’s very famous in art circles. Everyone knows him.” She looked at the uneaten plate of cat food. “Ben told me that Mrs. Moto practically inhales wet food the minute you put it down. How come she hasn’t had any of this?”
“That is a good question. She’s either having too much fun playing with Olivia or she ate too much bacon this morning.” I held up the plate and said, “Here kitty-kitty. Dinner time!”
Mrs. Moto looked up from the palm frond she was chewing, then bounded across the beach, kicking sand up behind her.
“See, she’s inhaling it,” I said to Sawyer as we watched the cat crouch over the plate.
Olivia plopped down next to me. “What have you guys been talking about?”
“We were talking about Gregor,” I said.
“No, we were actually talking about Ben,” Sawyer quickly said. “He loves Mrs. Moto. He’d love to have his own cat. Maybe I should get him a kitten. What do you think?”
“I’m not sure he’d be up for cleaning the litter box,” I said. “Doing his own laundry on a regular basis is a challenge.”
“I’d think twice about giving him a gift,” Olivia said. “He might think you like him.”
“I do like him,” Sawyer said.
“You do?” I asked. “That’s so great to hear. He’s such a sweet guy.”
“Oh, I don’t like him like that. He’s like a brother to me,” Sawyer clarified. “I told him as much on Friday night.”
“Not exactly what a guy wants to hear,” Olivia said with a laugh. “He’s too young for you, anyway.”
“I thought the two of you went to high school together,” I said. “That would make you the same age.”
“She likes older men,” Olivia said in a teasing voice.
“Scooter is older than me,” I said.
“Is he really?” Olivia asked. “I wouldn’t have guessed that.”
I wasn’t sure whether to be offended or not. “Yes, I’m younger.”
“You can’t be that much younger than him though,” Olivia said. “Sawyer likes guys who are way older.”
Sawyer pulled a switchblade out of her bag, flipped it open then started sharpening one of her charcoal pencils.
“Wouldn’t it be easier to use a pencil sharpener?” I asked.
“I like doing it this way. Reminds me of my father,” Sawyer said.
“Ben said that you go hunting with him,” I said.
“Used to. He passed away last year,” she said.
“I’m sorry,” I said.
“He had been really sick.” She snapped her knife shut, then wistfully rubbed the intricately carved handle.
“That’s beautiful,” I said.
“Thanks. My dad carved it for me,” she said. “Gave it to me for my twenty-first birthday.”
“He was a very talented man,” I said.
She nodded. “He made knives like these and sold them at fairs around the state. I would go with him and help. It was a lot of fun. We would do these knife-throwing demonstrations. It would really draw a crowd.”
“You must miss him,” I said.
Sawyer took a deep breath, then let it out slowly. “I do,” she said, wiping away a tear.
Olivia motioned with her head to indicate I should give them a moment. As I walked away, I glanced over my shoulder at the two girls. I felt terrible that I had dredged up su
ch awful memories. Death lingered on this island—not only the murder of Gregor, but also the memories of the death of Sawyer’s father.
* * *
After everyone had eaten their fill, beach volleyball bragging rights had been established, and everyone danced to Penny’s Fourth of July play list while waving sparklers, folks returned to their boats. A few of us had stayed behind, waiting for a dinghy to ferry us back. Ned and Scooter were making sure that the bonfire was completely out, Nancy was packing up a cooler, and Anabel and I were walking along the shore shell combing.
As I was picking up a piece of sea glass, I heard a voice boom out, “Round ʼem up.” I turned and saw Chief Tyler and his two goons standing on the beach near the trailhead. “Start with her,” he said, pointing at Nancy.
That was a mistake. Even if the older women didn’t have the strength to overpower the two goons, she’d give them a tongue-lashing they wouldn’t soon forget.
“What do you think you’re doing, young man?” she said, jabbing her long purple fingernails into the abdomen of the larger of the two men. “Does your mother know you’re harassing old ladies? Is this how she raised you? Wait until I tell her about your behavior.”
His brow furrowed as he took a step backwards. Clearly a mama’s boy.
When the other guy tried to grab Nancy’s hands and pull them behind her, she stepped on his foot, then whirled around. “And you,” she said. “I remember you from Sunday school. Constantly getting in trouble. Last time you misbehaved, your mother took away your bike. Do you want that to happen again?”
Goon number two’s shoulders slumped. I could picture what he must have looked like as a little boy. I kind of felt sorry for him. Having Nancy as your Sunday school teacher couldn’t have been easy. But at least he should have felt grateful he only had to see her once a week. Imagine if she had been his elementary school teacher. Five days a week of Nancy the schoolmarm would be too much for anyone.
Confused, the two goons looked at the chief for guidance. He shook his head, then approached Nancy. “You’re trespassing.”
Dead in the Dinghy Page 11
