Dead in the Dinghy

by Ellen Jacobson

  “Finding the body?” Scooter said. “But Mollie found Gregor.”

  Jim looked flustered. “I meant seeing the body. I can’t imagine going through something like that. How do you do it, Mollie?”

  I shrugged. “I’ve never really thought about it.”

  “I’m just glad he got off that god-awful island,” Jim said. “Did you know it’s haunted? Terrible things happen there. It’s not the first murder that’s taken place there.”

  I leaned forward. “Really?”

  “Did you ever hear about Coconut Carl?” Jim asked.

  “Oh, that. I don’t think that had anything to do with Gregor,” I said. “What exactly was the beef Thomas had with him?”

  “Oh, that’s right,” Jim said. “I forgot the two of you are relatively new to Coconut Cove and don’t know all the scuttlebutt. Thomas used to own an art gallery in town. Then Gregor arrived and put him out of business.”

  “He took over Thomas’ gallery, right?” I asked.

  Jim nodded.

  “That seems odd. I would have thought that this town is big enough for two galleries. There are plenty of tourists with money to spend.”

  “That should have been the case, but that just goes to show you what a petty man Gregor was,” Jim said. “He wanted to run the only gallery in town. He pressured local artists to stop exhibiting at the gallery when Thomas owned it.”

  “How did he manage that?” I asked. “From what I know, Thomas is a respected member of the local art community. Why wouldn’t his fellow artists want to support him?”

  “Partly through spreading rumors about Thomas and partly through blackmail.” He fussed with the ketchup and mustard bottles. “The worst was when he accused Thomas of embezzlement. He sent a letter to the newspaper claiming that Thomas didn’t pay artists their full commissions. And the editor had the audacity to print it. Thomas made his financial records available to anyone who wanted to see them, but the damage was already done. Then Gregor swooped in and made Thomas a low-ball offer for the gallery. He was deep in the red by that point and didn’t have any choice but to accept it.”

  “Wow, that takes a lot of guts,” Scooter said.

  “It does. But that’s the kind of guy Gregor was. He was a bully, but a charismatic one. People wanted to believe him because he was well known in the international art world. I think they hoped some of his fame would rub off of them.”

  “You mentioned blackmail,” I said.

  “Yeah, for those folks that didn’t play ball based on rumors, Gregor threatened to expose secrets he knew about them. That’s how he got Victoria on his side.”

  “What kind of hold did he have on Victoria?” I asked.

  “I don’t know,” Jim said. “All I know is that Thomas overheard Victoria and Gregor talking one evening. Gregor threatened to expose her unless she stuck with him. Thomas spoke with her about it later and tried to convince her not to give in to blackmail, but she told him she didn’t have a choice.”

  “After the way he treated her, it’s really hard to believe that she ended up dating Gregor,” Scooter said.

  “I know,” Jim agreed. “I think that’s why she kept it secret from everyone. She only told Thomas about their relationship after she and Gregor had a fight.”

  “Did anyone stand up to him?” I asked.

  “A few. Anabel was one of them. I don’t think Gregor could find anything to blackmail her with, so he went to his next favorite tactic—attacking her reputation. He had one of his cronies write a scathing review about her work in an art journal. Anabel’s business was cut nearly in half. She’s recovered since then, but it was a huge blow at the time.” Jim gestured around the cafe at the artwork on display. “Gregor is the reason why you see all of this here. We started displaying Thomas’ work, along with work by other artists who defied Gregor.”

  Scooter’s phone buzzed. “Sorry. I need to get going or I’ll be late for my conference call.”

  “I should get back to work too,” Jim said as he stood. “Thanks for helping out, Mollie. If you ever want to pick up any shifts, all you have to do is ask.”

  After Jim walked over to talk with the waitress, I leaned across the table. “Remember what he said about Thomas finding Gregor’s body?”

  “Yeah, but he said he meant seeing him,” Scooter said.

  “Well, here’s what I’m wondering—assuming Thomas didn’t murder Gregor, did he discover the body before I did? If so, what was he doing out at the dock?” I drummed my fingers on the table. “Next stop—Coconut Creations for some answers.”

  * * *

  After I dropped Scooter at the marina for his conference call, I headed to the gallery. As I pulled into the gravel parking lot, I admired the whimsical topiaries dotting the grounds. How anyone could sculpt a living plant with hedge clippers into a remarkably accurate depiction of Goldilocks and the Three Bears was beyond me. I had tried cutting my own hair with nail scissors once. The goal had been a cute pixie cut. Instead, I ended up looking like Herman Munster. Imagine what I’d do to a plant if I tried to go all Edward Scissorhands on it.

  When I walked up the pathway to the building, I noticed a large Coconut Creations sign propped against the wall. Gregor’s name had been covered with red spray paint and his trademark symbol had been crossed out.

  As I entered the gallery, Thomas was talking on his phone. His outfit was more sedate than usual. He wore gray pants and a white shirt. The only pops of color were his red beret, striped bow tie, and yellow duckie cuff links.

  “How long will it take to print new ones?” he asked, grabbing a stack of brochures from the reception desk. “Can you make it a rush order? It should say, ‘The Thomas Sinclair Coconut Creations Art Gallery.’ Get rid of any references to Gregor.” After a pause, he continued. “Okay, thanks. I’ll pick them up later today.”

  As he tossed the brochures into a trashcan, one fluttered to the ground. He picked it up, then tore it into tiny pieces, muttering something about ‘the Russian devil’ under his breath.

  I coughed to get his attention. He whirled around. “Oh, Mollie. I didn’t see you standing there.”

  “I just walked in. It’s my first time here.” I looked at the old ticket booth next to the entryway. “I love how they transformed this old railway station.”

  He rubbed his hands together. “It will look better after…” His voice trailed off as he smiled slyly.

  “After what?” I prompted.

  His smile grew. “If I tell you, can you promise to keep it a secret?” He didn’t wait for my reply before continuing. “I’m so excited. I have to tell someone or else I’ll burst. I’m buying back the gallery!”

  “You are? Congratulations. When did this happen?”

  “Last night. I spoke with Gregor’s widow to offer my condolences.”

  I scowled. “Not really a surprise that the rat was married.” Thomas nodded. “Well, I guess that was nice of you to call her, considering…” I hesitated.

  “Considering what?” Thomas asked.

  “Well, it’s just that you weren’t exactly a fan of Gregor’s.”

  “I wasn’t,” he said. “But etiquette is still important. We ended up talking for an hour. She lives in New York and doesn’t want to own a gallery in Florida. She was happy to get rid of this place for a bargain price. Even less than Gregor paid me when he stole it from me.”

  “Wow. Why would she do that?” I asked.

  He shrugged. “She said that Coconut Cove is too parochial for her.”

  “Sounds like a snob,” I said.

  “Agreed. But, as long as she’s willing to sell, she can turn up her nose at our little town all she likes.”

  “Has the sale gone through already?”

  “No, but we agreed to the deal in principle,” Thomas said. “It will take the lawyers a few days to finalize everything and transfer ownership from the holding company to me. In the meantime, she said I can start making changes.”

  “I noticed the
sign outside. Was that your handiwork with the spray paint?”

  Thomas’ face reddened. “It was a bit childish.”

  “Understandable, after the way Gregor treated you.” I looked at the dark circles under his eyes. “I saw Jim at the cafe this morning. He said that you hadn’t slept well.”

  “No, I didn’t get much sleep. Too excited about the gallery.”

  “That’s what kept you up? Not the murder? I had a nightmare last night about finding Gregor’s body.”

  “Of course, that played a part too,” he said, looking down at the floor. “I didn’t mean to sound callous.”

  “But you’re glad he’s dead.” I waved my hand around the gallery. “If he hadn’t have been killed, you wouldn’t have this.”

  “It’s no secret that I didn’t like the man.” He pounded the desk with his fist. “And, yeah, I’m glad he’s dead.”

  I took a step back.

  “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you. It’s just the lack of sleep. It’s made me edgy.”

  I thought about what Thomas had said. Was it a strategic move on his part to act happy about Gregor’s death? Did he think that threw suspicion off of him?

  “Did Gregor have other enemies?” If Thomas was the killer, I was curious where he would try to shift the blame.

  He fiddled with his cuff links. “I don’t know if I should say.”

  “Go on,” I said, crossing my fingers behind my back. “I can keep a secret.”

  He took a deep breath. “Well, Anabel hated Gregor. She had her lawyer send him a letter threatening to sue for defamation of character. When provoked, she can have quite the temper. She always jokes that it has something to do with her red hair. But maybe she let her temper get the better of her.”

  I bit my lip. It was true that Anabel could be hotheaded. I had even been on the receiving end of one of her angry letters before we became friends. Was I letting my feelings for her get in the way of seeing things clearly?

  No, it couldn’t have been her, I told myself. I shoved my hands in my pockets and said, “A lawsuit and murder are quite different things. Do you really think she did it?”

  He held up his hands. “It’s not my place to say.”

  “Why not? You’ve known her longer than I have. In fact, you know everyone who could have done it—Victoria, Sawyer, and Olivia.”

  “I don’t know Olivia well,” he said. “The first time I met her was when she gave her YouTube seminar. Come to think of it, what do we know about her besides her public persona? She’s a stranger. Maybe you should focus your attention on her. You can speak with her tomorrow at the reception.”

  “The reception?” I asked.

  “Oh, didn’t I say? I’m having a small gathering to celebrate getting my gallery back. You and Scooter should come.” He held up his phone. “I hope you don’t mind. I have some more calls to make. Feel free to have a look around. There’s a nice collection of miniature watercolors in the next room. They make great gifts.”

  The watercolors weren’t really my cup of tea. They all featured different pink flowers—tea roses, carnations, peonies, and hydrangeas. Penny’s birthday was coming up. The paintings were small enough that she might have room to hang one in her sailboat. As I went into the main room to ask Thomas how much the one of the camellias cost, I heard him on the phone.

  “Sawyer, it’s Thomas. Great news. I’m the new owner of Coconut Creations. How would you like to come work here again?” After a pause, he laughed. “I promise, I’ll be a far better boss than Gregor ever was.”

  I tucked myself back around the corner and leaned against the wall. Sawyer was on thin ice claiming that she didn’t really know Gregor. Sure, maybe she hadn’t been having an affair with him like Victoria claimed, but you can hardly work for a man and say that you’re just acquaintances. Dinner conversation was going to be very interesting. I suddenly had a lot more questions to ask her.

  11

  Oreo Cookies and Milk

  I slipped out of the gallery and headed to my next interview of the day. It was time to turn the heat up on Victoria.

  She lived in an apartment tucked away in a quiet lane behind Penelope’s Sugar Shack. Many of the buildings in Coconut Cove were painted in bright tropical colors, and Victoria’s was no exception—turquoise wooden siding, lemon yellow shutters, and fuchsia trim. As I climbed the stairs to the second floor, I rehearsed the questions I wanted to ask.

  “Did you see Gregor get up in the middle of the night and leave your room?”

  “Did you know that Gregor’s cane had a hidden knife?”

  “Did you know Gregor was married?”

  And, of course, “Are you sure you didn’t kill Gregor? Maybe it slipped your mind? Totally understandable if it did. I’m a complete ditz that way too. I went all the way to the grocery store last week and completely forgot what I went there to buy. I stood there for ten minutes, then just ended up buying some Oreo cookies. It wasn’t until I got back to the boat that I remembered that I was supposed to buy milk. Which was a shame as there’s nothing better than dunking Oreos into a glass of milk.”

  By the time I got to the top of the stairs, my stomach was growling. I promised it that we’d get something to eat after speaking with Victoria. Then I knocked on the door. When I didn’t get a response, I banged louder. After the third time, a voice called out, “Go away. I don’t want what you’re selling.”

  I leaned against the door. “It’s me, Mollie. I’m not here to sell anything. I’m just returning your hat.”

  “Just leave it on the doormat,” she said.

  I looked down at the coir mat. It had “Please go away” printed on it. Personally, I don’t think doormats should try to boss you around. So, I rattled the doorknob. “Victoria, please let me in. I’d rather not leave your hat outside. A raccoon might come by and grab it.”

  “How would a raccoon get in the building?” Victoria asked.

  “They’re very devious creatures,” I said. “They’d probably get one to stand on another one’s shoulders so that he could pick the lock. With those little hands of theirs they’d crack it open in no time. I had to press all the buttons until someone would buzz me in. It took forever.” I tapped on the door. “So, what do you say? Are you going to let me in?”

  I heard the sound of several deadbolts being unlocked. Then the door started to open. When I tried to push on it, I discovered that Victoria had left the chain attached. As she slipped her hand through the crack, her wrist brace caught on the latch. She pulled it free, then told me to hand the hat to her.

  “Do you have a few minutes?” I asked after she pulled it through the door.

  “No. I’m not feeling well,” she said between coughs.

  “Can I get you anything?” I offered.

  “No thanks. I just need to go back to bed.” As the door started to close, I called out, “Will we see you at the reception at the art gallery tomorrow?”

  She didn’t respond, so I heeded the doormat’s wishes and left.

  Next, I popped into the Sugar Shack for a latte and a couple of oatmeal cookies. While I walking back to my car, Chief Dalton phoned to ask me to meet him at the marina patio as soon as possible. I agreed. Before he hung up, he added, “Don’t tell Anabel.”

  As I nibbled on one of the cookies, I wondered what it was that he didn’t want me to tell her. Was he planning a surprise party for her? Or was he going to ask her to marry him again and wanted my advice on how to propose? I was so excited to find out what the chief had up his sleeve that I accidentally dropped my other cookie on the sidewalk. A seagull swooped down and snatched it away.

  When I got to the patio, the chief was pacing back and forth. “What took you so long?” he asked when he saw me.

  I held up a bag. “I had to get more cookies. Don’t worry, I got some for you too. Have you thought about having Penelope do the catering for the reception?”

  As we sat at one of the tables, he asked, “What reception?”

 
; “The wedding reception, silly,” I said. “Do you want chocolate chip or oatmeal?”

  “Who’s getting married?”

  “You are,” I said, still holding the cookies in my hand.

  “What are you talking about? I’m not getting married.”

  “Really?” I set the cookies on a napkin and placed them in front of the chief. “Anabel will be disappointed.”

  He looked stunned. “She will?” Then he shook his head. “This is another one of your crazy tangents, isn’t it? We need to focus on what’s important—Anabel.”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing,” I said, eyeing up the uneaten cookies.

  He placed his hands flat on the table and took a deep breath. “Normally, you’d be the last person I’d talk to about this, but—”

  “Gee, thanks. Don’t I feel special?”

  “That’s not what I meant.” He picked at one of the cookies. “I don’t know who I can trust these days.”

  “Well, you can trust me,” I said. “Go on, spill it.”

  “I found out that Gregor was blackmailing Anabel.”

  “That doesn’t make sense,” I said. “Thomas told me that Gregor didn’t have anything on her.”

  “He didn’t until recently.” The burly man rubbed his jaw, then started picking at the cookie again. “About two weeks ago, he emailed her an old picture.”

  “A picture of what?” I asked. “And for goodness sake, would you just eat that cookie already and stop plucking raisins out of it?”

  He shrugged, then wolfed it down in two bites.

  “See, sugar helps. Now tell me about the picture.”

  “A few years ago, Anabel was protesting medical testing on animals. She sneaked in a lab and ‘liberated’ some dogs,” he said, making air quotes with his fingers. “Someone took a picture of her running out of the lab, a dog under each of her arms. If she didn’t do what he wanted, Gregor threatened to get the picture published in the local newspaper.”