Dead in the Dinghy

by Ellen Jacobson

  15

  Road Hogs

  The next morning, I went for a walk at a nearby nature reserve to clear my head. When Melvin and I returned to Coconut Cove the previous afternoon, Chief Dalton met us at the dock and took custody of the two additional pieces of evidence I had recovered—the piece of wood from Gregor’s cane and the other half of the note. He assured me that he was keeping an open mind about Victoria’s death. I assured him that I was keeping an open mind as well, except mine wasn’t about whether or not Victoria had committed suicide. I knew she had been murdered. Instead, mine was about who had done it.

  And that’s why I found myself wandering along a boardwalk that wound through the saltwater marsh near Sunshine Bay. I needed some peace and quiet to ponder my list of suspects.

  After crossing over a bridge and waving at some kayakers, I sat on a park bench and pulled out my phone. I had tried to translate the Russian note using an app, but it still seemed like it was written in code. It mentioned a painting called “The Dishonor of Mikhail and Anastasia” and that the price to acquire it was one hundred thousand dollars. It then said that the deal would be finalized on Destiny Key. Otherwise, it would be sold at auction.

  The note clearly had something to do with Gregor—he bought and sold artwork, and he spoke Russian. It most likely had something to do with his meeting with his client, Silas de Vries, the Colonel Sanders lookalike who Melvin and I had encountered at the cafe on the island. Gregor had probably dropped it in the shed, but why had he been in there in the first place?

  I sighed and tucked my phone in my pocket. I still hadn’t figured out who the killer was. The only thing I had learned was that art was expensive. Can you imagine having a hundred thousand dollars to spend on a painting?

  As I was heading back to the parking lot, a man on a bike sped toward me from the opposite direction. He was in the middle of the path, oblivious to the fact that it was meant to be shared by pedestrians and cyclists. As he approached me, I had to press against the railing to keep from being run over. “Hey, watch where you’re going, buddy,” I yelled as he zipped around a bend in the path.

  “Moron,” I muttered as I continued walking. While I was pulling out my phone to check the time, I heard a rattling noise behind me. I spun around and saw the bike barreling straight at me. The cyclist reached behind his back, pulled out a gun from the waistband of his shorts, and pointed it straight at me. When an evil grin spread across his face, I recognized him. Had Chief Tyler had sent one of his goons after me?

  * * *

  “Are you all right, miss?” I heard a voice ask.

  I opened my eyes and saw a man kneeling over me. A woman was standing behind him, her hands clutching the handle of a double stroller.

  “That lunatic could have knocked the twins over,” she said. “I can’t believe they let bikes in here.”

  “Did you see him?” I asked as the man helped me up.

  He pointed at a fork in the path. “We had just come from there when we saw him knock you down. I rushed over to make sure you were okay.”

  “It was lucky you came along when you did,” I said, thinking about how close I had come to getting shot.

  “No kidding,” he said. “There aren’t many people out here today. What if you had been seriously hurt? You could have been lying here for hours all alone.”

  “How do you feel?” the woman asked.

  I rubbed the back of my neck. It felt stiff, but that seemed to be the extent of my injuries. “I think I’m fine. Maybe a bruise or two from falling against the railing.”

  The woman handed one of the twins a stuffed animal, then picked up the other one and fussed over him. “You’re lucky you didn’t fall into the water. There’s crocodiles in there.”

  I wanted to tell her that crocodiles were the least of my worries. Instead, I asked them if they wouldn’t mind walking me back to my car. After they waved goodbye, I called Chief Dalton.

  “One of Tyler’s henchmen tried to kill me,” I said, then explained how a young family had inadvertently saved my life. While the goon might have been happy to shoot me if I had been on my own, dealing with witnesses was more problematic and it seemed he had chickened out.

  “What you found at Warlock’s Manor must be really incriminating,” the chief said. “Otherwise, Tyler wouldn’t be trying to eliminate you.”

  “But I didn’t find anything that had to do with him,” I said.

  “Of course you did. That note in Russian or that piece of the cane must tie Tyler to the murders of Mr. Smirnov and Miss Williams. He must have gotten wind of the fact that you were on Destiny Key yesterday and he sent one of his guys out to deal with you.”

  “You think Chief Tyler is the murderer?” I asked.

  “I do. And he’s going down for it if it’s the last thing I do.”

  I turned on the engine, quickly lowering the radio volume so he wouldn’t hear what I sang along to when driving.

  “He didn’t do it,” I said as I put the car in reverse. “Meet me at the Tipsy Pirate tonight and I’ll explain. There’s a going-away party for Olivia. It’ll be the perfect opportunity to look the killer in the eye and make an arrest.”

  * * *

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Scooter asked as he held the door open for me.

  “Sure. Chief Dalton will be here and the Tipsy Pirate is a public place. No one is going to try anything.” I turned and waved at a woman behind me. “Besides, the chief has one of his deputies keeping an eye on us. She seems nice, but she could smile more, don’t you think?”

  “She’s here to protect you, not to make friends,” Scooter said.

  “Maybe I should introduce her to Ben,” I said. “I’m not sure things are going to work out between him and Sawyer.”

  Scooter chuckled. “We’re here because of a murder and all you can think about is setting Ben up on a blind date. Unbelievable.”

  “I’m also thinking about my empty stomach,” I said. “Wanna split an order of egg rolls?”

  “It looks like they’ve ordered food already,” Scooter said. He pointed at a large table at the back of the bar that was covered with trays of assorted appetizers. Olivia, Sawyer, and Ben were seated at one side of the table munching on fried cheese balls. Across from them were Anabel and Chief Dalton, sharing a plate of calamari. Thomas walked over, set down a pitcher of rum punch and then sat next to Anabel.

  After we ordered gin and tonics at the bar, Scooter and I joined the gang, pulling chairs up next to the chief.

  Ben stood and tapped a knife on a glass. “Can I have everyone’s attention? I want to make a toast to the birthday girl, Sawyer.” He turned to her and smiled. “May you live to be a hundred, with an extra year to repent.” After he clinked her glass and took a sip of his beer, Ben motioned to a waitress who was holding a large cake. As she carried it to the table, everyone sang Happy Birthday.

  Scooter nudged me. “I thought this was a going-away party for Olivia.”

  “Looks like it’s a surprise party for Sawyer as well,” I said. “See, this is how you throw surprise parties. You have a cake and candles and you sing Happy Birthday. You don’t take the birthday girl to a YouTube seminar.”

  “It wasn’t even your birthday,” Scooter said. “But don’t worry, I already have a surprise lined up for you when it rolls around.”

  “Ooh, what is it?” I asked.

  “Shush,” Scooter said, ignoring my question. “I can’t hear what Sawyer is saying.”

  The young woman was holding up a card. “Isn’t that sweet? It says, ‘May you always have fair wind and following seas’ on the inside.” She leaned over and kissed Olivia on the cheek. “Thank you. I love it. I know just where I’m going to put this up in my van.”

  “Can I see that?” I asked. After Sawyer handed me the card, I looked at the inscription inside. “Your penmanship is really impressive, Olivia. You could make a living doing calligraphy on wedding invitations.”

  “She’s so tal
ented, isn’t she,” Sawyer gushed. “Not only is she a sailor, an artist, and a YouTube star, but she can also do all sorts of handwriting, too.”

  Ben chuckled. “I should have had her forge my parents’ signatures on my report cards.”

  Sawyer punched his arm playfully. “You should have just studied harder instead of throwing spitballs.”

  I pointed at the white sailboat on the front. “This looks familiar.”

  “That’s Olivia’s boat,” Sawyer said.

  “I have a confession to make,” Olivia said. “I stole Sawyer’s idea to make greeting cards using my artwork on the front. I’m going to try to sell them when I’m back in New York.”

  “It was actually Thomas’ idea,” Sawyer said. “We probably owe him some sort of commission.”

  Thomas laughed and held out his glass. “How about if we make it payable in rum punches?”

  While Olivia refilled his glass, I tapped the chief’s arm and passed him the card. “Take a close look at this,” I said in a low undertone.

  “What am I looking at?” he asked.

  “Right there, on the bow of the boat. See what it says?” The burly man locked eyes with me, then slowly nodded. “But that’s not all.” I opened the card and pointed at Olivia’s handwriting. “Someone had to have forged Victoria’s suicide note, don’t you think?”

  He rubbed his jaw while he considered the implications of what I had just said. “Okay, let me think about how to handle this.”

  I took a sip of my gin and tonic. “How about if you let me handle this?”

  Then I tapped the side of my glass to get everyone’s attention. “Olivia, do you mind telling us why you murdered Gregor and Victoria?”

  16

  Hairballs

  Olivia nearly spit out her drink. “Me? Murder Gregor and Victoria? Is this some kind of joke?”

  Thomas frowned. “This isn’t funny, Mollie. Show some respect for the dead. Victoria was a troubled soul who took her own life.”

  “No, she didn’t.” I pushed my plate to the side and leaned forward. “She was murdered.”

  “But she left a note,” Thomas said.

  “There was a note, but she didn’t write it,” I said. “Someone forged it.”

  “That can’t be right,” Thomas said, his brow furrowed. “There were details in there that only Victoria would have known.”

  Olivia snorted. “See, I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

  Sawyer looked sideways at her friend, then asked, “What kind of details?”

  “She mentioned a conversation that we had the night of the reception at the gallery,” Thomas said softly. “I told Victoria that it was wrong to let someone else take the blame for killing Gregor.”

  “Well, there you go,” Olivia said. “How could I have known about their conversation?”

  “Same way I did,” I said. “Eavesdropped.”

  “You overheard us?” Thomas asked.

  I felt my face get warm. “Uh, I happened to be standing near the Snow White topiary when the two of you started arguing. I didn’t want to embarrass you by making my presence known. I’m not sure where Olivia was hiding. Maybe over by Puss in Boots.”

  Thomas stared down at the table. “That was the last time I spoke with my cousin,” he said softly.

  Olivia sized me up while she took a sip of her drink. “You’re the one who overheard what they said, so it only stands to reason that you were the one who wrote that note.”

  “So, you’re admitting that Victoria was murdered?” I asked.

  “Sure, if you say so,” she sneered.

  Thomas pushed back his chair, stood, then started pacing back and forth next to the table. “It still doesn’t make sense,” he said. “She wrote about what happened between her and Gregor that night. The text from Gregor’s wife on his phone, and how they fought about it. No one else would have known that except Victoria.”

  I shook my head. “How do we even know that’s what happened? Both Victoria and Gregor are dead. Olivia could have made up any old fictitious conversation between the two of them.”

  “For the last time,” Olivia said, slamming her glass on the table, “I didn’t kill anyone.” She turned to Sawyer. “Come on, let’s get out of here.”

  Sawyer looked at me, then back at Olivia. “Maybe we should hear Mollie out.”

  Olivia grabbed her purse. “And I thought we were friends.”

  As she started to get up from the table, Chief Dalton said, “Sit back down, Miss Peterson.”

  “No way,” she said. “I know my rights. I don’t have to stand for this.”

  The chief nodded at his deputy. She walked over to Olivia, stared impassively at the young woman, then pointed at the chair. Olivia set her purse on the floor and meekly sat back down.

  After pouring some more rum punch in her glass, Olivia leaned forward and locked eyes with the chief. “You don’t have any proof. All you have is some crazy claim that Victoria’s note was forged.”

  “That’s not all we have.” I picked up the birthday card from the table and pointed at the illustration on the front. “Tell us, what’s the name of your sailboat?”

  “The Anastasia,” she said. “What does that have to do with anything?”

  “I remembered you talking about circumnavigating on the Anastasia when we went to your YouTube seminar. At the time, I thought it was a pretty boat name—much nicer than Marjorie Jane. But I didn’t really think about it much after that.”

  “What’s wrong with Marjorie Jane?” Scooter asked.

  “It’s kind of dull, don’t you think?” I replied.

  “People rename their boats all the time,” Ben said. “You should think about it. How about the Black Pearl or—”

  Chief Dalton held up his hand. “Perhaps we should get back to the subject at hand.”

  I nodded. “You’re right. What were we talking about? Oh, yeah, the name Anastasia. I heard it again when Melvin and I were at Destiny Key yesterday. We met a man who looks just like Colonel Sanders.”

  Ben chuckled. “That would be a great boat name. Instead of a mermaid figurehead at the bow, you could have one of a chicken.”

  “Anyway,” I continued. “This guy, Silas de Vries was his name, he mentioned a Russian woman named Anastasia Petrov. She and her husband, Mikhail, were notorious art forgers. Gregor knew them. He used to sell their fakes to unsuspecting art collectors. Silas also said something else interesting. The Petrovs had a daughter named Oksana. After her parents were arrested, she changed her name and tried to make a new life for herself.”

  “What does that have to do with Olivia?” Sawyer asked.

  “Olivia Peterson has a nice ring to it, doesn’t it?” I asked. “So does Oksana Petrov. Did you know that ‘Petrov’ means ‘Peter’ in English? Like ‘Peterson’? I’ve learned a lot about Russian over the past few days. For instance, did you know that kroshka means ‘crumb’? That’s the pet name that Gregor called Victoria.” I nudged Scooter. “Much cuter than stegosaurus, don’t you think?”

  “Really? You’d rather be called something that has to do with a scrap of food rather than a dinosaur?” Scooter asked.

  Chief Dalton cleared his throat. “Enough about pet names. Let’s get back to the point.”

  “Fair enough.” I looked at Olivia. “I can see how if you were going to change your name, it might be nice to keep it somewhat similar to your old one. It would be a way to keep a connection with your parents.”

  “This is ridiculous,” Olivia said. “I didn’t change my name.”

  “That’s the kind of thing that can be easily checked,” Chief Dalton said.

  I toyed with the birthday card. “That’s why you named your boat the Anastasia, isn’t it? A tribute to your mother.”

  Olivia put her hands to her mouth and took a deep breath. “Even if I did change my name, and I’m not saying I did, what does that have to do with Gregor’s murder?”

  I grabbed my phone out of my purse and pulle
d up the Russian translation of the note I had found. “Gregor threatened to expose your past. He told you that if you didn’t give him one hundred thousand dollars he would put a painting called ‘The Dishonor of Mikhail and Anastasia’ up for auction. It was a sort of code he used rather than come out and say directly that he’d spill the beans about your secret past unless you coughed up the money.”

  “Is that true?” Sawyer asked her friend.

  When Olivia didn’t respond, Sawyer pushed her chair closer to Ben and whispered something in his ear. He nodded, then put his arm around her shoulders protectively.

  “When I was researching Russian names, I found out something else interesting,” I said. “You know how we use nicknames in English? Like Tom for Thomas and Ben for Benjamin. Well, they do the same thing in Russian. Men named Mikhail are often called Misha for short.”

  “Misha sounds familiar,” Ben said.

  “It should,” I said. “Remember when we were at that art presentation at the gallery?” Ben nodded. “Olivia was telling us a story about how her father insulted one of her friends about her snoring. She mentioned how when her mother admonished him she called him Misha.”

  Up until this point, Anabel had been sitting quietly next to her ex-husband. “That’s confirmation that her father’s name is Mikhail,” she said before leaning forward and glaring at Olivia. “Do you realize that I was arrested for the murder of Gregor? Do you know what I went through? And it was all because of you!”

  Chief Dalton pulled Anabel back into her chair. “Calm down. You’re not helping matters.”

  She twisted away from him. “Aren’t you going to arrest her?”

  “Shush,” he said, lightly touching her hand. Then he turned to Thomas. “Why don’t you have a seat, Mr. Sinclair? You’re going to wear out the floor with all that pacing.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Thomas said as he sat down. “I saw Victoria on the dock that night.”

  “What you really saw was Olivia wearing a wig,” I said. “There’s a trunk full of old theatrical stuff, including costumes and wigs, at Warlock’s Manor. It was easy for Olivia to disguise herself. That way if anyone saw her at the dock, they would have mistaken her for Victoria.”