3 – Figure out who wanted Emily dead and why. Wanda and Jeff were top of my list, given their conversation about Emily outside Penelope’s Sugar Shack. There were a lot of questions swirling about Jeff—what had happened to his former fiancée, his discussion of a wedding certificate and Emily’s will with Mike, and what was up with his ears. Okay, that last point didn’t have anything to do with the murder, but it was still something I was very curious about.
There was definitely something suspicious about Wanda, besides the fact that she had been brainwashed by Trixie Tremblay. I realized that, although we had been taking sailing classes together for a while, I didn’t actually know much about her. It wasn’t until that day at the grocery store when she had become upset over the death of her sister that I had first learned something personal about her.
Mike was obviously up to his eyeballs in something dodgy. He had been nervous when I’d asked him about Emily’s will, and it appeared he and Jeff were up to no good. Plus, he had written that restraining order letter, which didn’t exactly put him in my or Mrs. Moto’s good books.
Alan was an interesting suspect. He was so meek and mild that I couldn’t see him being the killer, let alone imagine what would drive him to murder a young woman like Emily. But he was a strange little man, and those were often the ones you had to watch out for.
I looked over at Anabel in the booth next to me. Part of me really liked her. She was an incredible artist, she didn’t mock my involvement in FAROUT, and she had a good sense of humor. But the other part of me was still annoyed. I flipped over the page in my notebook and began another list of questions:
1 – What did Anabel have against Mrs. Moto?
2 – What was the story behind the chief’s nickname, Tiny?
3 – If there were unicorns and quadricorns, were there also unicorns with two or three horns?
After I got that out of my system, I flipped back to my “Nab the Killer, Pronto” list and thought about the most important thing that I needed to investigate—who was the killer going after next? My fear was that the murderer believed someone had seen him or her poison the cake during the competition and wanted to eliminate any witnesses. I knew from watching my favorite television show that was what murderers did—made sure no one was left alive who could identify them.
I had been right there in the thick of things. Could the murderer have thought I had seen something I shouldn’t have? Maybe there was something to be said for avoiding sugary treats, which might potentially be laced with poison. Or was it possible this was all Trixie Tremblay’s doing somehow? The cake poisoning might have driven people to embrace Rutamentals. You can never be too careful about people who have an unnatural obsession with root vegetables.
I snapped my notebook shut and shoved it in my bag. It was time to head to the Palm Tree Marina for the sailing race. I was excited and nervous at the same time. Excited to participate in my first sailing race ever and nervous that the killer might think it was the perfect opportunity to go after his or her next victim. Pushing someone overboard might go unnoticed during the excitement of the race. I was planning on staying sharp. No one was going overboard on the ocean on my watch.
* * *
When I got to the marina, everything was in full swing. Crews were busy getting the boats ready for the race—taking off the sail covers, making sure everything was battened down, and checking equipment. As I walked down the creaky dock, I kept a sharp lookout for sea monsters. The last thing I wanted was to trip on one of the loose planks, fall into the water, and get eaten by a kraken.
“There you are!” Penny was standing on the bow of her boat, Pretty in Pink.
“Sorry,” I said as I climbed on board. “The volunteer who was taking over for me at the FAROUT booth was late.”
“Quick, change into the team T-shirt down below,” she said, pulling a pale-pink shirt out of a bag.
“These turned out great,” I said. “I love how you’ve got the breast cancer ribbon on the back.”
“Well, if we win—and we are going to win—then I’ve earmarked the money that was raised to be donated to breast cancer research.” She pointed at Norm, who was standing on the deck of his boat posing for pictures. “Guess what Norm is going to donate the money to if he wins.”
“Himself?”
“Yep, his campaign fund.”
“Well, even more reason for us to win,” I said, giving her a fist bump.
Wanda tossed a coiled rope into the cockpit. “How come you haven’t changed yet?” Penny asked her.
I looked at the teal T-shirt Wanda was wearing. Surprise, surprise. It featured Trixie Tremblay holding a purple plate laden with sliced rutabaga. Yellow legwarmers and deck shoes completed the outfit.
“I wish I could, but I can’t. I’m contractually obligated to wear Trixie Tremblay gear.”
“Great, now we have an extra T-shirt.” Penny threw up her hands. “So much for a matching all-female crew.”
After checking that all the preparations were in order, she looked at the checklist that Nancy had given her. “Just one thing left to do—have Alan take an official crew photograph.” She turned to me. “Mollie, would you mind getting him so we can get this over with and head out toward the starting line? I see him over by Mike’s boat.”
“Sure,” I said. “That way I can give Scooter a good-luck kiss before the race starts.”
As I walked down the dock toward Naut Guilty, I noticed Jeff towering over Alan. He attempted to grab Alan’s camera, but the mousy man pulled back, almost falling into the water before he caught himself on one of the wooden pilings.
“Delete them,” Jeff hissed.
“I’m telling you, I don’t have any on this card,” Alan said. “They’re all saved on the cloud.”
“So you admit it, you do have photos of her!”
Alan stepped forward and jabbed his finger in Jeff’s chest. “She wanted me to take them. They’re all I have left of her, and I’m sure as heck not going to delete them!” he said, clearly enunciating every word. I was stunned—the mouse had turned into a lion.
Jeff shoved Alan’s hand down, then put his arm around his shoulders. “Listen, mate. I understand. She was a pretty girl, but you have to admit it’s a bit creepy that you’ve got photos of her.”
“She was my girlfriend,” Alan said quietly.
Jeff slapped Alan’s back. “Hardly, mate. She went on a few pity dates with you, that’s all.”
“It wasn’t pity.” His eyes looked flinty as he stared up at Jeff. “Emily was interested in me and my work.”
“Your work, maybe, but not you.” Jeff shrugged. “Tell you what, go ahead and keep the photos. No skin off my back. After all, I’m the one she was in love with. There was a ring on her finger to prove it.” He gave Alan one more hearty slap on the back. “I better get back to the boat. See you around.”
As Jeff walked toward me, I tried to remember which of his ears had seemed bigger than the other. The sun was reflecting off the water, making it hard to get a view of the left side of his face.
“You okay, Mollie?” Jeff cocked his head toward me. Ah. It was definitely his left ear that was oddly shaped.
“Me? I’m fine. It’s Alan I’m worried about. Is he okay?” I asked, noting how the photographer was digging his fingers into the palms of his hands.
“Just girl problems,” Jeff said with a laugh. “Good thing you’re married, or he might try to ask you out. Gotta go help get the boat ready. It’s going to be sweet when we cross the finish line and win this thing.”
“In your dreams,” I said over my shoulder. After getting Alan’s attention, I explained about needing him to take the Pretty in Pink crew picture. He avoided eye contact with me and mumbled a response. “Do you mind speaking up a little?” I asked gently.
“I’ll be right there,” he said more clearly. “I’m also going to take a video.”
“Oh my gosh, a video! I completely forgot that you videoed the cake competition.” Al
an nodded. “Can I see a copy of the footage you took? Is it on this camera?” This could be the key to finding out who put the poison on the cake. It wouldn’t be the first time that a video of Alan’s had provided an important clue in one of my investigations.
“The police seized the camera I used that day,” he said. Darn. Not much chance that the chief was going to let me see the key piece of evidence. Then he added, “But it automatically backs up to the cloud.”
“Ooh. Would I be able to access it?” I asked, rubbing my hands together. Thank goodness for the magical cloud.
“I suppose, if…” His voice trailed off as he shuffled his feet on the dock.
“If what?”
“If you convince Penny to let me come on her boat during the race and take pictures.”
“Well, it’s supposed to be an all-female crew.” Alan surprised me by making eye contact with me for a few seconds. It was unnerving. I quickly looked away. “But I guess I could persuade her.” As we walked toward Pretty in Pink, I remembered the extra T-shirt. “How do you feel about wearing pink?”
* * *
As Pretty in Pink tacked along on the starting line waiting for the race to begin, I looked nervously at the boat Scooter was crewing on, Naut Guilty. Mike and Jeff were aboard that boat, and one of them might be the murderer. Then I glanced around the boat I was on, my eyes resting on Wanda in her Trixie Tremblay getup and Alan clad in the spare pink shirt. The killer could potentially be here as well. I wrapped my arms around me, shivering despite the warm weather.
The starting gun sounded, jarring me out of my thoughts. “Come on, people, let’s go!” Penny cheered from the helm. She steered the boat toward the first mark while the crew focused on trimming the sails. At that moment, we were all seated on the port side, our weight helping to balance the boat.
“Ready about,” Penny said.
Two of the women shifted to the starboard side, while Wanda and I stayed on the port side. “Ready,” we all said in unison.
As Penny turned the boat, we pulled and released the lines, causing the headsail to shift effortlessly from one side of the boat to the other. We executed a flawless tack, putting Pretty in Pink in the lead.
Hang on. I should probably stop here and point something out. Did you notice all that technical babble I uttered? It sounded like I actually knew what I was doing when it came to sailing, didn’t it? And like we were a superb crew? Well, let’s just say that’s not exactly how it happened. Here’s how it really went down.
“Ready about,” Penny said.
The woman on my right looked at me and frowned. “I forgot what we’re supposed to do.”
“What’s going on, ladies?” Penny asked. She tapped her fingers on the steering wheel. “Come on, get it together. You’ve done this a million times in practice. Mollie, Wanda, over to the starboard side. Now!”
As Wanda and I rose, a wave crashed into the side of the boat, jostling us. “Ouch,” Wanda said. “You hit my head.”
“You hit my shoulder.”
“Ladies,” Penny said. “If we don’t tack soon, we’re going to hit that reef over there.” She took a deep breath. “Ready about?”
“Ready,” we all said in unison.
“Meow,” someone else said.
I looked at the companionway. Alan was standing on the ladder, which led down to the cabin below, taking photos of us in all our incompetent glory. Perched next to him was Mrs. Moto.
“How did that cat get on board?” Penny said. “Never mind, we’ll deal with that in a minute. Lee ho!”
While she turned the boat into the wind, we pulled and released the lines, shifting the sail awkwardly from one side of the boat to the other. In the process, Wanda tangled her foot up in a line on the cockpit floor. As I tried to unwrap it from her legwarmer, I fell off the bench. Mrs. Moto ran over to me, meowed loudly, then licked my face.
“Mollie, get that cat down below. Lock her in the V-berth.”
“She’s not going to like that,” I said.
“I don’t care what she likes. She’s going to get herself killed running around loose.”
I grabbed the cat and hustled down below. “How exactly did you get onto Penny’s boat?” Mrs. Moto responded with a loud purr. I smiled. She looked adorable snuggled up in my arms. “You’re going to have to stop getting into places where people don’t want you. You don’t want another restraining order, do you?”
I set her on one of the cushions in the V-berth and quickly closed the door. Not a second later, the yowling started. “Shush,” I said. “If you’re quiet, I’ll give you some extra catnip when we get home.” I paused for a minute and listened. No yowling, just a soft meow.
“All right, ladies, we’re going to tack again in a few minutes,” Penny said. “We can do this. Just remember your training. And don’t forget that it’s for a good cause—fighting breast cancer and beating the guys.”
I’m pleased to report that after that disastrous first tack, we got our act together and took the lead. The two boats trailing us—Naut Guilty and Norm’s boat The Codfather II—didn’t have a chance of catching up to us. After making it around the last mark, we headed into the home stretch. I couldn’t believe it—we were going to win this thing!
“What is he doing?” Wanda yelled. We all turned and looked behind us. The Codfather II was on a collision course with Naut Guilty.
“Turn, turn,” Penny said, staring at The Codfather II as it closed in on the other boat. “Norm, for goodness’ sake, turn!”
Norm turned, but it was too late. I flinched as the bow of his boat slammed into the side of Naut Guilty.
“Scooter!” I yelled. Mrs. Moto joined in with a piercing cry, which could be heard all the way up in the cockpit. I gripped Penny’s arm. “Are they going to be okay?”
“They’ll be fine. See that boat over there?” She pointed at a small powerboat speeding toward the accident scene. “They’re trained to handle situations like this. The best thing we can do is hold our position here until they give the all clear. If we try to go and help, we’ll just get in the way and make things worse.”
She comforted me while we waited for news. “Do you want Mrs. Moto to come up here so you can give her a cuddle?” Penny asked. I nodded. “Will one of you ladies go get her?”
Wanda volunteered. When she handed me the upset calico, I noticed that Mrs. Moto had shed a lot of hair on Trixie Tremblay’s face. Then it hit me. I knew who the murderer’s next victim was going to be.
11
COCONUT CARL
“Hey, take it easy,” Scooter said as I embraced him. “You’re squeezing the stuffing out of me.”
I stepped back and stared into his dark-brown puppy-dog eyes. “Sorry, you’re not going to get off that easy. I thought I had lost you when the boats collided. I need at least one more hug.”
He chuckled as he pulled me into his arms. “I’m okay,” he whispered into my ear before giving me a kiss. A piercing yowl interrupted our tender moment.
“I’m not the only one who needs some reassurance,” I said.
Scooter scooped up Mrs. Moto and gave her a cuddle. “I heard you went racing,” he said to the calico. “The first feline member of the Pretty in Pink crew. I hope you got a T-shirt.”
I smiled at the thought of her sporting a cat-sized pink top. After stroking her head, I gave Scooter an appraising look. “Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Absolutely fine. Not even a scratch.” Unfortunately, the same couldn’t be said for everyone else. One of the crew members on The Codfather II had broken an arm, and a couple of guys on Naut Guilty had some pretty serious cuts, bumps, and bruises.
Both boats had limped back to the marina after the injured men had been taken off by the rescue boat. The paint on Naut Guilty’s hull was scraped off where The Codfather II had smashed into her, and the fiberglass underneath was in bad shape. The deck was even worse. The Codfather II had suffered serious damage as well—her bowsprit had been torn off, her for
estay had been detached, and her mast was hanging at a precarious angle. Even if you didn’t know what a bowsprit and forestay were, one look at the sailboat would have been enough to convince you that there was going to be a hefty repair bill.
The uninjured crew members and race spectators had gathered at the marina patio. Everyone was buzzing about what had happened and who was to blame. The crowd was divided into two camps—those who thought Norm was a reckless skipper and those who thought he had just done what it took to win the race and admired him for it. Norm, of course, was basking in the attention, posing for photographs and signing people up for his campaign mailing list.
In contrast, Mike was pacing back and forth along the boardwalk, his phone pressed against his ear. “I wonder what’s going on,” I said.
“I think he’s talking to his insurance agent,” Scooter said. “It’s going to cost a pretty penny to fix his boat.” He set Mrs. Moto on the ground. “Everyone is heading over to the Tipsy Pirate for the awards ceremony.”
“Is that still on? They halted the race when the accident happened.” I rubbed my temples. I could feel a headache coming on. My lack of sleep was catching up with me. “Did you know that some folks are actually complaining that the race was stopped? Apparently, real racers don’t stop for anything.”
“I guess they do things differently in Coconut Cove.” He shrugged. “In any case, the skippers and the judges talked it over, and they decided to go ahead with the event. Although there won’t be prizes for the race, they don’t want the catering to go to waste.” He looked around the patio. “Besides, I have a feeling people are going to want to keep dissecting what happened over a few drinks. To be honest, I could use a gin and tonic.”
“Tell you what—why don’t you take Mrs. Moto back to the boat and meet me back here. I’ve got something I need to take care of first.”
Poisoned by the Pier Page 11
