Murder at the Marina

by Ellen Jacobson

  “Sure, no problem.” She pointed at her pink speedboat, which was anchored a few feet from the shore. “Hop on in.”

  I WAS STILL WRINGING out my skirt, which had gotten soaked getting into Penny’s boat, along with the rest of me, when we pulled up to Ben’s boat. I didn’t think it was possible to find a boat that looked worse than Marjorie Jane, but Ben had achieved that dubious honor. What appeared to have been blue paint at one time was chipped and faded, the canvas was ripped, and the decks were long overdue for some varnish. I could just about make out the name, Poseidon’s Saber, next to a carving of a scantily clad mermaid.

  Penny knocked on the side of the boat. “Ben, are you there? It’s me, Penny, along with Scooter and Mollie from Marjorie Jane.”

  I heard some banging, followed by a few salty phrases that any pirate would be proud to have in his vocabulary. Ben came up on deck, stretching his arms. “Sorry about that. I was having a bit of a nap down below.” He grabbed a rope from Penny and tied off her boat to the side. “Come on aboard,” he said, pointing at a rickety ladder.

  I wasn’t too sure that I wanted to climb up that. “Maybe I should just wait here,” I suggested.

  “Nonsense,” Scooter said. “It’ll be a good chance to check out another sailboat and get ideas for Marjorie Jane. Climb on up.” He held the ladder steady while I cautiously made my ascent.

  “How’s it going, Mollie?” Ben said, offering me his hand and helping me up on deck. “Long time, no see. To what do I owe the pleasure of this visit?”

  “I talked with Scooter and we want to hire you to do some work on the boat.”

  After agreeing to an hourly rate, Ben said, “This calls for a celebration.” He shoved aside an old guitar and a pile of rags and motioned for us to sit down. “Who wants a soda?”

  Obviously, Ben didn’t realize that celebrations involved chocolate, not a can of warm generic cola.

  Scooter took him up on his offer and popped open a can. “How long have you had this boat?”

  “I bought her earlier this year from Captain Dan. You should have seen what she looked like before I got my hands on her. Boy, was she a wreck.”

  “She used to be owned by that old guy, didn’t she?” Penny asked.

  “Yep, a real old salt. He circumnavigated the globe on this boat. I’m hoping to do the same thing.” He combed his fingers through his hair, then pulled it back into a ponytail. “But it’ll be a while yet before I can get her off this mooring ball. She needs a new engine and a million other things.” He slapped Scooter on the knee. “Working for you is sure going to help a lot. I’m gonna save up my money, point Poseidon’s Saber toward the Caribbean, and never come back.”

  “You’d sail down there all by yourself?” I asked.

  Ben sighed. “I guess so. It’s really hard to find a woman who wants to live aboard a boat and share the sailing dream.” He punched Scooter in the arm. “You’re a lucky fellow. Not every guy has a wife who’s willing to sell everything, move aboard a boat, and sail around the world.”

  My jaw dropped. Selling everything and sailing around the world was news to me. Scooter’s midlife crisis was taking on new proportions.

  Scooter patted my arm. “One step at a time, Ben. First, we need to get Marjorie Jane fixed up. When do you think you’d be able to start work?”

  Ben’s eyes lit up. “How about later this afternoon?”

  “Sounds good. The first thing we have to do is some cleaning.” I noticed Scooter didn’t mention exactly what needed to be cleaned up. “The boat’s in a bit of disarray given what happened last night.”

  “Oh, yeah, the murder. Do the police have any idea who did it?”

  “Not yet,” Scooter said. “I think they’ve been interviewing everyone today. Hopefully, they’ll solve the case soon, and we can all move on with our lives.”

  “Did they interview you, Penny?” I asked.

  “Bright and early this morning,” she replied.

  “I bet they asked you the usual questions, like what you were doing at the time of Captain Dan’s murder.”

  “They did.”

  I was hoping for a little more information. Fortunately, we’d received training on questioning techniques for reluctant interviewees from FAROUT. I tried again. “What exactly were you doing at the time of Captain Dan’s murder?”

  Penny looked flustered. “I was on my boat reading a book about old whaling captains and their crews. Did you know some of the captains took their wives with them on trips that lasted for years?”

  I wasn’t going to be sidetracked. “Were you all alone?”

  “Yes, they were alone. No other women on the ship,” Penny said. “Can you imagine raising children on a whaling ship?”

  No, I couldn’t. I couldn’t imagine raising children at all, let alone on a boat. Now, a cat, on the other hand—that was something I could imagine. Just the right level of responsibility for me to deal with.

  I mentally shook myself. Somehow, Penny had managed to distract me. I was thinking about cats instead of Captain Dan’s murder. I was determined to get an answer to my question. “No, I meant were you alone?”

  “Yes,” she said, frowning.

  “So no one can vouch for you, Penny?”

  Penny began to look irritated. “Not everyone lives with a husband or partner like you do, Mollie.”

  “No, that’s not what I meant,” I said quickly, realizing that my blunt questions weren’t having the desired effect. I’ve been told that subtlety is not my strong suit. “All I meant was that they asked us about our alibis and who could vouch for us. I was just curious if they asked you similar questions. I wasn’t sure if you had someone special in your life.”

  Ben inched closer to Penny. “I guess we’re in the same boat. I don’t have anyone special. You don’t have anyone special. Neither of us has anyone to back up our alibis.”

  Penny moved closer to me and farther from Ben. “Maybe we should do something to change that. Whaddya say we hit up happy hour tonight at the Tipsy Pirate?”

  “Sorry, sugar, but I’ve got plans tonight,” Penny said.

  Ben slumped on the bench. “Sure, I understand,” he said slowly.

  Penny stood and clapped her hands together. “All right. Let’s get this show on the road and head back to the marina. I’ve got a million things to do this afternoon before my date.”

  This time, I managed to stay dry, which made the boat ride more enjoyable. The gentle breeze and clear blue water didn’t hurt either. During the trip back, I remembered that Sandy had said that she had seen Penny at the marina on the night of the murder. Why did Penny say she was on her boat alone? Something wasn’t adding up.

  CHAPTER 8

  TO-DO LISTS

  AFTER PENNY DROPPED us off at the marina dinghy dock, we walked into town to the Sailor’s Corner Cafe for a late lunch. It was popular with locals and tourists alike, and we were lucky to get a table. We had been coming here regularly since our move to Coconut Cove. I always thought the nautical decorations were cute, but now that we owned a sailboat, I looked at the old steering wheels, oars, ship’s bells, and anchors dotted around with more interest.

  I noticed the young couple I had seen at our anniversary dinner holding hands in a booth. The sunlight from the window made the diamond necklace he had given her that night sparkle brightly. “Aww. Aren’t they sweet?” I said. “Look at how in love they are. I really like her necklace, don’t you?”

  Scooter glanced over at them. “It’s okay.” He put his menu down. “That reminds me—you have to stop trying to fix people up.”

  “What are you talking about? Who was I trying to fix up?”

  “Penny and Ben.”

  “You’ve got to be kidding me. They are the least likely couple I can think of. She doesn’t exactly seem like the type to go for an unemployed pirate wannabe.”

  “Then what were you doing asking all those questions about their alibis and pointing out that they’re both single?”
<
br />   “That’s all I was doing—checking on their alibis. I’m done trying to fix people up. Remember what happened with your sister?”

  “She’s still not speaking to me.” He picked his menu back up. “What are you going to get?”

  “I can’t decide. I’m torn between the Pirate’s Platter or a BLT.”

  Scooter’s eyes followed a waitress who was bearing two large sundaes on her tray. “You should probably go for the BLT so you save room for dessert.”

  “Good call. The BLT it is.”

  Scooter waved the waitress over to our table. “We’re ready to order, Alejandra.”

  Alejandra Lopez was one of the reasons we kept coming back to the Sailor’s Corner Cafe. I envied her silky, black hair, which she wore in a French braid while at work, and her youthful energy. I certainly wouldn’t have been able to put the hours in that she did, always with a big smile on her face.

  After we placed our order, she asked, “Is it true that Captain Dan was killed on your boat?”

  “Unfortunately, he was,” I said.

  “¡Oh, Dios mío! Are you doing okay?”

  “We’re trying not to think about it,” Scooter said.

  “You poor things. How awful.” She scooped up our menus and tucked her pad and pen in her apron pocket. “Captain Dan used to come in here quite a bit. He always got the same thing—the Fisherman’s Combo.” She bent down and said in a low voice, “Between you and me, for all of his boasting about how great of a salesman he was and how much money he made, he sure was a lousy tipper. He used to try to hit on me too. Like I’d be interested in somebody like him.” She gave us a smile. “Anyway, enough about him. I’ll be back with your meals in a jiff.”

  After we polished off our sandwiches and hot fudge sundaes—complete with extra sprinkles and whipped cream—I got out my notebook. “We should probably make a list of what needs to be done on Marjorie Jane.” I really shouldn’t have been encouraging Scooter’s midlife crisis, but I figured that if he was going to have one, I might as well make sure it was organized.

  “You do love making lists, don’t you?” Scooter said. It was true. I do love to-do lists. It’s the doing stuff on the to-do lists that I don’t like so much.

  “So where should we start?” I asked.

  “First, we should probably do a full inventory of everything that’s on the boat. After they found that winch handle, it makes me wonder what else is on there that we don’t know about.” I was proud of Scooter. He didn’t look like he was going to pass out at the mention of the winch handle. I think the hot fudge sundae had had a fortifying effect. “Although there’s so much stuff crammed in the lockers, it could take a while,” he warned.

  I wrote down “inventory” on the list with “VBT” next to it. “VBT” stands for Very Boring Task. I like to categorize my to-do lists by how interesting the items are. That way I have a better sense of how to prioritize my time.

  We continued our discussion about the list, and I added a number of other items with various codes such as “EBT” (Extremely Boring Task), “NTWL” (Need to Win the Lottery First), and “AAAC” (Avoid at All Costs).

  While I was trying to figure out how to code the instal­lation of a composting toilet, I heard the squeal of children behind me. I turned and saw Nancy walking toward our table with Katy and another child in tow. Katy saw me and waved. “Grandma, they saw me sailing today,” she yelled. She tugged on Nancy’s hand and pulled her toward us. “Tell my grandma what a great job I did sailing today.”

  “She did a wonderful job,” Scooter said. “And who’s this?” He pointed at the boy standing shyly behind Katy.

  “This is Sam, my little brother,” Katy said enthusiastically. “I’m going to teach him how to sail! But first, we’re going to have lunch!”

  Nancy smiled and patted Katy on the head. She seemed a lot less grumpy when surrounded by her grandchildren.

  “Where’s Ned? Isn’t he joining you for lunch?” I asked.

  Before Nancy could answer, Katy shouted, “The police took him in for questioning!”

  “Is everything okay, Nancy?” Scooter asked with concern. “I thought they had spoken with you both already.”

  “Everything’s fine. It’s all routine. All right, children, let’s grab a table and get some lunch,” she said as she ushered them to the back of the restaurant.

  “I wonder what that’s all about,” I said.

  “I don’t know, but it doesn’t sound routine to me at all.”

  “Nancy told me that both of them were at their apartment watching television while she did her nails. But now I’m wondering if Ned was there the whole time. After we pay the check, let’s go back and see what we can find out.”

  AFTER LUNCH, WE MET Ben back at the marina. While he and Scooter went to start work on Marjorie Jane, I headed to the lounge to type up my report on Sandy’s abduction. The air conditioning was going full blast, which was a nice relief from the hot, humid afternoon weather. Looking at the gray clouds forming overhead, I figured we were due for the usual afternoon showers. Sitting inside on one of the comfy chairs with my laptop seemed like a good idea.

  I kicked off my flip-flops and stretched out my legs on the ottoman. After opening my laptop, I had the funny feeling that someone was staring at me. I looked around but didn’t see anyone. I poked behind the drapes, just in case someone was hiding there. You never know. Puzzled, I walked past the bookshelves to peek out the window. Then I heard a loud meow from above. There was Mrs. Moto, perched on a pile of sailing manuals on the bookshelf. She blinked at me a few times, then jumped down and rubbed herself against my legs. I picked her up, had a quick cuddle, and deposited her on the coffee table. Just as I settled back into my chair and got my laptop situated, the calico plopped down next to me and wiggled her way between my right leg and the side of the armchair. She started kneading my leg and purring loudly. After a few minutes, she put her head down and settled in for a nap.

  I positioned my hands on the keyboard just like Mrs. Purdy had taught us at school—my index fingers poised above the f and j keys—and waited for inspiration. I waited some more. And some more. I stroked Mrs. Moto’s soft fur for a few minutes, then hovered my hands over the keyboard, ready to write the report that was going to propel my career forward. Nothing. Absolutely nothing. This must be what they called writer’s block.

  I took a break and checked email. Brian Morrison had sent me a note marked urgent.

  You’d better hurry up and submit your report. I heard a rumor that Lola has uncovered a major government conspiracy that might top your alien abduction case. I think you’re the best candidate for the investigative reporter job, so please send your report in today, if possible. I’ll put in a good word for you with the board of directors.

  The mere thought of Lola motivated me to get cracking. I clicked away at the keyboard furiously, documenting Sandy’s abduction in detail. From time to time, Mrs. Moto would open her eyes and demand to be scratched. I’m pretty sure aliens never abducted cats. They were far too demanding as test subjects.

  As I was trying to write a scintillating conclusion, Ned walked in carrying a bucket full of cleaning supplies.

  “How did she get in here again?” he asked. The Japanese bobtail peeked over the side of the armchair to look at him. She gave him the feline equivalent of a shrug and nestled back down to continue her nap. “Don’t let Nancy see her,” he warned.

  “Don’t worry, I’d be the last person to rat out Mrs. Moto,” I said. “We saw Nancy and your grandkids at the Sailor’s Corner Cafe earlier. They said the police were questioning you some more.”

  “Oh, that was nothing. Just routine.” He pulled a rag from his bucket. “They all got back about ten minutes ago. The grandkids are helping Nancy out in the store this afternoon while their mom’s running errands. By helping, I mean eating all the chocolate.”

  “Not only are they adorable, but they have their priorities straight,” I said with a smile. “We saw Katy
racing earlier today. I can’t get over how good of a sailor she is for her age.”

  “She begged her parents for months for sailing lessons,” Ned said as he started dusting and polishing the furniture. “She’s loving it. Between you and me, Penny says that Katy is her best student.” Ned glowed with pride. “I bet she’ll even make the Olympic sailing team when she’s older.”

  “Did you ever race?” I asked.

  “I sure did. Every weekend I would be out there competing. My favorite part was the annual Coconut Cove regatta. We usually beat everyone else.” Ned pointed at his knees. “These days, I don’t move around as easily. I had both of these replaced a couple of years ago. Between that and my arthritis, my racing days are over.”

  “It looks like you keep busy around here.”

  “I do. It’s the kind of job where you’re never really off duty. We live in an apartment upstairs and have to be on call in case anything happens. But we enjoy it. It keeps us close to the water and involved in the sailing community. It’s a close-knit group of sailors here in the area, as you’ve probably gathered.”

  “It must have been a real shock to everyone when Captain Dan was murdered.”

  Ned hesitated. “Of course. Anytime anyone is murdered it’s a real shock.”

  “The memorial service should be packed with everyone from the marina.” Ned suddenly became very engrossed in some dust bunnies near the window. I tried again. “Wasn’t Captain Dan popular around here?”

  Ned weighed up the question before answering. “Well, let’s just say he didn’t really endear himself in the short time he lived here. There are more than a few people who were cheated by him in one way or another, ourselves included.”

  “I heard he vouched for the previous owners of Marjorie Jane, which left you guys in the lurch with unpaid bills. Was it more than that?”

  “It might have been,” Ned said evasively. “What are you working on there?” he asked, pointing to my computer.

  “It’s a report for work. I’m actually really excited about it. It might even get picked up by newspapers nationally. It’s a big story!”