Perfectly Criminal

by Celeste Marsella

  He spotted me walking toward the boat and stopped what he was doing to smile at me like I was a buoy in a storm. His eyes locked onto mine and I almost heard the whistling of his lips as they pursed and expelled the breath he was holding until I pranced up the dock, where he extended a hand and hoisted me neatly over. I paused for the briefest second and smiled at him. He looked around for prying eyes and, satisfied that we were alone, wrapped me in his arms.

  “You might be the one to save me,” he said as he held my face in his hands. “And I don't mean from a murder charge.”

  It sounded romantic, so I left it at that.

  “I feel like a kid again with you,” he said. “A giddy teenager. I couldn't sleep last night thinking about you.”

  “Hey, I slept fine last night—after we had sex. But it would have been nicer if you'd been there.”

  He turned quickly away from me and sent his laughter out to sea. I think he liked the way I talked—my sexual boldness—but I also think that kind of honesty in a woman was new to him. I got the feeling that the women he'd known in the past didn't joke much about banging the flesh and getting down to basics. Intimidated by the famous senator from Connecticut, women probably caved in to his every desire and then thanked him for the honor. Not much of a giver, I was usually the taker in relationships. But I think Scott Boardman liked what I was taking from him, and I was hell-bent on using him up until he was spent.

  He wasted no time getting us under power and motoring out to the open waters. His plan was to sail up the coast back to Providence, where he was anchoring at a marina for repairs. We couldn't go too far, he'd said, because the boat had a slipped disk, or was it a clogged clamp?

  “It'll take a bit over an hour. We'll have some lunch in the city and then head back. We can sleep on the boat tonight if you're game.”

  Ignorance of this whole sailing experience required that I say nothing in response, because I never spoke unless I knew what I was talking about. But spending the night with him? Yeah, I knew all about that. “Sure,” I said. “I'm free for the night.”

  He kissed my neck. “You ready to go?”

  I'd motored around in a few dinghies with Chucky but had never been on a sailboat before. Poverty in South Boston has a way of reversing the engines on that type of hobby, if you get my drift. The closest I got to seamanship in my youth was my rubber duck soap holder that stayed afloat no matter how many waves I made with back-kicks in the tub. So about thirty minutes into our trip, when this Italian stallion of a boat started to pitch and roll like a drunken Irishman, I looked to Scott's face for his reaction. I figured if he stayed calm, I could keep sipping calmly on my Schweppes and ignoring the salt splash on my face. And he did look calm… as calm as he could look with me licking my lips at him a few feet away.

  He was smiling away at me in hot anticipation, and it wasn't until his Starbucks Doubleshot rolled over on the deck next to his feet and spilled all over the shiny white deck that Scott became a tad concerned over the rising whitecaps just beginning to lick the sides of the boat.

  “Christ,” he said. “It wasn't supposed to be choppy today.”

  I leaned as far as I could over the railing and poured the rest of my Schweppes overboard. “What exactly does that mean, Scott? Is this something we need to be overly concerned with?”

  “Not a thing,” he said. “Come here and hold this a minute. I have to go below.”

  “Hold what? The wheel? What the hell am I supposed to do with it?”

  “Keep it steady and pointing toward that strip of land over there.”

  I looked to where Scott was looking and I didn't see anything but a drab green New England sea and a line of fog in the distance. “You see a strip of land over there, huh? Because I don't see anything but me throwing up over the side of this boat if it doesn't stop bobbing up and down.”

  “Shannon, this is nothing. A summer squall. Nothing to worry about… except nausea, of course.”

  Scott's phone began ringing in his pocket. “Come here and hold the wheel like a good girl. I'll teach you how to steer.” He took one hand off the wheel and extended the other to me.

  I slid off my perch on the starboard side and tripped into the pilot's well. Before I could stand again, the tip of a wave flopped over the boat.

  “Shannon?”

  I heard Scott's voice hollering for me and I looked up. He'd taken the wheel again and without further question I crawled to him and pulled myself up by the chair behind him. He took my arm and hooked it on the wheel.

  “A rogue wave is all. Just keep it steady until I get back,” he said. “I'll take this call below, where I can hear. Keep it steady and don't let it roll.”

  Sure, I thought, keep it steady and don't let it roll, as if I had a freaking clue what that meant and how to implement it.

  “Don't hold the wheel too stiff. Let it give a little with the movement, you get it?”

  “Scott,” I said, “just do what you gotta do and get back here quick. Giving me orders isn't going to make up for thirty-five years with a rubber duck.”

  The strength of the water fighting against the boat felt like riding a wild horse at a rodeo. The boat was steering me. Seconds later Scott appeared on deck, holding his cell phone to his ear. The screaming from the other end was so loud I could actually hear the anger over the cracks and groans of the boat and sea as they fought each other for control. Scott's face was as sharp and ugly as the crashing waves. He snapped the phone closed and grabbed the wheel from my grasp.

  “Get below. I'll take over.”

  “Who was that?”

  “I'm going to speed her up. Ride should be smoother too.”

  Frankly, I didn't care at that point who'd been on the phone or what he was planning as long as I lived to complain about it. I held on tight to the railing as I dragged myself down the stairs to the galley. I decided to pop the Dramamine I'd taken along just in case and lie down in one of the berths until the war was over. I figured I was wholly useless as a lifesaving instrument, so I might as well get out of Scott's way and say my last good-byes to the girls before sleep or death, whichever came first. I hit speed dial to Beth, who I figured would be the one most capable of calmly listening to my swan song without lecturing me as a parting sally—as if lectures are any good to a dying person. I mean, what could they possibly warn me about now? Misbehaving in hell (where I was reasonably certain I was headed)?

  “Hello?”

  I heard Beth's tentative voice on the other end. Far away. She sounded surprised.

  “Hello? Is that you, Shannon?” she said again.

  “Hey, Beth, listen real good, okay? We might get cut off. I'm on a boat with Scott Boardman. We're heading to Providence—”

  “Providence?” I heard Beth say as if from a great distance. “Where are you now? Shannon, can you hear me?”

  “The water's a bit choppy and the boat's rolling around like a dog with fleas. Just wanted to let you know in case…”

  In case what? In case I died? What the hell was I going to say to her? That Marianna was right after all? That this miserable ending of my life was God's punishment for my immoral acts? (Jesus, I was beginning to sound like her!)

  “Shannon! Shannon?” I heard Beth screaming my name. “I can't hear you anymore.”

  “I'm here,” I managed to say as I lurched forward, losing the phone as I landed on both palms and felt the burn on my cheek skidding against the stateroom's tight Berber-weave carpeting. I felt like an ass grabbing the floor for support. I lifted my head long enough to see my phone under the queen bed and began crawling toward it when I heard the deep shrieking of Scott's voice up on deck. Could he have been cursing the foul weather or was he back on the phone?

  I reached my own phone, and, still lying on the floor, I put it to my ear, but alas, Beth was gone. I stood, legs straddled for support, and tried to duck back out of the room to reach Scott, who was still hollering above, but another wave seemed to turn the whole boat around and my head
reared back, slamming into the low bulkhead of the stateroom. I thought I was fine—until I wasn't. A second of dizziness and the world went black.

  How long I was out I don't know, but I woke up gasping for air as if an elephant was sitting on my chest. I tasted a warm salty substance in my mouth, knowing instinctively it was blood. My breathing was labored and heavy as if my chest were crushed. I sucked in as much air as I could and began screaming.

  Lucky Dack rushed over to me from just outside the cabin threshold. He gently lifted the heavy weight off me and then removed a gun from my clenched fingers before I could squeeze the trigger into his face.

  “Miz Lynch?” he said. “You all right there, girl? You just blink if you can hear me.”

  I watched him place the gun on a clear evidence bag he had unfolded a few feet away and then lean back to me.

  “Shit, Lucky. What are you doing here?”

  “Your head's bleeding pretty good in the back. Can you sit yourself up?”

  I dragged myself up Lucky's muscular arms and he pulled me half-sitting to the bed, where I sat on the floor against the mattress, staring at a bleeding body. And I began screaming again in a frightened voice I wasn't used to hearing.

  “Who is that, Lucky? What is it? Is it dead?”

  He came back to me and put his hand on my cheek. “Now, you calm yourself. This is your gun, right? Small Colt?”

  I nodded dumbly.

  “Okay then, cuz I got to see to this man here. Make sure he's not still breathing.”

  Lucky leaned back to the body. “Shot to the back of the head. Doesn't look like you coulda done it and then have him land on top of you.”

  “I didn't shoot a gun—”

  “Hey?” I heard Beth's voice from a distance up on deck. “Can I come down there?”

  Marianna's and Laurie's faces appeared in the cabin doorway. They ducked inside and knelt in front of me. As Beth walked in behind them, bits and pieces of memory returned along with the bitter smell of my own vomit. The boat had stopped the awful lurching and was calmly undulating in the normal rhythm of a drowsy sea, disrupted only by the loud voices and heavy feet of busy men on the deck above me.

  “Did I pass out?” I said. “Must have been the Dramamine.”

  “Boatyard owner found the boat floating near the dock, with Scott Boardman hanging over the side,” Laurie said. Then she looked over at the body as the police photographer snapped photos. “What happened down here?”

  My head began a slow pound. “We headed out from Newport on our way to Providence. He said the boat needed a repair. And real sudden—the waves picked up. I came down here. I called Beth and hit my head. That's it. All I remember.”

  Laurie looked at Marianna, and they both looked at Beth. “Are you sure she didn't say anything else on the phone?”

  Beth shook her head. “It was a bad connection. Something about coming to Providence. I didn't even recognize her voice. I only knew it was Shannon because of caller ID.”

  Lucky was looking around the room for evidence with rubber-swathed hands.

  “Ask Scott,” I said. “He'll know more than I do.”

  And then a few more lights flickered on in my awakening brain. Someone called the cops because Scott was hanging over the side of the boat. I looked up at them for a few more answers.

  Marianna was shaking her head. “Alive but not talking at the moment. I told you to stay away from him. I've got a sense about these things.”

  “Sure,” I said. “You have a sense when it comes to other people's fuckups. What about your own damn mistakes?”

  “Welcome to the classic dilemma,” she said with a bold authority. “You never see your own mistakes while you're making them.”

  Laurie shook her head. “Shannon, none of us thought you should be spending time with Boardman—at least not until this whole thing is over.”

  Marianna moved back with Beth. It didn't take much to offend her; Marianna's ego was as fragile as spun glass. Beth had her arm around her, signaling her disapproval of my insult. Shit, even with a bloody head I wasn't getting any sympathy.

  “How long was I out?” I asked them again. “How long were we docked?”

  Laurie answered. “The guy who owns the shipyard opened up about noon. He says he found the boat drifting at the dock when he came in. Leo Safer must have boarded while Boardman was docking. When did you leave Newport?”

  “Early. As soon as I got there. About eight, I think.”

  I closed my eyes and thought hard for any memory beyond hitting my head on the bulkhead. Did I hear anything else? What exactly had those angry words above meant when I thought it was Scott screaming at the wind?

  When I opened my eyes again, two uniformed cops were standing behind Laurie. “Does she need a hospital?” one said. “Or can we arrest her here?”

  I looked up at the one who'd spoken. Youngish, twenty-two at best. Dark spiked hair and a long straight nose. I could picture him out of uniform, wearing a sport jacket over a tight tee, picking up eighteen-year-olds with fake IDs at local bars, and then letting them go after they agreed to a midnight drive in the front seat of his souped-up Corvette.

  “Arrest?” I whispered.

  “Yes, Shannon,” Marianna answered. Her voice was raw, still angry, but something else too. It cracked and quivered as tears strangled in her throat and she sucked in a broken gasp of air. “Arrested for the fucking murder of Leo Safer and the fucking attempted murder of Scott Boardman, unless he dies too, then it'll be double fucking homicide. Do you remember anything now?”

  The back of my head was bleeding all over the bedspread. I lifted both hands to feel the wound and brought my hands back covered in blood. Then I looked directly at the two rookie cops standing next to Marianna, and I knew what they were thinking as the dark-haired one shook his head at me.

  “So much for GSR,” he said.

  If there was gun residue on my hands, it was now adulterated by the cleansing blood of my oozing head.

  “Do you own a Corvette?” I asked. “Or maybe a black Camaro with mag wheels and a spoiler?”

  “None of your fucking business,” he answered. I read his name tag. Kent.

  “I didn't shoot that gun, Kent, and forensics will back me up. What would be my motive for shooting Scott Boardman and his campaign manager? Huh? What?”

  “That's not my problem.”

  Laurie leaned in behind me to examine the cut on the back of my head. “Damn, I hate blood,” she said, pushing my hair away from the wound. “Heads bleed so badly. I don't think you need stitches, though. It's already clotting up nice.”

  “Oh, well thank you, Dr. Stein,” Beth said. She had fetched a med technician and was pushing him my way. “Please go look at her,” she said to him.

  As soon as I was pronounced well enough to be arrested, the asshole cop named Kent hauled me up and locked handcuffs over my wrists before I could get a one-syllable “Fuck” out of my mouth.

  In shock, Beth screamed and rushed to slap him. “Get away from her—”

  But he was too quick. He blocked her slap and returned his so hard across her face that she fell back against the wall. Laurie went to her and I went straight for the asshole cop, who wrestled me back to the floor and wedged his boot under my chin.

  I heard Laurie ministering to Beth as Marianna rushed the cop whose foot was under my throat. “You filthy punk,” she said as she kicked his leg from under my chin and they began a tussle that brought Lucky up from under the bed where he'd been poking around. “You hold on one minute,” he boomed at Kent, “or I'll take you down with one arm!”

  “Then tell her to stop fighting me,” Kent said as he released Marianna. He looked at me. “She's going to jail like any other criminal.”

  He had a smirk on his face like I was a long-term fugitive he'd finally found. Why was this snot-nosed young cop so pissed at me? My answer came swiftly as he yanked me up by the elbow. “Let's go see if the chief can get you out of this one,” he hissed in m
y ear.

  He pushed me forward, then walked at my heels so close I could hear the crackling of his stiff leather holster as he fingered his gun in it, a reminder to me of his power. One false move, I thought as my blood beat hard in my hollow chest, and he'll friggiri shoot me.

  When we climbed above deck, a coroner's van was waiting for the body below. Lights off, codes called in, Leo Safer was dead. Scott Boardman, I assumed, was already on his way to the nearest hospital.

  I was shuffled to one of the waiting police cars parked at the dock. The girls huddled around me, not speaking, not crying, Marianna clenching her jaw, Laurie looking mean and angry, and Beth still wide-eyed and confused. Did she still want to be an AAG?

  Laurie said to me, “We'll follow in Beth's car.” Then to the cop, Marianna said, “Be nice, because the enemies you make on your way up are the ones you'll be facing on your way down. And everyone comes down sooner or later.”

  He smiled and nodded like Marianna had just told him to have a nice day. Laurie held Marianna by the sleeve to calm her down. Beth had finally started to cry.

  I was still breathing hard and just about to catch my breath when the stretcher carrying Leo Safer passed to the right of me. The asshole Kent lowered my head into the police car and pushed the door shut, but all I heard was the slam of the van's door as Leo Safer's dead body was closed into it.

  Like a dog picked up by the local dog catcher, I watched through the back window of the squad car as my three friends piled into Beth's car. I should have been with them.

  COFFEE BREAK

  AFTER A SILENT FORTY-MINUTE DRIVE NORTH during which I listened to muffled laughter in the front seat, the asshole cop named Kent pulled up to the front door of the police station and stopped where the press had assembled for my red carpet entrance. The flashbulbs started clicking as soon as the back door opened.

  I sneered at my captors, “You called the press from the car?”