“Who’s coming?” Linc demanded. He’d lost all his polished charm. His voice was both harsh and tense, and the hand holding the gun trembled. “I don’t want to talk to anyone.”
“Just some people who care about WBOCoop, that’s all. Your friends.” Alisoun kept her voice low and soft. Ginny approved of that approach.
But it seemed to enrage Linc. “The Coop? There’s nothing left, you hear? Nothing! Not a goddam penny. Not even Fred Thompson could bleed any more out of it, as if I’d let him.” He snickered, and a weird sort of pride crossed his face. “Maybe I embezzled every last cent, but Fred never got any of it. I’m broke, but Thompson is screwed!”
With that last triumphant shout, he whipped the pistol to his head and pulled the trigger.
As one, Ginny and Alisoun lunged toward him, but it was too late. Blood splattered his boat and stained the water. He lay awkwardly beside the motor, one hand on the gunwale, the other flung carelessly wide. His eyes were open, and he looked surprised.
Ginny leaned overboard and lost her breakfast. She heard Alisoun on the radio, calling the Patrol. “Linc Shattuck has shot himself. We couldn’t stop him. He’s dead.” After some garbled words Ginny couldn’t decipher, Alisoun added, “Yeah, I’m sure. There’s…well, I’m sure.”
Feeling more than a little sick, Ginny helped Alisoun anchor the Effen-Stop more securely, but after that, there was little to do. They repeated to each other everything they knew about the case, then fell silent, sipping on the sodas Alisoun pulled from a cooler. The ginger ale did little to settle their stomachs. Ginny wanted a stiff whiskey, but couldn’t summon the energy to ask for one.
Time stretched out forever, but when they heard a motor buzzing up the channel, she realized only half an hour had passed. Chase and several uniformed men and women were seated in a Zodiac that pulled up tidily to the two boats.
The hour that followed seemed endless. Ginny wanted to head back to Ogunquit and from there get on the road home, but the Patrol asked Alisoun to stay until they finished their initial examination.
At last, Chase approached them. He’d been standing in the shallow water downstream of Linc’s boat, observing everything but taking no part in the activities. “Well, it looks like we’re done here,” he said. “You can go. I have your contact info in case we need you.”
“Just like that?” Ginny objected. “What can you tell us?”
He shook his head sadly. “In confidence, gals. No word of this gets out from you, right? Okay. The suicide note says his trust fund went bust in the recession—I was tracing that bit myself—and he admits to knocking Bill Thompson into the ocean. Also admits to siphoning off funds from WBOCoop and threatening Fred Thompson, who was trying to get control of the co-op. We’ll be sorting out the details for months, but thanks to you two we found him.”
“I just wish we’d gotten here sooner,” Alisoun murmured. “He wasn’t such a bad guy.”
“You couldn’t have stopped him. Oh, and you were right, Ginny. He had that sketch from Bill’s notebook. At least it looks like it. Later, we can match it up with what’s left in the pad. I think you called it perfectly. Thanks for your help. I’ll be in touch.” He grinned at her. “If you ever want a job as an investigator, call me. I like the way you think.”
****
The channel was even trickier on the way back, with the tide so low, and Alisoun had no attention to spare from guiding the boat out. Ginny wondered if she’d really made a difference to the case. She was coming to the conclusion she’d only made things worse when Alisoun spoke up.
“There, we’re clear now. Thanks for your help, Ginny.”
“But I didn’t do anything.”
Alisoun throttled down and let the boat drift on the deeper water. She set her fists on her hips and glared at Ginny. “Nonsense. You figured out how everything connected. No one even thought it could be Linc who hit Bill. We were so focused on the fuel feud, we just accepted that Bill fell overboard. You’re the one who connected the painting to Fred and Linc, and that turned out to be the missing link to all of it. I’d say you did a lot.”
“But now Linc’s killed himself.”
“And that is your fault how? Ginny, if he was bilking the WBOCoop, he was way over his head in debt, and there’s not a damned thing you could have done about it. But now Damon’s a hero for yesterday, John can grieve in peace knowing Bill was a hero, and you did a great job with the arts festival. So, I think you had a pretty good weekend after all.”
“I couldn’t have done it without John bringing me the pad, and—”
Alisoun laughed out loud. “And I couldn’t take pictures if someone else didn’t build the camera. Ginny, take credit where it’s due. You made the connections, you made us all think differently about the case, and you made the time to come up here in the first place. So, it’s all down to you, and believe me, we’re grateful.”
Ginny leaned back against the cabin and deliberately relaxed her muscles. The hot sun on her skin distracted her, for a moment, with worries about getting burned, but she tried to focus on the gentle rocking of the boat instead. As the tension drained away, leaving in its place a peaceful lassitude, a new thought came to her. “You missed one thing, Alisoun.”
“What’s that?”
She opened her eyes and smiled at the photographer. “I do believe I also made a good friend.”
A word about the author…
Nikki Andrews has worked as a picture framer, store clerk, and administrative assistant, but in her real life she is a writer, editor, and songmaker. She is a member of Talespinners and the New Hampshire Writers Project, and is the author of Framed.
When she’s not at her desk, she might be releasing salmon fry on the Piscataquog River, making jams or sweaters, or exploring her surroundings on foot, bike, or snowshoe. She lives near a waterfall in New Hampshire with her wonderful husband, a possessive cat, and assorted wildlife.
http://nikkiandrewsbooks.com
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