Murder of a Real Bad Boy

by Denise Swanson

  Should she keep trying to catch the boat or should she do the sensible thing and turn back?

  At that moment, Beau let out another groan. His life was at stake. How could she even think of giving up? Skye saw that the boat had become snagged in a floating jumble of tree limbs, fishnets, and other litter. Knowing that it could break free at any minute, she summoned a burst of energy and darted forward.

  The motorboat bobbed enticingly, wedged against a tangle of rotten logs. As Skye reached out to grab the side, one of the logs broke free and drifted away. When the boat floated after it, she screamed in frustration. With a flurry of mighty kicks she shot ahead and snatched a rope trailing from the stern.

  Panting, she clung to the line, waiting for her heart to regain its normal rhythm and her breathing to even out. After a long moment, she pulled herself closer to the boat, moving hand over hand up the rope, her uncontrollable shivering making the task more difficult.

  When she finally reached the side, she peered over the edge. Beau Hamilton was still lying on his back in a pool of blood, but he no longer appeared to be breathing. Skye clutched the rim. Was she too late? Could she still save him?

  She had to get into the boat. There was no way she could push it all the way back to shore. It was too big. For most people climbing into a boat from the water wouldn’t be a problem, but four years running in high school, Skye had been voted Most Likely Never To Do A Single Chin-Up.

  Chin-ups were impossible, hanging from the parallel bars unimaginable. Heck, she couldn’t even get out of the pool without using the ladder. The sad truth was she had no upper body strength. She was a weakling, and not a ninety-eight-pound one either.

  Skye shivered in the cold water. How would she get up and over the side of the boat without a ladder? There was no giving up. She couldn’t quit and take the bad grade. This time she had no choice. She had to, so she would. It was lit-erally a matter of life and death. At least, unlike PE classes, no one was here to witness her inelegant attempts.

  Before her first try, she shoved the boat back into the log-jam and used the rope to tie it to the debris. Then she attempted to scale the side. She was halfway up when she slid back into the water.

  For her second go-round, she tried to use a log as a step and quickly discovered she would never be the logrolling champ of Scumble River.

  It was river two, Skye zero when her gaze fell on the outboard motor. It had lots of nooks and crannies. Could she somehow use it to climb aboard?

  She looked over the motor, using her hands to feel for what lay below the waterline. There were a couple of toeholds and the boat seemed big enough not to tip over as she attempted to mount it from the rear. Luckily the bow held all of Beau’s weight, which would counterbalance her own.

  Fearing that the outboard motor would turn on by itself and shred her leg, but determined to get on board, Skye fitted her foot in the first space and heaved herself upward.

  The boat lurched and she clung to the motor’s housing like it was a bucking bronco.

  The second toehold was smaller and more difficult to locate with her foot, but this time she was prepared for the boat’s sudden movement.

  Skye’s waist was now nearly even with the edge of the boat. She steadied herself and swung her left leg over. Success! She sat astride the rim for half a second before swing-ing her right leg over and toppling into the boat’s interior.

  She got to her knees and edged toward the bench seat separating her from Beau. He hadn’t moved since the last time she had looked at him.

  “Beau, are you okay?” Skye crawled up on the bench and reached for his wrist. She concentrated. Did she feel something or was that her own pulse beating in her ears?

  “Speak to me, Beau.” Inching closer, she put her cheek near his mouth. Yes! She definitely felt a faint breath.

  “You’re going to be fine.” Okay, now what should she do? The blood seemed to be coming from the back of his head. Should she try to stop the flow? Skye looked around the boat’s interior. There was nothing. No oars, no life jackets, not even a seat cushion. All she had on were a soaked bra and panties, which would be of no help, and Beau wore only jeans and a T-shirt. Getting either of those off of him would probably do more harm than good.

  “I’ll get you to the hospital.” Since attending to his injuries was out, she needed to get him help fast. “Stay with me, Beau.”

  The last time she had been in a boat like this one, she had been twelve and fishing with her dad. They had been out on the water less than ten minutes when she vomited. Her father had silently driven her home and never suggested another trip.

  Skye made her way aft and looked at the motor, trying to figure out how to turn it on. She vaguely remembered that there was some sort of cord with a wooden handle that had to be yanked, sort of like a lawn mower, but she didn’t see anything of that sort.

  Wait a minute, what did this switch do? She flipped it and the motor roared to life. Grabbing the bar sticking out of the motor, she was ready to steer. So, why weren’t they moving?

  Shit! She had tied the rope to a log. After she unfastened it, the boat started forward at a crawl and Skye shouted up to Beau, “Here we go. Hang in there.” There had to be a way to make the boat go faster. What had her father done? Ah, there was a rubber grip circling the handle — maybe it was like a motorcycle, and you twisted it to accelerate.

  Yes. The boat sped up and Skye tried to ignore how cold she was. Instead, she examined the banks of the river, attempting to figure out where they were. The current flowed northwest and the banks were getting higher, which meant they were headed out of town. She needed to go the other way, get back to where there were houses and people.

  After awkwardly making the turn, she tried to keep the boat in the center of the channel, fearing she might run it aground if she got too close to shore.

  The river was dark, and Skye was wondering how she would recognize her own dock when she saw a glow on the east bank. As she drew closer, she realized it was coming from her property. It looked warm and inviting.

  Skye yelled to Beau, “We’re almost there. I can see the lights.” She turned the boat toward shore, planning on beaching the vessel, as she had no idea how to dock it and didn’t think there was much dock left to tie it to anyway.

  Then she frowned. Why were there lights on her property? She hadn’t noticed any halogen lamps that would have come on automatically after dark. She didn’t know if Beau had slipped and hit his head accidentally or if he had been attacked. If it were the latter, maybe whoever had hurt Beau was waiting on shore to finish the job.

  Four Corners

  of the Earth

  The glow had turned into a blinding light, and Skye squinted as she maneuvered the boat closer to shore.

  Were they friend or foe? Should she turn back, go farther down the river into town? Mmm, that option had a serious drawback. If she docked in town, she’d have to walk down Basin Street dressed in nothing but her soaked, transparent underwear. That was a picture she’d hate to see on the front page of Scumble River’s weekly newspaper.

  Nevertheless, she couldn’t think of an alternative. How could she be sure it was safe to land, if she couldn’t tell who would be there to greet her? If it was Beau’s attacker, he’d probably kill them both.

  Survival won out over vanity hands down, and Skye was on the verge of steering back out into the river when she became aware of voices yelling her name. She looked back to the shoreline and saw a swarm of people waving their arms, pointing, and shouting at her. She could hear only an occasional isolated word over the noise of the outboard motor.

  For a split second it appeared the cast from the old TV

  program Gilligan’s Island had decided to film a reunion show on the banks of Scumble River, but then she recognized the figures lined up near her destroyed dock.

  Looking very much like the Skipper, six feet tall with muscles starting to soften and a head full of thick white hair, was her Uncle Charlie. Next to him s
tood Justin Boward, the coeditor of the school newspaper that Skye sponsored. Tall, skinny, and going through an awkward stage full of knees and elbows, Justin fit the role of Gilligan to a T.

  Clinging together like the millionaire and his wife, but oth-erwise nothing like them, were Skye’s parents. May resembled the perky cheerleader she had been forty-some years ago, and anyone even glancing at Jed knew he was a farmer.

  Rounding out the group were the Professor and Ginger, AKA Skye’s ex-boyfriend Simon and his mother, Bunny.

  Simon stood apart from the group, dressed in an Armani suit and expensive silk tie, not an auburn hair out of place. His arms were crossed and he was frowning.

  Bunny, on the other hand, bounced around the edge of the assemblage precariously balanced on four-inch heels, her red curls swirling in the wind, her face alive with inquisitiveness.

  Briefly Skye wondered where Mary Ann was, but then Frannie Ryan, Justin’s coeditor and girlfriend, stepped from the shadows. She had the wholesome good looks for the role of a Kansas farm girl, but was built on a slightly larger scale than the TV version.

  Abruptly Skye came out of her flight of fancy and became aware of two things at once: She was freezing, and her surroundings seemed to be spinning in a dizzying spiral. As the world turned black, she wondered who had turned off the television.

  “Skye, sugar, are you okay?” Someone was holding her in their arms and wrapping a coat around her.

  “Did you call an ambulance?” a familiar male voice demanded close to her ear.

  “Of course I did. Do you think I’m an idiot?” the person holding her barked.

  As she fought to come around, someone else grabbed her in a bear hug and said, “You two had better do something about the guy in the boat. By the look of him, the services of both the coroner and the police are needed. I’ll take care of Skye. Come on, sweet pea, open your eyes.” She struggled to do as the voice asked, but her lids seemed too heavy for her to budge. She was so tired. If she could only sleep a little longer, the bad dream she’d been having would go away, and everything would be okay again.

  Skye sank back into a semidoze, but came instantly awake when she felt a light slap on both cheeks. Her mother’s face hovered above her, a scowl darkening the green eyes that were an exact match for Skye’s own.

  Strong fingers grabbed Skye’s chin and May demanded, “What in the world were you doing out on the river in the middle of the night, in the dead of winter, in your underwear?”

  “It’s not the middle of night, and it’s only fall,” Skye babbled, breaking off when she remembered all that had happened. She looked around. Charlie was standing by her demolished dock holding her in his arms.

  “Where’s the boat? Beau Hamilton is in the bottom of it and he’s hurt really bad.”

  “Wally and Simon are taking care of him,” May answered, then said to Charlie, “We need to get her in the house. She’s turning blue.”

  “I can walk.” Skye made an effort to stand, clutching the jacket around her. “I’m fine.” She knew she was too heavy for her seventy-four-year-old godfather to carry.

  Charlie started to insist, but Skye’s father stepped forward, silently put his arm around her waist, and started up the path toward the house. Not to be outdone, Charlie took her other side.

  Trailing them were May, Justin, Frannie, and Bunny. All were shouting questions that Skye disregarded, concentrat-ing on putting one foot in front of the other.

  When it became apparent that Skye would remain silent, May turned to Justin and Frannie and commanded, “You two run ahead and start a hot bath.”

  “But Mrs. Denison, warm water is better for hypothermia,” Justin protested.

  “We learned that in health class,” Frannie explained.

  Bunny slapped Skye’s mother on the shoulder. “These kids are sure smarter than we were at their age, aren’t they, May?” May shooed the teenagers away, saying, “Fine, then start a warm bath.” She ignored Bunny, who was on May’s bad list for several reasons, not the least of which was trying to seduce May’s husband, Jed, and having a son who cheated on May’s daughter.

  As they rounded the corner of the house, Skye saw an ambulance skid to a stop in front of the sidewalk where Wally and Simon stood. Wally said something, and the EMTs ran with him and Simon toward the river. Skye stared at the paramedic trailing the small group. He didn’t look old enough to start a car, let alone a heart.

  Skye’s thoughts were interrupted as she was hustled into the house and up the stairs to the second-floor bathroom — the only one with a tub, and luckily the one under a portion of the roof that was still intact. May ordered everyone else out, firmly shutting the heavy oak door in their protesting faces.

  May tried to strip the jacket from Skye, but she clung to it. The navy nylon had a replica of a police badge sewn to the right breast pocket and above it CHIEF BOYD was stitched in gold. Skye traced the letters, touched that Wally had been the one to give up his coat to warm her.

  Finally, taking notice of her mother’s mutters, Skye shrugged off the garment and hung it on the back of the door.

  Then she removed her soggy undergarments and got into the tub. The warm water felt like heaven against her cold skin, and she relaxed back with her head against the rim.

  May dragged a stool over to the tub’s edge and demanded, “What on earth happened?”

  Skye countered her mother’s question by asking, “How’s Beau?”

  “Uh.” May’s gaze fastened on a bottle of bath gel. “I don’t know.” She glanced up; then in a rush, before Skye could ask, she said, “Simon and Wally didn’t say how he was.”

  “Oh.” Skye thought she remembered something being said while she was semicomatose that meant her mother was not telling her the whole truth — May never lied outright. Skye strove for several seconds to recall the information before giving up. Too many other questions crowded her brain, so instead she asked, “Why were you all down at the river? Where did the lights come from? What’s going on? Shouldn’t you still be at work?” She didn’t know what time it was, but it couldn’t be past eleven p.m., the official end of May’s shift.

  May started to ask her own question again, but the look on her daughter’s face must have changed her mind and instead she said, “It’s a long story.” Why does everyone always say that? Skye wondered for a split second before suggesting, “Give me the Reader’s Di-gest version.”

  May sighed. “I tried to call you after the time you should have been home from work, but I kept getting your answering machine, so I got worried.”

  Skye blew an exasperated breath. “Maybe I had a date or went shopping, or visited a friend.”

  “You always tell me if you’re not going to be home.” May shrugged away Skye’s protestations. “Anyway, I waited until nearly six, then I decided to have your father go check on you.”

  “No, I don’t always tell you where I’ll be.” May shrugged again, a stubborn look on her face.

  Abruptly a thought occurred to Skye. “But Dad doesn’t answer the phone. How did you get ahold of him?”

  “I called Charlie to go tell Jed to go look for you.”

  “But it’s Uncle Charlie’s poker night.”

  “I caught him before he left for the game,” May explained. “He went and got Jed and they came over here.”

  “Okay, that explains you three, but what about the rest of the seven dwarfs?”

  “Justin and Frannie arrived about the same time as Jed and Charlie. The kids were looking for you to tell you their big news.”

  “Oh, my God.” Skye felt the room start to spin. Maybe she shouldn’t have played matchmaker. Justin and Frannie were only sixteen and seventeen, respectively, and had only been dating a little over a month. “They’re not getting married, are they?” Shit! Frannie’s father would kill them all.

  “What? Of course not. That newspaper of yours at school won some award.” May brushed the honor aside with a sweep of her hand.

  “Phew.
” Skye sank deeper into the soothing water. “So how about Simon and Bunny?”

  “ They were not my fault.” May frowned. “When Jed and Charlie got here, they saw your car in the garage and your purse on the front steps. When they went around back they noticed that the weeds were flattened heading down to the old path. Then they saw threads from your sweater caught on the tree.”

  “And?”

  “And they followed the path, found your dock destroyed, and your clothes on shore.” May’s voice rose with each horrible fact.

  “So?”

  “So, Jed called me, and I called Wally at home.”

  “That does not explain my ex and his mother.” Skye crossed her arms.

  “That’s entirely your father’s fault.” May pursed her lips.

  “He called Simon’s cell phone, and Simon was at the bowling alley when he got the call. I guess that trollop insisted on coming with him, like she had some claim to be worried about you.” May shook her head in disgust. “I know everyone has a right to be stupid sometimes, but that woman abuses the privilege.”

  Skye ignored her mother’s aside. “How did Dad get Simon’s cell phone number?” She was curious how a man who was so phone-phobic that he made his wife call up and order tractor parts happened to know her ex-boyfriend’s number. “How did he even know Simon had a cell phone?”

  “That’s a good question.” May’s eyebrows rose. “And the answer better not have anything to do with The Tramp.”

  “The Tramp” was May’s not-so-affectionate nickname for Bunny. “Now you know how we all got here.”

  “Where did the lights come from?” Skye was sure they hadn’t been there when she started on her little adventure.

  “Wally had the fire department put them up.” That was interesting. Wally must really have been worried to call in a favor like that. In a small town, favors were the currency that everyone lived by, and they weren’t spent recklessly.

  May’s patience was very nearly exhausted and she demanded, “So, how did you end up in a boat, half naked, with your contractor?”