Anchors Away and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Kudos to him, as far as I was concerned. He’d tolerated working as Olivia’s assistant since I’d moved home, and seemed to be holding his own. But, was that some premature gray in his dark hair? A bit early for someone in his mid-twenties, right? I’d be shocked fully white or in prison if I had to work for her, so I forced a wave as an added gesture of humanity on my way by while he grimaced at me like he understood completely.

  See? I could be a good girl. Uh-huh.

  I followed Jill and Dad through the door, keeping back as they greeted Olivia. She stood from behind her desk, looking a bit harried herself, but clearly happy to see both of them. I accepted her firm handshake before sinking into a chair in the corner of her big office, the breeze through the tall windows behind her cooling my temper as my father and the deputy took their own places in the heavy leather seats flanking the front of Olivia’s workspace.

  “You have to replace Robert as acting sheriff,” Dad said. Looked like I came by my demanding with barely a howdy-do honestly.

  Olivia sank into her seat, grim and quiet. “I’d love to do just that,” she said, pointing an index finger at Jill, the nude polish fresh enough it still shone. “Trust me, Deputy Wagner is my first choice in this whole mess. No,” she slapped the desk in front of her, making her green felt blotter shift. “I want my sheriff back.” Her glare matched mine. “Where is Crew Turner?”

  “Unavailable,” Dad and Jill said together, which made my whole being twitch in irritation. So my father did have information. Which I’d wring from him without mercy in short order. If Olivia didn’t do the job for me.

  Didn’t she go and let me down? Instead of pushing, she sighed, leaning back into her leather chair, the shoulder pads in her cream suit scrunching as she shrugged. “I’m up against a wall,” she said, sounding tired, but what else was new? I’d watched our mayor carefully since I arrived home and she always seemed to be in a balanced state of outward forward motion and verve and inner spiral into imminent collapse. Whatever worked for her. “The council is on Geoffrey’s side in this issue, not to mention the fact Robert has the Fleming name behind him.”

  “I thought I took care of that.” Dad’s gruff response narrowed my eyes and finally shook me out of the concern I felt about Crew. Was that why my father had been calling out Robert on his bad police work? To distance him purposely from the Fleming name?

  Apparently. But Olivia’s second shrug told me Dad’s plan wasn’t working out.

  “Maybe if Geoffrey wasn’t behind Carlisle’s support,” she said. Her eyes found me and locked on. “Or if there was another Fleming willing to step up in times of crisis.” My heart thudded once while Dad’s shoulders shuddered faintly, about the same moment Olivia glared at him. “Either Fleming,” she said.

  Um, huh?

  “We’ve had this conversation,” Dad growled. “Get over it, Olivia.”

  She steepled her hands in front of her, elbows on the arms of her chair, dark eyes narrow and lips pursed. “I’m on the razor’s edge here, John,” she said. “And you know it.” She sagged then, slight and subtle but there despite her continuing scrutiny of him and, oddly, me. “We both know this reprieve I’ve been handed the last few months won’t last. Next election there will be a new mayor in this chair and everything I’ve built will crumble to dust.”

  “How dramatic,” Dad said, sounding amused. Olivia’s anger flashed, and insight woke. Dad was manipulating her, pushing her. I watched her reject his humor and stiffen, chin rising, resolve returning. Respect for my father renewed, I firmly shoved aside my personal crap and paid closer attention.

  “I can’t risk rocking the boat,” she said. Winced. “No pun intended.” Olivia stood then, paced to the window behind her, hands clasped at her lower back while she spoke in a low, soft voice, in a tone I’d never heard from her before. Was this the real woman speaking? “There’s rumors of a special election being called. That November isn’t soon enough. I have to be prepared and doing that means giving in to certain things that keep the council happy.”

  “Even if that means a botched murder investigation,” I spoke up before Dad could.

  Olivia spun around to meet my eyes, though there was no anger in her. “Maybe that’s a good thing,” she said. “If Geoffrey’s first choice for acting sheriff—for sheriff once I’m out of my seat, if you want the bald truth of it—is discredited, it might work out in my favor.”

  So my suppositions and fears about Crew’s job weren’t fantasy. “You’re hoping Robert screws up,” I said. “And that Crew or Dad or someone you support will then sweep in and fix everything and make him look like the idiot he is.” Politics. I hated them. But I understood them. At least, once things were spread out in front of me.

  “This is a wait and see proposition,” Olivia said. “Though, I’m not telling anyone in this room not to poke their nose in if something happens to fall in their lap.” Was that aimed at me or Dad or both?

  Jill exhaled, shaking her head while her ponytail danced in echoing protest. “I can’t condone that,” she said, sounding weary herself. Met Dad’s eyes with a weak smile. “Not officially.”

  “Since the mayor’s office asked for Fleming Investigations to look into the possibility Lester Patterson’s death was murder,” Dad said, “you’re off the hook here, Jill.” Dad hadn’t called it murder outright. Had he spoken to Dr. Aberstock yet? If so, was there no solid information either way of foul play? No one protested, so I could only assume, but I’d be asking later, anyway.

  She nodded, turned at last to look at me. “I assume you officially work for said investigations agency?”

  I said “No” the same moment Dad laughed and said, “Yes.” Huh. Well now, there was a world of possibilities opened up with a single word I wasn’t expecting.

  Olivia waved off the conversation, looking pained but also a bit hopeful. “I don’t want to know the details,” she said. “But if Fleming Investigations uncovers any evidence in the course of a perfectly legal support process, the town of Reading and the sheriff’s department,” she nodded to Jill, “will be very grateful.”

  That was our cue to leave, apparently. I stood as Dad and the deputy did, exiting after them, turning to meet Olivia’s eyes when I did, the doorknob in my hand. Neither of us spoke, though there was a level of discomfort in her scrutiny that made me close the door a bit more firmly than I’d planned, the glass rattling its unhappiness at my attention.

  Dad and Jill were already on their way out into the hall and I had to hurry to catch the deputy as she hustled toward the steps. But when I grabbed her arm and turned her around, she exhaled like she was expecting a fight.

  “I can’t tell you anything,” she said, with conviction that shut me down. “He’s okay. I promise. It’s got nothing to do with Reading or you or any of us. No, I have no idea how long he’ll be gone. No, I don’t have details, okay? All I know is, he told me he had to go and that it was important. If he hasn’t contacted you, there has to be a good reason.” She softened a little, then whispered her next words into my ear. “All he did all week was talk about you,” she said.

  My heart fluttered a happy pitter-pat—yeah, I was pathetic and gooey and needed that, I guess—as she pulled back and shrugged.

  “Okay,” I said, now worried for different reasons. “Thanks, Jill.” I really did feel better.

  She left with a salute for Dad, her heavy boots tromping on the steps as she hurried off. I held back, mind spinning, before I turned on my father with a scowl.

  “You’re going to tell me everything you know,” I said.

  His slow, wicked grin informed me otherwise. “Aren’t you more curious to know when I was going to tell you you’re a full partner in Fleming Investigations?”

  ***

  Chapter Fifteen

  He said what now? I was left speechless for the time being, forced to stumble after my father who exited town hall with the kind of pep in his long stride that told me he was enjoying himself far more than was
good for either of us.

  I crossed the street with him, heading for his office, conveniently located just down the block while I wondered if he made a habit of using the lot at the hall for his truck just to tweak Robert’s enforcement of parking violations. The acting sheriff wouldn’t have the nerve to call Dad on leaving his vehicle there, I was positive of it.

  Not that I was really thinking about Robert as I joined Dad, catching up to him with my heart now pounding and possibilities raging, a million questions on my mind. Only to run right into him, oofing out a breath as my nose impacted his back, my hands catching his biceps to keep me from falling backward. Dad didn’t even seem to notice we’d collided and it wasn’t until I peeked around him, catching sight of the faintly mocking smile on the face of the silver haired Irishman leaning so casually against Dad’s door I realized why.

  “A bright and happy morning to you both,” Malcolm Murray, the alleged mobster owner of The Orange pub said, white teeth flashing at Dad while his green eyes settled on me.

  Dad’s good humor had faded, everything about him tense and ready though his tone of voice was all soft, soothing former sheriff.

  “Malcolm,” he said. “I trust you’re moving along, now?”

  “Not just yet,” Malcolm said, wiggling his fingers at me. Weird to actually witness an interaction between these two. Typically their face-to-face confrontations lasted about half a second when I was around. And there was no sight of the pub owner’s bully boys, either, though I had little doubt the casually clad, jeans and button-up wearing sixtyish Irishman was perfectly capable of taking care of himself. “How lovely to see you, Fiona, darlin’,” he said, heavy on the accent today. “Have you had the opportunity to reach out to dear Siobhan yet? She’ll be delighted to hear from you, I imagine.”

  My mind flashed to the white business card tucked away in my music box, safe with the treasure clues my grandmother left me. I hadn’t the courage as of yet to call the woman, though her name and number were etched into my memory thanks to the countless times I’d stared at the same card, the one Malcolm handed me in the back of his car, the only clue I had as to what my father was hiding. And it was obvious he was hiding something.

  Dad growled under his breath, his body dodging to the left to keep me from circling him, leaning back as if to protect me from some threat. “I told you to back off my daughter,” he said, voice so deep and graveled I was a little afraid.

  But Malcolm didn’t show a hint of nervousness, just shrugged, hands in his pockets, the flash of a diamond on a heavy gold ring he wore catching the sunlight before it disappeared behind denim. “She’s going to find out sooner than later, Johnny me boy,” he said. “And when she does, I’ll be here to answer her questions.” He met my eyes, his now slits as his false humor faded. “I’m tired of waiting, lass. I’ll force my hand if need be. Call her or I’ll have her call you.”

  “Get out of here,” Dad snarled, and I barely caught him before he lunged for Malcolm, feeling his tall, strong body vibrate under my grasp while the Irishman faced him down, almost a foot between their heights but not a scrap of fear in Malcolm’s lean form.

  “A reckoning is coming, Johnny,” the Irishman said. “You have a nice day now, the two of you.” With that, he strolled off, whistling a catchy tune that sounded like some kind of jig meant to be played on a fiddle.

  Dad stood there a long moment before spinning on me, his broad jaw tight, eyes so fierce I almost took a step back. “He’s trouble, you hear me? And so is digging into the past, Fee.” My father had refused to tell me a thing about his interactions with Malcolm. Maybe I should have just taken his reticence about the mystery at face value instead of letting it eat at me the way it did, but I couldn’t let it go. And yet, I’d done everything in my power to step away from it despite the name on the white business card burning a hole in my mind and heart. What was Dad hiding?

  And what did Malcolm intend to do about the reveal if I didn’t act?

  “Dad,” I said, “I’m a big girl. Whatever it is, you can tell me.” Fear my father might have cheated on my mother with this Siobhan Doyle had never left me. Why was that always my go-to? Ah, right. I owed my ex so much for being a cheating bastard and tainting every relationship with men from the day I found out about his infidelity forward.

  Dad shook his head, glaring after Malcolm. “He’ll be out of town soon enough,” he said, “and no longer a problem.”

  “Oh?” I followed him into his office as he jabbed the key into the lock and opened the glass door, stomping his way inside. “Why’s that?” I’d always assumed he and Malcolm had some kind of agreement, considering the kind of sheriff Dad was, the dog with a bone type who didn’t let anything go. Always struck me as odd he didn’t chase the Irishman off before now. I just hoped Dad’s assertion didn’t mean he was going to risk putting himself in harm’s way—either physically or his reputation if it came out he’d been colluding or giving Malcolm special treatment for some reason as yet unrevealed. Wow, I was great at doubting the people I cared about most in the world, right?

  Dad seemed mollified by my question, flipping on the lights and bypassing the desk at the entry—he had a receptionist? Since when?—heading into the back of the long, narrow space he’d rented and taking a heavy seat in his chair before shoving a file across the desk at me. With a key glistening on the surface, a new ring with a rectangle and “Fleming Investigations” written across it. A key to his office? Our office? Wait, this was moving far too fast for me to keep up with all the questions in my head. But Dad wasn’t slowing down. In an effort to make me forget Malcolm?

  If that was his goal, it worked. Because what he said next caught all of my focus. “There’s been a rash of thefts at the yacht club and the cottages along the lake,” he said. Then he went and brought Malcolm back into it, didn’t he? “I’m investigating, but it would be just like Murray to have his boys out liberating some easy pickings from tourists if he thought he could get away with it.” The scowl on Dad’s face told me this might have been a pattern he already knew about.

  “Dad,” I said, glancing at the file, the stack of reports he’d collected and duly filled out with details and thefts, enough I wondered why this was the first I’d heard of it. Swallowed my nervousness and the faint taste of bile that my anxiety forced up to the back of my throat. “Did you and this Siobhan have a history you don’t want to tell me about?” I met his eyes, kept all judgment out of my voice, at least as best I could. “Something you and Mom might not want me to know?” Okay there, I said it about as politely as I could but clearly, I hoped, so he’d get the idea and where my heart was hoping this wasn’t going.

  Dad’s gaze widened and his mouth popped open as he sat upright, his shock at my suggestion so real I almost cried in relief. “Fee,” he whispered, choked up. Cleared his throat, big hands clenching then settling flat on the surface of the desk in front of him. “How could you ever think that of me?”

  And I was the worst daughter on the planet, in the history of daughters who had the most amazing father ever. “I’m sorry,” I said, eyes burning with tears that really, really wanted to fall. “I just don’t understand what you’re keeping from me or why.”

  Dad sat back, nodding slowly, but when he spoke it wasn’t with the information I wanted. “I love your mother,” he said, sounding sad enough I did finally feel two tears escape and slide down my cheeks. “Fee, I would never.” He coughed softly, face darkening, frown deep and troubled. “He’s caused our family enough hurt,” he said, obviously referring to Malcolm. “I’ll take care of it, okay? Just promise me you’ll let this go. There’s nothing to be done, Fee. Nothing. I’ve spent my whole adult life trying to put it right and there’s nothing to be done.”

  Okay, that didn’t help matters, that brief whiff of a suggestion of information. If anything it fired me up more, though I nodded just to ease the tension between us, rising to go to him, hugging him and whispering an apology while he hugged me back, awkward from
his seated position.

  I wanted to beg him to forget what I’d suggested, but I didn’t get the chance to find out if he’d forgiven my assumption or not. The door to the office swung open and we were interrupted, forcing me to drop the issue, to wipe at the tears on my face, and I found myself standing at Dad’s side, one hand on his shoulder, as Chris Noltz strode in, nodding first to my father then to me as if he was unsurprised to find me there. Which led me back to Dad’s initial reveal, that he’d made me a full partner in his little enterprise without telling me first. Who else knew when I hadn’t a clue?

  ***

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chris didn’t wait to begin complaining, his mouth open and his brain running through it even before he settled in the chair I’d just vacated.

  “This is all Olivia’s fault,” he groused, smacking the top of Dad’s desk with an open hand. “Three of our local owners are listing because their water quality has been compromised by fuel spills near the marina.” Yikes, that wasn’t good to hear. “Wanda found evidence someone’s been dumping garbage illegally just down from the harbor. And another visiting cottager at one of my rentals just reported valuables missing. This has to stop, John. Our town is being ruined by all this new activity.”

  Dad’s expression had leveled out, no sign of our previous conversation showing either on his face or in the sound of his voice as he responded.