Anchors Away and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  “I’m happy to help, Chris,” he said, “you know that. I’ve been working to uncover the culprits. But I’ll remind you, just a week ago you were telling me how business is booming and you’re thinking about building three new units for next summer.” The irony of the statement wasn’t lost on me, nor was the fact I’d done just the same thing in creating the annex. Did that mean I didn’t have the right to complain if something went wrong involving Olivia’s plans for our town?

  Chris spluttered a moment, one beefy hand rising to slide over his slicked brown hair, receding hairline pink from too much time outside unprotected. “Maybe if Lester and his ridiculous yacht club would upgrade security,” he said, “or would monitor who’s dumping waste, this might not be an issue.” Dude liked to pass the buck, did he? “That acting idiot sheriff tells me it’s not his department and the park rangers won’t help, either. Do we have to police the lake ourselves?”

  I could understand his frustration, even if Dad wasn’t willing to go there.

  “I’m looking into it,” Dad said, hand on the file he’d retrieved. “As promised. You’ll be receiving my first bill shortly.” Nice reminder my father’s particular skills didn’t come for free.

  Chris waved that off as if unimportant. “Damned sheriff’s office is useless, John. That nephew of yours can’t find his own car keys let alone catch thieves stealing from my cottagers and vandals ruining our lake.”

  “I understand your frustration, Chris,” Dad said, reaching into his desk for papers he slid over the surface to the cottage association president. “If you’d like to fill out the information of the new cases I’ll add them to the list. But in the meantime I really need you to step back and let me do my job.”

  “We both know you were making Lester’s complaints the priority.” That seemed to fire up Chris’s attitude all over again. Wait, hadn’t I heard him arguing with Lester during the yacht club party? “I’m the one who hired you, John, not that weasel of a Patterson.”

  “Well, now that Lester is dead, you don’t have to worry so much about him, do you?” I hadn’t meant to speak up but his attitude was getting to me. Feeling a little guilty about thinking badly about good old Dad, Fee? Enough defending my father wasn’t beyond my scope of please forgive me for being a horrible child.

  Chris spluttered at me then blanched, his slightly bulging pale brown gaze falling to Dad. My father’s faint smile but otherwise calm, empty expression with his big hands folded in front of him, utter silence as intimidating as ever, did nothing to ease the cottager’s sudden worries.

  “Surely you don’t think I had anything to do with Lester’s death?” Chris looked back and forth between us.

  “I hear you and he had a bit of a falling out the other day,” I said, as casually as possible. “A fight about boat owners making cottager lives miserable?” I hadn’t told Dad what I overheard because, quite frankly, I had no idea it was even an issue. Besides, I hadn’t put anything together yet, too busy with Daisy and Crew and Olivia and now this thing with Siobhan and my father to really even think about who might have wanted to kill Lester Patterson. Way to focus on the crime at hand, Fee. That was, if Lester was even murdered. Right? Argh, what had Dr. Aberstock uncovered?

  Gun jumping was my favorite.

  Chris jumped to his feet, big hands rattling the chair as he shoved back and stood, backpedaling his way toward the exit. “Just find out who’s stealing from my renters and ruining our lake,” he said before stomping out into the sunlight.

  I wanted to talk to Dad more about the hurt I’d delivered, doubting his faithfulness to Mom, but he was all business, staring after Chris like he wanted to go after him and ask more questions.

  “Tell me about the argument you mentioned,” he said.

  I sat again, told him everything, which wasn’t much. Dad nodded his thanks before exhaling, sitting forward with his pen in his hand. “Did Dr. Aberstock say if Lester was murdered?”

  “Not conclusively,” Dad said, “but he said he’d have more for me shortly.” That non-answer wasn’t very satisfying. “I’m going to make some calls,” he went on. “We’ll talk tonight, okay, honey?” His soft, steady expression did help me feel a bit better, but I wished I hadn’t said a word, now. The very idea Dad could be unfaithful to Mom seemed utterly ridiculous.

  “Dad, did Crew know about the thefts?” Not like him to drop the ball on something like this.

  My father shrugged, reaching for the phone. “I don’t know, kid,” he said. “The incidents seem pretty recent, maybe a week since Chris came to me. And since the sheriff left about that long ago, maybe he didn’t. You can ask Jill.”

  That was a dismissal if ever I heard one. But I wasn’t done. Dad paused, eyebrows raised, finger poised over the keypad but waiting for me to speak again as I leaned forward.

  “You know where he is,” I said. “Crew. What he’s doing.”

  Dad hesitated before looking down at his notepad. When he met my gaze again, his was shadowed and walled off. “I don’t know anything for sure,” he said. “But if I get confirmation of where I think the young fool went, I’ll let you know. I promise, okay?”

  That didn’t sound good, but if Dad was working on it, I’d let it be. Yeah, sure I would.

  “We’ll have a nice, long talk tonight,” I said, standing up, like I was choosing to go. My father nodded. “About everything, Dad. Including this partnership thing you think is a good idea.”

  He grinned suddenly, everything forgiven. “You bet.” Joy sparkled in his gaze. “Now git. I’m busy catching bad guys.”

  It wasn’t until I hit the sidewalk I realized I had to walk back to Petunia’s. Not that it mattered. The gorgeous sunny morning paired with the short jaunt of a few blocks wasn’t exactly a chore. Besides, it meant passing Sammy’s Coffee, and that meant my favorite latte was in my near future.

  But instead of stopping, I kept moving, feeling the nervous energy in my body stirring, the pressure of the last day or so building up so much by the time I reached the front door of Petunia’s I knew I wouldn’t be able to settle without burning off some energy. I ran up the front steps and through the door into the foyer where, with a faint squeak of shock, I almost collided with Daisy.

  She grasped me with a breathless laugh, her old happiness back for a moment. Then, inevitably, the shadows she’d been carrying around lately returned, her gray eyes hooded, full mouth pulling faintly down as she let me go and backed away. The sunny foyer was empty and usually felt welcoming, warm. Instead, in that moment, the air turned cold, dank and I caught a shiver before it raised goosebumps on my arms.

  “Day.” I whispered her name into the sun-filled but chilled air. “Please, we really need to talk.”

  She shook her head, looked away. “I have to run to the annex,” she said. “Your mother is in the kitchen.” Daisy spun and ran off as if she hadn’t just been heading out the front door. So, an excuse, then? Where had she been going?

  I let her leave, nodding to the young woman at the sidebar counter who bobbed a nod with a quick smile of her own. Young but perky enough. I really had to learn their names. And while maybe it was a bad idea to take off in the middle of the morning I just couldn’t get my mind to come to heel without wearing out my body first.

  I slipped downstairs and changed quickly into shorts, t-shirt and sneakers, poking my head into the kitchen a moment to check in with Mom. She waved me off when I told her I was going for a run, deep in conversation with two of the servers. Petunia glanced my way but Mom’s conversation involved a tray full of some kind of confection so the pug didn’t even bother to come say hello. I grabbed my keys and headed for the lake, already feeling lighter and eager for the miles ahead.

  Crew and I had started running together, an activity I found I immensely enjoyed, though often the route we took along the lake passed in silence as both of us fell deep into thought, occasionally sharing our worries, where our minds were at as we ran the edge of the lake in the kind of companion
able silence that felt like we’d been together forever. Hitting the path alone bothered me more than it should have, and the first person I pondered as I tucked in my earbuds and let my feet move on their own while my mind took over was tall, dark and delicious himself.

  It didn’t take me long to circle around my fear of infidelity and back to worry he’d gotten himself into something he couldn’t handle. Dad seemed to suggest that might be the case. Who was the mystery woman on the other end of the phone? And was I really feeling that lost without the handsome sheriff that I couldn’t bear to be without him for a week?

  Yeah. Actually.

  I worked out my concerns with a burst of speed before sighing through my parted lips and inhaling a giant gulp of air despite knowing it might trigger a stitch. Crew was a big boy, I was a grown woman and he’d be fine long enough for me to kick his butt for not telling me what was going on himself. There. Stress solved. Uh-huh. At least lying to myself hadn’t gotten old.

  Not hard to segway into Dad and Malcolm and that whole mess, though I was only just dipping into that particular spiral into frustrated unknowing when the sight of a familiar face up ahead on the trail slowed my pace.

  ***

  Chapter Seventeen

  Wanda Beaman didn’t seem happy or unhappy to see me, though her expectant expression told me she figured I’d stop for a chat despite my present activity. I did just that, curious enough to find her standing on the side of the path, not walking as most people did, but staring into the lake with a sour expression on her flat, plain face.

  “Miss Fleming,” she said, nodding to me. “Shame about you finding Lester Patterson’s body like that. You okay?”

  I wasn’t expecting sympathy from the hard-faced and rather blunt businesswoman, so her attitude startled me enough I felt a pang of connection I wasn’t planning on. “I’m kind of used to it by now,” I said, not as much of a joke as I’d originally meant. After all, I’d been stumbling over death since I got home, hadn’t I?

  Wanda grunted a faint sound that was apparently her laugh, at least if the slight lift to the corners of her mouth was any indication. “Been a hell of a few years,” she said without a hint she blamed me for bringing murder to Reading unlike other locals I knew. Which endeared her further to me, again totally unexpected. I hated misjudging people and actually focused on her, rather than on what she could give me, observing the lines of age on her tanned face, the way she carried herself carefully, her square body rather hunched and misery showing when I actually looked for it.

  “I’m sorry things haven’t been going well for you,” I said. “I feel pretty lucky aside from all the dead bodies.” Again, an attempt at a joke that didn’t hit the mark.

  She didn’t seem to mind. “It’s not anyone’s fault, really,” she said. “Mine more so for being a stubborn old fool. Should have moved on from the business long ago when things started to slide. But it was my granddad’s, don’t you see, and I just couldn’t abandon it without a fight.” She shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest, glaring at the water. “Stubborn runs in my family.”

  She wasn’t the only one. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

  That perked her a bit. “I’d be obliged if you’d keep some of my brochures in your foyer,” she said, hesitant before tossing her hands, her long, thick braid bouncing with the motion. “Who am I kidding? My fishing business is on the way out. I need to move on, not throw more logs on the fire.”

  My heart ached for her, this straight-forward and strong woman I’d never had the chance to get to know. Funny how people can touch you when you least expect it. “I’m happy to hand out brochures,” I said. “We’re all in this together, Wanda. Or, we’re supposed to be.” Had I lost sight of that myself? I didn’t want to think so. But I’d gotten so busy I hadn’t even had a chance to visit the equestrian center—not that they needed my help—or have dinner at the new restaurant on the edge of town. What was it called again? Didn’t matter, not while Wanda shrugged and smiled faintly again, turning away from the lake.

  “I’ve been tracking pollution in this water for the last five years or so,” she said, changing the subject as if realizing there wasn’t much either of us could do to help her at the moment. “The fish are dying, Miss Fleming. In fact, there was an odd rash of dead trout in the water just yesterday morning, washed up on this bank.” She pointed to the side of the path where the water lapped against the shore. “If the tracking I’ve done counts for anything, those fish died right around the time you found Lester Patterson.”

  Interesting. “Any idea what killed them?” Maybe it would help Dr. Aberstock figure out what happened to Lester? Or I was, quite literally, fishing.

  She rubbed at her chin, eyes narrowing as she stared into the water again. “Not sure,” she said, “but whatever it was took out a dozen or so of my favorite breed, so I’m worried.”

  Well, if it was murder, she wouldn’t have anything to worry about further, but if not? Poison was an option. But who would be poisoning the fish—or the water for that matter? The fuel spill Chris mentioned was troubling and could have done the deed, perhaps.

  Wanda sighed, hands stuffed in her pockets as she turned back to me. “Sorry to keep you from your run,” she said. “Thanks for listening to an old woman. I’ll drop the brochures off, if your offer was good?” Was that hopeful concern? A trace of doubt? Did anyone in this town actually support her at all?

  I hugged her on impulse, feeling her stiffen before she tentatively hugged me back. “Come to Petunia’s for dinner on me,” I said, wondering why I was suddenly choked up. “We’ll get to know each other a little better, okay?”

  Wanda seemed floored by my offer before nodding. “Thanks for that,” she said, gruff and brief. Hesitated before grimacing. “You’ll be wanting to know Lester and I had a history, I suppose. Ever so long ago, so long it doesn’t count for much.” Romantic? Well, everyone was young once. Wow, that was insulting, Fee, like people her age just stopped wanting to be loved. “I’m on the list of suspects for those wanting the old bastard dead. But I didn’t have anything to do with his death.”

  If he was even murdered. “All the more reason for you to come for dinner so I can grill you for clues.” I winked, pretty sure she was innocent but finally finding my funny bone.

  She barked a laugh. “He broke a lot of hearts,” she said, “before girls our age figured out he wasn’t worth bagging as any kind of catch.” Hmmm. Very interesting. “As for me, I had mine broken enough times I learned my lesson.” That was just sad. “Any news if it was an accident or not?” I shook my head and she sighed. “Would be easier for everyone if the old bastard just keeled over.” Tell me about it. Without another word, she walked on, heading back the way I’d come, waving as she did. I ran on, earbuds in place, mind spinning as I thought things through.

  Without murder confirmed, it was rather silly to dig into motives, but I couldn’t help myself. So far there were enough suspects to keep me from narrowing anything down, as far as I was concerned. Wouldn’t hurt to keep my thought process open, right? And Dad’s attitude was enough for me so I made the decision to trust my instincts until I knew better.

  Without any kind of hard evidence to ponder, though, I was left wondering rather than deducing. When the official trail ended, circling back toward the parking area, I ignored it and ran on, keeping close to the edge of the bank now rising up from the water’s edge to avoid too much overgrowth of grass that caught at the toes of my sneakers. I loved this part of the run, though it wasn’t groomed or cared for like the one the town maintained. The wilder feel left me more in tune with the world. I usually ran this with Crew, though, not alone, and after a few minutes and a sharp turn around a corner into a stand of trees and I began to feel a bit uncomfortable.

  Silly, but true. Which fired up my stubbornness and forced me onward. The road was close, after all. I could hear the hum of cars passing just a quarter mile or so inland from the edge of the lake. Not like I could ge
t lost or anything. But there were bears and other predators out here, and running alone wasn’t exactly the smartest choice.

  Since when did anyone accuse me of doing the smart thing, anyway?

  I finally gave myself a mental kick for being an idiot when the brush grew so thick I was forced to the very edge of the bank, dangerously close to slipping down toward the water. When I felt something tug on my sneaker, I looked down in time to stop myself from tripping over my loose shoe lace. Ready to turn around at last, I crouched to tie it, and, as I did, caught faint light from the corner of my eye.

  If I’d been upright I would have missed what came next, I’m positive of it. The shine of metal only showed up when I dropped to my knee, sunlight catching whatever it was reflecting into my eyes. I squinted down the side of the bank, this area elevated, access to the lake impossible thanks to plant growth and a marshy stretch that dominated. But from this vantage point I could make out at last what looked like some kind of ghillie net covering what had to be the hull of a small boat.

  Huh. Someone was hiding a boat here—were they fishing illegally? Or maybe they just didn’t want anyone messing with their property. Made sense. Then again, my suspicious nature made me wonder why anyone would hide a boat all the way out here off the beaten path instead of keeping it in an area more easily accessed.

  Then again, who was I to judge someone for where they moored their boat?

  Before I could slip down the bank and investigate my phone rang. I recognized my mother’s number and answered accordingly. “What’s up, Mom?”

  “Daisy’s out and we have three new check ins coming.” My mother didn’t sound harried, exactly, but I knew a cry for help when I heard it.

  “On my way.” I hung up as I turned around, dialing Dad, but got his voicemail. Rather than leave a message, I made a mental note to mention the boat to him in person and headed for home, mind shifting from murder to what I really should have been focusing on—Petunia’s.