Wicked Ghostly Seas: A Rowan Gray, Harper Harlow and Ivy Morgan Mystery Omnibus

by Lily Harper Hart

  “I assume you’re here about Margaret,” Guthrie said as he sipped a club soda. “Another of our members, Richard Johnson, said you already questioned him. I couldn’t believe it when word spread. Do you have a cause of death yet?”

  “We do. She was murdered.”

  Guthrie’s eyes widened. “I’m sorry but ... what?”

  “She was strangled.” Quinn opted not to go into specifics because he didn’t want gossip flying fast and furious around the ship. Emily Little knew the basics of Margaret’s death, but that didn’t mean she would be able to fill in the finer details. “The doctor, who also serves as our medical examiner, is completing his report even as we speak.”

  “But ... I don’t understand.” Guthrie looked flummoxed. “I assumed she died of natural causes. That’s what I heard.”

  “And who did you hear that from?”

  “I’m ... not sure. Several people have been talking about it this morning.”

  “Yes, well, that’s not the case.” Quinn exuded authority as he flipped open his notebook. “We need to discuss a few things regarding your group.”

  “You can’t possibly think someone in the group had anything to do with this.”

  “Murder is very rarely random,” Quinn argued. “Those movies and television shows you see where serial killers lurk in every dark corner, they’re not true. Murder is almost always done by someone the victim is familiar with. Since we’re at sea, that means someone she knew killed her here ... and I would think that means it has to be someone from your group.”

  “But ... that’s preposterous. The people in the National Organization for Clean Minds and Hearts are against the very thing you’re talking about.”

  Quinn found it interesting that the man insisted on saying the organization’s full name. “Yes, but it would seem to me that someone who didn’t like what the group stood for, the message you were trying to spread, would actually infiltrate the group to get closer to Margaret,” he pointed out.

  “I didn’t even consider that.” Guthrie sipped his soda. “Okay, what do you want to know?”

  “I need to know more about the formation of your group. I looked at your web page, but the specifics are very hazy. For example, how did you and Margaret meet?”

  “Through church. We were part of Giving Souls Baptist Church.”

  “And that’s in Folly Beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you know each other before the group started?”

  “Um, yes and no. We were merely acquaintances when things started, but we were part of the same fellowship group. We got to talking about a murder case in that group one night, and things essentially spun from there.”

  “The Logan Luxemburg murder trial.”

  Guthrie bobbed his head. “Exactly. I see you’ve been doing your homework.”

  “That’s my job.” Quinn flipped to a new page in his tiny notebook. “Once you started talking about that case, how quickly did you form the group?”

  “Oh, not right away. It was more of a gradual thing. We talked in the fellowship group, everybody was outraged, and a few of us went out for coffee later that night and continued talking.

  “The next week, the discussion returned to that subject but only for a brief period of time,” he continued. “I was unhappy with that development — as were Brenda and Margaret — so we went out for coffee again. Those meetings became a weekly thing, to the point where we left the fellowship group, and slowly built our own group from there.”

  “That makes sense.” Quinn jotted something down in his notebook. “The group started expanding at some point. How did that happen?”

  “We made up fliers and handed them out at the church.”

  “And the church hierarchy was okay with that?”

  “Absolutely. They thought our efforts were important, although I don’t think anyone would’ve thought we’d make actual progress the way we have.”

  “And what progress is that?”

  “We’re meeting with our state representatives when we get back from the cruise. They’re going to hear our petition and move forward from there.”

  “Have they said how they’re going to move forward?”

  Guthrie’s face was blank. “I don’t understand the question.”

  “Politicians meet with people all the time. That doesn’t mean they’re going to move on those platforms. In fact, most of the time, it’s simply a placating measure so they can say they didn’t ignore the issue.”

  “I don’t think you understand how important our issue is.” Guthrie turned haughty. “Video games are rotting the minds of the youth today.”

  “I can’t argue with you there. I’ve never been a fan of video games.”

  Guthrie relaxed, although only marginally. “So you agree with our platform.”

  “Oh, not at all.” Quinn shook his head. “I happen to love a good horror movie — mostly because my girlfriend does, but I find them entertaining, too — and I don’t see the point of telling others what they can and can’t watch. That’s neither here nor there, though.”

  “It’s the heart of the matter,” Guthrie argued, annoyance flashing. “Violence on television begets violence in the real world.”

  “I don’t happen to believe that’s true. Movies don’t make people violent. That’s simply a convenient excuse because certain individuals don’t want to curtail their poor impulses. Trust me. If there’s a true psychopath out there, he or she is not going to be dissuaded because a horror movie or violent video game isn’t available.”

  “You can’t know that.”

  “And you can’t know the opposite.” Quinn wasn’t in the mood to trade jabs regarding personal philosophies. “It ultimately doesn’t matter, though, Mr. Guthrie. I need information about Margaret specifically. Did she have any enemies?”

  “Of course she had enemies. We were trying to change the world. That always garners enemies.”

  “Okay, let me rephrase that. Did anyone lodge specific threats against her?”

  “A lot of people did.”

  “I’m going to need a list.”

  “Fine. I’ll see what I can put together. Solving Margaret’s murder is important to me. She was a fine woman despite her difficulties. I want to help in your investigation, so give me a sheet of paper and I will write down some names.”

  “Great.” Quinn ripped a sheet of paper from his notebook and handed it over. “While you’re doing that, tell me exactly what difficulties you’re talking about.”

  Guthrie grumbled something intelligible under his breath as he started writing.

  “SHE WASN’T EASY TO GET along with.”

  Ivy and Jack found Brenda Farmer at the tiki bar after they finished lunch. They returned to their rooms long enough to change — Ivy refused to question people in a bathing suit — but started tracking down people of interest the moment they hit the deck. Their search quickly led them to Farmer, a forty-year-old woman with a blond helmet of hair and a desperate need to ramble.

  “You’ve said that twice now,” Jack noted as he leaned back in his chair, kicking his feet out in front of him. “Do you have any specific stories to go along with that observation?”

  “I liked her, don’t get me wrong,” Farmer said hurriedly. She had a bubbly personality and an absolutely huge engagement ring glittering on her finger. The gold band that matched to signify the marriage was equally ornate. “We met through church.”

  “I believe I read that on the internet.”

  “Oh, are you interested in the cause?”

  Jack wasn’t sure how to answer, so he was happy when Ivy opted to do it for him.

  “We heard several members of your group talking last night,” Ivy supplied. “We were intrigued by the things they were saying, so we did some research. The growth of your group is impressive.”

  “That’s because we have a very important message.”

  “It sounds like it.” Ivy faked enthusiasm. “Margaret’s death must have co
me as a shock to you given how much she was revered in certain circles.”

  “Oh, not that much of a surprise,” Farmer said, sipping from a pink drink. Ivy had no idea what was in it, but she was intrigued enough to make a mental note for later. “Margaret was a passionate woman who believed in the cause with her whole heart.”

  “But?” Jack prodded.

  “But she was also extremely difficult to deal with,” Farmer replied. “She was ... very set in her ways. I guess that’s the polite way to put it.”

  “What’s the not-so-polite way?” Ivy asked.

  “Well, she was a bully.” Farmer offered up a rueful smile. “You probably think it’s horrible for me to say that, but it’s true. I’m not saying anything I didn’t say to Margaret’s face. She constantly went around telling people what they were doing wrong, how they had to fix things to make them right, and what she needed from them to be able to do her job.”

  “I’m not sure I follow,” Jack said. “Why did she need things from others to do her job?”

  “That’s the exact same question I asked a hundred times and never got a firm answer. We weren’t all that close. I mean ... we were close when we had to participate in joint interviews and everything, but the second the cameras were off we pretty much pretended the other didn’t exist.”

  Ivy found the tidbit interesting. “Was it always that way between you?”

  “Oh, no.” Farmer shook her head, the hair refusing to lose its shape despite the breeze and movement. “When we were all in the fellowship group together, we were tight. It was only after that we stopped talking.”

  “There must have been an inciting event.”

  “I think it was more that a lot of little things built up rather than one big thing,” Farmer volunteered. Ivy and Jack posed as an interested couple when they positioned themselves close to her and started asking questions. Thankfully, Farmer liked to talk and didn’t find anything odd about the way they grilled her. “We were equals when we started, but by the time the group went national, suddenly Margaret was the star.”

  Understanding dawned on Ivy. “The attention got to her. That’s what you’re saying. She liked being in the limelight.”

  “She did,” Farmer confirmed. “It was kind of frustrating because she would come to meetings and ask if we saw her on the news the night before. Since we weren’t supposed to be watching television — we formed a boycott group — I didn’t understand how she was seeing it.”

  Jack and Ivy exchanged a weighted look.

  “Maybe someone told her about it,” Jack suggested. “Maybe she didn’t actually see it.”

  “Oh, I don’t think that’s true.” Farmer pressed her lips together and gave the appearance of concentrating as she searched her memories. “She said how the camera added ten pounds so she was going on a diet and she needed to get better makeup because hers didn’t look good on camera.”

  “Ah. I guess that means she did see herself on television.”

  “Yeah. People started talking about how she was kind of a hypocrite for watching television when the whole point of the group was to boycott stuff like that. She ignored the whispers, though. She only cared about the attention.”

  Curious despite herself, Ivy tapped her fingers on the table to draw Farmer’s attention. “Who came up with the idea for everyone to go on a cruise together?”

  “Margaret took credit for it, but Joe was the one who actually came up with the idea.”

  “Joseph Guthrie, right?” Jack asked. “He’s one of the founders of your group, too.”

  “Yeah. It was originally him, Margaret, and me. Now I guess it’s just me and him. We’ll have to continue on with the group’s legacy.”

  “And now you’ll be the one on camera more often,” Ivy pointed out. “I’m sure the news organizations will be waiting at port when we return to get interviews. This is bound to be a big story.”

  “Huh. I didn’t consider that.” Farmer brightened considerably. “I wonder if Joe and I should make plans on how we’re going to split the attention. We don’t want things to get out of control again right away.”

  “That’s probably smart,” Jack said. “Just one thing, though. I heard the security guards talking and they said something I found strange. I was hoping you would be able to explain it to me.”

  “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”

  “Someone in your group — the group of organizers, that is — requested for the cameras to be turned off in your block of rooms,” Jack supplied. “Do you know who that was?”

  “Oh, well ... .” Farmer knit her eyebrows. “I remember discussions about that, but I think Margaret made the ultimate decision.”

  That was not what Jack wanted to hear. “Okay, well, thanks for talking to us about your organization. You’ve given us a lot to think about.”

  QUINN TOOK A BREAK FROM relentless rounds of questions, opting for an iced tea at the tiki bar as he claimed a reprieve from the sun.

  “It is freaking hot out there,” Quinn complained as he pressed the iced tea to his forehead. “Good grief. We should air condition the deck.”

  “That sounds like an easy task,” Demarcus countered, grinning. “By the way, this is a cruise ship. If it wasn’t hot on the deck, people wouldn’t bother booking trips and we would be out of jobs.”

  “Good point.” Quinn slammed half his iced tea and watched as an amused Demarcus topped it off. “I don’t suppose you’ve heard any good gossip about Margaret Adkins, have you?”

  “The dead chick? No. I’ve heard a lot of different stories about her death, though. Most people think she died of natural causes.”

  “Yeah. Every person I’ve questioned has said the same thing. I can’t help but wonder if that’s on purpose, like maybe members of the group are deliberately spreading that.”

  “That doesn’t make a lot of sense to me. It seems that the violent death of their leader would be something to further propel the group. Why hide it when they can use it as a talking point on the evening news?”

  Quinn hadn’t even considered that. “Huh.”

  “Yeah.”

  “That is ... a very good point.” Quinn was thoughtful as he swiveled on the stool and took a moment to look over the crowd at the bar. “This whole thing is odd to me. I didn’t think much of it when the request to turn off the cameras came through. It’s actually normal with some groups — especially corporate groups who don’t want their game of multiple bedrooms recorded for posterity — but now that I think about this particular request, I’m a bit stumped.”

  “You think someone had this as a plan from the start, don’t you?”

  “I think that makes the most sense,” Quinn confirmed. “She was strangled with a pair of nylons. That doesn’t necessarily mean a woman did the deed, though. It probably took a decent amount of strength to hold Margaret down and tie the pantyhose around her neck.

  “A woman could do that,” he continued. “Rowan is certainly strong enough to pull that off if properly motivated. It would be easier for a man.”

  “Why would a man travel with pantyhose, though?” Demarcus asked.

  “Because this was the plan all along. He might not have wanted to get caught with a weapon in his luggage. Weapons can make things messy, after all, and you don’t want to risk walking through blood or firing a gun when someone could hear the noise and be drawn to the area and foul up an easy escape.”

  “I get what you’re saying.” Demarcus rolled his neck. “Your problem is that it’s probably a member of the group ... and that’s a lot of people to sift through.”

  “It is, but I can’t help feeling that we’re dealing with someone staying in that immediate bank of rooms. I’m going to have my men check the other video feeds to see if they can find a dude — or a woman, I wouldn’t want to be sexist — walking around with pantyhose in his or her hands. I’m not holding out a lot of hope, though.”

  Demarcus barked out a laugh. “I can see that. I’m sure whoever did it shoved
the nylons in a pocket.”

  “That makes the most sense. I still have to try. I ... .” Quinn trailed off when he saw a familiar figure chatting with Joseph Guthrie on the other side of the bar. “What’s that about?”

  Demarcus followed his gaze. “That’s one of the heads of the group.”

  Quinn made a face. “I know that. I’m talking about the guy with him.”

  “The Bohemian princess’s boyfriend. He’s been talking to quite a few group members. I thought it was weird, too, but he’s been asking a lot of questions.”

  Quinn was instantly suspicious. “What kind of questions?”

  “The same questions I imagine you’re asking. Did Margaret have any enemies? Was Margaret well liked? Can you think of anyone who would want to harm Margaret? By the way, I’ve heard a few of the answers. Margaret was definitely not liked.”

  “No, I got that impression, too,” Quinn agreed, narrowing his eyes. “I don’t understand why Jack is asking questions of the guests, though.”

  “I thought he was a cop. That’s what someone said.”

  “A Michigan cop. This isn’t his jurisdiction.”

  “Okay. Calm down, tiger.” Demarcus held up his hands in mock capitulation. “There’s no reason to get all worked up.”

  “And there’s no reason for him to be questioning the guests.” Quinn drained his glass of iced tea and stood. “Seriously. It’s like he’s trying to irritate me.”

  “Or perhaps he’s simply curious.”

  “No, he’s trying to irritate me. I can feel it.”

  “Well, as long as you believe it, that’s all that matters,” Demarcus said. “If you’re going over there to confront him, though, I would be careful. You’re no longer the biggest dude on the boat. I think he might be able to take you.”

  Quinn snorted. “I’m still the king of the boat.”

  “If you say so.”

  Nine

  Quinn plastered a tight smile on his face as he approached Jack. He expected the police officer to feign innocence, or maybe even slip out of the tiki bar before he could be questioned, but instead he merely quirked an eyebrow as the security chief slid into an open chair on the opposite side of the table.