by Barbara Ross
Rick was by the elevators. “We go to my room, please. I need your help.”
The elevator doors opened, but I stepped backward. Go to his room? Was this a clumsy pass, or something more sinister? There was a killer, probably more than one killer, still on the loose. But then I spotted Flynn standing in the archway between the lobby and the bar. He nodded quickly. He was following. “Okay,” I said to Rick. “Let’s go.”
Rick used the swipe card to unlock his door. His room was on the third floor, its furnishings exactly like the ones I’d glimpsed in Wyatt’s room earlier in the evening. He stepped aside so I could go in first. “No, you,” I said, giving him a gentle shove. He went ahead and I followed. On the way in, I swung the lock guard across the opening to keep the door from closing. I heard the elevator ding behind us. Flynn, on his way, I was sure.
“Excuse.” Rick went to the bureau and opened the top drawer. He rifled it briefly, his back was to me. When he turned around, the Black Widow was cradled in his hands.
“Rick! Where did you get that?” The words flew out involuntarily and loudly. Flynn banged through the door.
Rick looked from me to Flynn and back. “Please, please, you must help me.”
Flynn went to the bathroom, emerging with a clean hand towel. “Give it to me. And the extra loose diamond too.”
“With pleasure.” The moment he handed the Black Widow over, all the tension seemed to seep out of Rick’s body and he was left exhausted and trembling. He pointed to the top drawer, where Flynn recovered the extra diamond.
“Where did you get the necklace?” I asked.
“I stole it. From the safe.”
“Why did you take it?”
Rick collapsed into a desk chair in a movement so sudden Flynn put a hand out to stop him from bolting. But he wasn’t going anywhere. He hung his head in his hands and began to sob. “It was an impulse. I shouldn’t have taken it. Everything was changing. Mr. Bower was going to return to the ship. He was going to marry. Ms. Jayne would be taking over. Who knows if there was a place for me in this? I have worked for Mr. Bower for a long time. I thought to myself, don’t I deserve something for all the hard work, the secret keeping? It has caused me much stress.” He sighed. “So I thought, I will take the necklace. I will go back to Europe, and I will live a different life. A life on land.”
“You knew the combination to the safe,” Flynn suggested.
“Oh yes. Mr. Bower has opened the safe in front of me many times. It’s a lot of numbers, but they play a tune, a tapping rhythm, I memorized long ago. Back when Mr. Bower lived on board, the real Mr. Bower.”
“Why did you decide to tell me?” I asked. I tried hard to process what was happening. It was all too much, too fast.
“I regretted stealing it soon after I took it. Mr. Bower has been so good to me. I was going to put it back the next day, but then Bert was killed.” He paused, hiccuping. “Then my problem was even bigger. I knew in no time the theft of the necklace would be seen as the motive for the murder. If I was caught with the necklace . . . I thought I could sneak it back in this morning, but the lieutenant said we would be watched the whole time. I have not slept. I cannot eat. I am so sorry for what I have done.” He wiped his eyes with his thumbs. “You must believe me. I did not kill Bert.”
“But you did steal a five-million-dollar necklace,” Flynn said. “I’m a sworn officer of the law. Even though Julia and I did some investigating on our own, I can’t ignore the evidence of a crime. I’m going to call Lieutenant Binder now and tell him you have the Black Widow.”
“I beg you. Please, tell him I did not kill anyone. Please.”
“I know a great criminal lawyer,” I said. “He’ll be with you while you’re questioned.” Hadn’t I made the same offer to Wyatt only a couple of days ago?
Flynn made a face at me, but I persisted, and each of us made our calls.
* * *
“What do you think?” Flynn asked me. We were on the familiar hard benches across from the receptionist’s desk at the police station. Flynn on one and me on the other. Binder and Rick were on the other side of the door to the multipurpose room, waiting for my friend and lawyer, Cuthie Cuthbertson, who was on his way. The receptionist had gone home hours before. I didn’t think there was anyone there besides the four of us and the firemen next door.
Lieutenant Binder had shown up five minutes after Flynn called and taken Rick into custody with a minimum of fuss. “What are you two doing here?” He didn’t hide his annoyance. I opened my mouth to answer, but Binder interrupted. “Never mind. We’ll talk after I’ve booked him. Come to the station. Wait for me.” Blount’s relieved-looking night manager had let us out a side door. They’d had their early season business disrupted too many times.
“I believe Rick,” I told Flynn. “I think he took the necklace exactly as he said he did. He didn’t kill Bert Sand. Why would he? He knew the combination, and he knew Bert wasn’t Geoffrey. You?”
“I don’t see it,” he agreed. “And who was his accomplice? Too many loose ends. I suspect the lieutenant will see it the same way.”
“So we’re back to square one,” I said.
Flynn gave me a tired smile. “Don’t despair. It’s typical. I’ve ended up back there so often during this type of investigation, I bought furniture and turned square one into a bachelor pad.” He paused, a frown wrinkling the skin over his nose. “Unless—”
“Unless what?” I sat forward on the bench.
“Unless you were right all along.”
“How could I be right?” I threw my arms out in a gesture of defeat. “Rick did the theft and we agree he didn’t do the murder. They’re not connected.”
Flynn pressed his point. “We know that, Julia. We know it now. But we didn’t know it until half an hour ago. It’s entirely possible the killers didn’t know it either.”
The glass door of the police station opened and the real Geoffrey Bower walked in. “The lieutenant called,” he explained. “He said he has Rick in custody. He wants me to identify the Black Widow. As the owner,” he clarified, reacting to the look I gave him. He sat on the bench next to me. “What are you talking about?”
Flynn hesitated, but I plunged in. “We don’t think Rick killed Bert.”
“Of course he didn’t!” Geoffrey was vehement. “He stole from me because he was provoked. I put him in a terrible position. Rick would never hurt anyone, but especially Bert. They’ve shared the secret of my identity for the last few years. They joked together to blow off steam. It bonded them. I’ve seen it. Rick would never hurt Bert.”
As Geoffrey spoke, I saw a gentle man, conflicted and plagued by guilt because he’d made a fortune off the suffering of others, a man who could fall in love like a teenager. A shy, socially awkward man who had never intended any harm.
Flynn must have seen something in him too. “Did Lieutenant Binder share with you Julia’s theory of the murder?”
Geoffrey blinked. “Julia’s theory? The lieutenant did say perhaps Bert was poisoned because the robbers thought he was me, and he would give them the combination to the safe in order to save his life. Of course, he didn’t know the combination.” Geoffrey’s voice thickened with regret and grief. “Poor Bert. He landed what he thought was the role of a lifetime, and it got him killed. I got him killed.”
“When the safe was empty, we thought Julia’s theory was blown,” Flynn told him. “But now we know the thief was Rick, and believe the loss of the necklace was unrelated to the poisoning. The killers didn’t know the necklace wasn’t in the safe. Julia’s idea could still be the right one.” He looked at each of us in turn, to see if we were following.
I was. “Following that logic, who would it have been?”
“It’s easier to say who it wasn’t,” Flynn answered. Geoffrey was listening closely, his brow furrowed.
“It wasn’t Genevieve. I’m her alibi,” Flynn said.
“It wasn’t Wyatt. Quentin and his parents are her alibi,” I ta
gged onto his thought.
Flynn looked at me. “You’re sure?”
I didn’t hesitate. “Absolutely.”
Geoffrey exhaled, a sigh of relief. He was in love with her. I’d almost forgotten. “It wasn’t Rick, because he knew Bert wasn’t me.” He got into the spirit of it.
“Then it wasn’t Emil, for the same reason,” I said.
“Emil alibis Marius,” Flynn said. “That leaves—”
“Doug and Ian,” I almost shouted. “Neither knew Bert wasn’t Geoffrey. Doug got Ian the job. They alibied each other for the time of the murder, but the police have only partially confirmed their whereabouts. They have the strength between them to dress and lift the corpse. And Doug, who may not have loved Bert, but certainly loved the Garbo, may have felt enough regret to clean up the scene.”
“He wouldn’t have wanted the mess sullying her,” Geoffrey said. “In his precise way, Doug would have put things back to rights.”
“But why now?” Flynn asked. “Why this week?”
“Even though Doug and Ian didn’t know the secret, they knew things were changing. Wyatt was aboard and referring to Bert as her boyfriend,” I said. “But I think the X factor was Ian. Ian is the new element. When they’re together, it looks like Doug is the leader, but it’s really Ian.”
My friend, the criminal lawyer Cuthie Cuthbertson, scurried by us with the briefest of nods and rapped on the door to the multipurpose room. “Cuthbertson.”
Binder called, “Come in,” and Cuthie disappeared into the inner sanctum.
When he’d gone, Flynn restarted our discussion. “Theories are fine, but we have no proof.”
“They’re the only pair who makes sense,” I insisted.
“That’s not proof.”
“What if we could get it?” Geoffrey asked.
“Sure,” Flynn said, “but how?”
Geoffrey leaned forward. “Bert didn’t know the combination to the safe, but I do. If you wanted something so badly you’d kill for it, would you give up because of these crazy circumstances? What if someone offered you a second shot at the prize? The only people who know the Black Widow isn’t in that safe are here in this building.” He considered. “And Seebold, who’s gone to bed.”
“If your lawyer was here, he would tell you this isn’t a good idea,” Flynn cautioned.
“If my friend Seebold was here, he’d say the same,” Geoffrey acknowledged. “But he’s not, and I am, and I’m angry Bert’s dead.”
“Okay,” Flynn replied. “Let’s talk to the lieutenant.”
* * *
We stood in the lobby of Blount’s, at the archway leading into the bar. “Okay.” Geoffrey stood up straight. “Showtime.” During the time we spent figuring out the plan, I hadn’t processed how difficult it would be for him to face the crew he’d deceived. And Wyatt even more so. “Has to be done sooner or later,” he muttered, as if reading my thoughts. He strode into the room, hand out. They were all still there, much further into the evening’s drinking.
“Hello, everyone. So wonderful to meet you all. Except, of course, Emil. We’ve met many times.” Geoffrey gave them a hesitant smile. He went around the table, introducing himself and shaking hands. When he got to Wyatt, she jumped up and bolted from the bar.
Geoffrey looked after her sadly. His feelings for her hadn’t changed.
“I’ll go.” Quentin followed her out. I didn’t think he wanted to be around Geoffrey either.
Keep your head in the game, Geoffrey. Too much was riding on his performance.
He went to the bar and bought a round. “Please get my good friends here another of whatever they’re drinking.” Then he slipped into Wyatt’s vacated chair. Flynn and I joined the gang as well, sitting on either side of Genevieve.
“I’m sorry about everything that’s happened,” Geoffrey told the group. “Especially, of course, about poor Bert. I hope you’ll all consider staying on. I know everyone was excited about the refit.”
The offer was met with silence. It seemed unlikely anyone would agree on the spot, but there was some nodding, some thoughtful faces.
“Sorry, man,” Ian said. “Doug and I’ve already signed on to another yacht. We leave first thing in the morning.”
“I’m sorry to hear that,” Geoffrey responded. “I hope there are no hard feelings.”
The waitress brought the drinks. We helped her out, passing them across the table. I’d asked for a bottled beer, an empty glass, and an ice water. I lined them up in front of me, pouring half the beer into the glass. “The sergeant, Julia, and I were drinking over at Crowley’s,” Geoffrey told them. “Then I said, let’s join the gang.” He slurred the words slightly. I was surprised he was so good at playing the role, but then he’d been playing the role of Cliff Munroe for years.
The group got down to telling stories. Bert stories, Garbo stories, finally any boating story. The laughter was raucous, louder as the evening went on. Geoffrey took a couple of sips of his whiskey and slid it in my direction. I kept the glasses moving around the table, so it wasn’t clear which glass was in front of him. He bought another round from the bar, and then another. At the other end of the table, Doug and Ian conferred in low voices. Doug shook his head twice, but Ian kept talking. My hopes rose.
Maria Consuelo surrendered first, saying her good nights. Genevieve walked her to her room and returned. “I see what you’re doing,” she whispered to me. “With the drinks.”
“Can anyone else tell?” I whispered back.
“I don’t think so.”
The evening went on until we were the only customers left in the bar. Around us the waitresses cleaned tables and folded cloth napkins for the next day. The bartender yawned and looked at his watch.
Marius and Emil called it a night. “It has been an experience,” Marius said. I could tell Emil was reluctant to leave. He was in charge of Geoffrey’s safety, but Geoffrey waved him off. “Get some rest, my man.”
One last round, and Geoffrey lurched to his feet. He signed the check and threw two hundred-dollar bills on the table for the tip. “Time for nighty-night.”
“Where are you staying?” Flynn asked him. “Did you book a room here?”
“Nah.” Geoffrey’s voice was loud enough for everyone in the almost empty barroom to hear. “I had a room at a B&B across town, but I won’t make it that far. My boat’s right here. I’m gonna sleep on my boat.” He staggered off in the direction of Blount’s back door.
Ian looked at Doug. “Time to turn in?”
“I think it is,” Doug answered.
My stomach curled into a ball. Everything depended on what happened now. Flynn waited until Doug and Ian cleared the room, then stood. I stood up too.
“Julia, no,” Flynn commanded.
“I didn’t come this far not to see this through,” I responded, but he had already left the bar. Genevieve grabbed my hand and we crept into the silent, empty lobby, then out the back door to the patio.
Below us, Geoffrey made a great show of weaving his way toward the Garbo. The gangway was down, and he shouted, “Honey, I’m home!” before he started up. Somewhere, down there in the shadows, Flynn waited.
Genevieve and I waited as well. “Flynn’s a good guy,” I whispered to her.
She clutched my arm, shivering. “He is,” she said. “A good man at the wrong time.”
“Look!” I caught my breath and pointed to the dock. Two dark figures ran by, unidentifiable, even under the lights. They started up the gangway after Geoffrey. But as we watched, a third figure, larger than the others, charged across the quay and tackled one of men on the gangway. “Oomph!” The shout could be heard across the water as the big man brought the smaller man down.
Geoffrey yelled, “Emil! What are you doing? You’ve spoiled it.”
Then Flynn charged out of the darkness and tackled the second man.
Lieutenant Binder, alerted by the noise, came out on the main deck of the Garbo. “That’s enough. Mr. Merriman, Mr. Co
wen, you are under arrest for trespassing. I have a number of things I’d like to discuss with you at the police station.” Then Jamie and Officer Howland appeared on deck and handcuffed Ian and Doug.
Emil apologized. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know what was happening. Looking after Mr. Bower is my job.”
Chapter 27
I stood on the high ground in front of Windsholme, watching the Jacquie II come into dock with all the anticipation of a producer watching the curtain rise at a Broadway show. Today was the dress rehearsal, the gathering of close friends of the Snowden Family Clambake. Everyone was in his or her place: Sonny by the towering wood fire, Livvie in the kitchen, Mom in the gift shop. For the first time in years, everything felt right with the world. In two days the first boatload of tourists would arrive and the season would begin.
I hurried to meet our visitors. The JOATs—the Jacks of All Trades that served as the island’s runners, bussers, and general support—were ahead of me, already helping people off the ship. The Snugg sisters came off the boat arm in arm with Gus’s wife, Mrs. Gus. I’d invited the old curmudgeon himself, but nothing would tear him away from his restaurant at this time of year. “Can’t stop to chat,” Vee said as they passed. “Must claim our favorite table.”
Emmy and Vanessa bounced down the dock, pushing Luther in a stroller. All three of them were smiling. “Thanks so much,” Emmy said when she passed. “It’s so generous of you to invite us to lunch. I’m glad I could get the day off.” Vanessa ran off in search of Page. “Be careful!” Emmy called after her.
Binder, Flynn, and Chris disembarked together, an odd grouping. Both cops were in civilian clothes. I looked for Genevieve behind Flynn in the crowd, but didn’t spot her. “What’s happening with our friends?” I asked Binder when they reached the place where I stood.
“As soon as we got Mr. Cowen and Mr. Merriman to the station, they turned on each other like vicious dogs, each blaming the other, trying to duck the murder charge. They both have attorneys now. There will be some negotiating, but I’m confident we’ll charge both of them with murder in the first.” Chris gave me a quick hug and the three men moved on.
