Berried to the Hilt

by Karen MacInerney

  “Not much,” she said. “I’ve met him a few times, but that’s all. He just got back to the island—he’d been away a few years, off at school, I think.”

  Rehab, actually, but there was no need to pass that information on.

  “Does Adam know him well?”

  “Not really,” she said. “His mom asked Adam to let him try out lobstering.”

  “Licenses are awfully hard to get, aren’t they?” From everything I knew, licenses were often passed down in families, and the territories that went with them were hard to come by if you were a newcomer. Just a few months back, there had been a murder down the coast—the result of a feud over lobstering territory.

  “An uncle of his in Camden is thinking of retiring and passing his license to Evan. He was at school for a couple of years—and, like Adam, decided he preferred a simpler life.”

  Or had been kicked out of school and had no other options, I thought but didn’t say it.

  “Anyway,” Gwen continued, “when Ingrid asked, Adam agreed to let him help haul traps with him for a couple of weeks.”

  “Well, apparently he now considers himself the finder of the wreck,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  “Evan called in a treasure hunting company. He’s laying claim to the find.”

  Gwen set down her bag with a thud. “But that’s not right! All he did was operate the winch. It was Adam’s boat and Adam’s trap.”

  “That’s not how the Sorensons see it,” I said. “I’ll bet you dollars to donuts his mom backs his claim—and the family’s got the money to hire big-gun lawyers. When they got back yesterday, Evan called a company named Iliad and told them he found a sunken ship.”

  “Iliad,” she repeated. “I saw that name in the reservation book, didn’t I?”

  I nodded.

  “They’re staying here?”

  “Yup. And so are the university archaeologists.”

  She pushed a lock of curly hair behind her ear, looking agitated. “I’ve got to call Adam,” she said. “That jerk. I can’t believe Evan double-crossed him that way.”

  “I’ll be curious to hear what he says,” I told her. “In the meantime, both the archaeologists and the treasure hunters are having dinner here tonight.”

  Gwen stared at me. “Together? In our dining room?”

  “Not at the same table, I’m guessing. But certainly in the same room.”

  She gave a short, bitter laugh. “Might not want to put out the steak knives, then.”

  “Why do you think I’m serving scallops?” I said, only half-joking. After watching Eleazer wave his cutlass around this afternoon, I was thinking a diet of nice, soft food might be just the ticket for a while.

  She crossed her arms, still angry. “It seems wrong that these people are going to come in and take over the find. It should be the university’s business, not a cash cow for private industry.”

  “I know,” I said, drizzling a ramekin of scallops with melted butter and scattering cracker crumbs over the top.

  “Can’t somebody—the state, maybe—just tell them to leave?”

  “I guess it depends on who ‘officially’ found it. It may be the only way to resolve that is in court.”

  “Maybe I should have studied law instead of art,” Gwen said.

  “There’s still time,” I said. “Your mother would be delighted.” My sister had never forgiven Gwen for choosing to study art instead of something practical, like business. So far, she hadn’t pressured Gwen to return to UCLA, but I knew it was coming.

  She rolled her eyes. “Never mind, then.”

  I had sent Gwen out to finish setting the tables and was uncorking a bottle of sauvignon blanc when John walked into the kitchen, bringing the sweet smell of fresh cut wood with him.

  “How’s my favorite innkeeper?” he asked, wrapping his arms around me.

  “Not looking forward to dinner,” I said, checking my watch over his shoulder.

  “Why not?” he asked, eyeing the scallops hungrily.

  “It’s been an interesting day,” I said. “And I’m afraid my guests are going to start hurling more than invective back and forth.”

  “What’s going on? I’ve been in my workshop all day with the radio going,” he said. “Did something happen?”

  I filled him in on everything he’d missed. When I told him about Eleazer’s not-so-veiled threat—and Carl’s verbal attack—he let out a long, low whistle. “And all of these people are eating dinner in your dining room tonight?”

  “Well, everyone but Eleazer,” I said. “I wouldn’t be surprised if he spent all afternoon in his skiff out at Deadman’s Shoal, trying to prevent anyone from Iliad from diving down to the wreck. He’s probably home refueling on sugarless pie.” Which reminded me of the bake-off, and Florence Maxwell’s visit. “Speaking of which, are you sure you don’t want to volunteer to help me judge the bake-off?” I asked.

  He stepped back. “I love you, Natalie, but as far as the bake-off is concerned, I’m afraid you’re on your own.”

  _____

  I avoided the dining room, focusing instead on plating the food. The ramekins of scallops came out of the oven a beautiful golden brown on top, and the crisp green asparagus made a perfect foil. For the first twenty minutes, I stood poised to go and mediate—but by the time the salad plates came back, I was starting to relax. I retrieved the chocolate mousse from the fridge along with a bowl of freshly whipped cream, feeling relieved at my guests’ good manners. Despite their confrontation on the water this afternoon, they seemed able to keep their tempers under control in the dining room.

  “How is it in there?” I asked as Gwen brought in the dinner dishes. I was putting the last touch of raspberry drizzle on bowls of chocolate mousse, which I had decorated with little swirls of whipped cream.

  “Chilly,” she said. “They’re still on opposite sides of the room, and I haven’t heard a single word.”

  “I hope they’re not terrorizing Cherry,” I said.

  She was the only guest not on the island to investigate the shipwreck, and had come in on one of the late mailboat runs. “She seems like a nice lady; I’d hate for her to feel uncomfortable.”

  “She’s got her nose in a book,” Gwen said.

  “Good. That’ll distract her. At least they’re not at each other’s throats,” I said, placing a fresh raspberry on each of the bowls.

  I had just set the last bowl on a serving tray for Gwen when there was a crash from the dining room.

  Gwen and I stared at each other for a split second before both dashing to the swinging door.

  I got there first, and froze in the doorway, at a loss for what to do next.

  One of my plates lay shattered on the wood floor. A few feet away, Carl stood, murder in his eyes. Molly stood next to him, a restraining arm on his—our eyes met, and I could read fear in hers.

  Not good.

  “I’ll get John,” Gwen murmured, and I was thankful for her quick thinking. I didn’t know what was about to happen, but the way things were looking, it wouldn’t be a bad thing to have the island’s deputy on hand.

  “Can I help you with something?” I said calmly, addressing Carl. He didn’t even hear me. The veins stood out on his forehead; I could see the one by his temple pulsing. He pointed a shaking finger at Gerald. “If you so much as remove one splinter from that ship, I will hunt you down personally.”

  Gerald sat back in his chair, in the relaxed pose of the man who’s holding four aces in his hand and knows his opponent has nothing but deuces. “Business is business, Carl. I’m here on authority of the finder, and the wreck is outside of territorial waters.” He cut a scallop in half and popped it into his mouth. Carl’s chest heaved as Gerald chewed slowly, then swallowed and looked back up at him with a contented smile. “Better luck next time, Carl.”

  Carl let out a strangled bellow and lunged at him. Molly pulled him back, but he broke free, stumbling over to the treasure hunter’s chair and th
rowing a wild punch that grazed Gerald’s chin. Carl fell to the floor, but scrambled to his feet and was about to attack a second time when John dashed past me and into the dining room.

  Within seconds, he had the wiry archaeologist’s arms pinned behind him, and I could hear my fiancé’s low, calm voice telling him to get himself together. Cherry Price gazed at the entire proceedings over the rims of her red reading glasses. She looked more intrigued than afraid, thankfully.

  I hurried over to Carl’s partner, Molly. “Are you okay?” I asked

  Her curly red hair was mussed, and her face was pale, but she was recovering herself. “Yes. Thank you for getting your friend—Carl was really out of control.” She reached up and raked her hand through her hair. “I’ve never seen him so angry,” she said. “If he’d been armed …” A shiver passed through her.

  “But he wasn’t, and it’s over now,” I said, watching John as he led the archaeologist to a chair.

  Gerald was still sitting at his table, feeling his chin with his fingers. His two companions sat nearby; while Frank seemed unconcerned, the young woman had fished ice cubes out of Gerald’s water glass and was offering them to him, wrapped in a napkin. He waved the impromptu compress away. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “He barely touched me. Still—it was an assault. If I wanted to, I could press charges.”

  Personally, I thought he looked awfully unruffled for a man whose life had been threatened just moments before. I wondered if attacks by university archaeologists were a frequent occurrence in his life.

  “Oh, please don’t, Gerald,” said Molly from beside me, addressing Iliad’s owner. “He just has a lot at stake—he didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry he lost his temper.”

  Gerald? I looked over at Molly, surprised.

  A slow, almost rakish smile crossed Gerald’s face, and for a moment I could see the energy and drive—and the passion—that drove the treasure-hunter. “It’s fortunate for Carl that he has such a charming partner,” he said. “The offer of a job is always open, you know, if you’re interested …”

  “I’m not,” Molly said, cutting him off. Their eyes met and held for a moment; then she looked away and bent down to pick up shards of the broken plate from the floor.

  I hurried to take over for her. “There’s no need to pick this up,” I said.

  “No,” she protested. “It’s our fault. I’ll clean it up—and we’ll reimburse you for the dish.”

  “There’s no need for that,” I said. They weren’t very expensive, and I had more than I would ever use. Still, Molly insisted on paying, and also insisted on helping me pick up the big pieces, only relenting when I told her I’d sweep up the rest.

  As I left to retrieve the broom, I glanced at Cherry, who had put down her book and was now jotting down notes in a small, leather-bound book. What was she doing? Keeping a journal? Or was even she somehow involved in the shipwreck?

  _____

  Phone calls at three a.m. almost never mean good news, and the one that came that night was no exception. John and I bolted upright. He turned on the bedside lamp as I reached for the phone, adrenaline rushing through me.

  “Hello?” I said, dispensing with the usual “Gray Whale Inn” greeting.

  “Is John at your place?”

  “Eleazer! What’s wrong?”

  “I think I’d best save that for John,” he said.

  My stomach flipped over as I handed the phone to John. Had another boat failed to come in? The weather was good, but things sometimes happened …

  My fiancé was fully alert, and there was no trace of sleep in his voice when he spoke. “Eleazer. What’s going on?” He was silent for a moment, and I could faintly hear Eli’s voice speaking rapidly. I smoothed the comforter nervously. Biscuit opened one eye, then curled up in a tight orange ball and went back to sleep.

  “What time did you find him?” John asked, and my stomach did another flip. That didn’t sound good at all. “You’re sure he’s gone?” he continued. Then he let out a short sigh. “I’ll meet you at the town pier.”

  “What’s going on?” I asked as he hung up the phone.

  “It’s Gerald—the guy who runs Iliad,” he said, getting out of bed and pulling on his jeans.

  “What about him?”

  “He’s dead,” John said. “Eleazer found him out by the wreck site.”

  “Oh, no,” I breathed. I clenched the comforter between my hands. “What happened? Did he drown?”

  John shook his head. “Somebody stabbed him in the back.”

  Murder. And violent murder, at that. “What was Eleazer doing out there at three in the morning?” I asked, dreading the answer. Eleazer had been so angry yesterday; was it possible he had made good on his threat?

  “I don’t know, Natalie,” he said, his face grim. “But I’m sure the investigators will be asking the same question.”

  He buttoned his shirt and reached for his sweater. Suddenly, my foggy brain registered where he was going. “You’re not heading out to the site in a skiff, are you?” It was a couple of miles out to the wreck—far for a small boat, particularly at night.

  “I’ve got to,” he said. “First I’ll call the Coast Guard, though. I’m going to meet Eli at the main pier, and we’ll go out together.”

  “Can’t you just leave it to them?”

  He shook his head and pulled on his wool sweater. “I’m worried about Eli, Nat. I’ve got to talk to him—and see the body.”

  I understood. He was going to protect our friend. I didn’t like it—Eli was the most skilled boatsman I knew, but that still didn’t make it safe—but John was probably right.

  “Let me brew you two a thermos of coffee to take with you,” I offered. “It’ll be cold out on the water, and the caffeine will help.”

  “There’s no time,” he said.

  “Ten minutes won’t change what happened to Gerald,” I said. “You can call the Coast Guard just as you’re leaving.” As I got up and slipped into my bathrobe, a horrible thought occurred to me. “John—what if the murderer is still out there?”

  “The thought occurred to me, too, but I’m guessing whoever did it is long gone,” he said. We looked at each other for a moment, not wanting to say what both of us feared—that John was about to head out to the wreck in the murderer’s boat. “I’m sure it will be fine, Nat. But just in case, I’ll take my gun.”

  Together we went downstairs. John ran down to the carriage house to get a heavy jacket and gloves as I started the coffee, my stomach churning with worry. Gerald might have been unscrupulous—and, at times, I suspected, ruthless—but he didn’t deserve to die. I remembered the hatred I’d seen on Eleazer’s face out on the water yesterday—and the way his hand had strayed to the hilt of his cutlass. Gerald had been stabbed in the back. Had Eleazer taken matters into his own hands?

  The kitchen was filled with the comforting smell of brewing coffee when John returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. As he picked up the phone and relayed the information to the Coast Guard, I filled a small container with muffins and dug a thermos and a few cups out, packing them into a plastic tub. I watched John as I worked; several times, he raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, and his face was grim.

  “What did Eleazer do with the body?” I asked when he finally hung up.

  “He turned him over,” John said, sounding weary, “just to see if there was any hope of saving him. Then he tried to haul him into the boat, but he was too heavy, so he just tied him to the nearest lobster buoy.”

  “Was the blade still in the wound?”

  “No,” John said, and looked away.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing,” he said.

  I stared at him for a long moment. “Was it Eli’s cutlass that killed him?”

  “I have no idea,” he said. “But I’m praying it wasn’t.”

  After John left, I debated waking Gerald’s colleagues, but decided to wait; a few hours wouldn’t make much difference, and at
least they’d be well rested.

  Audrey was the first one down. I brought out the coffee carafe, but instead of taking her breakfast order, I sat down across from her.

  She was an attractive woman, with brown, blunt-cut hair and large, expressive eyes. She had the physique of an athlete, and wore little makeup—just a bit of mascara and some lip gloss. She exuded an aura of healthiness.

  “Could I have a bowl of oatmeal this morning?” she asked.

  “Audrey,” I said. “I’ve got some bad news.”

  Her brown eyes fixed on me, looking larger than ever. “What’s wrong?”

  “It’s Gerald,” I said. “He died last night.”

  The color leached from her face. “No,” she said. “No.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A deep, wracking sob shuddered through her.

  “I’m sorry,” I said.

  After a long, painful moment, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “What happened? Was it a heart attack?” She dashed the table with her palm. “I knew he should have dropped those twenty pounds! I told him again and again …”

  “It wasn’t a heart attack,” I said.

  She blinked. “What happened, then?”

  “I can’t give you the details, but the police believe he was murdered.”

  “Murdered?” She rubbed her eyes with her palm; her mascara was smeared. “Oh, God. I can’t believe it. How? Where?”

  “They found him near the wreck last night.”

  “What was he doing out there?” She looked at the window, toward the wreck site. “The Lorelei’s gone. The dinghy’s gone, too.”

  I followed her gaze, and realized she was right. The red buoy marking the mooring line bobbed up and down in the waves.

  “Why would he go out without me—without us?” she said.

  Why would he go out there at all, was the question I wanted to know. And Eleazer had said nothing about the Lorelei being out there—at least not that I’d heard. What exactly had gone on last night?

  “Oh, God,” she said, lowering her head to her hands. I reached out to comfort her, but at that moment, Frank strode into the room.

  He gave me a quizzical look, and Audrey looked up. “You got your wish,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.