Musseled Out

by Barbara Ross

  Had Lorrie Ann been unable to pick Belle and Bard up at PT on Monday morning because she was aboard the El Ay? Had she and Peter killed David Thwing and had Peter somehow ended up in the ocean? As I walked rapidly toward the Murray house, I pictured Lorrie Ann desperately trying to save her husband as he sunk into the watery depths.

  But how had she, and the filled prescription bottles, ended up on land before I spotted the El Ay that afternoon? Could she have maneuvered the lobster boat close enough to shore to get off and then set it adrift in the narrows between Morrow Island and Westclaw Point? It was technically possible. But then how had she gotten back to town? It was a heck of a walk. Miles and miles. Unless Sonny had brought her back with the drugs. But I could still hear her voice shouting, “You were supposed to be there!” Why would she have said that, if he had, in fact, been there?

  By the time I’d been through this set of questions without answers I was at Lorrie Ann’s front door. I was relieved Livvie’s minivan was the only car parked out front. The support group-slash-wake had moved on. I pressed the bell. The TV was on inside, though not at the decibel level it had been when the Murray children had the run of the household while their mother fell apart. I wondered about Lorrie Ann’s descent from optimistic or in-denial spouse to total mess between my first and second visits. Had her downward spiral been driven by guilt?

  Livvie answered the door. “I’m here to see Lorrie Ann,” I whispered. “Can you take the kids out? I need to talk to her alone.”

  Livvie nodded. “Do them good to get out of the house.”

  “Thanks.” I caught my sister’s hand and pulled her toward me for a hug.

  “Are you okay?” I whispered.

  She broke the hug and faced me. “It’ll take a while for things at our house to settle down. I just wish Sonny would tell the truth.”

  “To you or the cops?”

  “Both.”

  I didn’t know if it was a good idea for Sonny to tell the truth to the cops. I still wasn’t sure how he’d been involved.

  I helped my sister round up the three kids, get them into their jackets and shoes, and finally strap baby Toddy into his stroller. Livvie explained to Lorrie Ann that they were going out. She responded with a vague nod. The sky was covered with dark clouds and the wind had come up a bit by the time Livvie set off with the children.

  “Are you sure you’ll be okay?” I asked.

  She gave the heavens an expert’s glance, the kind that developed when your family’s and your husband’s family’s livelihoods depended on the weather. “We’ve got plenty of time,” she answered.

  When I went back inside, the usually noisy house was so quiet, it felt deserted. Lorrie Ann was still seated at the old Formica table in the kitchen.

  I sat down opposite. There was no easy way to have this conversation, but I hoped Lorrie Ann’s rapid deterioration over the last four days meant she felt remorse about whatever part she’d played. Maybe she was ready to confess. “It wasn’t Sonny who was on the El Ay with Peter when David Thwing died, was it?” I said. “It was you.”

  She sat, stone-faced, but didn’t deny it. I continued. “You and Peter met a ship and picked up the oxycodone with Thwing. But something went wrong after that. Thwing’s body ended up tied up in the trapline and Peter in the water. Sonny and the Abby never showed. That’s why you shouted at him on the dock that he should have been there. You meant there with the Abby at the rendezvous point, not there on the El Ay.”

  I reached across the table and put my hand on her forearm. It was intended as a gesture of comfort, but I also didn’t want her to bolt. Her muscles were tense, though she sat unmoving.

  “Lorrie Ann, you have got to go to the police and tell them what really happened. I’ll call an attorney for you. I know it feels like you’ll be in terrible trouble, but David Thwing was a notorious drug dealer. You’re a recent widow. This is your first offense. Maybe an accommodation can be made. A lesser charge.”

  “I didn’t kill Thwing and I didn’t kill my husband.”

  “I’m not saying you did. But you were on the El Ay. You were the one who delivered the drug prescriptions to your buyers afterward. You’re the only person alive who knows what happened.”

  She jumped up from her chair and came toward me. “Get out of here,” she hissed.

  “Lorrie Ann, you can kick me out, but if I figured this out, the police will, too. You need to go to them, before they come to you.”

  Her face, already red, deepened to almost purple and contorted in rage. “Get out! Get out! Get out!”

  I moved to the front door as quickly as I could. This conversation was going nowhere. But I couldn’t help trying one more time as I left. “Get in front of this, Lorrie Ann. Come clean. Do it soon.”

  Chapter 32

  I hurried to the marina. It was almost three, and Sonny and Kyle might return on the Abby at any moment.

  As I came up over the crest at the edge of the parking lot, The Dark Lady was suspended in midair on the boatyard lift, halfway between the sea and Chris’s trailer. The Flittermouse was docked at the marina, too. Quentin and Chris stood off to the side, heads bent deep in conversation. What could that be about? They didn’t have a relationship as far as I knew. The only thing they had in common was me.

  Chris spotted me and waved just as the Abby chugged into the marina. I waved back and mouthed, See you in a minute, pointing at the Ramsey boat.

  Sonny and Kyle were tying up by the time I arrived at their slip.

  “I need to talk to you,” I called.

  “In a minute, Julia,” Sonny answered. “We’re busy here.”

  “Not you,” I responded. “Kyle.”

  “Me?” Kyle pointed at his chest with his thumb.

  “Yes, you. Though you might as well hear this, Sonny.”

  They both moved closer on the Abby’s deck. I stood above them on the dock. “Kyle, I think you’re the one who called Sonny from the PT waiting room. When you dropped your dad and Belle off, you waited until everyone went in for their appointments and then you called from the extension. You disguised your voice. You knew about Livvie’s previous miscarriage. You gambled your brother wouldn’t hear anything clearly after you told him Livvie was in danger.”

  “What?” Sonny roared. “Why would you do that to me?”

  Kyle didn’t deny it. Sonny stood beside him, clenching and unclenching his fists. I was afraid he might hit him.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle finally said. “I heard Dad and Belle talking about the drugs, serious drugs. I wanted to keep you out of it. It’s bad enough for our family that I’m . . .” His voice faltered.

  “I can take care of myself,” Sonny rumbled. “Haven’t I always taken care of myself? And you. I’ve taken care of you.”

  Kyle looked down at the deck. “I didn’t know what else to do.”

  “Really? Because I can think of a lot of what elses.” Sonny sounded gruff, but the danger he’d react physically seemed to have passed.

  “I’m sorry,” Kyle said again.

  “S’okay,” Sonny said without looking at him.

  “He’s alive! He’s alive! He’s alive,” a woman shouted. Lorrie Ann Murray ran into the marina, yelling as loud as she could.

  She sped toward where Chris and Quentin stood by the Dark Lady. Sonny, Kyle, and I reached them right after Lorrie Ann did.

  “A fisherman called me,” Lorrie Ann panted. “Right after you left.” She looked at me. “He said he saw a campfire on one of the islands outside the harbor. It’s Peter. I’m sure it’s Peter. We have to pick him up. Now.”

  We pelted her with questions.

  “Which island?” Quentin asked.

  “Why didn’t the fisherman pick him up?” Chris wanted to know.

  “A campfire? How do you know it’s Peter?” I said.

  “No time!” Lorrie Ann looked up at the cloud-laden sky. “We have to go now.”

  “We’ve got to call the Coast Guard,” I said.

&
nbsp; “No,” Lorrie Ann wailed. “Please, please, please help me save him.”

  All eyes were on Sonny. Despite being the slowest boat we had among us, it made the most sense to take the Abby. A lobster boat would be the best craft for getting tight into shore. Sonny, an experienced pilot, could negotiate the inevitable rocks.

  “I need fuel to go back out,” he said. “I’ll go—”

  “No,” Lorrie Ann repeated. “We have to go now.” As if to emphasize her urgency, the wind came up in a mighty gust. There was a steady chop on the water, even in the protected marina.

  That left the Flittermouse. As Lorrie Ann ran toward it, Chris pulled me aside. “What do you think?” he asked.

  “This is crazy. Why won’t she tell us where he’s supposed to be?”

  “Maybe she’s afraid if she does, we won’t bring her.”

  “She’s grasping at straws. A campfire?” I said. “It could be anything, or anyone.”

  “Are you prepared to take that chance?” Chris searched my face for the answer. Was I? No. If it was Peter, he’d been out there for five days. With a storm coming, he had to be rescued. If Peter was alive, he had the answers to so many questions. We had to give it a shot.

  I started toward the Flittermouse. Chris caught my arm. “Call the Coast Guard,” he whispered. “I’ll hold the boat until you’re done.”

  I stepped behind his pickup and called the local Coast Guard station. “I’m in the Busman’s Harbor marina with Peter Murray’s wife. She says a passing fisherman reported a campfire and she’ll take us to it. She’s convinced her husband’s alive.”

  “DO NOT GO ANYWHERE,” the officer on the other end said. “Keep her there.”

  “She won’t cooperate. She insists we go now.”

  “Hold on.” There was a murmur of voices in the background on his end. I peered out from behind the pickup. The others had boarded Quentin’s boat. Chris looked anxiously over the bow toward me. The Coast Guard officer came back on the line. “Give us your vessel name. Turn your transponder on. We’ll track you.”

  “The Flittermouse. It’s a forty-foot, single-mast racing sailboat. Please hurry.”

  “A sailboat?” the guy said as I ended the call.

  I clambered aboard. Quentin started the engine. “We’ll motor out of the harbor, then put up the sails,” he yelled. “That will be fastest.” He turned to Lorrie Ann. “Where are we going?”

  Lorrie Ann shook her head. “I’ll tell you when we get out of the harbor.”

  Chris, Sonny, and I gathered around Quentin at the helm, and I explained what the Coast Guard officer had said. I also told them I suspected Lorrie Ann had been aboard the El Ay with Peter and Thwing.

  “You think this passing fisherman is made up?” Quentin asked.

  “She knows a lot more than she’s telling,” I answered.

  At the mouth of the harbor, the swells grew in size. Quentin directed Chris and Sonny, the most experienced sailors, to put up the sails, and the Flittermouse, built for speed, took off across the waves like lightning.

  “Now,” Quentin demanded of Lorrie Ann. “You have to tell us where we’re going.”

  “Teapot Island.”

  That stunned us into silence. Teapot was a tiny, uninhabited desert island not far beyond the harbor mouth. Closer even than Morrow Island. It was named Teapot because it looked like one from the air, with a rocky outcropping forming its spout. It was covered in dense pine, without a natural landing place even for boats smaller than the Flittermouse, which made it unattractive for day-tripping picnickers.

  I moved next to Quentin, so Lorrie Ann couldn’t overhear. “The Coast Guard must have looked there dozens of times,” I said. “Helicopters and boats.”

  “At first, they were looking for someone alive who wanted to be found. They wouldn’t have found Peter if he was hiding,” Quentin pointed out. “And later, they were looking for a body washed up on the shoreline, not someone deep in the woods.”

  “Why would he hide?” I asked.

  “If he killed David Thwing, he might,” Quentin said.

  The clouds darkened and the high wind turned from gusting to steady. Everyone aboard was an experienced sailor, but we all looked for something to hold on to. “Put on life jackets,” Quentin directed. “Lorrie Ann, Julia, Kyle, go below until we get to the island.” The three of us shrugged into life vests and I took one to Quentin. But we weren’t going below. I could see Teapot Island in the distance.

  The Flittermouse was fast, but it felt like it took forever to reach the island.

  “There’s a deepwater cove formed by the ‘spout’ on the other side,” Quentin shouted. “That’s where I can get the closest. Take the sails down,” Quentin directed Chris and Sonny. “I can maneuver her better under power.”

  He expertly moved us into the cove. There was no doubt a storm was coming. Waves rolled the boat from side to side. The sky was so gray, it was nearly impossible to see, but based on the movement of the air, it did look like there might be smoke coming from the high ground at the center of the island.

  “Peter, Peter!” Lorrie Ann shouted.

  “He’ll never hear you,” Quentin warned her.

  “He’ll see us if he doesn’t hear us,” Sonny said. The boat’s great mast was hard to miss.

  “If he’s looking for us. And if he knows we’re friendly.” I pictured Peter, alone and afraid, burrowing deeper into the island woods. But if, after five days, he was thirsty and starving, surely he’d come out.

  “Sonny and I could get in the dinghy and go ashore,” Chris said to Quentin.

  “The dinghy’s an inflatable with a little electric motor. Not enough power to fight these swells. In addition to the rocks, the currents are terrible here. I’d be afraid we’d lose you both.” Quentin considered a moment. “I’ve got flares. In the Man Overboard kit in the stern. If Peter sees them, he might come to investigate.”

  Chris retrieved the flares and he and Sonny set two off. They made quite a flash against the darkening sky. We waited, jouncing up and down on the water, all six of us staring at the island’s shoreline and into the woods beyond.

  There was a movement in the pines. Lorrie Ann began to yell, and then Sonny did, adding his booming voice to her soprano. “Peter! We’re here!”

  A pine bow trembled and then Peter Murray stumbled out of the woods. He looked weak and confused, but alive and moving.

  Except for Lorrie Ann, we were all shocked. Until that moment, I don’t think any of us had believed Peter was alive.

  Quentin took charge. “Sonny and Chris, there’s a harness and jackline in the MOB kit. Toss it to Peter.”

  Peter seemed to understand what we were trying to do. Quentin expertly repositioned the boat, getting as close to shore as he dared. Chris threw out the harness. It didn’t come close.

  He pulled it back in, and he and Sonny heaved it together, with as much force as they could. We all watched, rolling from side to side with the surf, as the harness traveled through the air in what felt like slow motion. This time it landed close enough to shore. Peter waded toward it.

  He secured the harness around his upper body and gave a tug on the line. Chris and Sonny pulled him in. The surf was rough and he disappeared under the waves several times. I held my breath along with him, but each time he resurfaced with the line, though he was clearly exhausted.

  When Peter was alongside the Flittermouse, Chris and Sonny leaned over and brought him aboard in one fluid motion. They laid him on the deck, where he sputtered and choked. He was pale, unshaven, and shivering so hard it looked as if he was having convulsions.

  Quentin began to maneuver us out of the cove. Sonny and Chris moved over to the rail on the island side of the boat, shouting to Quentin about obstacles to watch out for. We passed out of the protected cove, into the open ocean.

  “What’s going on?” Peter rasped.

  Lorrie Ann didn’t go to him. It was Kyle who rushed to Peter’s side with a blanket.

 
“It’s okay, man,” Kyle reassured him. He pulled Peter gently to his feet and put an arm under his shoulder, preparing to lead him below deck. “It’s over now. Time to tell the truth. The whole truth.”

  Kyle looked at the spot where Lorrie Ann stood. “Look at him!” he shouted. “He could have died. This isn’t a game.” Kyle’s voice broke. “Thwing’s dead. That’s enough, man. I’m done with lying.”

  “Aieee!” Lorrie Ann jumped, folding herself over the boom, and propelled it across the deck. I shouted a warning and ducked out of the way. Quentin did, too.

  Kyle saw the boom coming, Lorrie Ann hanging over it, screaming like a crazed chimpanzee. His mouth formed a perfect O as he dove for the deck, pulling Peter down with him.

  Lorrie Ann dropped off, but as waves dipped the Flittermouse to its side, the heavy boom kept traveling. With a crash, it hit both Chris and Sonny and swept them into the sea.

  Chapter 33

  I struggled to my feet and ran to the side. Sonny and Chris’s heads popped up in the waves. They were twenty feet apart, and the current was carrying them away from us and rapidly increasing the distance between them.

  Quentin pushed Lorrie Ann roughly to the cabin door and sent her sprawling below decks. Then he locked the door behind her. Peter sat up groggily on deck. Quentin once again took control of the boat.

  In the water, Chris and Sonny drifted beyond the rock outcropping that formed Teapot Island’s spout. Sonny screamed in pain. He brought his right arm out of the water, where it dangled uselessly at an odd angle. Like Chris, he’d been hit high on the back and arms. Sonny’s seemed to be broken. Neither of them had put on life vests when Quentin told us to. Those stupid, fatalistic macho men of the sea.

  I grabbed the radio and shouted on the emergency channel, “May Day, May Day, May Day. Sailing vessel Flittermouse. Two men overboard. Teapot Island.” I read off our location.

  “Vessel Flittermouse, this is Coast Guard. Do you have them in your sight?”