Murder at Pirate's Cove

by Josh Lanyon

“Listen, before you get too bent out of—”

  “Or am I about to be arrested? Should I call a lawyer?”

  Carson let out a long, measured breath. “Ellery, will you calm the hell down?”

  Hearing that quiet Ellery in Carson’s deep voice had a funny and unexpected effect. Ellery’s throat closed, choking off the rest of his words. He pressed his lips together, trying to look calm and controlled instead of as angry and upset and hurt as he really felt. Anger and upset were reasonable emotions given the circumstances, but hurt? Why? It’s not like Carson had ever pretended to think he was anything but guilty.

  It was hurtful, though. Hurtful that everyone in the village apparently believed he was capable of murder. Hurtful that Jack Carson had seemingly condoned this smear job disguised as a news article, because where else would Sue Lewis have got all these details?

  Carson said, “Nothing has changed since yesterday. I don’t have enough evidence to charge you. I have no plan to arrest you—at this time.”

  Ellery said tightly, “But I’m still a suspect.”

  “Yes. Of course you’re still a suspect! Maples was killed in your shop with your sword after an argument with you. I’d be an idiot if I didn’t consider you a suspect.” Carson’s tone did not soften, but he sounded less impatient as he added, “But you’re not the only suspect. I did tell you that too.”

  “Sure, but I’m still the main suspect.”

  “Yes, you are.” Carson studied him, said reluctantly, “Like I said yesterday, I don’t know where Sue is getting her information, but it’s not from me. I haven’t spoken to her. Nor have I authorized anyone else in this office to communicate with the press.”

  Some of Ellery’s fury faded. “Then where did she get all that about witnesses and my threatening Trevor? It’s not even true!”

  “If it’s not true, then what are you worried about?”

  “Because if it’s in the newspaper, it looks true! How did she know that the murder weapon was a sword? Answer me that. We only figured it out yesterday afternoon.”

  The lines of Carson’s face grew grimmer. “I have a theory.”

  “What’s your theory?”

  “I’m not sharing it with you. It’s a personnel issue.”

  Ellery scowled but was silent. Carson had already said he had not spoken to Sue Lewis and that he did not have enough evidence to arrest Ellery. He had also conceded that there were other suspects.

  He considered telling Carson about the spare key Aunt Eudora had given Dylan, but he remembered the alarm in Dylan’s eyes, the clumsy lies. The more he thought about it, the more he believed Dylan had forgotten about that key until Ellery had reminded him, and that once he had remembered, he had been terrified. That didn’t mean he hadn’t killed Trevor, but if he had, the spare key hadn’t figured into it. And honestly, Ellery just didn’t believe Dylan had killed Trevor. Maybe he was being naive, but he felt sure that if Dylan were going to kill someone, it wouldn’t be like that. It wouldn’t be in a cold-blooded, premeditated way that threw suspicion on a friend.

  “What?” Carson asked, jarring Ellery out of his thoughts.

  “What?”

  Carson’s eyes were very bright, very keen. “You just thought of something.”

  “It’s not important.”

  “How about you let me decide what’s important?”

  “It’s a personnel issue,” Ellery retorted.

  Carson gave him a long, direct look from under his formidable eyebrows.

  “Honestly, it’s not important.”

  Ellery and Carson studied each other. Ellery found it suddenly difficult to look away.

  He found himself wondering about that wedding band on Carson’s left hand. He couldn’t help thinking that if Carson was married to a man, he’d have heard about it. It was bound to be a point of local gossip in a small town like Pirate’s Cove. It just would be. But he’d never heard a hint of anything like that.

  And yet, he couldn’t get over his conviction that Carson was gay.

  Maybe closeted?

  Or was it possible his orientation was even unacknowledged—unrecognized?—by Carson?

  Except… It was that “Clear Vista” thing. Carson was not a man to dodge uncomfortable truths. His own or anyone else’s.

  And there was also the fact that Ellery’s instincts for this kind of thing were far from infallible. He had been pretty sure when he met Dylan that Dylan was gay—to Dylan’s huge amusement. So…

  Carson glanced down at the newspaper lying on his ink blotter, glanced back at Ellery, said brusquely, “Is that it? Any other questions?”

  Ellery said slowly, “Yes, I do have one more question.”

  “Which is?”

  “Do you think I killed Trevor?”

  Carson didn’t hesitate. “It doesn’t matter what I think. I have to follow the evidence. It’ll be up to a court to weigh the merits of that evidence when the case finally goes to trial.”

  “I understand. I still want to know if you think I’m a murderer.”

  Carson looked suddenly weary. “I’ve been a cop for over a decade. One of the first lessons I learned is that good people do bad things and bad people do good things.”

  Why did it matter to him what Carson believed? But somehow it did.

  “Sure, I believe that. But this wasn’t an act committed in the heat of the moment. This would have been planned. It would have been…premeditated.”

  “Cold-blooded is the word you’re looking for,” Carson said.

  “Okay, yes. Cold-blooded. Which I’m not. But also, if I’m the killer, really, really stupid. Why would I plan a crime where everything points to me as being guilty?”

  “Maybe you are stupid.”

  Ellery reddened. After a moment, he shrugged and rose. “Maybe I am.”

  He headed for the door to Carson’s office. As he reached for the handle, Carson said, “I don’t think you’re stupid. And…I don’t think you killed Trevor Maples. But if enough evidence indicates otherwise, then it’ll be my job to arrest you and allow the law to take its course.”

  Without turning, Ellery nodded, opened the door, and stepped into the bustling office. He closed the door quietly behind him.

  Chapter Ten

  He’d been wrong about one thing. Murder was good for business.

  In fact, murder was great for business. That Monday the Crow’s Nest made more money than it had in the last month. It seemed like everyone in Pirate’s Cove had a sudden need for the latest release by Kate White or Lee Child or Agatha Christie.

  No lie. Ellery actually had one flustered lookie-loo glance at a bookshelf and ask for whatever was new from Agatha Christie.

  After Pandora Carter and the Out Damn Spot cleaning crew had finished up, there really wasn’t much for the citizens of Pirate’s Cove to gawk over besides a slight, irregular darkening, like the shadow of a rain cloud, in the center of the wooden floor. That didn’t stop them from dropping in.

  Nobody came right out and asked if he’d committed murder, but he was definitely being observed—there were even a few surreptitious photos taken on phones of him ringing up customers. He was asked how he was feeling, and how was business, and if he’d changed his mind about living in their little town, and if he’d read that morning’s edition of the Scuttlebutt Weekly. He smiled blandly, answered vaguely, and kept ringing up all those lovely sales.

  The security company showed up and quoted several discouragingly pricy options for alarm systems. Ellery looked over the quotes, promised to get back to the company with an answer, and paid for the shiny new locks on the front door.

  On the one hand, it was nice to experience a profitable day. On the other hand, Scene of the Crime was probably not a sustainable business model.

  The rush finally slowed about two, and Ellery felt comfortable digging out his sack lunch of tuna salad made with avocado, Greek yogurt, arugula and tomatoes on wheat bread. He made himself comfortable on the long wooden library bench against
the far wall. He was eating his sandwich and watching the boats bobbing in the choppy waters of the harbor when Dylan rushed into the shop, closing the door and leaning against it as though being pursued by bloodhounds.

  His silver hair was as close to disheveled as Ellery had seen it, and he looked wild-eyed, scanning the room until he spotted Ellery over on the bench, sandwich halfway to his mouth.

  “You didn’t tell him,” Dylan gasped. “I was so sure you would. So I told him.”

  “Told who?” Ellery asked blankly. Whatever this was, it could not be good.

  “Chief Carson.” Dylan shoved the swoop of hair off his face and came toward Ellery, who made room on the bench. Dylan sat down, put his face in his hands. “I’m such a fool.”

  Appetite gone, Ellery dropped the rest of his sandwich in the paper bag. “What did you tell Chief Carson?”

  “I told him about the spare key.”

  Ellery opened his mouth, then closed it.

  Dylan gave him a sideways look. “I was positive you were going to tell him that Eudora had given me that key, so I thought I better get in there as soon as possible to explain my position.”

  “What’s your position?”

  Dylan groaned. “I don’t have one!”

  Ellery suppressed a smile. It wasn’t really funny—although, yeah, kind of.

  Dylan looked at him. “Go ahead. Laugh. I deserve it. I just walked into his office, told Carson I knew it looked bad, and blurted the whole thing out.”

  “What did he say?”

  “He said he had no idea what I was talking about, but that he could guess.” Dylan’s expression grew guilty. “The thing is, I fibbed. When they—the police—asked if I was aware of any extra keys to the Crow’s Nest floating around, I said I wasn’t. It was such a stupid lie. I’d forgotten Tommy would know. But I thought if I admitted I had a key, it would make me a suspect too. And unlike you, there really was bad blood between me and Trevor.”

  “Ah.” So much for Ellery’s ability to read people. He had been so sure Dylan had forgotten all about that key, but Dylan’s shock had been due to the discovery that other people knew about it.

  Still, he had been right about one thing. Dylan wasn’t a murderer.

  Or at least, he thought he was right about that. Dylan was still running around loose, so it seemed like Carson didn’t think he was guilty either.

  “And Carson knows you didn’t do it. Despite what some people around here might say.” Dylan’s voice broke into Ellery’s musings.

  “What makes you think that?”

  “He’s not stupid, for one thing.”

  “Yeah, well. It’s going to take more than that to keep me out of jail.”

  Dylan shook his head. “I don’t know where Sue came up with all that stuff about you for the Scuttlebutt. I mean, we all know Trevor was annoying, but not slay-on-your-own-premises kind of annoying. Even I didn’t need him gone that much.”

  “Someone did, that’s for sure.”

  “Yes.” Dylan’s tone was thoughtful.

  “Who do you think killed him?” Ellery asked curiously.

  “Janet,” Dylan said at once. “His ex-wife.”

  “But weren’t they divorced a long time ago?”

  “My dear fellow,” Dylan said, “do you think in five years you’ll be feeling more kindly toward Todd?”

  “No,” Ellery said flatly.

  “Exactly. And you weren’t married to Todd. He didn’t cheat you out of your fair share of money and property.”

  “Okay, but still. It’s a weird crime for a woman to commit. I don’t know if Trevor was actually killed here. Maybe his body was moved here later. A woman couldn’t do that. Not on her own.”

  “A bodybuilder could,” Dylan inserted.

  Ellery stared at him. “Are there any bodybuilder women in Pirate’s Cove?”

  Dylan looked abashed. “Not that I know of. No. Go ahead, you were saying?”

  “I was saying, even if Trevor was killed here in my shop, it’s hard to picture how it would happen. The killer would have to climb on something, probably the stepstool, to get the sword down. Even on the stool, most women wouldn’t be tall enough to reach that high.”

  “Janet’s tall. She’s taller than me. She could reach it.”

  “Even so, can you imagine how that would have worked?”

  “No, but I know Janet. She’s not the forgiving kind. Not that I blame her in this case. Trevor was a swine. Talk about pirates.” Dylan seemed to think that over. He said slowly, “And you know, now that I think of it, there is something going on with Janet. I’m sure of it.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “She’s a member of the Monday Night Scrabblers, which you’re still welcome to join, by the way. It would do you a world of good to get out of that crypt once in a while. Have a few drinks, have a few laughs, make a few friends.”

  “I’m out of the crypt right now, if you’ll notice.”

  “You know what I mean.”

  Yes. Ellery knew. He missed Scrabble. He missed hanging out with friends after work, having a few drinks, having a few laughs over games of wit and skill. Maybe if he’d made more effort to participate in village events, become part of the fabric of village life, everyone wouldn’t now be so quick to assume his guilt.

  He said, “Maybe once renovations on the house are done.”

  “Anyway, last Monday she canceled because she had a last-minute appointment at the beauty salon.”

  “So?”

  Dylan held up a finger. “One, she never cancels. Janet is our Scrabble champion.”

  “Hm,” Ellery said disapprovingly. Champion? That caught him on the quick. He definitely needed to make time for the Monday Night Scrabblers.

  “Secondly, she was being very mysterious about the reason for the beauty appointment.”

  Ellery laughed. He’d been hoping Dylan was onto something, but this sounded pretty thin. “She had a date. So what?”

  “Janet doesn’t date.”

  “Okay, I give up.”

  Dylan held up a second finger, although his math was definitely off. “Janet doesn’t date. Except once, when she and Trevor were toying with getting back together. And that romantic interlude ended when he got her to sign over her interest in Gimcrack Antiques.”

  “Ah-ha!” Ellery didn’t know if it was really an ah-ha! moment, but Dylan seemed to expect a reaction.

  Dylan sighed. “Why didn’t you tell Chief Carson about the spare key?”

  “Oh.” Ellery made a face. “Because we’re friends. And because I know you didn’t kill anyone.”

  To his surprise, Dylan groaned. “I know you didn’t kill Trevor either, but I still kept quiet to the police about that key.” He threw an arm around Ellery’s shoulders to give him a quick hug. “Thank you, Ellery. I won’t forget this. You’re a better friend than I am, Gunga Din.”

  * * * * *

  The wind off the harbor was chilly when Ellery locked up at five.

  Not that he really suspected Janet of slaying Trevor, but it couldn’t hurt to ask a few questions. Carson had said to let him know if he could think of anything that would help establish his innocence, so okay. Surely, all he had to do was come up with enough reasonable doubt of his own guilt to encourage the police to look for a more viable victim. He would go right down his list of possible contenders, which, according to almost everyone he’d talked to, Janet’s name should be heading.

  He crossed the cobbled village square with its old-fashioned lampposts and urns of windblown flowers, turned down a narrow street. This was the newest part of the village; most of the tall brick buildings dating from the 1920s.

  He couldn’t help noticing that a few people crossed to the other side of the street when they spotted him, but whatever. That’s what happened when you were front-page news. He was going to clear his name, and then they could all feel appropriately ashamed of themselves. Or not. But either way he’d have the satisfaction of proving them all wrong.


  And then maybe he’d move back to New York, because by that point he’d doubtlessly be bankrupt.

  When he reached Old Salt Stationery, he ducked inside, hoping to avoid curious gazes, but he needn’t have worried. The shop was empty of customers.

  Ellery looked around the small store. Boxes of notepads and note cards, calendars featuring Thomas Kincaid lighthouses and cute animals, high-end pens and bookmarks and magnets were neatly arranged by size and color on shelving units. One wall was devoted to greeting cards. The opposite wall was filled with rolls of colorful wrapping paper and ribbons. Three floral parasols hung from the ceiling. It was almost eerily tidy. As though an OCD Mary Poppins had organized every inch of space.

  Ellery pinpointed Janet in her usual spot by the front counter, her bony nose stuck in a book titled The Courage to Be Disliked.

  Janet glanced up, spied him, sniffed, and pushed her glasses back farther up her nose as she watched his approach. Ellery raised his hand in greeting and smiled ingratiatingly. He usually did very well with that smile—it had even won him two toothpaste commercials back when he’d been trying for a career in acting—but Janet wasn’t having any. She wrinkled her nose as though catching a whiff of something nasty on the breeze.

  Could she really have killed Trevor? Observing her now, it seemed more unlikely than ever, but where the heart was willing…

  Not surprising that Janet and Trevor hadn’t worked out. Trevor had been the kind of guy who wore a yachting cap and brass anchor buttons but hated sailing. His clothes had been expensive but never quite right. He had worn too much jewelry, too much aftershave, and laughed too loudly. He was especially unpleasant when he didn’t get his way—so unpleasant, in fact, that he usually did get his way.

  Janet, on the other hand, was tall, thin, pale as milk, and lank-haired. She looked like someone destined to be cast as New England spinster, schoolmarm, or witch burned on a bonfire.

  People changed, of course, but it was really hard imagining what on earth could have originally drawn two such dissimilar types together.

  “Hi, Mrs. Maples, how are you today?” Ellery kept smiling, and Janet kept staring like a zoologist confronted with an unknown species.