Murder at Pirate's Cove

by Josh Lanyon

  Chief Carson.

  No, he definitely didn’t want to ask Carson. He already knew Carson would not be pleased by signs of amateur sleuthing, let alone the implication that he needed help doing his job.

  He selected another seven tiles, slid them around, studied the row of neat letters for a moment. He did not have a complete word. What he did have was that ominous prickle at the nape of his neck.

  DISGUIS

  Dylan did not answer his phone immediately. Ellery was pacing up and down the long entry hall when Dylan did call back.

  “How’s Janet?” Ellery asked.

  “Alive. Barely. It’s too soon to know if she’s going to make it.”

  “I’m sorry. I know she’s a friend.”

  “They’re saying she washed down a bottle of sleeping pills with half a bottle of champagne. I don’t believe it. She hated champagne. Her least favorite drink in the world.”

  “What if she thought she had something to celebrate?”

  “She wouldn’t be celebrating committing suicide, if that’s your point.”

  “No. That’s not my point.”

  “Sorry. I don’t mean to snap. The police are hovering like they think she’s going to wake up and try to make a break for it.”

  “Hey, kind of a weird question. Was Trevor ever a member of the Scallywags?”

  The silence on the other end was blank.

  Dylan said finally, “Why?”

  “Just wondering. He was kind of a flamboyant personality. I could see him getting into theater.”

  “Yes. When he and Janet were first married, he did join the Scallywags. He quit after they split up.”

  Ellery’s heart was pounding with excitement and alarm. Surely this was too crazy a theory. And yet…it kind of explained everything.

  “Was he any good?”

  “At what? Acting? Yes, Trevor was pretty good. A real ham. And it takes one to know one.”

  “Okay. Thanks. Dylan, if Logan tries to visit Janet, don’t let him in to see her.”

  “Why would— What are you— Are you going to explain that?”

  “Not tonight. I don’t have any proof. I’ll talk to Chief Carson tomorrow and see what he thinks. He’s probably going to shoot me down.”

  “Not literally, one hopes.”

  “Hopefully not, but I don’t think he’s a big fan of helpful amateurs. Let me know how it goes with Janet.”

  “I will,” Dylan said. “Sleep tight.”

  He did sleep surprisingly well at first. Maybe it was the warmth of Watson’s little body curled against his back. Maybe it was the belief that he’d solved the toughest puzzle of his career. Maybe it was the knowledge that he was going to see Chief Carson tomorrow.

  At some point his dreams changed, he grew restless, and the nightmares began. He was walking down the staircase, it was nighttime, and he could see someone in a pirate costume waiting for him at the bottom of the steps. As he drew closer, he saw that it was a skeleton. The skeleton drew his sword.

  With a start, Ellery sat up straight in bed, his heart racing from the memory of the dream. He was drenched in sweat. The whole room felt hot.

  Wait.

  He sniffed, sniffed again.

  Was that—?

  Yes. God. It was. Smoke.

  For one confused moment, he wondered if he could possibly be dreaming. He looked at the windows, and he could see behind the diamond panes that it was still dark outside. The stars were still shining. He hadn’t even been asleep that long.

  The smell of smoke was getting stronger. Heart in overdrive, Ellery half fell out of bed, taking care not to roll onto Watson, who was still fast-asleep in the tangle of blankets. He stumbled across the floor—it did not feel nearly cold enough beneath his bare feet—and wrapped his hand in his T-shirt to grab the doorknob.

  The knob did not turn. It was locked. The door to his bedroom had been locked from the outside.

  And what kind of crazy-ass security design was that? Why would anyone come up with the idea of locking a bedroom door from the outside?

  Ellery tugged frantically on the knob, banged his fist against the wooden face—the heated wooden face of the door—shouted. All to no avail. No one was going to let him out. He was trapped.

  And Captain’s Seat was on fire.

  Fear unlike anything he’d ever known swamped him. His heart was thundering, and he was breathing so fast, spots danced before his eyes. He had to fight the panic threatening to overwhelm his ability to think, to reason, to save himself.

  He looked down and saw black smoke slowly unfurling beneath the door, starting to swirl around his feet.

  Think.

  He stumbled back to the bed, grabbed his cell phone, pressed the number for the fire department, which he had programed into the phone the first week he had moved to Buck Island. The first night he had turned a light on and the entire room had gone dark.

  “Buck Island Volunteer and Rescue,” an eerily calm voice answered.

  He gulped out, “This is Ellery Page at Captain’s Seat. The house is on fire. I’m trapped on the second floor.”

  “Mr. Page, we’re responding to that call now. Trucks are in route. Can you get to a secure location?”

  He was already at the window, peering down. He could not see anything below him, but that was good, right? No lights shining from the windows beneath him meant no fire on the ground floor?

  He shoved open the window and leaned out. Cool, salty-sweet night air bathed his perspiring face and shoulders. He could taste the mist rolling in from the sea.

  The voice on the phone was squawking his name, but he ignored it, sprinting to the bed and scooping up Watson, who did not appreciate being woken up from a deep slumber. He dumped his pillow out of its case, dropped the squirming puppy in, and ran back to the window.

  He threw a leg over the sill and gazed down. If he had to choose, he’d prefer breaking his neck to burning to death, but mostly he’d prefer surviving the night. He could see a narrow ledge running along the side of the house. If he could safely walk along the ledge for a few feet, he’d be within within grabbing distance of one of the fifty-foot-tall red maple trees.

  He leaned down, lowering the pillowcase to the ledge, then dropped down beside it, grabbing the hem just before it wiggled off the ledge. Back to the wall, he began to edge along the narrow ledge. Step together, slide, slide. At last he reached leafy branches. He put an arm out,, stretching as far as he could, until he was able to clamber awkwardly off the ledge onto the tree limb, which gave an alarming crack.

  “It’s okay, it’s okay,” Ellery told the dog.

  By now Watson was yipping and yapping his outrage, the pillowcase bouncing wildly in Ellery’s grip.

  Ellery half climbed, half fell a couple of branches down, until he was able to jump down to the soft, wet grass, clutching the squirming pillowcase to his chest.

  He dropped the case as he landed, and Watson scampered away, dragging the pillowcase behind him, looking like a little white ghost running for safety. The case snagged on a rosebush, and Watson vanished into the undergrowth.

  For a few seconds, Ellery rested on his hands and knees, gulping in the damp night air, shaking with stress and exertion and a fair bit of shock. He still couldn’t believe what had happened. Oh, he believed the house could have caught fire—he wouldn’t have been surprised if it spontaneously combusted one day—but that locked bedroom door? That was something else. That was not an accident.

  In the far, far distance he could hear a wail drifting on the breeze—the approach of fire engines. Thank God for that. Thank God for nosy neighbors. He shoved to his feet, straightened, and found himself gazing straight at a nightmarish figure looming out of the mist and striding toward him.

  Logan.

  Logan, wild-eyed, wild-haired, with black streaks like war paint over his face, coming toward him with hands outstretched like claws.

  “I didn’t go through all this for you to mess things up now,” he grow
led.

  Ellery knocked his hands away, tried to grab Logan and throw him to the ground. They landed in a clinch, pounding and kicking each other, rolling over rocks and sticks as they each tried for a better position.

  Logan was cursing. “You couldn’t leave it alone. You had to keep poking your nose in…”

  Except it wasn’t Logan, of course. Logan was dead. This was Trevor.

  “You tried to…frame me…for murder,” Ellery panted, punching at Trevor’s head. He landed some solid blows, but they didn’t seem to faze Trevor.

  “…your own fault. I made you an offer. You should have taken it…”

  An offer you can’t refuse.

  Trevor managed to get his meaty hands around Ellery’s throat. He began to squeeze.

  He was a lot stronger than he looked. His fingers locked down, crushing Ellery’s windpipe, and Ellery began to kick and claw as darkness edged around his vision. The blood thudded in his ears.

  No. No. Not like this.

  He could hear a high-pitched shriek overhead.

  Was that Trevor? Was that the blood vessels in his brain exploding? It wasn’t him, because he didn’t have any breath left to make a sound.

  He flailed blindly, trying to find something to dislodge Trevor’s killing grip. He felt over Trevor’s hands, trying to tear at his fingers, then trying to jab his thumbs at Trevor’s eyes, heard Trevor swearing, dimly felt blows to his face, and then just like that, Trevor’s hands were yanked from his throat, Trevor was plucked off him and hurled aside. Ellery rolled onto his side, sucking in huge lungfuls of sweet, sweet oxygen.

  “No you don’t,” Carson said. “Not this one. Not this time.”

  Blearily, Ellery saw Carson standing over him, braced for action. Trevor jumped to his feet, rushed toward Carson, and Carson hauled back and punched him right in the face. Trevor’s whole body seemed to shudder with the force of that impact. He staggered back, sagged down to the ground, and fell forward, planting his face in the muddy grass.

  Ellery managed to scramble back upright as Carson bent over Trevor, yanking his arms behind his back and handcuffing him.

  Past Carson’s head, he could see the firemen had already arrived, were already dragging hoses through the splintered front door of the house. He looked up and spied an unearthly red light flickering behind the windows on the second story.

  No flames yet. That had to be a good sign, surely?

  He looked around and realized his yard was slowly filling with police vehicles, blue and red lights cutting swaths through the misty night.

  When Trevor was cuffed, Carson rose, turning to Ellery and holding out an arm in invitation. “You okay?”

  Ellery nodded, stumbled forward, amazed and delighted to find himself hauled against Carson’s broad shoulder and muscular chest. He could feel the hard, excited pound of Carson’s heart against his own.

  “I wasn’t expecting you,” Ellery said.

  “No? I hope this isn’t an inconvenience?”

  Ellery let his forehead drop on Carson’s shoulder. He shook his head. He could feel laughter welling in his chest, but he was afraid if he gave into it, it would turn into something else.

  Carson lowered his head, lips brushing Ellery’s ear. There was a hint of a smile in his voice as he said softly, “I don’t ever want to—”

  He broke off as a very loud and piercing sound emission reached them. On a scale of Most Annoying Noises Known to Man, it fell somewhere between giant mosquito and a jackhammer drilling into your skull.

  Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf.

  Arf. Arf. Arf. Arf.

  ARF.

  ARF.

  ARF.

  “Is that a dog?” Carson said wonderingly.

  The barking was coming from somewhere in the overgrown flower beds. Barking? More like very irate yapping. Ellery’s head jerked up. He pushed away from Carson and stumbled toward the dead rose garden.

  “Watson?” he called. “Watson?”

  He dropped to his knees as a small black dog burst out of the undergrowth and hurled itself into his arms.

  “Hey there, buddy. You okay?”

  The puppy proceeded to tell him what he thought of the nightlife in this establishment. Ellery kissed him, yelped himself as the puppy bit his nose, and then kissed Watson again.

  When he glanced around, he spotted Carson talking to the fire chief. Deputies were putting Trevor into one of the cruisers.

  Timing was everything, wasn’t it?

  He was smiling ruefully as he rejoined Carson. Carson met his eyes, smiled too, and introduced him to Fire Chief Johnson.

  Epilogue

  “So Tommy must have figured out that someone was using her keys to gain access to the bookshop and Captain’s Seat?”

  “Trevor’s not talking, but that’s our best guess,” Carson was saying.

  “Do you think she knew it was Trevor—that Trevor was still alive?”

  “I think it’s likely. I think it’s why she didn’t immediately say what was on her mind the afternoon she spoke to you. She maybe even confronted him.” Carson glanced at Ellery’s half-empty mug. “Another?”

  “Sure.”

  Carson rose, making his way through the noisy crowd to the bar. They were in the Salty Dog—a chance meeting, as it turned out—and it was the Sunday after Trevor had been caught in the act of trying to burn down Captain’s Seat and murder Ellery.

  Ellery glanced around the busy pub. The Fish and Chippies were onstage, performing “When I Get My Hands on You.” Libby was pitching the usual Sunday night specials to the usual Sunday night crowd. Funny how fast life returned to normal. Overnight, Pirate’s Cove had returned to the sleepy little village he’d known when he arrived three months ago. No more suspicious looks, no more whispers—well, fewer—no more crossing the street when he passed by. Sue Lewis had even printed a half-hearted apology of sorts in the Scuttlebutt Weekly.

  Carson returned to the table with two frosty brimming mugs.

  “When did you know Logan was actually Trevor?” Ellery asked. He’d been hoping to talk to Carson long before now, but Carson had been busy for the last couple of days, tying up the loose ends of his investigation—or maybe he just wasn’t in a hurry to get together with Ellery. Hard to know with Carson.

  Either way was okay with Ellery. He was attracted to Carson—maybe more than he wanted to admit—but after Todd, he wasn’t in a hurry to jump into anything. Once burned, twice shy, as the saying went. That said, it had taken the difficult and dramatic events of the past week to make him realize how much he’d cut himself off from other people. Heck, he’d even been afraid to emotionally invest in a puppy—luckily, Watson was a dog who did not take no for an answer. Hiring Nora had been the first step, tomorrow night he was officially joining the Monday Night Scrabblers, and who could say what might next turn up on his social calendar.

  Carson was saying, “I hate to admit it, but I didn’t figure out that piece until you instructed Dylan Carter not to let Logan see Janet Maples. We already knew from the bruising on her neck and shoulders that she hadn’t voluntarily swallowed that cocktail of pills and booze. Once you warned Carter, the final piece fell into place.”

  “You mean, you had been thinking Logan killed Trevor?”

  “I was pretty sure, the last time we talked. I’d already verified that Logan was in Newport when he claimed he was out of the state. Why lie about it unless there was some reason he hadn’t wanted us to know he was a ferry ride away from Pirate’s Cove and his brother? There was also the fact that he and Trevor were almost identical, and yet they weren’t twins, weren’t even the same age. There were a lot of little things that flagged it for me.”

  Ellery nodded.

  The Fish and Chippies finished their number and called Cyrus Jones to the stage. Cyrus got up amidst cheers and applause. He proceeded to thank Pirate’s Cove for another landslide victory.

  Ellery turned to make a joke to Carson, and found Carson watching him with a faint smile. Someth
ing about the look in his eyes warmed Ellery’s heart.

  He said at random, “If this was a mystery novel, Cyrus would have been the killer.”

  Carson raised his brows, sipped his brew, said, “Cyrus is pretty ambitious, but he doesn’t have a mean bone in his body. That was another thing that made me wonder about our perp. There was an unnecessary…mean-spiritedness to these crimes. Mostly people kill because they feel desperate or trapped. That didn’t seem to be in play.”

  “Yeah, that’s the part I still don’t understand. Why. Why did Trevor kill his own brother?”

  “Money. It’s that simple. Logan had it. Trevor wanted it.”

  “I thought they were supposed to be close.”

  “How close could they have been when no one but Janet had ever met Logan? No one’s so busy that in ten years they can’t make time to see you, unless they just don’t care that much.”

  “How did he do it, anyway? Where did he give Logan the fatal dose?”

  “Gimcrack Antiques. He doped him, dressed him in costume—Logan would have been woozy but still able to walk—then both of them staggered down the street and around the corner to the Crow’s Nest. Two drunken pirates in the middle of Buccaneer’s Days? Nobody thought anything of it—but we have them on security camera.”

  “You have them on camera?”

  “Yes. It took a while to collect and sort through all the footage, but we did get them on a couple of cameras.” His mouth twitched at Ellery’s expression. “Sorry. But it can’t all be intuition and Scrabble tiles. Sometimes you have to rely on ordinary policework.”

  Ellery shook his head. and took another mouthful of beer.

  “But why did he go after Janet?”

  “Two reasons. One, he needed a scapegoat, and you were becoming increasingly problematic in that direction. Two, one of his contacts fell out when he was over at her shop, pretending to be burying the hatchet. That naturally started Janet wondering.”

  “I’m glad Janet’s going to be okay.”

  “She was lucky,” Carson said. He added, “So were you.”