by Vicki Delany
“Just keep him in sight until the police or Coast Guard can get in position. I’m Gemma, by the way, and that’s Jayne.”
“He wants to talk to you.” Jayne tried to hand me her phone.
“Probably not a good time,” I said.
“Dave,” said my pilot. “I can’t wait to tell my buddies about this.” He shouted into the wind.
We were heading straight out to sea. “I don’t like the look of those clouds,” Dave said.
“No kidding,” Jayne said. A dark boiling mass filled the horizon directly in front of us. It was a lot closer than it had appeared from the comfort of the sunny veranda of the Cape Cod Yacht Club.
“A minor disturbance,” I said, as drops of rain began to fall. “It’ll soon pass.”
“I guess you English people know all about the ways of the sea,” Dave said.
“Don’t you?” Jayne asked.
“Heck no. I’m from Kansas. This is my first summer in West London. I’ve been working at the yacht club for two weeks. Haven’t been out of the harbor before.”
“Perhaps you should try to get Uncle Arthur on the line, Jayne,” I said. “In case we need some nautical advice.”
“Advice like not to steer directly into a storm?”
A helicopter flew low overhead. I waved at it and pointed to the boat in front of us.
“It is okay, right, that I took this boat out without the owner’s permission?” Dave said. “You’re going to tell them you impounded it, right?”
“We’re not—” Jayne said.
“Sure,” I said as the rain began to fall harder.
“Where do you suppose he thinks he’s going?” Jayne said. “This isn’t exactly the Caribbean, with thousands of tiny uninhabited islands to hide in where he can live off coconuts and rainwater.”
“He’s not thinking,” I said. “He’s panicked and running blindly.”
“What’d he do?” Dave asked.
I didn’t answer. With the rain came wind and high waves. Brad’s boat raced over the seas, and ours followed. I braced myself against the railing. Jayne’s face was turning green. She lowered herself into a seat, phone gripped in her hand. I glanced anxiously around for the police or Coast Guard, but all I could see was moving clouds and darkening seas.
I’d chased after Brad without thinking things through. That might have been a mistake. He couldn’t get away, but who knows what he might do if he found himself cornered.
“Back off,” I said. “Give it up.”
“What?” Dave said.
“The authorities have been notified. They’re on their way.”
“Aren’t you the cops?” The engine coughed. “Moot point anyway. We’re outta gas.” Our boat began to slow.
“There!” Jayne yelled.
A Coast Guard cutter was coming in fast from the east. Another moved on us from the north. They were on a path to intercept Brad. The helicopter reappeared and circled low overhead.
Our boat slowed to a stop. The three of us stood in the bow, watching. The wind whipped at my hair, and salt spray stung my face.
We could see activity on the deck of the Coast Guard ships as they approached Brad’s boat. He maneuvered to his right, searching for an escape route. But he couldn’t outrun his bigger, faster pursuers, and he knew it. His boat gradually lost speed and drifted to a halt. The smaller of the Coast Guard ships came alongside.
“We have company.” Dave turned and pointed behind us.
A much smaller WLPD launch was approaching. Ryan Ashburton stood in the bow. He was not smiling.
They came alongside. An officer threw a rope, and Dave caught it and tied it on. The boats shifted and buckled in the wind, but the rain was already moving on, the wind dropping, the waves dying. The moment the boats touched, Ryan leapt nimbly aboard.
“Hi,” Jayne said.
“I’m glad you decided to stay out of it, Gemma,” Ryan said. “Otherwise, who knows what trouble you might find yourself in.”
“That was exciting,” Dave said to me. “Anytime you need help, Officer, I’m your man.”
“Uh …” I said.
Chapter Twenty-One
“Occam’s razor. In the end, it was all pretty simple. Brad didn’t intend to kill Kathy, but they’d always had a difficult relationship, stepmother and stepson, and he resented what he thought was her preference for her own daughter. Crystal maintains that Kathy loved both children equally, but it was getting difficult not to favor one over the other as the children grew up. Crystal had a successful career; Brad was down and out, desperately wanting to start yet another band.” I rubbed Violet’s head. “Kathy must have been beyond furious when she came across him intending to steal from her museum fund-raiser. She was angry enough after the altercation with Maureen and not inclined to back down a second time. She told him what she thought of him, and he pulled the teacup chain out of her hands and used it to stop her talking. On purpose or not, she died. Then, when he seemed to be getting away with it, and he was presented with another obstacle, killing a second time wasn’t so difficult.”
“The obstacle being Elizabeth?” Jayne selected a sandwich from the picnic basket.
To the casual observer, we would have appeared to be a cheerful group of friends enjoying a picnic lunch on the lawn of the West London Lighthouse on a pleasant Sunday afternoon. The casual observer would not have guessed we were discussing murder and motives.
Ryan had not exactly been happy with me yesterday after the boat chase and the arrest of Bradley Lamb. I’m sure he briefly considering letting me be arrested for stealing a boat, kidnapping its pilot, and impersonating a police officer. But after our disabled craft was towed to shore, he gritted his teeth and managed to convince the boat’s owner that I’d been attempting to make a citizen’s arrest. Fortunately, the boat itself had not been damaged, and the owner was a big fan of vintage TV cop shows. “Like being in an episode of Miami Vice,” I heard him say to Ryan.
“What’s a Miami vice?” Jayne whispered to me.
Ryan walked away, without another word, to follow the car taking Brad into town, and left Jayne and me to be escorted to the police station by Louise Estrada. Jack Templeton, streaks of blood on his shirt and his eye turning all sorts of colors, tried to intervene, but Estrada barked at him to back off.
“I’ll explain later,” Jayne said, giving him a huge smile. Jack had been injured simply because he’d been in Brad’s way, but no doubt the incident would soon loom large in Jack’s mind as a valiant attempt to save her.
Ryan had not joined Estrada for our interrogation, and I thought that was not a good sign.
But he’d called me as I was opening the store the next day and suggested an impromptu late picnic lunch with anyone who might be interested in the case. Shortly before the appointed time, I left Ashleigh to mind the store and went home to get Violet, knowing she’d enjoy the company and the outing.
While I’d been debating over asking Andy to join us, Jayne had called Jack, and he arrived at the tearoom as I was leaving. I had to admit, his face looked pretty bad, bruised and swollen, but he carried his injuries like a badge of honor, and Jayne kept throwing him radiant smiles.
Once again, my plans for Jayne’s love life had been dealt a setback.
At home, I grabbed a couple of blankets to provide seating, and Violet and I walked back to town. As well as Jayne and Jack and an overflowing picnic basket, I found Grant, Irene, and Donald waiting at the lighthouse. I laid out the blankets, and we sat down. Grant stretched his long legs out on the grass with a contented sigh, and Donald instantly reached for the basket. Jayne slapped his hand. “We’re waiting for Ryan. Here they come now.”
To my considerable surprise Louise Estrada was with Ryan. She greeted the others warmly, even Violet to whom she gave a tap on the head. Then she looked at me and said in a low voice, “Nicely done.” It was an effort, I thought, for her to get the words out, and I smiled my thanks.
And so we were now gathered on th
e sunny lawn of the West London Lighthouse around a picnic hamper full of Mrs. Hudson’s goodies. When Jayne nodded to Donald, he opened the basket and began handing around wrapped sandwiches and bottles of lemonade or iced tea. He was wearing his favorite T-shirt today, the one that said, “You know my methods.” The shirt was starting to look worn, and a small tear had appeared at the hem.
I accepted a sandwich but didn’t open it. “The obstacle being Elizabeth,” I said in answer to Jayne’s question. “Again, the simplest and most obvious of motives: money. And of suspects: the victim’s nearest and, although not in this case, dearest. Elizabeth was going to divorce Dan. She wanted nothing from him but total devotion, and he couldn’t give it because he regretted leaving Kathy. Elizabeth knew that now Kathy was dead, she’d only loom larger, and ever more perfect, in Dan’s mind. Dan and Kathy pretty much wiped themselves out financially, fighting their divorce. Kathy had to sell her house and move into a small apartment, and was about to lose her membership at the yacht club because she could no longer afford the fees. Dan found himself penniless and financially dependent on Elizabeth. Dan and Elizabeth hadn’t been married long; if she divorced him, he’d be left with pretty much nothing. Brad didn’t want that to happen.”
“So he killed Elizabeth,” Grant said.
“He’s probably going to argue that it was an accident.” I glanced at Ryan. He nodded but said nothing. “But I’ve no doubt he went to her house that night intending to kill her. Elizabeth would never have given him any money, and he had to have known that. Before she could begin divorce proceedings or write Dan out of her will, Bradley had to get rid of her. Ironically, Dan will probably now inherit everything, but Brad won’t be around to enjoy it.”
Ryan shook his head, “You took a heck of a risk once again, Gemma. Why didn’t you just tell me all of this and let me handle it?”
“Because, as you always tell me, you need physical evidence. Whereas all I need is a suspicion. I thought Brad was more likely to fall apart and confess in front of his father and sister and a couple of strangers than in interview room number one in the West London Police Station. And now, thanks to my tip, you have your physical evidence. Beneath Moriarty’s claws.”
“And wasn’t that a nightmare getting it. The forensics officer is going to have to take time off work to recover. We’ll be running the DNA tests soon.”
“It’ll match,” I said.
“I hate it when I know these things and can’t use them in the paper,” Irene said.
“You can write your story ahead of time,” I said.
“No, you can’t.” Estrada took a hearty bite of her salami sandwich. “Things will change when they come out in court.”
Irene grumbled, but she knew how the game was played.
“The DNA evidence will only prove that Brad broke into the shop,” Jayne said. “Not that he killed anyone. What’s he saying?”
“He’s saying,” Ryan said, “that Gemma’s a nut case and he has no idea what she’s talking about. Running looks pretty bad, and we can hold him on theft of the boat and reckless endangerment while we’re building our case.”
“Cases,” Estrada said. “One thing leads to another, and they soon start falling like dominoes.”
“I feel sorry for Dan Lamb,” Jayne said. “Two dead wives and a son in jail. Poor guy.”
Violet nuzzled my hand, telling me to hurry up and open my sandwich. I dug in my pocket for a dog treat and handed it to her.
“Tragic all around,” Ryan said. “It’s brought him and his daughter close again, so I suppose that’s something. I called this morning, and they were together at his house, making plans for Kathy’s funeral. Elizabeth’s will be a few days after.”
“What I don’t understand,” Jack said, twisting open the cap on his iced tea, “is how you got involved in this, Jayne.”
“Because she’s friends with a nutty English woman,” I said.
“Huh?” Jack said.
Jayne glared at me.
“So all this had nothing to do with the people at the museum or at the yacht club?” Grant asked. “Both yacht clubs?”
“Nope,” I said. “But we can’t forget that some of those people were around at the time of one other murder.”
“You don’t mean Edward Dumont?” Donald said. “That was years ago, long before Dan Lamb met Elizabeth. Wasn’t it?”
“That case is still open,” Irene said. “What do you know, Gemma?”
“Dan and Kathy would have known Elizabeth and Edward when they were all at West London,” I said. “Elizabeth left the club after Edward’s death, and she and Dan met up again years later at a wedding. I don’t believe Dan had anything at all to do with Edward’s death.”
Ryan raised one eyebrow. I gave him a small nod and unwrapped my sandwich. “Oh, goodie. I got the roast beef. My favorite.”
Donald peered into the basket. “Anything for dessert?” He was not to be disappointed.
“Speaking of the museum,” Grant said. “It turns out that Elizabeth did put the wheels in motion to have the museum gala at the Cape Cod Yacht Club. Robyn went to the club on Tuesday to discuss the details, which is when Gemma saw her there. She says Elizabeth was highly distracted, furious about something, so she simply ordered the function coordinator to give Robyn everything she needed and to put it on her account.”
“They’re going ahead with it then?” Jayne asked.
“Apparently so. Robyn and Sharon Musgrave have thrown themselves into organizing every little detail. They’re planning a formal dinner at the club, with a scaled-down silent auction.” Grant coughed lightly. “Do you think Arthur will be donating The Valley of Fear again?”
Donald froze, a piece of shortbread halfway to his mouth.
“I heard from him last night,” I said. “He’s in Madrid and will be catching a flight home tonight. You can ask him yourself.”
We went on to talk about other things, and enjoyed our picnic. I’d tied Violet to a nearby tree, and, all the food gone, she wandered around its base, inspecting the scents before setting down for a nap, chin in my lap.
Eventually, Estrada began checking her watch, Jayne started gathering up the debris, and Jack leapt to his feet to help. As did Violet, hoping something had been overlooked.
“I’d better get back to work. Coming, Gemma?” Jayne asked.
I gave her a quick jerk of my head that encompassed Grant, Donald, Irene, and Jack.
Jayne wiggled her eyebrows in acknowledgment and pushed herself to her feet. “I need a strong man to carry the basket. Jack, that’s you. Grant, you can bring Gemma’s blankets. Donald, I’d love to hear more about The Valley of Fear. I’m not familiar with that book. Is it a later one?”
“Written in 1914,” Donald said. “The Valley of Fear is generally regarded as …”
Irene put her hands behind her head and stretched out on the grass. She’d earlier kicked off her sandals, and now she wiggled her bare toes.
“Let’s go, Irene,” Jayne said.
“I’m fine here.”
“No, you’re not. Aren’t you interested in the backstory of The Valley of Fear?”
“Not particularly, but if I must.” She groaned and struggled to her feet. “Catch you later, Gemma. And remember, Ryan, when you’re ready to speak to the press, I expect the exclusive.”
Louise Estrada also made a move to get up, but I said, “Stay, Detective. A few minutes.”
She sat back down. “I thought you were getting rid of everyone so you two could have a romantic moment.”
“Gemma wants to talk about the third murder,” Ryan said. “Which I assume is that of Edward Dumont.”
“Is that what passes for a romantic moment for you two?” she asked.
I didn’t dignify that comment with a reply. Instead, I rubbed Violet’s ears, and she settled her chin deeper into my lap. The sun was hot, the boardwalk crowded with tourists. A couple of young girls, pigtails bouncing, chased each other across the lighthouse lawn.
No one paid us any attention. “Jock O’Callaghan killed Edward Dumont.”
“What?” Ryan said.
“What makes you think that?” Estrada said.
“He was in love with Elizabeth Dumont.”
“I have to admit,” Estrada said, “you did some good thinking as regards Bradley Lamb and his movements, although we would have arrived at that conclusion ourselves eventually without your help, but now you’re stretching. By all accounts, they hated each other.”
“In this case,” I said, “I’m doing exactly what Ryan always tells me to do. I’m presenting my observations and deductions and leaving it up to you to find the evidence. Hear me out. When I went to the WLYC on Friday to speak to Jock, it was because I thought it possible he’d killed Elizabeth in revenge for her murdering her husband seven years ago. Instead, I found him genuinely grieving. He was looking at an old picture of her on his phone—if you can get a warrant for his phone, you might want to ask why he carries a picture of someone he supposedly hated so much—and he quickly closed it when he saw me looking. His grief was genuine when he thought he was unobserved. As soon as we started talking about Elizabeth, he verbally turned on her, as he’d done before, but his entire demeanor didn’t work for me. He was lying and almost choking himself on his lies.”
“He publicly accused Elizabeth of killing her husband. He had her kicked out of the yacht club,” Ryan said.
“I believe Jock killed Edward, expecting Elizabeth would then agree to marry him. Donald told me that Jock’s marriage, which had apparently been a good one, suddenly fell apart around the time of Edward’s death, at the same time as it was rumored around the club that Elizabeth was having affairs. I think she was having one affair, and it was with Jock O’Callaghan. Jock asked Elizabeth to divorce Edward. Elizabeth said no. Perhaps because she didn’t love Jock, but that doesn’t matter. She told Jock she couldn’t divorce Edward because he’d cut her off without a cent. Whether or not that was true also doesn’t matter. Jock’s mother, Iris, according to club gossip, still controls their family money, and his wife, Rose—he must be thoroughly sick of flower names—has a great deal of money in her own right. If Jock and Elizabeth divorced their respective partners and married each other, they’d have seen a substantial reduction in their circumstances.”
