On Deadly Tides (A Wendover House Mystery Book 3)
Page 7
Of course I would.
“Not if they stay here, no. But since I am on the island now, why go after Tom?” I asked, finally being as direct as Bryson.
“Tom?”
“Tom Fischer. At least I assume that’s who it is. He went missing at the right time and he was definitely a relative.”
Bryson nodded. It was apparent that he hadn’t been searching for the corpse’s identity.
“He died because having a Wendover on the island on New Year’s is only part of the … bargain.”
The book had warned me, but I wasn’t prepared to hear Bryson speak of the Bane.
“So, someone actually gets drowned every third generation to appease some monster?” I could feel the blood draining from my face. Was there a name for ritual murders committed by different people in different times, but for the same reason? Oh, right. Religion. Screwy, bloody religion.
“So far, yes.” The smile was gone.
“And someone made that happen to Tom because Kelvin left?”
“Maybe. And maybe it was the Bane after all. Or just rotten luck. He drank—couldn’t hold a job and often went out fishing in bad weather. None of that lot in Derrymoor has ever amounted to anything. No way to prove what happened one way or the other. Not without bringing in outsiders.”
I didn’t get into the question of whether there was a Bane, as in a real monster and not a religious construct that made people commit murder.
“And that would be bad.”
Bryson shrugged.
“Probably. The islands are tricky—a sort of no-man’s-land in a legal sense and neither the US nor Canada want to deal with us. I spare the higher-ups as much daily detail of the islands as I can since the brass tends to get a bit wide-eyed when confronted with our … traditions. The US will resist handing the case off to Canada on general principle of course, but there is no real interest in the case. I’ve seen to that. And if Canada was handed the mess they would play deaf and dumb as well. We are not a priority since we have no crime. This indifference has worked to our advantage in the past and will in the future. Things are tidy. Except for Kelvin.”
Kelvin? Falsifying his death—right. That was probably illegal and certainly unexplainable to outsiders. I looked up at the ceiling, trying to gather my thoughts. What we were discussing was so outlandish that I only felt distant dismay. But that was because I was probably still in shock. Eventually I would probably care a lot more.
“Does Harris know? About Kelvin faking his death? About Tom taking his place as victim because of what Kelvin did?”
“I don’t think so. But Harris can keep a tight lip when he’s inclined, so maybe he figured it out. Perhaps he’ll tell you, if you ask.”
I nodded in agreement of Harris being tight-lipped and picked up my coffee though I didn’t really want any more. I wondered if my attorney felt any remorse for bringing me here. And if he should feel remorse. As I had said to Bryson, a different cultural standard exists in the islands, and people will do all kinds of things when they are frightened.
To claim my inheritance, I had to stand in a dead man’s shoes. At least the shoes of a man presumed dead. You could argue that all inheritances are like that, but I had never heard of a legacy with so many strange strings attached and was still trying to feel my way in this strange new land.
“Why didn’t they drown me?” I asked. “I was handy.”
Bryson sighed.
“They like you. They need you—you’re young and will keep them safe for many years. And the Bane always takes men if males are available.”
Cold. My hands and feet were cold. I wrapped both hands around my coffee mug and clung to it just to have something warm to hold.
“You know about Everett and me and our little paying hobby too, don’t you?” Bryson asked.
I thought about denying it, but what was smuggling compared to routine sacrificial murder?
“Yes.”
“From the beginning?”
“Almost.”
“And you said nothing because you liked us so much? Or maybe you think that the law is an ass and should be ignored?”
I almost said, Why not? Everyone else does, but stopped myself from being flippant. This was not the moment for it.
Bryson missed out on the main reason for my silence. Partly, I was a little afraid of Everett. And what everyone in the islands would think if I turned the brothers in. And because the authorities—being from away—might not believe me if I complained. After all, as Bryson had just pointed out, our islands were strange in many ways including legally.
But mostly I had done it because it felt like the right thing to do. It was that moral context thing again.
“You’re really going to have to work on your self-esteem,” I said at last. “I’ve never thought you an ass. And maybe I just like cheap whisky. Maybe I kept silent in Kelvin’s memory.”
Bryson gave a crack of laughter and finally relaxed.
“I’ll enjoy telling Everett that he’s lost his bet. I was sure you knew about us but he said no.”
I grimaced.
“Must you tell him? He doesn’t seem to possess your easygoing … joie de vivre. I think this would just upset him.”
“No, you’re right.” Bryson sobered. “He doesn’t know much about going easy.”
“Did he know what Kelvin did?”
“Not at first. I didn’t know either—not at the beginning. Kelvin didn’t confide in me and we were all expecting that there would be.…”
“A drowning. Kelvin didn’t actually….” I stopped, unwilling to put it in words. My moral relativism didn’t go that far.
“No. It was probably some fisherman, maybe from another country, who had an accident and washed up on Little Goose. Currents sometimes bring bodies that way. At worst, Kelvin was being opportunistic.”
Bryson watched as I sorted through his answer. I was glad that he let me think it all through without demanding I say something.
Did I blame my great-grandfather for wanting to get away from the island before he was murdered for maritime tradition? Of course not. In the circumstances I might well do the same thing.
Even if I knew that someone else would be drowned in my place if the hoax was discovered? A little voice asked.
Yes, even if. Especially if. I was, after all, third generation too and might face this choice one day.
“Do you know where Kelvin went when he left here?” I asked. “Nebraska? Kansas? Mexico? Is there any way to track him, supposing we want to?”
“Nevada, I think. He often mentioned wanting to see Las Vegas. But as for finding him.…”
The tiniest of smiles touched my lips. Kelvin in Las Vegas. I liked it.
“So, the first body, we aren’t going to see it again, are we?” I didn’t ask if he was responsible for getting rid of the corpse when it became evident that there would be an exhumation order. It seemed perfectly obvious that he and Everett were responsible. It was a horrifying task but I guess it fell under the umbrella of looking out for the public good.
“Not unless it’s by supernatural agency. The sea doesn’t usually render up its dead twice. Not if you use enough pig iron.”
I wished that Bryson had looked a little more confident when he said that. It bothered me that he had some belief in supernatural agencies like the Bane.
“And we are going to say Tom Fischer is Kelvin?” Which he was, in the symbolic sense.
“If Harris and I can swing it. There isn’t anyone—if you’re onboard—who has reason to protest the decision.”
“Good. It’s settled then,” I said, getting to my feet and then changing the subject. “I don’t suppose you have time to run me out to Little Goose this morning? Barney is going to think I’ve abandoned him.”
“As a matter of fact, I do.” Bryson looked years younger as he pushed away from the table. “Let me grab my coat. I’d like to see that puppy. Ben says he gets bigger every day.”
“That’s because he e
ats his weight in kibble.”
Chapter 8
The ferry brought the mail on Fridays and Ben was thoughtful enough to carry my meager offerings up to the house, mostly so he would have an excuse to see Barney. The only thing of interest was a postcard of the Las Vegas strip. The handwriting was shaky but recognizable since I had been reading diaries.
Having fun!
That was all it said aside from my name and address.
“Brandy is in Las Vegas now?” Ben asked.
“Must be,” I said, setting the postcard aside. “Want some coffeecake? It’s my grandma’s recipe.”
About the Author
Melanie Jackson is the author of over 50 novels. If you enjoyed this story, please visit Melanie’s author web site at www.melaniejackson.com.
eBooks by Melanie Jackson:
The Chloe Boston Mystery Series:
Moving Violation
The Pumpkin Thief
Death in a Turkey Town
Murder on Parade
Cupid’s Revenge
Viva Lost Vegas
Death of a Dumb Bunny
Red, White and a Dog Named Blue
Haunted
The Great Pumpkin Caper
Beast of a Feast
Snow Angel
Lucky Thirteen
The Sham
The Butterscotch Jones Mystery Series
Due North
Big Bones
Gone South
Home Fires
Points West
The Wendover House Mystery Series
The Secret Staircase
Twelfth Night
On Deadly Tides
Wildside Series
Outsiders
Courier
Still Life
The Book of Dreams Series:
The First Book of Dreams: Metropolis
The Second Book of Dreams: Meridian
The Third Book of Dreams: Destiny
Medicine Trilogy
Bad Medicine
Medicine Man
Knave of Hearts
Club Valhalla
Devil of Bodmin Moor
Devil of the Highlands
Devil in a Red Coat
Halloween
The Curiosity Shoppe (Sequel to A Curious Affair)
Timeless
Nevermore: The Last Divine Book