Every Body on Deck

by G. A. McKevett

  “But it was a big deal, wasn’t it?” Savannah said. “You told everyone in Saaxwoo that she was coming to visit you. You cleaned, and painted, and sewed new curtains. You must have been pretty mad when she wouldn’t at least drop by and meet you.”

  “No. She was busy. I understood.”

  Savannah had worked her way through the stack all the way to the bottom. There she saw three letters that were all too familiar to her.

  With gloved hands, she pulled them out and walked over to Edith. Holding them up so that her suspect could see, she said, “I’ve seen these before, Edith. Or at least, copies of them. These are the letters you wrote to threaten Ms. Van Cleef. Including the one you wrote on the day you killed her and her husband.”

  Edith glanced up, took a look at the letters, then quickly cast her eyes downward again.

  Dirk and Bodin were watching the exchange carefully. Bodin said, “If she was your good buddy, why would you threaten her life?”

  “I didn’t threaten Ms. Van Cleef.”

  “Then what are these?” Savannah said. “They sure aren’t love letters.”

  “I don’t know. I never saw those before.”

  “Right,” Dirk said. “They’re in your desk with your letters, but you know nothing about them.”

  At that moment, Corporal Riggs spoke up. “Hey, look up there on top of the refrigerator. I know what that is.”

  They all turned to see where he was pointing. It was an electronic device of some sort, a small, black apparatus with a headset microphone attached.

  “What is it?” asked his sergeant.

  “That’s a voice changer. You use it to alter the sound of your voice. My brother and I had one just like it. We used it on Halloween to make our voices sound spooky and freak out the trick-or-treaters.”

  Savannah turned to Edith. “Why would a woman who raises and boards huskies need something like that?”

  When Edith didn’t reply, Dirk said, “Maybe to call a silly blond girl and have her fetch gasoline for you, but make her think you’re a guy?”

  “Why did you do that, Edith?” Bodin asked. “You could have bought some gas yourself. No one would have thought anything of it. Wouldn’t it have been easier to just bring your own?”

  Savannah stepped closer to Edith. “You had her buy the gas and deliver it for the same reason that you stuck that syringe in her purse. You wanted to frame her for the murders you committed.”

  For the first time since they had knocked on her door and served the warrant, Edith looked genuinely frightened as she lifted her head and stared into Savannah’s eyes. But she said nothing, offered no defense.

  Savannah continued. “I think I know how you did it, Edith. Somehow you found out about the letter Patricia Chumley wrote to Natasha. When she told you she didn’t have time for you, couldn’t be bothered stopping by your humble home, you got mad and wrote her two more.”

  Dirk stepped forward and picked up her train of thought. “Then, once you lured Olive off the ship, you sent Natasha another letter, threatening to hurt Olive if she didn’t come to you.”

  “Once she and Colin got here, you somehow injected them with that drug,” Savannah said. “You put their bodies in the car and drove it to the hill. You sent it down the incline in Neutral, crashed it, then shifted it back into Drive.”

  “You poured the gas on it,” Bodin said, “to burn the evidence. Then you drove down the road toward town, picked up Olive, and planted the syringe on her.”

  “I didn’t hurt Natasha,” Edith said softly, her voice trembling. “She was my friend. I wouldn’t hurt her.”

  “Well, I think you did.” Sergeant Bodin took his cuffs from his pocket and said in a voice most official, “Edith Yager, I’m arresting you for the murders of Natasha and Colin Van Cleef. You have the right to remain silent. Anything you say can and will be used . . .”

  Once the suspect was Mirandized, she was led outside. Savannah and Dirk watched the troopers stash her in the back of their cruiser. But a moment later, Sergeant Bodin motioned them over. “She wants to talk to Savannah,” he said.

  Savannah leaned down at the passenger’s door and looked at the frightened woman inside.

  “Yes?” she said, wondering how on earth this woman had committed such a heinous crime, how she could have inflicted such horror upon someone like Natasha, simply because she felt rejected, neglected.

  “I have a favor to ask you,” Edith said, her voice and manner so humble that Savannah didn’t give in to the temptation to tell her that she would do no favors for a woman who had murdered her favorite author and client.

  “What do you want me to do?” she asked.

  “Would you please, please call Doc Johnson and ask him to find someone to come out here and take care of the dogs. Not just feed and water them. I talk to them, every one of them, several times a day. They need the human contact. They need—”

  Her voice broke and she started to cry. Ugly, wracking sobs.

  “I will,” Savannah said. “I’ll do that right now. Don’t worry. I’m sure he’ll make certain they’re cared for.”

  As Savannah backed away from the car, Corporal Riggs closed the door and both troopers got into the cruiser.

  “Thank you,” Sergeant Bodin called out through his open window as he drove away.

  “You’re welcome.” Savannah mouthed the words, but she didn’t feel them.

  Usually, when she solved a case, she had a good feeling deep inside. She felt satisfied that justice had been served, the scales had been balanced, and all that good stuff.

  Dirk slid his arm around her shoulders and pulled her to his side. “You okay, Van?” he asked.

  “Not really.”

  “We got the bad guy. Or, in this case, the bad girl.”

  “I know. But she just doesn’t seem that bad,” Savannah said.

  “A lot of ’em don’t. That’s one reason why our jobs suck.”

  “I don’t like that. Bad people should look bad and act bad all the time. Then you could spot them right away in a crowd, and you wouldn’t feel awful when you bust them and make them go off to jail for the rest of their lives and leave their doggies behind.”

  “Let’s go find the rest of the gang and celebrate with a nice dinner.”

  “Celebrate?”

  “Yes. Celebrate. We took a killer off the street, babe. It’s a good thing.”

  “Okay. As soon as I call Dr. Johnson.”

  “Sure. No problem. Make your call. But don’t dawdle. I’ve got a date with a long-legged Alaskan snow crab beauty.”

  She shook her head, and as she dialed the phone she thought how different she and her husband were.

  She was worried about things like justice, good and evil, and weighing the evidence thereof.

  He was fretting about his crab leg dinner.

  Chapter 30

  Savannah and Dirk sat in the Bronco, enjoying a bit of privacy and watching the sun as it began to set among the forest trees. Sunset came late in Alaska, they had observed, but when it did, the density of the darkness was startling and a bit unsettling.

  But, in other ways, Savannah found that she liked nighttime in America’s last frontier. Without all the man-made illumination, nature’s lights sparkled all the brighter. Overhead more stars than she had ever seen in the sky were already beginning to twinkle. The full moon was rising and appeared so close that she felt the urge to reach up and touch it.

  “You were awfully quiet tonight, Van,” Dirk told her. “I know my girl. When she gets quiet, that’s never a good sign.”

  “I might just be tired,” she replied.

  “You might be, but that’s not all that’s wrong with you. What’s going on in that head of yours, darlin’? Tell ol’ Dirk about it.”

  “Something’s not right,” she admitted. “I’ve got a voice screaming inside me that there’s more to this than what we’ve got.”

  “Okay. So you think we missed something. What?”

  “I�
�m not sure. I just got this strong inkling that something’s wrong. It’s like a really bad itch deep inside that won’t go away.”

  She glanced at her watch. It was nine thirty-eight. “I guess it’s too late to call Dr. Johnson. He might be in bed already.”

  “He might be, but I doubt it. Why do you need to talk to him?”

  “I just want to ask him one question. Just one itty-bitty question, and if he answers it right, I’ll sleep a lot better tonight.”

  Dirk chuckled. “Call him. Anything that leads to a good night’s sleep for us is worth waking him up in the middle of his.”

  Savannah quickly took out her phone and punched in Dr. Johnson’s number. He answered on the second ring.

  “Hello, Savannah. It’s good to hear from you always, but if you’re calling about the dogs, we got them all squared away. They’re well taken care of and will be until some sort of arrangements can be made for them, depending on what happens with Edith.”

  “That’s wonderful. Thank you, Doc. But that’s not why I’m calling.”

  “Oh, all right. Then how can I help you?”

  “I have a question about the dental records. Can you tell me again how you received them?”

  “Sure. They were delivered here to our office.”

  “By whom?”

  “A service called Alaskan Express Parcel Service. I believe I told you before, the packages are flown to Ketchikan and then AEPS brings them to Saaxwoo by boat.”

  “Once they’ve docked here in Saaxwoo, someone actually brings your package to you, or you have to go get it?”

  “They hand deliver it.”

  “Did the courier place the records in your hand?”

  “No. My office assistant received them. I was out on a call.”

  “Did she mention anything about the delivery?”

  “Not that I remember. Is there something you need to know about the delivery, Savannah?”

  She paused, then decided to plunge ahead. Once your foot’s wet, she told herself, you might as well go for a swim.

  “You mentioned that you were able to obtain a full set of Edith Yager’s fingerprints because she and her sister worked for a courier company some years back.”

  “Yes. They did.”

  “Did they happen to work for AEPS?”

  There was a long pause on the other end. “Yes.”

  “I know it’s late,” Savannah said, “and I hate to ask you. But would you mind calling your office assistant and asking if she knew the person who actually delivered those records?”

  “I don’t mind, Savannah,” he said, though he didn’t sound thrilled. “If you think it would be helpful. I’ll call you right back.”

  “Thank you, Doctor.”

  As they ended the call, Savannah turned in her seat and saw that her husband was watching her closely. She knew he had been following every word of the phone conversation.

  “You think Edith delivered that package?” he asked.

  “It’s a long shot, but we have to turn over every rock.”

  “She doesn’t work for that service anymore, babe.”

  “No. But how hard would it be for her to get her hands on that package? Think about how loosey goosey they are around here about stuff. Everybody knows everybody. If she was there when the boat docked and saw someone she knew getting off with that package in hand, it would be so easy to say, ‘Hey, I’m on my way up to the doc’s place right now. I’ll drop it off for you. The paperwork? I’ll give it to you next time I see you. Have a good day.’”

  “It’s a long shot.”

  “That’s what the doctor just said. But how many long shots have paid off for us, big boy?”

  He reached over, took her hand, and toyed with her wedding ring. “All the most important ones,” he said.

  Her phone rang.

  “It’s Doc Johnson. That was quick.” She answered it, her pulse pounding. “Yes, Doctor?”

  “You’re not going to believe this.” He sounded breathless, excited.

  “Try me.”

  “It was Edith! She told my office girl that she ran into the courier at the dock and told him she’d bring it up here for him. They’re old buddies from back in the day. Apparently, she does that a lot.”

  “Damn,” Savannah whispered. “I’m good.”

  “What was that?” Dr. Johnson asked.

  “Nothing. Just thinking out loud.”

  She looked over and saw that Dirk was grinning broadly and shaking his head.

  “That kinda compromises your evidence there, Doctor,” she said, “if the primary suspect had it in her possession.”

  “Yes, I’m afraid it does.”

  “I have something else to ask you.”

  “Okay.”

  “Those pets that you’ve got in cold storage there in your garage, because the ground’s too hard to bury them . . .”

  “Yes.”

  “Do they do that for people, too?”

  * * *

  “Cemeteries creep me out,” Dirk said when they got out of the Bronco and began to walk around the ancient graveyard. “Especially after sunset. I want you to know, Van, I wouldn’t be out here running around in the dark, visiting dead people, for just anybody.”

  “I know, sugar, and I appreciate it very much.”

  “How much?”

  “You’ll never know.” She reconsidered. “At least, not as long as we’re still sleeping in the same room as your parents.”

  “Yeah. Right.” He shifted the tire iron that he was carrying to the other hand. The tire iron that Savannah had requested he bring, but hadn’t explained why.

  She headed toward the right rear of the graveyard, as instructed by Dr. Johnson. Even though both she and Dirk were equipped with large, powerful flashlights, the beams did little to dispel the gloom of the place.

  The full moon had decided to slip behind thick clouds only a moment after they had arrived.

  Bad timing.

  “Don’t tell me this doesn’t bother you,” Dirk said, trudging along at her heels. “This is a spooky and depressing place, and most people wouldn’t be caught dead out here.”

  “Ha, ha,” she said dryly. “Dirk made a funny.”

  “Seriously, doesn’t it bother you at least a little?”

  “No,” she said, picking her way among the old stones. Some had moss growing on them. Some were leaning. Some had even fallen. Here and there sat one that looked relatively new.

  “I believe that cemeteries,” she said, “are peaceful, gentle places. There’s no one to hurt you in a place like this. Just folks taking a long rest—”

  “A dirt nap?”

  “Whatever, after their weary journeys. God bless ’em. Some lived a long time. Some had short lives, but went through a lot. They’ve earned their rest.”

  He tripped over a leaning stone and nearly fell. “Still gives me the willies.”

  Savannah was trying to remember something she had read once that had changed her outlook on graveyards. “A cemetery—a place of perfect repose where, at last, every wound is healed, every problem resolved, every burden laid aside, and every task completed,” she said, quoting the passage as best she could recall it.

  “Is that it up there?” Dirk said, pointing his flashlight at a small wooden building approximately twelve feet square.

  “Must be,” she said. “It’s the only building out here.”

  “Not very fancy,” he observed as they walked up to the structure and saw that it had no windows and only one door.

  “In tiny, isolated towns like this, I don’t suppose ‘fancy’ has a very high priority.”

  “Let me guess,” Dirk said, studying the large padlock on the door. “That’s why you wanted me to bring the tire iron.”

  She nodded, giving him her sweetest smile. “Would you mind, please?”

  “What if you don’t find whatever the heck you think you’ll find in there?”

  “Then we owe the fine city of Saaxwoo a padlock. We
’ll send them one when we get back home. Anonymously. We’ll mail it from a Los Angeles post office.”

  “Okay.”

  He stuck the pry end of the iron through the lock and gave it a twist. It crumbled.

  “O-o-o-o, well done,” she told him. “So manly.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Let’s get this over with. It’s getting cold out here . . . colder than one of those, you know, one of them gals who wears a metal bra thing and Viking horns on her head and sings opera.”

  She gave him a long, blank look. “There’s no saying like that. You just made that up, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah.”

  “I thought so, because it doesn’t make any sense. Why would Brünnhilde be any colder than anyone else?”

  “’Cause she’s wearing a metal bra, okay? I was trying to avoid saying, ‘Colder than a witch’s tit.’ Most women don’t like that. But now I’m sorry I started it. Sheez.”

  Savannah reached for the door and swung it open. “I’m glad you’re with me, darlin’,” she said when she looked inside and saw the same sort of shelves as the ones in Dr. Johnson’s garage, only larger. The sight of the coffins, four of them, sitting on the shelves was unnerving.

  Especially in the darkness of night. Especially in the cold.

  Especially with the sound of wolves starting to howl in the not so distant distance.

  “Thanks, babe,” he said, all annoyances and insults put aside. “Let’s just get this chore done so we can go back to the motel and snuggle.”

  Reluctantly, she walked inside. He followed, and they played their flashlight beams over one coffin after another, until they found the one that bore a tiny metal plaque that read: MARY BETH YAGER.

  “That’s it,” Savannah said, turning to Dirk. “Ready to do it?”

  He lifted his tire iron. “Ready to sink to the lowest level of my law enforcement career? Yeah, sure. Why not?”

  He stuck the pointed end of the tire iron beneath the lid of the casket. It pried open with surprisingly little effort.

  The space between the coffin lid and the shelf above it was at least ten inches, giving them room to lift it high enough to see inside.

  “Sorry, Mary Beth,” Dirk muttered. “This wasn’t my idea. It’s just that I’ve got this half-whacked wife who gets weird ideas about . . .”