The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14)

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Any chance the hooker was the target?”

  “It’s possible. I’m looking into her background, her known associates, the people she hung around, which were mostly other hookers. It turns out she was from Latvia, spoke very little English.”

  “I guess she and my dad didn’t do a whole lotta talking, huh?”

  “Probably not. It wasn’t her first time there. Neighbors said she’d been showing up starting around two months ago.”

  Tucker inhaled a breath, let it out in a huff. “That’s kind of disgusting. Sounds like around the same time my mom died. Figures. Mom deserved better.”

  “Why do you suppose your mother stayed with him?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe she didn’t think she could make it on her own. Maybe she was bothered by the stigma attached to divorce for women her age. Her staying with him is as much a mystery as him getting murdered now. For a long time, I’ve known they lived separate lives, albeit under the same roof, but I had no idea how different they were. Seems like opposites didn’t work for them.”

  When the two men finished their meal and got up to leave, Tucker reached out his hand. “Thanks for everything. I hope you catch the bastard who did this.”

  “Trust me, I’m gonna do my best.”

  While the murder investigation played out on Howard’s end, Tucker met with the estate lawyer in an old Tudor-style house turned into a law office around the corner from where Joe had lived. There were no surprises in the will—Joe had left all his worldly goods to his only son. There were, however, a few listed items that didn’t make any sense to Tucker.

  After reading through the will…twice…his eyes tracked to the paragraph of special instructions. “What does he want me to do with an old trunk? What’s in it?”

  The attorney, a well-dressed man in his late sixties, leaned back in his chair and smiled, his eyes glistening with mischief. “I have no idea. But this is always the interesting part of my job. Looking at the faces of the relatives who come in here and wonder about any unusual specifics of the will. I could write a book about it.”

  Exhaustion had caught up with Tucker several days ago. He wasn’t in the mood for riddles or jokes. “You’re amused by this? I don’t find it funny, not in the least. Mainly because I’ve spent the last week shoveling stuff out of his apartment. I sent stacks of boxes filled with papers and files and other junk back to California. Why wasn’t this trunk kept in the condo? Why didn’t I already know about its existence so I could make arrangements with the movers to get it out of there?”

  The old man stopped smiling and sat up straighter. “It isn’t my job to hold your hand during this time of bereavement or make things easier for you. It is my job to carry out the last wishes of your father. He specifically instructed me to save the trunk for last and only mention it in the will when I handed off this set of keys to the storage facility down the street.”

  The lawyer slid a key ring—with six keys—across the desk. “I’m assuming one opens the gate to get onto the premises, the other will open one of the lockers, while one of the remaining keys must fit the lock on the trunk.”

  “And the rest?”

  “I have no idea. Perhaps your father kept all the keys to his businesses back in California for sentimental reasons.”

  Joe Ferguson had never been big on sentiment, Tucker concluded as he signed several documents required for probate and to give the lawyer permission to transfer money to his accounts back in Pelican Pointe.

  The entire meeting had lasted less than an hour. But it had screwed up his carefully constructed plans about heading home. Instead of finishing his packing, now he had to trek down the street to a storage facility and grab a trunk.

  On foot, he found the facility, a rather rundown property that had a mobile home used for the office along with three long, rectangular buildings that housed the units. The owner had recently painted the doors a bright shade of blue, the smell of paint greeting him as he wandered between buildings looking for the right unit. After fifteen minutes, he stood in front of one-nine-eight-five. It occurred to him the unit number was the same as the year 1985. He tried each key until he found the one that unlocked the rusted padlock disc.

  He lifted the blue door and let out a low groan. “Why, Dad, why?”

  The eight by eight room contained so many boxes stacked up that it would likely take him days if not weeks to sort through what was here. Stepping farther into the unit, he glanced around to look for the trunk. Maybe he’d take it out of here and leave the rest, send it to the airport as freight and be done with it. But when he saw the location of the trunk, underneath a stack of boxes and sandwiched between towers of old furniture, he realized that he’d need to move it all just to get to that one specific item.

  Pushing his way into the middle of the unit, surrounded by at least thirty additional cartons of stuff, he decided to let the moving company handle the mess. But after dialing the numbers for several movers in the area and getting put off with a two-week wait or longer, he realized he was stuck with doing it himself.

  Desperate to hear a friendly voice, he dialed Bodie’s number. “You know how I said I’d probably be back home tomorrow night?”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, I’ve hit a snag. It looks like I’ll have to cancel my flight and rent a van that I can use to drive cross-country back to California.”

  “Why?”

  He took a seat on one of the heavier-looking boxes that would hold his weight. “Because I’m sitting here in a storage locker looking at more boxes of junk that I just now found out existed. Somehow, somewhere, I think my father is probably laughing his ass off right about now.”

  Eleven

  Used to being on her own with the freedom to do what she wanted, Bodie adjusted her schedule around Tucker’s dog. She had the routine down so well that Lago seemed to know when to expect her. It didn’t seem to matter whether it was Tucker’s house or hers. Lago greeted her the same way—gentle body bumps, tail wags, plenty of sniffing and nuzzling her with his nose.

  Bodie adored him. And Lago acted like the feeling was mutual.

  If Tucker hadn’t needed her company in Florida to help him with funeral arrangements and the like or help with sorting through his dad’s apartment, the dog certainly had.

  In Tucker’s absence, she and Lago had bonded, going practically everywhere together. She’d taken him shopping, taken him to work with her on occasion, and to visit friends. She and the dog had even gone to dinner with Abby Anderson a couple of times. She’d taken Lago to the park so that he could play with the other dogs, and even set up play dates with Merlin, Gilly’s Newfoundland mix.

  During the time Tucker had spent in Florida, her friends had gone out of their way to make sure she stayed busy. Maybe so she wouldn’t miss Tucker too much. Most nights, it worked.

  This Friday night, she planned to meet Keva for a drink at The Shipwreck but not stay to listen to the band as Keva always did.

  “If the pub had a patio, I’d take you with me in a heartbeat,” Bodie told Lago when he gave her those sad eyes at being left alone. “You know I would. I don’t like leaving you alone,” she went on, slipping a pair of white sandals on her feet that went with the white outfit she’d picked.

  She reached out to stroke the pup’s head. “I won’t be gone long. I promise.”

  Bodie let out a sigh. “I don’t suppose there’s any chance you could pretend to be a therapy dog. I have an idea what we could do. What if I tied a scarf around your neck? People do that all the time to their therapy dogs. I saw it on the Internet. It might sell the idea better to Durke. That way, I could slip you into the bar and pass you off as my therapy dog.”

  She rifled through her dresser drawers to find just the right bandana and settled on a soft striped orange that brought out the golden coloring in Lago’s coat. “Here. This will do.”

  After tying the scarf around Lago’s neck, she got down his leash. “We’ll just go for a walk toward the bar an
d see what happens. It’s not our fault there’s no sidewalk café in town, right?”

  They started out walking under a cloudless night sky, the stars low to the earth seemed almost touchable. The soft sea air drifted on the breeze as Lago wanted to stop and sniff every blade of grass between the house and the pub.

  But Bodie didn’t mind. She hadn’t been responsible for a dog since she’d been a kid. Back then, a sweet black and white mutt named Jarvis of undetermined origin had captured her heart. For a dozen years, Jarvis had been a huge part of the Jardine clan, going everywhere with her and her sister, Loire. But when Jarvis succumbed to old age and died without warning, fourteen-year-old Bodie had vowed she’d never get attached to another pet, specifically another dog ever again.

  Now, here she was walking Lago like they’d known each other for years.

  When they rounded the corner onto Ocean Street, Bodie noticed Keva standing outside the pub a few feet away from the entrance. She waved while crossing to the other side and came up beside Keva for a hug.

  The woman had on a lacy, short dress the color of wheat with light purple flowers on the print.

  “Don’t you look hot tonight,” Bodie said.

  “Thanks. So do you.” Keva’s attention turned to Lago. Her forehead knitted into little frown lines. “What are you doing with the dog? You know Durke doesn’t allow…”

  Bodie had thought about this long and hard and was prepared to make her point. “Think about it. It’s a lovely evening to sit outside and have a glass of wine under the stars. But Durke’s place doesn’t even have a patio. Why don’t I take this opportunity to point that out, suggest how great it would be if he used part of the side parking lot for outside seating and allowed dogs out there? Think how many more tourists with dogs he could jam in here during the summer season.”

  Keva rolled her eyes. “Terrific. Just what I need. A woman who’s on a mission to change up my favorite local dive. Look, don’t rock the boat tonight, okay? I’m already on a slippery slope with Durke. He’s beginning to think I’m stalking Malachi.”

  “He said that to you even though you’re practically his best customer?”

  “Durke didn’t use the word exactly, but the entire conversation was extremely embarrassing.”

  “Hit a nerve, huh? Well, I suppose you are, sort of, stalking Malachi. You’re in here every Friday and Saturday nights whenever Dark Horse plays. In all that time, has that man even bothered to ask you out?”

  Keva’s shoulders slumped. No longer in the mood to go inside for a little fun or a drink, she looked around for a place to sit down.

  Bodie realized she’d opened her big, fat mouth again once too often about Malachi’s lack of interest. “Hey, don’t listen to me. It’s a free country. You can hang out any day of the week you want, and no one has the right to tell you otherwise.”

  “Except the owner of the pub. No, you’re right. I’m an idiot who’s been making a fool of myself for months. Every weekend I do the same thing. I sit there with a hundred other people and listen to Malachi sing, and he doesn’t even know I’m alive. I think I’ll just head home.”

  “No, you won’t. You’re coming to my place. What do you say to a movie, a big bowl of popcorn, and a bottle of chardonnay?”

  Keva’s blue eyes flashed with interest.

  Bodie noticed and kept up the pressure, adding in a few more enticements to make the sleepover sound more attractive. “I have Love Actually on DVD. Or what about 13 Going on 30? You love that movie. Or we could watch Clueless.”

  “No, that’s too sad knowing Brittany Murphy died in real life.”

  Bodie looped her arm through Keva’s. “Come on, Keva. Tucker’s out of town, probably won’t be back for another week. Lago and I need cheering up. You’re it. We’ll Netflix our way into Saturday morning. How does that sound?”

  Keva’s lips finally curled into a smile. “Okay. Fine. But I get to choose the wine and the movie.”

  “You’re the guest; you got it, whatever you say goes.” Bodie handed Keva the dog’s leash. “Wait right here for a minute, though, will you? I just need to run inside and talk to Durke for a second.”

  When Keva gave her a strange look, Bodie added, “I just want to suggest that outside seating idea for dog lovers. I won’t be five minutes.”

  “Okay. But hurry up. People are starting to stare.”

  No one was beginning to stare, but Bodie pushed her way past the line and opened the door anyway. Not even a brawny security guy could stop her from heading into the heart of the pub. More than fed up with the way Malachi Rafferty had ignored her friend for months, she marched over to where the singer stood at the end of the bar going over his playlist. She tapped him on the arm, prepared to ask him why. “Excuse me, but could I have a word with you over in that corner, please?”

  Malachi followed her eyes to the back of the bar. “Now? Can’t it wait? I’m a little busy here. If it’s a song you want to request, the band’s already about to go on and…”

  “It’s not about a song,” Bodie snapped. “I’d like to speak to you now. And no, it can’t wait.”

  Despite the look on his face—something akin to confusion and annoyance—she led the way into the alcove near the restrooms.

  “What’s this about?”

  “It’s about world peace,” Bodie deadpanned. “What do you think it’s about? I’m here on behalf of Keva Riverton.”

  “Who?”

  Incensed at that, Bodie put her hands on her hips, ready to do battle. “Are you telling me you don’t know a woman named Keva Riverton?”

  Malachi scratched his chin under his left ear. “Wait. Sure. She works at the thrift shop. Right? I know who you mean now. Very friendly. My girls love going to that place whenever they come home from school.”

  “Super. What do you think about the woman who pretty much runs the place? She does all the window displays there. Did you know that?”

  “What do you mean, what do I think about her? Um…”

  “It’s a simple question. Did you know that she never misses one of your performances? Did you know that? Keva comes in here every single weekend you play. Don’t tell me you’ve never noticed her before sitting at a table with her friends or alone at the bar, nursing a gin and tonic she hardly ever finishes. She’s about five-seven, light brown hair, sultry, sexy-looking blue eyes. She’s stunning actually. Come on, Malachi, are you blind or something? She likes you. Although I’m beginning to wonder why. Do you ever plan on asking Keva out or not?”

  “What? Me? Ask her out? You mean like on a date or something?”

  “God. Yes. Like on a date or something. I’m sensing here that you are definitely not interested in her that way. Am I right? Because I’m about to spend the next several hours trying to dissuade her from ever coming back in here again and wasting her weekends listening to you stand up there on stage and bang on your stupid guitar.”

  “Now wait a minute. Why are you so mad at me? Are you telling me that this Keva expected me to know that she had a thing for me and expected me to ask her out? Because I had no idea.”

  “It seems there’s quite a lot you have no idea about, Malachi. Keva expected nothing. And it seems like that’s what she got. Nothing. I get it now. You obviously aren’t interested in her like that. That’s okay. I’m sorry I bothered you. Thanks for your time. It’s been delightful chatting with you like this.” Bodie shifted right and winged her way past Malachi, leaving him standing in the alcove with his mouth agape.

  When she got back outside, she went up to Keva, who was now talking to a man bent down, petting the dog.

  “Oh, hi, Bodie. How’d it go with Durke?”

  “What? Oh, that. He’s not ripping up the pavement to put in outside seating. Durke thought it was a bad idea, thought I was a nutcase for bringing it up. But he might be amiable to adding a picnic table back there one of these days. Who’s your friend?”

  Keva flashed a smile. “This is Adam Harkness, a lawyer in town who�
��s working on a case with Kinsey, a class action lawsuit.”

  Bodie shook hands with a tall, good-looking, well-dressed professor type, who wore glasses and clearly was interested in making headway with Keva.

  “Nice to meet you,” Bodie said. Eyeing the way Adam fawned over the dog, she prompted, “Are you a dog lover?”

  The attorney nodded. “I love dogs. I have a Goldendoodle waiting for me back home. Her name’s Darrow.”

  Keva found that adorable. “As in Clarence? That’s cute.”

  The hunky lawyer grinned. “I’m impressed you got the reference.”

  Bodie listened to the two chat it up until she got her chance to break in. “You said Darrow is waiting for you back home. Is Darrow waiting back home with your wife?”

  The hunk adjusted his glasses. “Uh, no. Why?”

  “Just making friendly smalltown conversation. And where would home be exactly?”

  “San Sebastian. I’m spending some time over here in your neck of the woods doing some brainstorming with Kinsey early tomorrow morning about our case. I decided to spend the night out at Promise Cove.”

  “At the B&B,” Keva pointed out.

  “Exactly. I arrived late to check-in,” Adam explained, adjusting his boyish Harry Potter wire rims. “Ms. Harris, the innkeeper, offered to fix me a plate for dinner, but it was so late I decided to go out on my own, maybe look for a place to eat here in town, see the sights. I was just about to take a nice walk along the pier when I spotted Keva standing here with what looked like a replica of my dog. Before you came out of the bar, I had asked her if she’d like to join me for a drink or maybe a late supper.”

  “I told him about our plans to watch a movie,” Keva said, her tone sounding flat.

  Sensing chemistry between the couple, Bodie waved off the sleepover idea. “We can do that any old time. If you’d rather spend your Friday night with Adam, I totally understand.”