Sandie James Mysteries Box Set

by Tessa Kelly

  The sheriff’s motorboat was moored at the dock and two men in uniforms were inspecting the beach. Two other motorboats had been sent out to scour the coastline in search of the missing sailboat and its crewman.

  The sheriff, a small man with narrow shoulders, looked over the empty dock with a thoroughness of someone expecting to find the sailboat stashed under the boards. He was being shadowed by a tall guy with salt and pepper hair, dressed in blue jeans and a plaid shirt. The fact that he wore civilian clothes made me wonder if he was a specialist of some sort.

  After a few minutes, the two finished looking around. The man said something to the sheriff in a low, urgent tone. The sheriff nodded and scratched the back of his neck, then patted the other’s arm as if trying to be reassuring. The guy in plaid turned abruptly, looking all but reassured, and strode off toward the hotel.

  The sheriff went to the edge of the dock and spat in the water, then turned and strode over to Eric. From where I stood, I could hear him asking if Eric had moored the boat after the outing, and which knots he’d used.

  Susan, Vincent, Pat, and Nancy also crowded around them. Loudly, Susan and Vincent demanded explanations, yelling over the sheriff so that Henry and John finally had to intervene.

  “Can’t you see Eric is shaken up?” Henry said in a voice gruffer than I’d ever heard him speak before. “Leave him alone and let him explain himself.”

  His words carried weight, and the inquisitive bunch dispersed, Vincent leading Susan away by the shoulders. Eric gave Henry a silent nod of thanks.

  Seeing that the rest of us were standing around waiting, the sheriff waved us off. “Go back to the hotel, nothing to see here.”

  By then, it was six a.m. and the staff was serving breakfast out on the spacious terrace overlooking the ocean.

  It should have been a romantic start of the day, watching the gentle morning sun sparkle on the waves. But the expanse of the ocean, empty of any boats, only added to the general anxiety.

  I sat by the wooden railing drinking my third cup of coffee. Next to me, Pat and Nancy bustled around Majandra who had the look of a tragic widow as she carefully dabbed a tissue at the corners of her eyes. I wondered when she’d had the time to put on makeup.

  Down by the dock, Eric finished answering the sheriff’s questions and came onto the terrace. His lips looked white and parched, and his face had the pallor of a sick man. He made a beeline for the buffet and poured himself a cup of black coffee, downed it in two gulps as though it was iced water and poured another one which he drank more slowly. That made some color come back to his skin, but only a little. He stood off to the side, sipping from his cup and seeming to be very far away, someplace not at all pleasant.

  I decided my presence there wasn’t going to make a difference. Getting up, I left my cup and plate for the staff to clean up and went back to my room. Perched on the edge of the bed, I texted Liam about what happened, then sat there, absentmindedly tracing the delicate patterns of peach wallpaper flowers with my eyes. My mind was in a dense fog as shock and a sleepless night began to take their toll. Even the caffeine flowing through my system wasn’t strong enough to fight it.

  Hoping the fresh air would revive me, I dragged myself up and trudged out onto the balcony and lowered myself into one of the wicker chairs to wait for news.

  After a while, unable to hold myself up anymore, I sank deeper into the soft cushions and rested my head against the back of the chair. With the gentle breeze stroking my cheeks, my eyes closed of their own accord. The sounds of people’s voices downstairs grew distant as if coming from the other end of a long tunnel...

  I was aboard the Hija del Mar as it sailed toward the open ocean with Timothy at the wheel. But it was no longer a sailboat. It had become an enormous submarine, sinking fast below the waves, the two of us still topside. Turning to Timothy, I yelled to warn him. We needed to get to safety, maroon ourselves inside before it was too late. Timothy stood looking ahead, his face a frozen mask. His hands were tied to the wheel with thick ropes, but he didn’t seem conscious of it, oblivious to the danger we were in. I tried to run to him but found that I couldn’t move. Held fast to the railing by the same thick ropes, I was as trapped as Timothy.

  Then the submarine dipped below the waves and we were floating through silent green water. I held my breath as I struggled against the ropes, all the while knowing it was useless. And suddenly, Eric was there, looking deathly pale as he stood over me. He reached out and laid a hand on my shoulder. His hand was as cold as ice. The touch of a dead man...

  I woke up with a start, and my eyes flew wide open. It was only Kathy, standing over me and stroking my shoulder. She looked worried.

  “I didn’t mean to startle you,” she said gently. “Are you okay?”

  “Uh...yeah. I had a bad dream, that’s all.” I rubbed my neck, stiff from sleeping in a chair. Then I looked up at her. “Any news?”

  She nodded. “That’s why I came up. Thought you’d want to know the authorities found the boat out at sea. They’re bringing it back now.”

  I was out of my chair before she finished talking.

  Tray was waiting for us in the hallway, just as the night before. Together, we hurried downstairs.

  The hotel staff had cleared most of the breakfast but left the coffee pot and a tray of pastries out on the buffet table. Everyone was gathered in the dining room, their faces grim. Susan and Vincent sat apart from the rest, talking in low whispers and going quiet each time someone passed by.

  Susan had her arms crossed over her chest, her mouth drooping. She looked like a kid who’d been denied an ice cream. When Jennifer walked up to her and asked if she wanted the last chocolate croissant from the buffet table, she tossed her head and snapped something back in a tone that made her mother hurry on.

  A slim young woman floated across the room carrying a small tray of coffee and water and placed it quietly on the table in front of Eric and Majandra. With a start, I realized it was Leonie, Eric’s other crew member. I had clean forgotten about her.

  She said something in a low voice which, judging by the look on her face was meant to be soothing. Eric answered in the same quiet tone and she nodded and headed back to the buffet.

  I stared at her. With her blonde hair fanned out over her shoulders, it was hard not to notice how pretty she was. The taupe floor-length skirt and the long-sleeved linen shirt only accentuated her willowy figure. A silk neckerchief around her throat brought out the blue in her eyes. But there were dark circles under them, and her lips trembled.

  “Poor thing.” Geraldine’s voice at my side made me jump. I hadn’t heard her and John come up behind me. “She was crying earlier. Feeling guilty for not coming on the boat with us last night. I tried to comfort her as much as I could.”

  “She shouldn’t blame herself,” John said. “There was absolutely nothing she could’ve done.”

  I stared at him, forcing myself to breathe normally. “I was told the authorities found the boat. Isn’t that true?”

  John nodded. “It had drifted far offshore. Something happened to the drain plug because they found the boat half-sunken. But Timothy wasn’t on board. They’ve officially declared him missing for now.”

  “For now?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I still had to ask. “What did the sheriff say, exactly?”

  There was a pause, then John sighed. “He said, it’s unlikely they’ll find him alive.”

  Chapter 7

  My knees wobbled and I had to steady myself on the nearest chair. I had felt trouble brewing from the moment I arrived on the island, like a tangible threat permeating the air. Yet I’d done nothing to prevent it. Did that make it my fault?

  “I better check on Henry, see how he’s doing,” Geraldine murmured. She walked off, leaving me alone with John.

  Glancing up at him, I realized he was watching me closely. He looked like someone gathering up his thoughts to get something important off his chest.

  “The police
are ruling it an accident,” he said in a low voice so that only I could hear him. “They’ll continue to search for Timothy, and I’m sure they’ll do everything they can to find him.”

  I nodded slowly, waiting for the punch line.

  He straightened to his full height, towering over me, and said in a stiff voice, “It was an accident, Sandra. You see that, don’t you? It couldn’t have been anything else.”

  I was taken aback by the hardness in his eyes. “Why are you telling me this?”

  “Because you tend to get involved in matters of this sort. I can already see it in your face. You’re thinking there’s been foul play.”

  I stood as tall as my five foot six allowed me, but still had to look up to him. “What if I am?”

  “I was there the last two times,” he said. “You tend not to trust the authorities to do their job. Right now, even with everything that’s happened, we can still salvage this weekend. But I’m afraid you’ll get involved in the investigation, and then my uncle’s wedding will definitely be ruined.”

  I stared at him, stung.

  John sighed, his expression softening. “I’m being rude. I apologize. It’s the strain of organizing this wedding. I wanted everything to go so well... Murphy’s Law, I suppose. Anything that can go wrong, will go wrong. My uncle and I have only recently been reunited. Don’t think I’ve forgotten to whom we owe it all, but an accident like this is bad enough to darken any occasion. It would be ten times worse if it turned out to be—”

  He stopped. His eyes snapped to my hand on his arm with surprise.

  Awkward.

  I took my hand away, hoping he wasn’t going to take the friendly gesture as a come-on.

  “I get it, I do,” I said. “Having anything interfere with the wedding was the last thing any of us wanted.”

  “Thank you, Sandra.” His shoulders relaxed. He seemed to take my words as a promise to stay away from the investigation. Then his eyes sought out his uncle and Geraldine. “I’d better go join them.”

  Going over, he sat next to Henry, speaking in a low voice while his right hand drummed a tattoo on the table. It was unsettling to see John this agitated.

  Not that I felt any better. The room was too stuffy. I needed air.

  The glass doors swung closed behind me as I rushed out onto the lawn. I didn’t stop until I was halfway to the water. Then I forced myself to slow down and take a few deep breaths, though that didn’t loosen the tightness in my chest.

  I stared at the sailboat in front of me, moored to the dock again as if nothing happened. But it looked slightly worse for wear after its solo wanderings in the ocean. No guard was posted outside. My feet moved forward of their own accord.

  John didn’t want me getting involved in the investigation, and I told him I understood why. But I hadn’t made a promise to stay away. A fine line, but there it was.

  Once on the dock, I glanced around to make sure no one was watching me, then climbed aboard.

  At first glance, nothing was amiss, apart from the greenish water pooling in the corners, the only visible sign that the boat had capsized during the night. Making my way to the damp staircase, I descended below deck to a spacious sitting room that doubled as a kitchenette, with plenty of floor space in the middle.

  Down here, the picture was different. The floor was covered with at least two inches of water that sloshed at my feet. Several objects floated here and there like abandoned hitchhikers, displaced and reproachful about being forgotten. A toothbrush, an unopened packet of gum, plastic cups, unbreakable dinnerware. I stepped over them as I made my way across to the short passage beyond.

  There were four cabins here, their doors closed except for the one at the end. It stood wide open, barely hanging from its hinges. I sloshed over to it and stuck my head in.

  Small, but neither cramped nor uncomfortable, it had to be Timothy’s cabin. It must’ve been cozy before the accident.

  The walls and the floor were covered in laminated wood panels and a narrow bed snuggled comfortably into a niche in the right wall, though its dark bedding was now limp and soggy. The blanket had fallen off and lay in a heap on the waterlogged floor.

  A cushioned seat curved along the corner of the left wall, large enough for two people to spread out comfortably, if not for the piles of wet, rumpled men’s clothes that covered most of its surface. A door in the wall opposite the entrance stood ajar, revealing a tiny private bathroom with a standing shower. Wet towels and men’s toiletries floated in two inches of water on the floor.

  Apart from the mess though, nothing in the cabin looked incriminating. I switched my attention to the door, the broken lock, and the splintered wood around it.

  It was a telling picture. A picture worth a thousand words. Muscles tensed in the back of my neck and I had to brace myself against the natural urge to flee from whatever must’ve happened here. Instead, I took out my phone and snapped several photos. Then I moved on to inspect the other three cabins.

  The second one was also small, probably belonging to Leonie. Then, there were two master cabins with round portholes and queen-sized beds. All three cabins had water on the floor, but none exhibited the same disarray as Timothy’s.

  I stood for a few moments, looking around and chewing the inside of my cheek, then headed back to the kitchen slash living room. I had seen almost everything I needed, except...

  I paused, thinking back to the sailing class I’d taken years ago while in Sri Lanka. From what I still remembered about sailboats, the thing I was looking for would likely be kept low in the hull. My eyes searched around the water-covered floor.

  There it was, in the wide space between the kitchen counter and the corner couch. A trapdoor.

  Crouching next to it, I pried it open. The cold water flowed into the tight space below, splashing onto a gray onboard toolbox. Grunting with exertion, I lifted it out of its hiding place.

  It wasn’t the contents of the box, but rather what they lacked that confirmed my suspicions. I sat back on my haunches, neck and shoulders aching with tension. There was no point in trying to force myself to relax now. It would be useless.

  Just in case, I took out my phone again and snapped a photo of the box before closing and lowering it back into the storage space. It was half-filled with water now, but I had no mind to scoop it out. In any case, the tools would be fine; the plastic box would keep its contents safe for a while. I lowered the trapdoor and took the steps up on deck.

  I stood for a moment, staring out to sea and letting the ocean breeze blow through my hair. It was a welcome relief after the oppressive atmosphere below, but not strong enough to clear away the taint of my discovery.

  I took a deep breath and rubbed the back of my neck to get some of the stiffness out. A prickly sensation alerted me that I was being watched. I turned around.

  From the top of the hill, Geraldine and Henry stood looking down at me. I stifled a groan. Busted.

  There was nothing for it. They’d already seen me and knew I’d been snooping around. I worked my way up the slope, aware that my smile looked more guilty than cheerful. The other two didn’t smile back.

  “What were you doing on Eric’s boat, Sandie?” Though he was frowning, Henry’s voice was still gentle.

  I wiped the silly smile off my face. “I had to see it for myself, figure out what happened.”

  “And? What did you find?”

  I told them about what I’d found below deck, backing my words with the photos of the broken door on my phone.

  Henry’s frown deepened as he looked at them. “I don’t understand. What exactly does this mean?”

  “You see, the lock on the door was tampered with,” I explained. “I’m surprised the sheriff hadn’t picked up on that. Maybe he’s just not familiar with this trick. I recognized it from my first year in college. There was this girl in my dorm who thought it would be hilarious to lock me in the bathroom. I was stuck there for hours. It’s simple to do if you have a door with one of those push
-button locks. You just take off the doorknob and put it on again, but backwards. It leaves the part that unlocks on the other side of the door so that the person in the room can’t get to it. The whole thing takes less than five minutes to set up.”

  “But whose cabin was it?” Geraldine asked, frowning at the photo of the lock.

  “It wasn’t one of the master cabins. Those were almost twice as large—I assumed they belong to Eric and Majandra. That should be easy to check, since we can just ask them. And it wasn’t Leonie’s cabin because there were men’s clothes and toiletries everywhere. It had to be Timothy’s.”

  “So, you think someone tried to deliberately lock Timothy in his cabin,” Geraldine said, and it wasn’t a question.

  “They didn’t try,” I said. “They succeeded. Incidentally, the onboard toolbox is missing a screwdriver. Since it’s impossible to imagine that any captain with half a sense would sail out without one, I assume it was used to tamper with the lock.”

  Geraldine clasped her hands under her chin. Her mouth tightened, relaxed, then tightened again as she nodded to herself, thinking. Henry was looking between us with a worried expression.

  Geraldine finally looked up. “Supposing you’re right about the prank and the lock. Couldn’t Timothy have used a paper clip or something small like that to unlock his door?”

  “Probably. If he had a paper clip or something small enough. But it’s also possible to jam the lock by placing a little fragment into the open tube. Then the paper clip wouldn’t work.”

  Henry gave a quiet cough. “I’m still unclear here. The door, the prank, the paper clip... What are you getting at, Sandie?”

  I couldn’t blame him for refusing to see the obvious. The significance of my discovery was full of unpleasant implications.

  “I think, someone deliberately locked Timothy in his room,” I said. “They probably did it while he slept. Then, they unmoored the boat. Timothy must’ve woken up in the middle of the night and found himself adrift and trapped. We know he eventually got out because his door is broken. But, by then, it might have been too late. Remember, it was the middle of the night and the boat was out at sea, maybe already sinking. I’m guessing, he tried to swim for it. I don’t know. If he did, that would explain why he wasn’t on the boat when it was found.”