by Joy Avon
“What boat?” Callie asked innocently.
“The boat they found this afternoon.”
“You mean, they found the boat that was stolen right after Monica Walker disappeared? The one that the fisherman lost and reported stolen?”
“Gill Gillespie. Yes. He always talked about that boat. About who could have taken it and where it could be. Well, now he can add another chapter to the saga. They found it.”
“Where?” It seemed likely it would have to be nearby, but Callie didn’t quite see how it had gone unnoticed for all of those years.
“On the bottom of the sea.” The woman widened her eyes. “For some reason, Deputy Falk knew exactly where to look. They sent divers in, and then they had it in an hour or so.”
“The boat sank?” Callie’s heart pounded. “So Monica Walker left on a boat that had an accident and sank?”
Did that mean she was dead? That Falk could be recovering her body or whatever was left of it as they spoke? How terrible for Quinn.
The woman said with a frown, “It was a quiet night back then, as I remember it. No major storm or anything. They would have looked for wreckage then right after it was known that a TV star and a boat both vanished in the same night. But they didn’t expect anything had happened to any boat on such a quiet night. How could a boat just sink?”
Callie held her gaze. “Foul play?”
“I suppose they think so. Why else look for evidence there?” The woman nodded at the newspaper building while shifting the weight of her dog in her arms. The Pekingese yapped and licked her cheek. “I wonder what they think Joe knew. All along, mind you. He investigated the disappearance at the time. Claimed not to have found out a thing. And now he’s dead, but otherwise, I would go over and give him a piece of my mind.”
Callie was surprised at the emotion in her tone. “But we don’t know for sure that he knew anything.”
“He’s barely dead and the police found the boat they couldn’t find for thirty years? That tells me enough.” The woman nodded firmly. “I wonder why it never occurred to me before. Joe knew about everything. Why not about this case? The biggest thing that happened in Heart’s Harbor during those years. We have burglary here, all right, damages done, or kids joyriding. But serious crime? A disappearance—of a celebrity too. It must have grabbed him. Oh, I can’t help feeling Joe knew something.”
Callie remembered her talk with Jamison, his discomfort, the distinct feeling he had been hiding something. Had his request for her to keep an eye on Quinn been less innocent than she had assumed? Had he been part of Monica’s disappearance, anxious to keep the secret safe?
Suspecting a dead man of a serious crime made her feel terrible, so she said quickly, “We shouldn’t speculate as long as the police are busy. It would be so painful for his wife. His widow now.”
Callie wasn’t sure her words were carrying any weight, as the woman simply turned her back on Callie and started to whisper to another spectator. Of course, the recovery of a boat that had been missing for three decades was a sensation. You couldn’t really blame people for having their own thoughts about it—and perhaps suddenly suspecting that an innocent neighbor might not have been so innocent after all.
Shivering despite the warm evening air, Callie walked off, her mind reeling at this turn of events. The boat recovered. From the sea. Sunken. By accident? Or on purpose?
Had Monica been lured into a trap? Had she believed she was sailing into a new future when, in reality, she was cruising right into sudden death?
Callie shivered even more. She had to talk to Falk and find out what had happened to that boat. Quinn’s mother might have been on it. Quinn’s mother might have been—
Murdered? Just like Jamison?
By the same person?
* * *
Her hands tightly gripping the wheel, her jaw clenched, Callie drove along the coastal road. She could see the place where the action happened from afar. The area was secured with police tape, and officers were keeping curious tourists at a distance. A van from a local TV station was parked on the shoulder of the road, the reporter talking into the camera as Callie passed. She was determined to stay away from any press for the moment, and as she got out of her car, she pulled up the collar of her coat so her profile would be less recognizable.
She went to the nearest policeman and asked if Deputy Falk was on the scene. “I have some important information for him. Please tell him Callie Aspen is here, and he’ll want to talk to me.”
The officer looked doubtful, but he backed up to go look for Falk, and Callie was glad that this prompt response at least suggested Falk was still on the scene. She couldn’t see much, as white canvas barriers had been erected and the action was taking place behind those. Her throat constricted, thinking of Quinn and the possibility that his mother’s remains were somewhere behind those cold white walls. He had been controlling his emotions with great effort that afternoon. Another shock on top of that might make him snap.
Falk appeared and came toward her with long strides. “Important information, huh?” he called across the distance. “This better be good.”
Callie waited until he was even with her and then asked softly, “Is it just the boat or …?”
Falk held her gaze. His features were tense, probably also from exhaustion, as he had been working for hours now. She noticed that the legs of his pants were wet to the knees, as if he had waded into the water, maybe to meet a boat racing to the shore with news?
She expected him to bark at her that it was none of her business and tell her she had to leave again, but then he sighed and relented. “The divers found remains on board the wreck. We think somebody went down with the boat.”
Callie dug her nails into the palms of her hands. “And the reason why it sank?”
“Experts will have to look at that.”
“Of course the remains could belong to a thief who stole the boat. It might not be …”
Falk’s expression betrayed nothing of what he thought. Callie had no idea if forensic experts could immediately see whether remains were male or female and how long they had been in the water.
She shuffled her feet. “What Monica Walker wore that night was pretty distinctive. Sequined top, high heels. I can imagine those don’t just dissolve in water. Do you think …?”
Falk tilted his head. “What’s your interest in the events? The Fourth of July party? This has all turned from a call for information about a disappearance into something far more serious. Sinister too. You won’t be sharing this at a family event.”
“I know. It’s …” Callie hesitated. Quinn had shared his story with Peggy and her, obviously not intending for the police to know, or he would have told Falk himself when he was arrested.
On the other hand, if the remains were of Monica Walker, it might be better if this news was broken to Quinn in the gentlest possible way.
She whispered, “Quinn told me that he came here for the case because he thinks Monica Walker might be his mother.”
Falk stood motionless. She saw something of understanding flash across his features as pieces fell into place, and then a hint of compassion lit his brown eyes. He exhaled in a huff. “That’s the last thing I would have thought. And it’s bad luck for Quinn. You’re right. Some things are easy to recover, even after years of being submerged. We have every reason to believe that … The clothes suggest that—”
“The remains belong to Monica Walker?”
Falk nodded. “Of course we need more than just a few sequins and a pair of shoes to go on, but the clothes recovered fit the description of what she was wearing on the night she vanished.”
He rubbed his face. “Look, this might sound a little grim, but it could be really helpful. If Quinn is indeed related to Monica Walker, we could test his DNA and that of the remains to establish … to make sure … I mean, there isn’t a lot left to ID.”
Callie grimaced. “I see. I have no idea how Quinn would feel.”
Falk no
dded. “I understand. I’m just thinking aloud. It’s great that we now have the boat and that we have some evidence to suggest that Monica Walker was on board when it went down, but I don’t want splashing headlines proclaiming her dead before we have something official to go on.”
“I totally understand. I’ll ask Quinn how he feels about a DNA comparison.” Callie nodded at Falk with more firmness than she felt. Quinn had been so emotional when he had wanted to run away from town.
“How do you think the boat went down?” she asked. “Bad weather, poor boating skills?”
Falk scoffed. “More like an explosion that made it sink.”
Callie’s stomach shrank. “And that explosion also killed Monica or whoever that dead body might have been?”
Falk shrugged. “I can’t tell. I’m just going by what the divers told me. They have experience with salvaging crafts that went down, and they were sure there was damage from an explosion of some kind. Could have been the engine overheating or some electrical trouble. It might not have been foul play. Especially when you’re not familiar with boats, you can make a mistake, you know.”
“I see. Well, you’re right that we need a lot more information before any of this can get into the papers. They’d speculate like crazy and only hurt people who are personally involved.”
“I’m sorry for Quinn. I mean, he must be …” Falk fell silent and shuffled his feet.
“He spent the afternoon with Peggy and the boys. I think that cheered him up a bit.”
Falk nodded. “I can’t leave here. Could you go and ask him if—”
“Yes, of course. I’m sure he’ll want to help. I mean, he came here looking for his mother.”
“What a way to find her.” Falk looked up at Callie, a frown darkening his eyes. “If we had found this boat before Jamison died, I would have concluded that Monica Walker had tried to escape the pressures of her high-profile life and had simply been unlucky in doing so. But with Jamison murdered …”
“You think Monica was murdered as well?”
“I can’t figure out why anybody would want to keep this”—he gestured to the white canvas screens—“boating accident a secret if there’s nothing fishy about it. I mean, Jamison must have known something.”
“Because the map indicating the spot where the ship sank was on his desk?” Callie asked. It had been the question singing around in her head ever since the woman with the Pekingese had told her a boat had been found and the police seemed to know exactly where to look.
Falk studied her. “You knew?”
“I couldn’t see the map very well. But I can put two and two together. A boat that has never been found is suddenly recovered. The map in Jamison’s office must have led you here.”
“Yes. I wanted to act right away before the press got wind of it and started to muddle things by maybe trying to dive for it themselves. I know it’s been decades, so perhaps I’m paranoid when I say I worry about traces getting disturbed, but I do feel better now that we’ve salvaged the boat and the remains on it.”
“I understand, and I think you did a great job.”
“It isn’t that hard when the place is mapped out for you.” Falk rubbed his hands together. “I wonder, though, what happened in Jamison’s office that night. Did Jamison have the map with the spot marked on it? Did he take it out of the file cabinet to show to someone? Did that someone then kill him?”
“But they didn’t take the map?” Callie queried.
Falk pointed at her. “Bull’s eye. That’s been bugging me ever since I saw it lying there. If the map is a bit of vital information related to Monica Walker’s death, something worth killing Jamison over, why not take it along? I mean, if Jamison had this locked away, and he took it out into the open so the killer had access to it, maybe for the first time since that summer night on which Monica vanished, why not grab it and take it?”
“Who says the killer came for the map? Or maybe they killed Jamison and were then so upset that they ran without it?”
Falk shook his head. “If the person who killed Jamison was involved in Monica’s disappearance all those years ago, we’re not dealing with someone who gets upset easily. We’re dealing with someone who is cold and calculating, who can plan, who can organize things, who has knowledge. That person wouldn’t make such a crucial mistake as to leave the map there.”
“I tend to agree, but what do you conclude then?”
“I’m not sure. Maybe Jamison didn’t put the map there while the killer was around? Maybe he denied having it. Maybe the killer struck out at him, and he crashed to the floor. The killer thought he was dead and left. But maybe Jamison was still alive and with his last breaths managed to put the map on his desk as a clue for the police.”
Callie pursed her lips. “Sounds a little far-fetched to me.”
“Well, the killer certainly didn’t put it there as a clue,” Falk said. “Look, I have a lot left to do. Also to keep the press off my back.” He nodded in the direction of the TV van.
“I understand. I’m leaving.” Callie stepped back. “Good luck.”
Chapter Eleven
Callie woke the next morning with a dull headache behind her eyes. Slowly the memories came back of the past day’s events and especially Quinn’s agonized determination to help right away with IDing the remains that had been recovered from the sunken boat. He had gone to the police station with Peggy, who insisted on supporting him while a friend of hers watched the boys.
Callie sat on the edge of the bed, wiping her sandpaper eyes. She hoped with everything inside her that the remains didn’t belong to Monica Walker so Quinn wouldn’t have to work through the fact that his mother had died all those years ago and perhaps had even been murdered.
But on the other hand, she knew very well that the remains could hardly belong to somebody else. Not only had the boat vanished on the same night as Monica, but Falk had said the remains had been dressed in what was left of a sequined top and high heels: the exact outfit Monica Walker was wearing when Mr. Bates had last seen her at the Cliff Hotel.
Having showered and dressed, Callie dragged herself downstairs to breakfast. Daisy ran ahead of her, entering the kitchen first and bumping into Iphy’s legs as she was putting a stack of pancakes on the table.
“Good morning!” her great-aunt called. “Sit down. They’re still hot. I put some homemade butter there and several kinds of jelly. I think strawberry is best, but please feel free to differ.”
Callie’s stomach felt the size of a ping-pong ball. “I can’t eat pancakes now.”
“Nonsense, you need your strength for the investigation.” Iphy eyed her. “You can’t help Quinn by feeling sorry for him. I’m sad too that the remains on the boat might belong to his mother. But Monica Walker vanished thirty years ago, long before Quinn even knew he was adopted. That’s a given fact. We can only try to support him as he attempts to unearth the truth about that night.”
Callie knew her great-aunt was right and nodded. Iphy’s brisk practicality brought back some of her own spunk. “Pancakes it is, then.”
She looked at the counter, where there was an array of cut-out colorful shapes. Fondant, probably.
Iphy caught her look. “I wasn’t quite happy with the fondant fireworks I made to put on the three-tier cake. They’re supposed to go all around the top two tiers so that you can look at it from different angles. I’m using slightly thinner stripes so it looks more realistic. I also need to think about the color scheme. Red, white, and blue, or something more flashy?”
Iphy tilted her head in concentration. “I’m glad I’ve at least decided on the flavors for the different layers of cake. The base will be pecan banana, the middle tier chocolate fudge, and the top one raspberry white chocolate.”
“I can’t wait to taste them all. When will you be doing the full try-out bake?”
“Sometime next week. I need a couple of hours for it.” Iphy was still studying her fondant. “I wish I could think of an ingenious way to s
hape it better.”
Callie seated herself at the table and buttered her first pancake. “I heard the phone ring quite a few times late last night.”
“Yes, people heard about the search in the water and the canvas barriers and a boat being found, possibly, and you know how it goes. Everybody had heard a different story. They all called me to tell me their take on it.”
“Oh. Interesting. Anything worthwhile?”
“Well, most seem to be convinced that Monica left with a man, and they wonder, if there’s only one dead body aboard that boat, where the man vanished to. They seem to think he killed her.”
“Her new lover?” Callie’s eyes went wide. That idea hadn’t occurred to her, but with only one dead body aboard the sunken vessel, it did make a lot of sense. “But what on earth could have prompted him to kill her if he loved her and wanted to start a new life with her?”
“Well, consider this.” Iphy pointed at Callie with the whisk in her hand. She had washed the things used for baking the pancakes and was now clearing them away. “Monica left her ID behind. She knew she needed money for a new life. She might have been carrying a large sum of cash. Or she might have already put cash in a place only she and her lover knew about. Maybe he killed her for the money. He might never have loved her and only suggested they run away together to gain access to her funds. After all …”
Iphy held Callie’s gaze. “Monica earned a fortune with her role on the successful TV series. But after her disappearance, not much of it was left. I called Falk to tell him about the money theory, and he confirmed that, at the time, everybody was surprised that Monica’s bank accounts held so little money. She must have funneled it away to use in her new life. But now that she’s probably dead, I’m afraid her killer has been living off it.”
