Dead in the Dinghy

by Ellen Jacobson

  I congratulated myself. It was a highly sensible plan. Then I realized that there was one tiny problem. I had no way to get to the island. The ferry service didn’t operate on Saturdays. I pondered this while I unwrapped another chocolate bar. Then inspiration struck—Melvin had a boat, and he had mentioned the other day that anytime I wanted to go for a ride to call him.

  So I did. After arranging to meet him at the public dock, I called Thomas. Now, before you start telling me that was ‘foolish,’ let me explain. I didn’t question him about the murders. And Gregor and Victoria’s names never came up. It couldn’t be considered eavesdropping because we were having a conversation. You can’t eavesdrop on yourself. And I wasn’t following him. I was on board Marjorie Jane, lying down and rubbing my stomach because for some reason it felt a bit sore.

  When I explained to Thomas that I wanted to check on our dingy, he told me that the owner of Warlock’s Manor, Michael, wouldn’t mind and that we should feel free to borrow the golf cart he left in town to drive to the house. Then he told me that he was holding a going-away party for Olivia at the Tipsy Pirate the next day and that we should come. I started to tell him that Scooter might think it was a foolish idea, then stopped myself and told Thomas that I’d check our calendar and get back to him.

  * * *

  The ride to Destiny Key on Melvin’s boat was fun. While I enjoy the slower pace and tranquility of sailing, there’s something to be said for zipping along in a powerboat. When we got to the island’s public dock, we tied up on the rickety pier alongside some fishing boats. After walking past the ferry terminal, we followed a gravel road that wound through a desolate wooded area. Crows circled above us, cawing loudly, and the turkey vultures flapped their wings and screeched as we neared them.

  “This is spooky,” I said.

  “Did Thomas say how far it was to the town?” Melvin asked. “I don’t know why they can’t leave the golf carts by the ferry dock.”

  “Less than ten minutes.” I said “But it seems like we’ve been walking longer than that.”

  “Hopefully, it’s around this bend,” Melvin said, eyeing up the dark storm clouds forming overhead. “Looks like we might be getting some weather.”

  As large drops of rain started to fall, we picked up the pace. “Here we are,” I said when we reached the end of the road. Tudor-style buildings were clustered around a town square. A large fountain stood in the middle of the square. At the center of the fountain was a statue of a pirate encircled by dolphins. “I think that’s Coconut Carl,” I said.

  “We can check it out later. I see a cafe,” Melvin said. “Let’s get a coffee while we wait for the rain to stop. Then we can grab the golf cart and head to Warlock’s Manor.”

  After deciding what we wanted—a large Americano for Melvin and a snickerdoodle macchiato for me—I tried to get the barista’s attention. He was standing with his back to us, arranging pastries on a tray. I cleared my throat loudly then said “excuse me” a number of times, before ringing the bell on the counter. No response.

  “Maybe he’s deaf,” Melvin suggested.

  The barista turned and briefly made eye contact. Then he started folding cloth napkins and placing them in a basket, studiously ignoring us. I reached out and tapped him on the arm. “Can we order, please?”

  He pulled his arm back and brushed his sleeve as though there was a piece of lint on it that he wanted to remove.

  “I don’t think we’re getting anywhere,” Melvin said. “Maybe we should go.”

  A man who bore a striking resemblance to Colonel Sanders approached the counter. I expected him to pull a piece of fried chicken out of the pocket of his white suit at any moment and offer it to us. I was kind of disappointed when he didn’t.

  “Tanner, can’t you see that these fine people would like to be served?” the man asked.

  The barista shrugged. “Don’t recognize them.”

  “Guess he isn’t deaf,” Melvin whispered to me.

  I put my hands on my hips. “Let me see if I’ve got this right, Tanner. You need to recognize a customer before you serve them?”

  “That’s the way it works,” Tanner said. “Need to be introduced properly first.”

  The Colonel Sanders lookalike chuckled. “What’s your name, ma’am?”

  “Mollie McGhie,” I said.

  He took my hand in his and gently shook it. “I’m Silas de Vries. It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

  After he released my hand, I held it to my nose. Was that the Colonel’s secret blend of herbs and spices that I smelled?

  My stomach growled while Silas introduced himself to Melvin. Then the colonel turned to the barista. “Tanner, allow me to introduce you to Mollie and Melvin. Melvin, Mollie, this is Tanner.”

  Tanner nodded. “What can I get you folks?” he asked, then busied himself preparing our coffee drinks.

  “Sorry about that. We don’t get many strangers on Destiny Key,” Silas explained.

  “There was a bunch of them at Warlock’s Manor last weekend,” Tanner said while pouring frothy steamed milk over espresso.

  “Ah, yes,” Silas said. “I heard about that. Gregor Smirnov borrowed my golf cart to meet someone there.”

  “You knew Gregor?” I asked.

  “Yes. I’m an art collector,” he said. “Gregor helped add things to my collection.”

  “Ah, so you’re the client he was visiting on the island,” I said. “You must have been shocked when you found out he was murdered.”

  “Murder? I think you’re mistaken,” Silas said. “It was an accidental death. The poor man drowned.”

  Tanner handed Melvin his Americano. “My uncle said it turned out to be murder. The man’s mistress did it.”

  “Is that right?” Silas grinned. “I’m not surprised. Gregor always had a way with the ladies. The only problem is that there was usually more than one lady at time. I always told him that a jealous woman would be the death of him.”

  “He was also married,” I said.

  “Yes. His wife is a lovely woman. I dined with her and Gregor several times in New York City. She always made the most delicious borscht.” He smacked his fingers to his lips, then turned to Tanner. “Did your uncle say which of Gregor’s mistresses killed him?”

  “A woman named Victoria,” the barista said. He punched some keys on an old-fashioned cash register. “That will be twenty dollars.”

  “Twenty dollars for two coffees?” Melvin asked, raising his eyebrows.

  Tanner was unapologetic. “This is an island. We have to import everything. It adds to the cost.”

  As I reached into my purse to pull out my wallet, a Coconut Creations brochure fell out. Silas picked it up, then pointed at a picture of an oil painting on the front. “I recognize this. It’s one of the few originals painted by Mikhail Petrov.” He leaned in and whispered, “Almost everything else he did was a forgery. Gregor used to help him pass them off as originals. He made a fortune in the process.”

  “Weren’t you worried Gregor would sell you a forgery?” I asked.

  “I could never be fooled by a fake,” he said haughtily. Then he looked sideways at me. “It was quite the scandal when Mikhail and his wife were arrested. They were waiting to board a flight to Paris when the police swooped in. Rumor has it that someone ratted them out. They were so close to making their escape. They had forged passports and disguises.” Silas smiled. “I saw pictures of them in the papers. Anastasia looked good as a brunette. She should have worn wigs more often.”

  “I think I remember that,” Melvin said. “It happened around ten years ago, right?”

  Silas nodded. “Their poor daughter, Oksana, was distraught. She had just turned eighteen at the time. She changed her name after that and tried to build a new life for herself.”

  “Children should never be blamed for the sins of the parents,” Melvin said.

  “That’s true, but unfortunately they often are,” I said as I pulled my debit card out of my
wallet.

  Silas pushed my hand away. “There’s no need for that. It’s my treat. Tanner, add their bill to my tab.”

  Tanner opened a ledger and made a notation with a fountain pen, then asked me, “Why exactly are you on Destiny Key?”

  “We’re here to check on my dinghy. We left it at Warlock’s Manor last weekend. Michael, the owner, gave us permission to visit the house.”

  “Your cousin always was an odd bird,” Silas said to Tanner.

  “Michael is your cousin?” I asked

  “Second cousin, twice removed,” Tanner said.

  “Are you by any chance also related to Chief Tyler?” I asked.

  “Yep.”

  “Everyone on Destiny Key is related to one another somehow,” Silas explained. “Well, almost everyone. Occasionally, someone marries a mainlander.”

  I looked behind me as the door to the cafe opened, then I whispered to Melvin, “We should probably get going.” I quickly thanked Silas for the coffee, then put my sunglasses on and pulled my hat down on my head before rushing outside.

  “Why are you in such a hurry all of a sudden?” Melvin asked.

  “Look behind you casually,” I said. “See those two goons? They work for Chief Tyler. They aren’t exactly the type of guys you want to run into.”

  * * *

  As we drove down the road in our borrowed golf cart, I kept looking over my shoulder to make sure we weren’t being followed.

  “Are you sure going to Warlock’s Manor is a good idea?” Melvin asked.

  “Of course it is.” I slowed down as we approached a giant puddle, skirting around it to avoid getting splashed.

  “You don’t sound very convincing,” he said. “Maybe we should head back to Coconut Cove.”

  “It’ll be fine,” I said. “We have permission from the owner of the house to be here and this is a public road. We have as much right to be on it as anyone.”

  “But what about those two guys at the cafe?” Melvin asked. “Were they the ones you were telling me about who threatened you on the public beach the night Anabel was arrested?”

  “Uh-huh.”

  “They carry guns, right?”

  I tapped the side of my head. “Yeah, but we’ve got smarts.”

  “The smart thing to do would be to turn around,” Melvin said.

  “Look, I can see the house from here. We’ll just check on the dinghy and go. It won’t take long.” As I pulled up in front of Warlock’s Manor, I added, “And just to show you how much I appreciate your help, dinner’s on me at Alligator Chuck’s Barbecue Joint next weekend. You know how much you love their ribs.”

  Melvin’s eyes lit up. “Chuck should bottle his mesquite sauce. I’d buy it by the gallon.” Then he patted his stomach. “Actually, maybe it’s better that he doesn’t sell it. My doctor told me I need to watch what I eat and exercise more.”

  “How about if we get a little exercise in and find the dinghy?” I asked.

  As we walked down the beach, I pointed out where I had discovered Gregor’s body.

  “Wait a minute,” I said. “I don’t see TARDIS.”

  “TARDIS?” Melvin asked.

  “That’s what I named our dinghy.” I grimaced. “Unlike with our sailboat, which already came with a name I would have never chosen—Marjorie Jane—I had free rein to name our dinghy, so I picked something cute.”

  “But what does TARDIS mean?”

  “I take it you’re not a sci-fi fan”

  “Can’t say that I am.”

  “Have you heard of Doctor Who?”

  Melvin scratched his head. “Is that the new dentist?”

  “No, it’s a great television show about this Time Lord who travels around in a spaceship that looks like an old British telephone booth. He calls it a TARDIS, which stands for Time and Relative Dimension in Space. Basically, the inside is bigger than the outside. I’m amazed at how much we can fit in our dinghy. It’s bigger than it looks.” I shuddered as I thought of Gregor’s body lying inside our TARDIS.

  “Well, they can go pretty fast if you have a decent-sized engine, but probably not fast enough to travel through space,” Melvin said.

  “Probably not,” I agreed. “But where did our TARDIS go? We left it right on the other side of the dock. I bet Chief Tyler and his goons stole it.”

  “Maybe they just moved it,” Melvin suggested. He looked down at the sandy beach. “See these marks? They could be from a dinghy being dragged. Probably recently, since they haven’t been washed away by rain.”

  We followed the trail to the shed. “Here it is,” I said when I opened the door. “Or at least part of it. The outboard motor is missing.”

  “They probably took it off to make it easier to get the dinghy in here,” Melvin said. “Do you see it propped up anywhere?”

  I looked around the shed. It looked the same as the last time I had been in there—gardening supplies, tools, paint cans, cardboard boxes, and lots of other clutter scattered about. The only new addition was my dinghy crowding the center of the floor. The motor wasn’t anywhere in sight.

  “Hang on,” I said. “Let me check behind these shelves.” As I hopped over the dinghy to get to the other side of the shed, I felt something land in my hair. I frantically shook my head. A spider crawled onto my shoulder, causing me to yelp.

  Melvin poked his head through the door. “Are you okay?”

  “I’m fine,” I said in a shaky voice as I brushed the spider off me. When it landed on my foot, I jerked my leg back, causing me to lose my balance and crash into the shelving unit. “Just a little misunderstanding between me and a spider,” I said as I landed on the ground.

  I grabbed a trowel to protect myself and Melvin said, “Don’t kill it. Spiders are good luck.”

  “I’m not going to kill it. I just want to shoo it away.” When I spotted my multi-legged foe, I said, “Aha, there you are!” while waving the trowel in its direction. But instead of scaring the spider off, I knocked a sack off the shelf. I looked down in dismay at the potting soil that spilled out of it and into the dinghy.

  At least I thought it was potting soil. At first glance it looked like normal soil, but as I peered more closely, I noticed purple glitter mixed in. Strange. Maybe it was some sort of fertilizer. I scooped it back in the bag with the trowel, then set it back on the shelf. That’s when I decided that Melvin was right after all—spiders were good luck.

  I stood and brushed my shorts off, then joined Melvin outside. I held up a torn piece of paper triumphantly. “Look what I found. Right next to the potting soil. I would have never have found it if it hadn’t been for that spider.”

  “What is it?” he asked.

  “It looks like the other half of a note I found the day I discovered Gregor’s body.” I held it up. “See these letters? They’re Russian. Now all I need to do is put the two halves together and translate it.”

  Melvin cocked his head to one side. “Why do you want to do that?”

  “Don’t you get it? I think it might have something to do with the murder. Maybe it’s a clue that will help me figure out who killed Gregor and Victoria.

  “But Victoria killed Gregor, then killed herself,” he said.

  “Not exactly.”

  After I explained to Melvin that Victoria’s suicide had been faked, he gripped my arm. “Now we really need to get out of here,” he said. “I thought the murder investigation was over and done with.”

  I tucked the note in my pocket, then held up my dirt-covered hands. “Okay, just let me clean up first, then we can go.”

  Melvin waited on the porch swing while I washed my hands in the kitchen sink. Before going back outside to join him, I stuck my head in the drawing room. I remembered that Thomas had said that he had been in the drawing room the night Gregor was killed. When he looked out the window, he had seen Victoria standing on the dock. Had he really seen his cousin standing there or had it been someone else?

  Realizing that there was no way of knowing
who Thomas had seen, I spun around to have another look at the room. I could picture that night clearly in my mind—Victoria and Anabel sitting on one couch by the fireplace and Olivia and Sawyer on the other. As the events surrounding Gregor’s murder went through my mind, I noticed a saucer on the floor.

  It was probably the one Mrs. Moto had been drinking milk from while the rest of us were having brandy. I should have cleaned it up that night rather than leaving it lying there. When I bent down to grab it, I saw ashes in the fireplace grate. We hadn’t had a fire the night we were there. And who in their right mind would light a fire in Florida in July, anyway? It’s way too hot and humid here for that.

  Maybe Thomas had lit one when he was here on his own, stubbornly waiting to catch the ferry rather than go back with the rest of us on the regatta boats. There would have been plenty of fallen tree branches to burn. I shrugged. I guess it didn’t really matter why Thomas had made a fire. To each his own.

  As I picked up the saucer, I realized that the fact that Thomas had started a fire actually was important. Sitting at the edge of the hearth was a piece of wood that hadn’t been completely burned. What was interesting about this particular piece was that it had intricate carvings on it. Last I checked, trees in Florida didn’t have intricate carvings on them. The only thing I knew that looked like that was Gregor’s cane.

  I sat back down on the floor. We had found the top part of the cane with the knife attached to it by Gregor’s body, but we had never found the bottom half. Apparently Thomas had. But where and when? And why had he tried to burn the evidence?