The Minstrel & The Beagle

by Lila K Bell

  His hand froze on the railing and his face paled, almost moon-like against the darkening sky.

  “What do you mean?” he asked.

  I reached into my pocket and pulled out his letter, keeping it tight between my fingers so the wind didn’t sweep it away. Confusion crossed his face and only grew deeper as he accepted the paper I handed him and scanned it over. It was like he’d never seen the letter before, as though the words on the page weren’t his.

  But there was also a vague glimmer of shock. Maybe it was over the fact that someone had found him out, but I suspected it was more his growing acceptance that everything he’d gone through — everything he’d done — had actually happened. It wasn’t a nightmare he was going to wake up from but the only future he would now have to live with.

  “It was because of the book, wasn’t it?” I asked. “You knew the value of that Darwin text, but you believed it was a fair trade for a life on the water, a sweet retirement so you could make your own discoveries instead of always living through somebody else’s. Especially if it helped out your friend, who was so severely in debt he could barely keep food on the table. You made a sacrifice to help him out, and it went unappreciated.”

  “I never should have made the deal,” Roger said, and he crumpled the paper in his hand. I winced, wishing I had made a copy. It was the only evidence I had. “I knew what he’d been up to, ripping people off with his scams. Dumping whatever expensive items he could sell or brushing up pieces of crap he’d kept mouldering around the house.”

  His cheeks took on a faint pink flush.

  “I thought by trading with him, giving him something of actual value, he wouldn’t have to pull those tricks anymore. I never thought he’d pull one on me.” The desperation in his voice, the depth of his emotion and hurt, coincided with a grumble of thunder as it echoed over the water. “We’d known each other since university. We’d laughed at the people who had been foolish enough to make deals without taking a look at the fine print. I didn’t condone it, but I understood his need. And caveat emptor — the responsibility should have been on them. But me?”

  With the crumpled paper still in his hand, he shoved his fingers through his hair. “He showed me photos of the boat where it sat in the marina, and it was a thing of beauty. The photos were a bit dated, sure, but I knew how often he still came out here.” He barked a laugh. “What was he doing all this time? Because it certainly wasn’t boating. Probably sitting in the marina bar drinking away the money he’d earned from his other patsies.”

  I swallowed hard. I didn’t want to picture someone I’d known and even respected behaving in such a way, but it fit too well with everything Jeremy and Fraser had told me. “What happened in the kitchen, Roger?”

  “I—”

  Roger wavered on his feet and dropped both hands to the railing. The waves were picking up and the wind carried the scent of incoming rain.

  My heart pounded in time with the gusts, and despite the dampness in the air my mouth was dry. I wanted to run. I didn’t want to hear the rest of his story or deal with the repercussions of whatever he said. I wanted to get home and curl up in bed, and then go back out and steal my next book. That way of life was easier. More predictable. Sure, it carried its own risks, but they were ones I’d trained for. This felt too big.

  But I’d already asked the question, and the answer hung between us. I was no confessor, able or willing to forgive Roger his sins, but if he was about to do a runner, the least I could do was take his story from him before he disappeared. At least then someone would know. Even if Curtis didn’t believe me.

  “I went over to his house that night,” Roger said. “I just wanted to talk with him in person. I’d sent him this letter and returned the purchase agreement, but hadn’t received any reply. The last time we’d spoken, he’d said he couldn’t go back on his word. That the book was gone. Can you believe that? The ink was hardly dry on the agreement, and he’d already found a buyer to solve all his problems.”

  I didn’t have the heart to tell him his friend had lied and the book had still been sitting in his office. He could have gone in and taken it back. I also couldn’t tell him that even if Coleman had found a buyer for Species, it would hardly have made a dent in what he owed. The whole transaction had been worthless. What purpose would information like that serve?

  “So I went to speak with him. I wanted to find out who he’d sold it to so I could make a proposition to get it back. I threatened him. I said that if he didn’t find a way to return it, I would go to the police and tell them he’d been conning people out of their money. He laughed and said I was welcome to try, but he didn’t think I’d have the nerve to go against my friend.”

  Roger shook his head, his eyes wide. “Can you believe that? He didn’t think I had the nerve? I pushed him, and he shoved me back. I told him he was a trash example of a human being. That he was losing his mind and Jeremy was right to try to get him into a home. He wasn’t safe on his own anymore. He asked me who the real fool was — the person doing the conning, or the man who’d stood next to the conman for so many years and never even questioned it when the spotlight turned his way? He told me I’d always been an easy mark, and it had been child’s play to get what he wanted.”

  Roger was shaking now, his entire body trembling with shock and the cold wind.

  “He’d ruined me. That book was my retirement plan, and even then I would have hated to give it up. And he’d just snatched it away like he was a child and the book was a toy he didn’t want to share. I was so mad, I couldn’t see straight. The scissors were on the counter. He laughed when I grabbed them, and that only made me angrier. He’d broken my heart and he was laughing over it. So I-I—”

  I jumped over the railing of the boat and was on the deck to catch his arm as he staggered backward, his legs giving out from under him. I settled him down on a crate and put my arm around him.

  I barely knew what I was doing. Yes, this man had killed his friend, but he was also broken and grieving. It was instinct to want to make sure he was all right, even as my heart rattled in my chest and my survival instincts shouted at me to get out of here.

  But this man wasn’t a murderer. I didn’t believe that about him. He’d been enraged, caught up in the emotion of the moment over a betrayal so deep and personal I could almost understand his reaction.

  “I was going to go and grab the letter back,” he said, dropping his face into the palms of his hands. “I knew it would turn the whole mess on me, and I hadn’t meant to do it. But then I heard someone in the office. Heard footsteps down the hall. I should have gone anyway, but I too shaken up. So I ran. And now it’s the letter that brought someone down on me.”

  He sniffled and raised his gaze to mine, his brown eyes swimming with tears as though the rain had already begun.

  “How was it you?” he asked.

  I opened my mouth to tell the truth, figuring I owed him that, but stopped myself short. Not because I was afraid he would rat me out, but because telling him the truth would mean revealing the Species had still been in the house, that he’d been no more than fifty metres away from it, and I couldn’t bring myself to do it.

  “A series of serendipitous events, I suppose,” I said.

  He grunted, seemingly accepting my answer, as though serendipity had been the cause of more than one tragedy of his life.

  “I’m sorry this happened to you,” I said. “I can’t say I know you very well, but you seem like a nice man. You kind of remind me of my Gramps.” I paused and debated what I should say next, but knew there was only one responsible path to take. I steeled my spine. “I know you want to get out of here and disappear somewhere, but maybe it would be better to go to the police and turn yourself in. I’m sure you could fight for a reduced charge if you go to them voluntarily instead of making them hunt you down.”

  Was I being honest with him or just selfish? If he turned himself in, they would have no reason to look at me. If I were being fair — crimin
al to criminal — shouldn’t I be telling him to run? To get out and never look back?

  I couldn’t do it. Maybe it made me a horrible person or maybe it meant that despite my hobby, my moral compass still pointed in the right direction, but I couldn’t encourage him to run. For one thing, I didn’t think the guilt weighing on him would ever let him go. Accountability might assuage the pain.

  And yet, under my consoling arm draped over his shoulder, he stiffened.

  “I can’t,” he said. “I’m too old to handle whatever they’d do to me, and I refuse to go to prison for the sake of someone who would turn his back on his best friend. The injustice is too much.”

  He pushed me away and rose to his feet. “You need to go. I need to get out of here.”

  More thunder rumbled and a flash of lightning cut through the almost night-black sky.

  “Roger, listen,” I said. “They’re going to find you. I can’t not tell them what you said, and once I do, they won’t just let you go. They’ll track you down.”

  “They’re welcome to try, but they’ll never find me,” he said.

  “Roger—”

  I rested my hand on his arm to try to help him find his way back from the mania that had filled his eyes. He shoved me away and I tried to catch my balance, but a cresting wave struck the side of the boat, and before I could stop the momentum, my back hit the railing. The rotting wood gave way, and I fell into the freezing water.

  16

  Waves crashed over my head and every attempt to draw breath just brought my water into my mouth, but the training ingrained from years of swimming lessons and competitions prevented panic from overwhelming me.

  I reined in my natural instinct to flail and allowed the movement of the water to buoy me up. As soon as my head broke the surface, I sucked in a breath and kicked harder, working to orient myself. My lungs burned and my muscles were already growing heavy with the cold, but I pushed myself to tread water and stay warm as I scanned the lake. The Beagle was only a few feet ahead, gliding away from the docks. Roger was escaping. If I wanted another chance to try to stop him, I had to act fast.

  I kicked my numbed legs and stroked my arms through the rush of the waves. Another drum solo of thunder sounded overhead, and I crossed my fingers that I’d make it out of the water before lightning struck. Nothing else could have made me go against my personal philosophy and hope Luck was in town tonight — and that She was on my side.

  It seemed she was. In his rush to get out of the marina, Roger had left his mooring ropes free. One of them had slid through the broken railing and dangled in the water, floating toward me like hand offering aid. I accepted it.

  I had to wrap the rope around my arm a few times to ensure I wouldn’t lose my grip with my numbed fingers, then hand-over-hand I pulled myself in and dragged my frozen limbs on to the deck.

  The moment my body was out of the water, attacked by the rising wind, shivers overtook me. My teeth clacked against each other and water pooled beneath me as I curled in on myself. The thought of getting to my feet and going after Roger seemed like a step beyond my current ability, but it was either lie here and catch pneumonia wherever the boat took us, or rally and push forward.

  My stomach roiled with the lake water I’d swallowed before I’d had the sense to close my mouth, but I turned my thoughts away from the nausea and toward the warmth of the cabin.

  Staggering on the rocking deck, I headed to the door and yanked it open. If I’d hoped to surprise him, the wind worked against me as it caught the door out of my hand and slammed it against the exterior of the cabin. Roger snapped around at the sound, his face contorted with horror, and he lurched toward me, his heavy bulk giving him an advantage on the wobbly deck.

  “Why are you here?” he shouted. “You have to get out of here. Go!”

  Where did he expect me to go? The storm was in full force, and the only way back to shore was to swim.

  “Turn this boat around and take me home then, Roger,” I said. “Think this through.”

  “I can’t,” he said, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, but there’s no other way. I’m not going back.”

  I took a few steps forward. If I could reach the wheel, maybe I could get him out of the way and turn us around. He was bigger than I was, sure, but hopefully that meant he’d underestimate me.

  But the moment I moved, he flew at me, blocking my path and pushing me back toward the door. He moved faster than I would have expected, his hands raised as though to strike me. I managed to block his blow as it came toward my head, but in that instant I understood how he could have killed Barnaby Coleman. He was desperate, a trapped animal, and there was nothing he wouldn’t do to gain his freedom.

  All thought of the cold or needing to get the water out of my lungs vanished. All I could focus on now was survival.

  As I blocked his first blow, his other arm came up to try to clock me on the other side of my head. I ducked beneath his arm and returned his attack with a swift kick to the knee. His leg gave out and he staggered into the wall, releasing the small statue he’d grabbed from the shelf.

  He had come so close to giving me a good wallop with the thing, and when I grabbed it out of his hand, I appreciated the likelihood that one good blow might have raised his body count by one. Another wave of nausea washed over me, and I drew in a sharp breath to try to settle my stomach.

  Roger groaned and tried to push himself away from the wall, but a strong wave rocked the boat and knocked us both off balance. He grabbed for me, going for the statue, but I jerked it out of his reach. Moving without thinking, focused only on being the one to walk off this boat, I swung the statue at his head. The base struck across his brow, and he crumpled to a stunned-but-conscious heap on the ground.

  My heart pounded against my ribs in an uneven percussion, like a kid who’d stolen his dad’s drumsticks and believed himself a grandmaster. My arms ached, my legs ached, I think even my eyeballs ached, but I only had so much time before Roger was back on his feet.

  With unsteady steps, I reached the wheel and steered us back toward the marina. Once I got there, I would find a way to tie him up, then run to the bar and call Sam. Roger couldn’t be allowed to disappear so easily. Yes, Barnaby Coleman had ruined his life, but how many lives would Roger ruin if he was allowed to get away? Mine, certainly, but surely Jeremy would have a harder time coping without some kind of closure. Not to mention Gramps if Detective Curtis tried to drag me into the investigation. And based on his reaction to my trying to take him in, what would Roger do to anyone else who came close to guessing the truth?

  We all had to take accountability for our actions eventually, one way or another. Today would be Roger’s turn.

  I peered through the window for the shoreline, squinting through the rain, and my heart caught in my throat. We weren’t moving forward. Our speed had dropped, and the nose of the boat had risen too high. We were taking on water. No matter what Roger had hoped to accomplish, he wouldn’t have made it anywhere close to the next port, and now were were both stuck out here, a good five minute swim away from dry land through freezing water in the middle of a storm.

  I heard the water pouring in before I saw it. The lake came in a heavy swirl from a storage room at the back of the cabin, inching its way toward me and Roger’s prone form on the floor. I pushed through the narrow space toward the water’s source. A single bulb flickered from the ceiling and sputtered out, but before darkness fell, I witnessed the horrible truth.

  The floor of the boat had been hacked through, the axe still sitting next to the gaping mouth.

  Roger hadn’t planned on making it to the next port. He’d fully intended to atone for his crime by going down with the ship.

  Another wave crested against the side of the boat, rolling us alee, and I was thrown into the wall. My head struck a shelf, shooting stars through my vision, and I shook my head to clear them away.

  We had to get out of here. I gave it another few minutes before the water filled the cabin
and the entire boat was sucked down. Roger might have been willing to sacrifice himself that way, but there was no way I would do the same.

  I had too many books to live for. Always one more adventure.

  And if I wasn’t giving up, neither was Roger. Unlucky for him that I’d found him just in time — although now his haste made sense. Wanting to get rid of me had only been part of his motivation. The boat must have already been taking on water while it was sitting in the marina. If I hadn’t shown up, he would have made it far enough away that The Beagle could have been lost at the bottom of the lake. Instead, we were only two hundred metres from shore.

  My body trembled at the thought of getting back into that water, but as my options closed in, I only hoped the brunt of the storm held off until I’d made it to the marina. And that Roger wouldn’t try to drown me as I dragged him back, because there was no way I was leaving him here to drown.

  Knowing I wouldn’t get far, but hoping I would get far enough, I grabbed him by the armpits and dragged him with steady jerks and stops up the stairs, doing my best to keep his head lifted so it didn’t bounce against the ground. His eyes were open but unseeing, and he groaned with every fresh tug. The water was already up to the third step and rising quickly. The few belongings Roger had moved into the boat floated along the surface, knocked to the ground down by the waves and my impact with the shelf.

  A photograph floated past me, lit briefly by another flash of lightning: two men grinning at the camera with a large fish held up between them.

  Roger and Barnaby in the good old days. A painful momento of happier times and likely the last thing Roger would have seen before he’d sunk beneath the water.

  I kicked it away and continued up the stairs.

  Puddles had formed along the deck from the rain that started pelting down while we were inside, a deluge so heavy I could barely make out the docks.