Bodies in the Boatyard

by Ellen Jacobson

He rubbed his eyes. “Sure, sure. I was at the Tipsy Pirate then. You can ask anyone.” He had a determined look on his face. “I don’t have anything to worry about.”

  “I’m sure you don’t.”

  “The person who should be worried is Norm. And not just about Suzanne. He killed my Darren. And now he’s going to pay. He can grieve for his wife from prison.”

  “So you’re sure he did it?”

  “Of course he did.” Melvin shook his head. “Not that going to jail is enough for what he did to that fine young man. And it sure won’t keep me from going out of business.”

  “I didn’t realize things were so bad.”

  “We were operating on a knife-edge with the charter business. Stealing customers from us was bad enough, but now he’s been spreading rumors about how my boat isn’t seaworthy. People are scared to charter with us.”

  “What about the marine store? Is that doing poorly as well?”

  “No, it’s doing okay. But to tell you the truth, I just don’t have the energy to manage it anymore. I’m tired. Maybe I should just sell the store, retire early, move back to the Bahamas, and live out my final days there. I don’t have any fight left in me anymore.”

  While I tried to console him, Officer Moore came out into the hallway. “Mr. Rolle, we’re ready for you now.”

  He got to his feet slowly and squeezed my arm. “You won’t tell anyone what I said, will you? I was just letting off a little steam.”

  As I watched him follow Officer Moore, I wondered if maybe he’d had a little fight left in him after all. Perhaps enough to have killed Suzanne as retribution for Darren’s death.

  * * *

  After the police station, I went to the marina. Scooter had texted me to say that one of us needed to go to the office to deal with some paperwork. Nancy had updated the rules and regulations and was requiring all boat owners to review the changes and initial their acceptance. And since I was already in town, I had drawn the short straw.

  “It’s right here,” she said, pointing at the printout on the counter. “Section 7.2(a). Only American quarters can be used in the washing machines and dryers. Anyone found using a non-American coin will be responsible for paying a fifty-dollar fine and the cost of labor to fix the machine.” She handed me a pen. “Initial right there.”

  “Are you serious, Nancy? Is this because Leilani accidentally put a Bahamian quarter in the washer?”

  “Do you know how long it took Ned to get it out?” She didn’t wait for my answer. “Three hours! That’s three hours he could have spent repairing the dinghy dock.” While I considered the potential ramifications of not playing along with her rules and regulations game, Nancy glared at a fly on the counter. She raised the swatter in the air and smacked it down right next to my hand.

  “Hey, there wasn’t even a fly there,” I said. “It had already flown away.”

  “They’re everywhere, dear. The sooner you put your John Hancock on that piece of paper, the sooner you can get out of here. You don’t want to get caught in the cross-fire, do you?” she asked as she took aim at another fly.

  I scribbled my initials and stepped back quickly, bumping into Ned. “I’m sorry. Here, let me help you pick those up.” I bent down and scooped up the screws that had fallen out of his hand.

  “Thanks, Mollie,” he said. He glanced over at the counter. “I see she’s got you in here too.”

  I shrugged. “It’s fine. I wash my clothes at home. No need to use the machines here, so it really doesn’t apply to me.”

  “Are you finished yet, Ned?” Nancy asked as she stapled some papers together. He walked out of the office like he didn’t hear her, swinging his toolbox. I guessed he wasn’t quite ready to make up.

  Nancy slammed down the stapler. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him. You make one little change, and he totally overreacts.” She picked up the flyswatter and began decimating the insect population again, one smack at a time.

  While I was debating whether to buy a regular iced coffee or a vanilla-flavored one, the door swung open, and Nancy’s grandkids—Katy and her younger brother, Sam—ran in.

  “Grandma, tell Katy not to touch my race cars,” Sam said.

  “What’s this about, children?” Nancy asked, tousling their hair.

  “They’re my cars, not hers!” the little boy said.

  “They were in my way,” Katy said.

  Sam leaned against his grandmother and sniffled. “She took apart my race track, and she hid my cars.”

  “I didn’t hide them. I just put them away.” Katy put her arm around her little brother. “I was just trying to help. Mama would have been mad if she came home and found them on the dining room table like that.”

  “See, Sam? Katy was just trying to help,” Nancy said. “Now, why don’t the two of you make up? Katy, say you’re sorry for touching Sam’s cars without his permission, and then you can each pick out a candy bar.”

  While I walked up to the counter with my iced coffee, I noticed Nancy looking thoughtfully at the two kids as they selected their treats.

  * * *

  By the time I left the office, it was a little after five o’clock. It’s amazing how quickly the day goes by when you find a dead body, and there’s a murder investigation going on. I spotted Leilani over at one of the patio tables typing away on her laptop with one hand. Her day had probably been more productive than mine.

  “Did you hear about Suzanne?” I asked, pulling up a chair next to her. “It was just awful finding her body like that.”

  I set my purse on the table. Leilani looked up with a start. “Oh, hey there, Mollie,” she said, removing a pair of headphones from her ears. “Did you say something?”

  “Oh, I was just talking about the latest body in the boatyard.”

  She grimaced. “Wasn’t that awful?” She wrapped the cord around her headphones and tucked them in her bag. “Sorry, I didn’t hear you. I’ve been listening to an audiobook. I can’t wait to find out whodunit.”

  “I’ve never really gotten into audiobooks. I like mine the old-fashioned way.”

  “Oh, they’re fantastic. I listen to them all the time when I’m working. It helps the time pass faster, especially when it’s a boring task, like updating spreadsheets or working on boat projects. I always turn the volume way up so I can’t hear what’s going on around me. The fewer distractions I have, the more focused I can be.”

  “I should probably leave you be so you can work.”

  “No, stay. I’m done for the day. Have you heard anything more about what happened?”

  I told her about finding Suzanne and what Ned had said about Norm’s temper. I also told her about the note in the evidence bag, leaving out the part about the markers and papers flying everywhere.

  “But if Norm killed his wife, why would he have sent her a note asking her to meet him at the boat? Couldn’t he have just asked her to meet him?” Leilani asked.

  “That might have been the only way he could have gotten her there. She would never have stepped foot in the boatyard unless she thought that was the only way she could get back what had been taken from her.”

  “So it was a diversion?”

  “Maybe. Same thing with the message that was spray-painted on his boat. It was designed to throw suspicion off him.” I opened up my iced coffee and took a sip. “I’m still surprised that you and Ken didn’t hear anything. It happened between nine and ten.”

  “Hmm…between nine and ten? Ken wasn’t there at the time. He was at a Florida Turtle Trust meeting. He didn’t get back until eleven. And you and I were at the FAROUT meeting. You really were great, by the way.”

  “Thanks,” I said. “I dropped you off around eight thirty, eight forty-five, didn’t I?”

  “Around then.”

  “What did you do after that?”

  “Headed straight back to our boat.” She tapped her ears. “Then I listened to my audiobook while I caught up on email.”

  “So you didn’t hear
anything?”

  Leilani frowned. “No, I didn’t. It’s scary to think all that was happening just a few feet away from where I was sitting.” She held up her broken arm. “At least I’m not a suspect. Of course, it’s not like I had any reason to kill Suzanne. Besides, there’s no way I could have pushed a ladder over with just one arm.”

  “Not to mention your other wrist,” I said. “Is it getting any better?”

  “A little bit. At least I can do some one-handed typing. Otherwise, I’d be so far behind with work it wouldn’t even be funny.”

  “I’m impressed with how well you manage with just one arm.”

  “You learn to adapt, don’t you?” She pointed at the teenage girl walking across the patio. “Tiffany’s here, and it looks like she brought pie.” Leilani closed her laptop. “Come on, we should probably get going.”

  “Going where?” I asked.

  “Nancy’s, of course. I love these girls’ get-togethers of hers—wine, appetizers, dessert, and doing our nails.” She stared at her hands, one in a cast and the other still bruised from her fall. “Of course, I think I’ll just be sticking to my toes this time.”

  “Uh, I wasn’t invited.”

  “Oh, I just assumed that’s why you were here,” she stammered.

  “Don’t worry about it. I’m not exactly one of Nancy’s favorite people. She hates that Mrs. Moto runs around the marina, and I made a stink about one of the regulations a few weeks ago. Besides, I don’t paint my fingers or my toes.”

  Tiffany came over to the table and set the pastry box down. “It’s blueberry,” she said. “I’m excited to do my fingernails in our school colors for the basketball game this weekend. It was so nice of Nancy to invite me. Probably because I babysit her grandkids.”

  “Ah, to be back in high school—those were the days,” Leilani said. “What I wouldn’t give to not have to worry about working for a living. It’ll be nice to chill out this evening, especially with all the commotion in the boatyard.”

  “I haven’t been back there since this morning,” I said.

  “The place is still crawling with cops. They’ve got the area around your boat and Norm’s completely cordoned off. I was so relieved when they decided we would still be able to access our boat. Guess you’re off the hook for a while on painting the bottom.”

  “I’d almost be happier to be sanding than have to deal with Chief Dalton and his questions.” I inched my chair away from the pastry box. The smell of blueberries was tempting me to crash Nancy’s party just so I could have a slice of pie.

  “I think we lucked out,” Leilani said. “Officer Moore questioned us. She’s a lot more pleasant to deal with.”

  Tiffany slid forward in her chair. “Who do you think did it? Everyone’s talking about it around town. It’s scary to think there’s not only one murderer out there on the loose but possibly two.”

  “That’s what makes it tricky—was it the same person?” I thought about the charm that Mrs. Moto had found. “One possibility is that Suzanne killed Darren. Then someone killed her as retribution.”

  “No, it couldn’t have been Suzanne,” Tiffany said. “I saw her working in her office that night.”

  “You did?”

  “Well, promise you won’t tell anyone, especially my parents,” she said.

  “I don’t think we can make that promise until we hear what you have to say first,” Leilani said. “Murder is a serious matter.”

  Tiffany took a deep breath. “Okay. I was at the park across from her office that night with my boyfriend. My parents don’t like him, and they told me I’m not allowed to see him anymore.” She made a face. “They keep telling me I should date someone like Chad.”

  Leilani and I exchanged glances.

  “But it’s not like anything happened,” Tiffany said quickly. “We were just talking.”

  “Then you don’t have anything to worry about,” Leilani said. “I think you need to tell your parents and the police what you saw. It could be important.”

  She reluctantly agreed. While she texted someone—presumably her boyfriend to tell him the cat was out of the bag—Leilani asked me who the prime suspect was.

  “I don’t know if I have a prime suspect, but I’m leaning toward Liam,” I said. “He’s the only person I can think of who would have wanted to kill both of them.”

  “After what you’ve told me, I can see why he might be responsible for Darren’s death,” Leilani said. “But Suzanne?”

  “There was a lot of animosity on Suzanne’s part toward Liam. She resented the fact that Norm was working so closely with him instead of with her son, Xander.”

  Tiffany looked up from her phone. “I remember Xander,” she said. “He used to play on the basketball team with my cousin. I was in elementary school at the time, but we still went to all the games. My dad’s the coach. It’s kind of weird now that I’m in high school. He knows all the guys in school and makes a point of telling me who I should and shouldn’t date.”

  After describing how he had embarrassed her at the previous week’s game, she added, “I heard Darren and Melvin arguing at halftime a couple of weeks back.”

  “They were at one of the high school games?” I asked.

  “Coconut Cove is a small town,” Leilani said. “Lots of people go to the games to cheer the team on even if they don’t have kids in high school. We do sometimes too.”

  “The town I grew up in was a lot bigger,” I said. “What were they arguing about?”

  “Darren’s uncle was furious at him because he had caught him poaching. He told him that it could cost him his business and fishing licenses.”

  “How did Darren react?” I asked.

  “He seemed pretty upset, especially after Melvin threatened to call his parents and tell them.”

  Leilani glanced at her watch. “We should probably get going, Tiffany. Nancy doesn’t like it when anyone’s late.” She looked at me. “You sure you don’t want to come? I’m sure Nancy wouldn’t mind.”

  “Thanks, but I’m good. Scooter is making dinner tonight. I’d better scoot off myself.”

  On the drive home, I thought about what Tiffany had said. As much as I liked Melvin, doubts were creeping into my mind. Could he have killed his own nephew to cover up the poaching activity and protect his fishing charter business?

  12

  ANOTHER MYSTERY INGREDIENT

  “I’m back!” I managed to close the door with my foot while balancing the grocery bags in my hands. Mrs. Moto ran into the hall, rubbed against my legs, and purred loudly. “All right, I see you. Let me get these into the kitchen, and then I’ll say hello properly.”

  Scooter plucked the bags out of my arms and set them on the counter. “I’d better make sure this doesn’t burn,” he said as he dashed back to the stove and looked inside a steaming pot.

  “It smells delicious. What is it?”

  “You’ll have to guess.”

  “Give me a clue.”

  He removed a wooden spoon from a ceramic holder and gave his concoction a few stirs. “Hey, no peeking,” he said as he covered the pot.

  “Come on, just one tiny clue.”

  “What’s it worth to you?” I gave him a peck on the cheek. “That works. Okay, are you ready for your clue?” He did a drum roll on the stove. “It doesn’t involve cereal.”

  “Wow, that really narrows it down.”

  While he continued to stir our mystery dinner, I filled my husband in on my chat with the chief and my discussions with Melvin, Leilani, and Tiffany. We did have a bit of a digression when he disputed my characterization of my meeting with Chief Dalton as an “interrogation.” He was of the opinion that the use of colored markers negated any potential intimidation factor. Then things naturally devolved into a debate about which of the fruit-scented ones that we’d had as kids smelled the best. I voted for orange; Scooter opted for cherry.

  “I’m sorry Nancy didn’t invite you to her shindig,” Scooter said as he put canned goo
ds away in the cupboards.

  “I’m not. Why would I want to spend time with that grouchy old lady? Although there was blueberry pie. Which reminds me, did you make dessert?”

  “No. I figured we could use a break from all that sugar.”

  “Really,” I said, holding up two boxes of Cap’n Crunch. “Should I return these to the store? I still have the receipt.”

  “Give me those,” he said, grabbing them from me.

  Mrs. Moto jumped on the counter and supervised while I pulled out half a dozen cans of Frisky Feline Ocean’s Delight. She sniffed at each one, and when she was satisfied I had bought the right brand, she hopped down on the floor and rolled over on her back.

  “How am I supposed to put these bags away if you’re in the way?”

  “She doesn’t want you to put them away,” Scooter said. “Look.” He took one of the reusable tote bags, opened it up, and set it on the floor. Mrs. Moto jumped into it, causing it to slide across the tiles. “See, it’s a new toy.” We watched for a few minutes as she darted in and out of the bag, then batted her toy mouse inside and wrestled with it.

  “I think dinner is almost done. Why don’t we eat at the kitchen counter so we can watch the floor show?”

  I got out plates and napkins while Scooter dished up chicken with a dark brown sauce served over rice and accompanied by a black bean, cilantro, and mango salad.

  I leaned over my plate and inhaled the fragrant odor. “This smells great. Better than any scented marker.”

  “Take a bite, and tell me what you think.”

  I sampled a piece of the chicken. “Oh, this is so good.” I took another bite. “It tastes so familiar, but I can’t put my finger on it.”

  “Keep eating. Maybe you’ll figure it out.” He pulled a bottle of Corona beer out of the fridge. “Want one? I think there might even be a lime around here to go with it.”

  While we sipped our beer and ate our chicken—and yes, I had seconds—Scooter told me about a video he had seen of a couple sailing in the Bahamas. “They were anchored off Staniel Cay. Isn’t that where Melvin said his family was from? It’d be fun to take Marjorie Jane over there one day. Ned was telling me that some of the boats at the marina go down there every year. They call themselves the Coconut Cove Crew. Wouldn’t that be a blast?”