Poisoned by the Pier

by Ellen Jacobson

  I smiled at Nancy’s discomfort. The last thing she wanted was to have that feline in her home.

  “Thanks for taking care of her,” Scooter said to Katy as he plucked our wayward cat from her arms. “We should probably go in search of something to eat. Something healthy, right, my little Milk Dud?”

  Before I could try to persuade Scooter about the benefits of junk food, Ben rushed up. “There you are,” he said, wagging a finger at Mrs. Moto. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” He turned to us. “I’m sorry. I didn’t realize she had sneaked into my truck until I got to the park and saw her darting out of the cab. Here’s a spare leash and harness. I’ve been keeping it in my rig ever since she started hitchhiking everywhere with me.”

  After securing Mrs. Moto, Scooter set her on the ground. She made a beeline for Alligator Chuck’s food stand, which was conveniently located next to the information booth. Sitting in front of the stand was the usual gang of dogs, all waiting patiently in turn as the cook fed them each a piece of hot dog.

  “Does it seem strange to be feeding hot dogs to dogs?” Ben asked. “Funny, there isn’t any dish called hot cat.”

  “Don’t let Nancy hear you. I’m sure she’d be tempted to come up with something.”

  We watched as Mrs. Moto pushed her way in front of the dogs, stood on her hind legs, and yowled. “Here you go,” the young man said with a laugh as he handed her a morsel.

  “Frick and Frack, come here,” a gruff voice said. I turned and saw Chief Dalton glaring at them, both of his caterpillar-like eyebrows twitching furiously. “Here. Now.”

  The two Yorkies were torn—should they stay with the nice dispenser of hot dogs or risk the wrath of the burly man? The chief took a step toward them and pointed at the ground in front of him. After the dogs slowly walked toward him, he bent down and scooped them up, one in each arm. Then, to my surprise, he kissed each of them on the head.

  “What am I going to do with you? It doesn’t do my reputation any favors if the two of you are running around off-leash.” He set them on the ground and clipped them to matching leashes adorned with embroidery and beads. “Come on, let’s get you fellows home. It’s been a long day.”

  “Huh? You’re taking them home? But they belong to our former neighbor,” I said.

  The chief arched one of his eyebrows. “We have joint custody.”

  “Joint custody? Wait a minute…does that mean that crazy lady is your ex-wife?” He arched his other eyebrow. “Wow. That explains so many things.”

  “What exactly does it explain?”

  “A lot.”

  “Could you be more specific?”

  “Tell you what, why don’t you tell me what happened with Emily first. Was it a heart attack?”

  “I don’t believe you’re the next of kin.”

  “Oh, that’s a good point. Who is the next of kin?”

  The chief snorted. “Don’t turn this into one of your investigations.”

  “I’m not investigating anything. I’m just curious. Everyone is curious about what happened.”

  “Can I give them some more?” the cook interrupted, holding a couple of pieces of hot dog in his hand.

  “No, they’ve had enough,” the chief said. He looked down at the terrier, German shepherd, and chocolate Labrador. “Now, where are your owners?”

  The three of them took that as their cue to run off across the park.

  “Aren’t you going to chase after them?” I asked. “They are breaking Rule 11.3 of the town charter, after all.”

  I glanced at Nancy. She seemed impressed. Sensing sarcasm was not her strong suit.

  The chief suppressed a smile. “I’m surprised to hear you quoting rules and regulations, Mrs. McGhie, considering you usually think they don’t apply to you.” I was glad he got my sense of humor by now. He didn’t always appreciate it, but he got it.

  While the Yorkies and Mrs. Moto sniffed each other, tangling up their leashes in the process, the chief’s phone rang. His expression sobered as he listened to the person on the other end of the line. “Copy that. Meet me at the information booth. Tell the medical examiner I’ll call him shortly.” After he hung up, he pointed at me. “You, with me. I’ve got some questions for you.”

  “About what?”

  The chief raised one of his eyebrows, locked his eyes with mine, and didn’t respond.

  “Will they be multiple choice?” I prompted.

  Then he raised his other eyebrow.

  “True or false?” I tried to figure out what he was saying with his eyebrows, but even my phone didn’t have a translation app for this. “It’s not going to be an essay, is it?”

  “The last thing I would ask you to do is write an essay. I can only imagine how creative your answers would be.”

  “Fine, just let me use the bathroom first.” While I walked over to the restroom block, Scooter and the chief worked on untangling our pets.

  After I washed my hands, I looked for some paper towels, but the ladies’ room was out. I sneaked into the men’s room and grabbed a few. As I was throwing them in the trash can, I noticed a small clear bottle with a stopper top. It looked exactly like one of the herbal remedies that Nancy had shown us earlier in the day.

  When I rejoined Scooter, I showed him the bottle. “I found this in the men’s room.”

  “What were you doing in the men’s room?” he asked. “Was there a long line at the ladies’?”

  “No, the place was deserted. I just needed some paper towels. For some reason, the men’s always seems to have a good supply. Why don’t guys wash their hands after they go to the bathroom?”

  “That’s not true. I do.”

  “Well, that’s because your mother raised you right.”

  “What is that, anyway?” Scooter asked.

  “It’s one of those herbal remedies that Nancy was showing us earlier. This one is supposed to help with migraines.” I peered at the back of the bottle. “It says you put two drops on your tongue.” I shook the bottle. “It’s empty.”

  “I guess the guy gets a lot of migraines, and he used the whole bottle up.”

  “But this is one of the ones that Nancy put labels on earlier. You can tell by the sailboat-shaped price sticker. That means someone used this whole bottle today. I wonder if there are side effects to such a big dose?”

  Scooter shrugged. “I guess there can be side effects to anything.”

  “Remember how Jeff was talking about how this stuff isn’t regulated? Do you think it’s dangerous?”

  “I’m sure it’s fine. Come on, let’s go. The chief has been waiting to talk to you.”

  “Where is he?”

  “Getting a hot dog.”

  “Lucky guy. What about us? When are we going to eat?” I asked in a slightly whiny tone. Hunger brings out my inner petulance.

  “You know what, why don’t we eat at home? I already have all the ingredients for a Rutamentals meal in the fridge. It’d be a shame to let it go to waste.”

  “Mrs. McGhie,” the chief said, holding a dog with all the fixings in his hand. “Are you ready?”

  “Remind me to ask Nancy about this later,” I said to Scooter as I tucked the bottle in my purse. “Let’s not make a decision about dinner yet, okay?” I turned to the chief. “I’m all yours.”

  * * *

  “I’m starved,” I said as we turned the corner onto Main Street. After answering questions from the chief about Emily’s condition when I found her, then discovering that our car wouldn’t start and waiting three hours for a tow truck that never showed up, we had decided to walk back to the marina. “I never did get my hot dog. I haven’t eaten since breakfast.”

  “Intermittent fasting is good for you,” Scooter said.

  “Says who?”

  “Scientists.”

  “You realize they make that stuff up just to get headlines.”

  “No they don’t.”

  “Sure they do. When’s the last time you read about how eating
three chocolate bars a day is good for you?”

  “Never.”

  “That’s ’cause scientists are spreading fake news. You can’t believe everything you read.”

  “Unless, of course, it says that an obscene amount of chocolate every day is good for you,” he said dryly.

  “Correct. Those are the kinds of headlines you can believe. Not that you ever see that because of the mainstream media’s obsession with fruits and vegetables,” I said. Scooter’s stomach grumbled. “See, you’re hungry too.”

  “That’s not hunger. That’s just my digestive system realigning itself.”

  “How about if we realign it with some Thai food? We can call in an order and pick it up on the way.”

  “Why would we do that? We’ve got Trixie Tremblay’s rutabaga nut roast back on the boat, my little Milk Dud.”

  “Hmm…when you call me a little Milk Dud, do you know what that makes me think of? All my other favorite candies—M&M’S, Reese’s Peanut Butter Cups, Hershey bars… Hey, is that your stomach growling again?”

  “Not growling, realigning,” Scooter said. His stomach continued to loudly “realign” itself. After a few moments, he dug his phone out of his pocket. “Fine, let’s order Thai.”

  I grinned. Scooter’s stomach and I made a great team. “Pad thai for me, please,” I said as he dialed.

  “It’s not going through. Let me see if I can get better reception across the street.”

  While Scooter went in search of more bars on his phone, I wandered over to Penelope’s Sugar Shack to say hello to a few of my favorite friends in her display window—chocolate chip cookies the size of your head, éclairs crammed full of pastry cream, and apple fritters. It was a shame she was closed; I would have bought everything in sight.

  As I eyed a particularly decadent-looking chocolate cream pie, I heard a gate creaking around the corner of the bakery.

  Naturally, I decided to investigate. Maybe Penelope was walking toward the back entrance. Surely, she needed to offload those pastries since it was the end of the day, and I could get them at half price. Win-win for everyone. Plus, I never did manage to pick up those M&M cupcakes she had set aside for me.

  Before I could walk through the gate, it swung shut. I was beginning to open it when I heard a woman talking. Someone who didn’t sound like Penelope.

  “You’re late,” the mystery woman said impatiently.

  “What did you expect? I was at the hospital. Did you think I could just say, ‘Sorry, mate, I know my fiancée just died, but I need to go meet someone at night in an alley.’”

  That Australian accent was a dead giveaway—it belonged to Jeff. But who was he talking to? I pressed my ear against the wooden fence, earning myself a doozy of a splinter in the process.

  “Stop pretending,” the woman said. “It’s not like you cared about her. You were just using her.”

  “Of course I cared about her. Would I have proposed if I didn’t?”

  “She was loaded. That was the main attraction. Don’t forget, I know all about your last fiancée and what happened to her.”

  “What happened? Nothing happened.”

  “That’s not what I heard.”

  What happened to her? I wanted to ask. I felt like I was watching a soap opera in a language I didn’t understand.

  “It was an accident.”

  “You mean you convinced everyone it was an accident. It’s not going to be so easy this time. They know she was poisoned.”

  “Why would I have poisoned Emily? Your logic doesn’t make any sense. Since we weren’t married yet, I wouldn’t have inherited anything. It’s certainly not in my best interests that she’s dead.” I stood on my tiptoes and tried unsuccessfully to peek over the fence. Sometimes, it sucked being short.

  “Actually, if it’s in anyone’s interests that she’s dead, it’s yours,” he continued. “I’m sure the chief of police would be very interested to find out more about your connection to Emily and her family.”

  “You wouldn’t dare,” the woman said.

  “Don’t go stirring up any trouble for me, and I won’t stir up any for you.”

  “Hey, where’d you go?” I heard Scooter call out.

  “Somebody’s here,” the woman said. “I’m getting out of here. The last thing I want is to be seen with you.”

  I flattened myself against the wall and behind a hedge. Thankfully, I was wearing a dark top and jeans, which helped me blend in against the dark-purple siding. The gate creaked open. With the hedge in my way, all I could see were the legs of the person who was leaving. I’d recognize those flip-flops and legwarmers anywhere—it was Wanda, without a doubt. Questions flooded through my head. What was Wanda’s relationship to Emily? What had happened to Jeff’s first fiancée? And more importantly, who had murdered Emily?

  7

  EXTRA-CRISPY HASH BROWNS

  After a sleepless night—nightmares about Emily being poisoned and monsters wearing brightly colored legwarmers kept waking me up—I was more than ready for an extra-large cup of coffee.

  It was easier to convince Scooter to go for breakfast at the Sailor’s Corner Cafe than I thought it would be. Maybe that was because he had fallen off the Rutamentals bandwagon the previous night with Thai food. Or maybe it was because my tossing and turning had kept him from getting a good night’s sleep, and he knew that a Rise and Shine Smoothie just wasn’t going to do the trick.

  Even though it was early Sunday morning, there was a long line snaking out the entrance of the cafe. “Looks like it’s going to be a bit of a wait,” Scooter said. “Maybe we should go back to the boat and have smoothies instead.”

  The smell of bacon, hash browns, and coffee wafted out the door, causing my mouth to water. I had to act quickly before his willpower resurfaced. “Let me just have a peek inside. Maybe we can share a table with someone.”

  As I sidled past some tourists waiting to pay their checks, I accidentally knocked a carved wooden lighthouse off the counter. In addition to serving up tasty food, the Sailor’s Corner Cafe also sold nautically themed artwork made by local artists. The walls were covered with paintings of fishermen, sailboats, and whales. The display cabinet by the cash register contained jewelry featuring starfish, dolphins, and sea turtles. I made a note to check out a particularly cute pair of sand-dollar earrings later.

  As I was placing the carved lighthouse back on the counter, I spotted Penny sitting in a booth by the window leafing through a sailing magazine. “Are you by yourself?” I asked.

  “Yes,” she said. “Ben was supposed to meet me, but he just texted to say he’s not going to make it. I assume Scooter is around here someplace. Why don’t the two of you join me?”

  “I was hoping you’d say that.” I slid onto the opposite bench and tapped on the window to get Scooter’s attention. I pointed at Penny and gave him a thumbs-up. “Have you ordered yet?” I asked as I picked up a menu.

  “No. It’s crazy in here today, and they seem to be short-staffed.” She glanced around the room. “I don’t recognize anyone. Guess it’s mostly out-of-towners here for the festival.”

  “I think you spoke too soon,” I said. “Looks like Norm over there.”

  “Whatever you do, don’t make eye contact,” Penny said. “If I have to listen to him stumping one more time, I’m going to lose it.”

  “Anyone would be better than him as mayor. Even a dog.”

  Penny laughed. “Now there’s an idea. What if we got a dog to run against him?”

  “What are you two ladies giggling about?” Scooter asked as he slid into the booth next to me. After we explained our plan to elect Coconut Cove’s first canine mayor and brainstormed ideas for campaign slogans (“Bark for a Better Tomorrow” and “Chihuahuas for Change” were some of my favorites), one of the harried waitresses, Alejandra Lopez, came to take our order.

  She wiped down our table, then gave us a tired smile. “Sorry it took me so long to get to you. But don’t worry, when I saw you come in,
I put orders in for your usual—oatmeal for Penny, Denver omelet, sausage, and extra-crispy hash browns for Scooter, and of course pancakes and bacon for Mollie.”

  Scooter’s eyes grew wide. “Um…actually, I was wondering if I could change—”

  I jabbed my elbow into his side. “What I think he means to say is thanks for looking out for us. If you hadn’t, it would probably be at least an hour before we got served.”

  “No problem, chica. The three of you are some of my favorite customers,” she said.

  “Order up,” the cook shouted as he placed two plates of waffles on the counter.

  “I need to get that,” Alejandra said. “I’ll be back with some coffee in a jiff, and your meals shouldn’t be too far behind.”

  Scooter leaned back in the booth and put his hand on his stomach. “I think I’ve gained five pounds just sitting in this place. I was going to be good and order the fruit salad and nothing else.”

  Penny laughed. “That sounds like something my mother would say.”

  “Hey, how is your mom?” I asked. “Is she still coming to visit this week to watch the sailboat race?”

  “No, she can’t come now,” Penny said glumly. “I really wanted her to see Pretty in Pink in action.”

  “It would have been great for her to see us cross the finish line when we won,” I said.

  “Oh, please,” Scooter said. “There’s no way you ladies are going to beat us. Naut Guilty is going home with the trophy.”

  “I didn’t realize you were crewing on Mike’s boat,” Penny said.

  “Yeah, he texted last night to say he needed another guy, so I volunteered.”

  Penny tapped her fingers on her lips. “Let’s see if I have this right. This is the first sailboat that Mike’s ever had. He used to be a powerboat guy. This is the first race he’s ever entered. His crew is made up of people who don’t have much sailing experience—”

  Scooter interjected, “But I’ve sailed before.”

  “That was a million years ago,” I said. “The only experience you’ve had lately is when we moved Marjorie Jane from her slip at the marina to the boatyard. Whereas I’ve been taking sailing lessons with Penny for a while now. And the other ladies on the crew have been sailing for years. There’s no way Naut Guilty is going to win.”