Murder's No Votive Confidence

by Christin Brecher

  “I told the mother that I thought Mr. Joe had a good head on his shoulders, but she didn’t look convinced. And that was that. She went to dinner. Except there was the third time, too.”

  “She spoke to you a third time?”

  “She crossed the line that time,” said Ida. “She went up to Al and asked him if Jessica was wearing the fake when they left the dining room after dinner. We came back downstairs to sit by the fire because Al was feeling antsy.”

  “Could Al tell it was a fake?” I said.

  “Of course, Al can tell his own work, but I didn’t like the implication that she thought our work could be detected, and I told her as much. I pointed out that even the unusual setting of one of the rubies had been copied perfectly. What does she do? She gives me an unfriendly look and goes upstairs. One minute nice, one minute not nice. She’s too much. I only saw her the one other time. When they found the dead body. I didn’t like her much, but I wouldn’t wish that on her.”

  “What’s she saying?” whispered Peter.

  “She talked to Mrs. Sterling three times,” I said.

  “Is that important? Is Mrs. Sterling in on it?” he said.

  I wasn’t ready to commit, but it wasn’t looking too good for Mrs. Sterling.

  “She knew that Jessica was wearing the copy of the ring after dinner on Friday,” I said. “She’s known about the fake the whole time.”

  “Could she kill Simon about that?” he said.

  “There’s a missing link,” I said. “But it’s suspicious.”

  Peter nodded in agreement, and drummed his fingers on the steering wheel, impatient with our chase.

  “Dear, I have to check on my pot roast,” said Ida. “Do you want to talk to Al? You have to speak up though. He’s hard of hearing.”

  “You’ve answered all my questions, Mrs. Heller,” I said. “Enjoy your meal.”

  “You’re a very nice lady,” she said and then the line went dead. Ida was on to her cooking.

  I looked at Peter.

  “Well?” he said.

  “I don’t know.”

  My phone pinged another text from Maude.

  Found this in pieces in Mrs. S cosmetics bag, put it back together. Useful?

  It was.

  I looked at a photo of a ripped up check for $200,000 made out to Simon Sterling.

  “Jackpot,” I said.

  “What do you mean?”

  Peter pulled the car in front of the Melville as Jessica, Joe, and Mrs. Sterling disembarked from the carriage, a photographer taking photos of their every move.

  My phone pinged again. This time there was a text from Andy that said he was on his way to the chapel to pick up the ring.

  Come to the Melville, I responded.

  Hang tight and don’t do anything foolish, he said.

  Suddenly, there was a knock on my window. I looked up nervously and let out a shriek when I saw Mrs. Sterling’s smiling face up close to my window.

  Peter locked the doors.

  “What are you doing?” I said.

  “I don’t know,” he said. “You screamed.”

  I turned to Mrs. Sterling, smiled calmly, and opened the window.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sterling,” I said.

  “Stella,” she said. “We need you in the tent. Emily’s not here. Chop, chop.”

  She turned and headed into the tent. I looked at Peter.

  “Chop, chop,” he said.

  Chapter 31

  “I’ll park and meet you back here in a minute,” he said. “Make a quick appearance so no one is suspicious, and then let’s bring that box over to the inn for safety. The police should be here soon.”

  “Good plan,” I said.

  I got out of the car, my knuckles gripped around the box of candles. Beside the tent, a photographer was taking photos of Joe and Jessica, while Mrs. Sterling was giving orders to an eager-to-please server to add ice to a pitcher of cocktails at the bar. She did not glance at the box in my hands. She seemed focused on the evening ahead as she joined the photographer. In fact, since her conversation with Jessica at the chapel, she was now showering her daughter with affection. It was a bit of a role reversal, and even Jessica seemed surprised, if not delighted. Behind me, I heard the bus arrive and the photographer call out to the wedding party to join them for photos. In another few minutes, the rest of the guests would soon descend on the reception.

  In spite of the circumstances, my eye was drawn to the tables inside the reception tent, to one, in particular, in the back of the room. The largest taper candle was crooked. Peter had not yet joined me, so I walked across the room. With each step toward my candle creations, I felt a growing confidence. No one was in the back of the tent, so I took a chance and put the box on the table, then leaned forward to straighten the long taper, a bright pink that was a wonderful pop of color against the blue sky beyond the tent. I approached a couple more tables, bringing the box with me, and I straightened another candle or two, more to enjoy the familiarity of my creations than because they needed it. I was wondering where Peter had gotten to when a server approached me in a crisp white jacket. I knew her. She was Lucy’s older sister.

  “Hi,” she said. “Emily, the party planner, said I should bring the candles to her and that you should stay here so no one gets nervous. She said you’d understand.”

  “Really?” I said.

  I typed a message to Emily, but once again my text did not send. I realized Peter must be with her since she knew about the candles. I still wasn’t wild about letting a $200,000 ring out of my sight.

  “Stella,” said Jessica from the other end of the long tent. “Can you help? The wind is blowing and I need someone off-camera to hold my train.”

  The hotel was not far, and I knew Lucy’s sister was trustworthy. I took a chance and handed the box to her.

  “Go,” I said as the two of us walked the length of the tent. “Be quick.”

  Jessica was standing with her bridesmaids, waiting for my help. Her mother was in the crowd, holding her daughter’s bouquet and watching Jessica with a bittersweet smile. The photographer handed me a string that was attached to a weighted clothespin. I stood to the side, holding the string that was attached to the veil. Very clever. After a few snaps, I was done, but when I looked back at the crowd, I noticed that Lucy’s sister was now holding Jessica’s bouquet.

  “Where’s Mrs. Sterling?” I said to her.

  “She took the box over for you,” she said. “She’s the one who gave me Emily’s message.”

  I looked across the field to the path leading to the Melville. Mrs. Sterling was walking toward the inn with the box in her hands. I immediately took off after her. As I gained speed, I watched as she veered past the inn’s entrance and toward Maude and Bill’s house. I realized she was on her way to plant evidence at the Duffys’. What a piece of work. She would probably dig out the ring, leave it in the sugar bowl, then put the candles in her suitcase to head out of town with them. Her move erased any lingering doubt I had about the identity of the murderer. Mrs. Sterling had killed her brother-in-law, Simon.

  “Stop,” I called out to her when I was close enough.

  Mrs. Sterling looked back at me. She smiled lightly, then turned her path toward the inn, picking up speed as she did. In a moment, we were both running. She slipped through a side gate that led to Ahab’s. I followed, with no thought about how I would stop her, but blind confidence that I could.

  As the gate banged shut behind me, Peter, Emily, and Frank stepped out onto the restaurant’s patio.

  “Hey,” Peter said to me. “Why’d you tell Lucy’s sister you’d meet me here? I thought we had a plan.”

  “Mrs. Sterling,” I said, somewhat out of breath and waving my hands in her direction without stopping. At the end of the rolling lawn, Mrs. Sterling was untying what looked like Peter’s boat.

  “Hey!” said Peter as he immediately joined my race.

  “What’s your boat doing here?” I said as we flew down
the lawn.

  “Frank let me bring it over earlier,” he said. “I wanted to take you home in it later tonight.”

  “I know our date’s not turning out like you planned,” I said, a cramp starting in my stomach from the running, “but that was a very sweet idea.”

  “Thanks,” he said. “Hey!” he shouted again to Mrs. Sterling. “Come back here!”

  Mrs. Sterling, however, was receding into the distance on Peter’s motorboat.

  I called Andy. The call went straight to voice mail.

  “What are we going to do?” said Peter.

  I looked at the inn’s launch. Across the landing dock was a chain and a sign.

  Launch closed today due to FIGAWI

  Without breaking stride, I hopped over the chain and jumped onto the inn’s boat. As I hoped, the keys were in the ignition.

  I’d already started the motor and Peter was untying the lines, when Emily wobbled down the last few steps of the lawn to us.

  “Wait up,” she said.

  “Call Andy,” I said to her. “Tell him we’re going after Mrs. Sterling.”

  Emily turned and screamed up to the lawn to Frank to call Andy. Then she stepped onto the boat.

  “Don’t even try to stop me,” she said. “I’ve missed seeing Gina Ginelli. I’ve been kicked from my insides for the last twenty-four hours. I still don’t understand why the box of candles is important, and I’m not going to become one of those mothers who is out of the loop on everything.”

  By this point she was seated firmly on the benches along the boat and pulling on two ends of a seat belt to fit across her tummy.

  “You’re a nut,” I said as I pushed the throttle ahead and began our pursuit of Mrs. Sterling.

  Emily laughed for the first time in two days, so maybe it was worth it.

  “Oh my God,” she said. “Is that Tinker?”

  Sure enough, Tinker had fallen asleep under the helm of the boat. He looked up in alarm as some sea spray hit his face, and then curled in a tight ball under the protection of the seats. It seemed that cats did, indeed, hate water.

  “What are we going to do once we reach her?” said Peter. “Crash into her boat?”

  “No,” said Emily. A look of panic spread across her face, and I could see she was rethinking her spontaneous decision.

  “No,” I said in agreement.

  Our eyes were peeled on the seas. We watched as our boat gained on Mrs. Sterling. I should have been cold in my strategically cut red evening dress, but I wasn’t. We were quiet, hanging on to keep our balance, and focused with great intensity on the boat ahead of us. After a few minutes, we had driven far enough that the steeples of town were in view.

  It was time for a plan. I looked around the boat for inspiration. My eyes fell on Peter’s anchor. I wondered if any of us had the skill to throw an anchor with the aim required to hit Mrs. Sterling in her moving boat. I doubted it.

  Next, my eyes fell on a blow horn stashed behind the wheel of the boat. It was kept for emergencies, and I knew this was one. Unfortunately, it was now about three o’clock, the time that the sailboats competing in FIGAWI rounded Brant Point to finish the race. Their colorful sails made for a stunning nautical parade, and in the spirit of victory, many spectators were ringing cowbells and blowing horns from shore. I was not convinced that anyone would distinguish our call as an SOS.

  Finally, I saw the answer. Under the last row of seating on the boat, the inn had stored a couple of its water skis, a guest amenity that would become available when the weather warmed a teensy bit more. I dashed across the deck and began to pull out the skis.

  “Are you crazy? You’re in a cocktail dress,” said Emily. “The Slosh?”

  I nodded. Having spent most of my life on an island, I was confident in my water-sport skills and ranked water-skiing at the top of the list. As teens, we kids had enjoyed a questionable period one summer where we liked to ski as close to each other’s boats as possible to splash our friends. The Slosh. We had developed nerves of steel sidling up to each other.

  “Peter, stop the boat,” I said.

  “Why?” he said. “We’re gaining.”

  “And then what?” I said. “We need to stop her.”

  As the boat came to a halt, I threw the skis into the water and slipped off my shoes. Emily was already threading a rope to the stern. The inn’s launch was not designed for water skiing, but she made it work. I threw a leg over the railing, swung the other beside it, took a deep breath, and plunged in.

  The agony!

  I wondered for a moment if I might die of hypothermia before I rose to the surface, but finally I broke through the water to see two skis bobbing beside me. Shivering already, I grabbed one ski, then another, and found the rope.

  “Go,” I shouted to Emily.

  “Go,” she shouted to Peter.

  Quickly, I rose to the surface as the boat resumed our chase. The water had been so cold that the May breeze against my skin actually warmed me. If Emily had wanted my outfit to be a tad more formfitting tonight, her wish had come true. The drenched bodice of my red dress clung to my skin, while the skirt was now hiked to my waist as I jumped from wake to wake. Although I was sure my mascara was dripping down my face, I felt very wise to have shaved my legs.

  As Peter regained the distance between us and Mrs. Sterling, we passed a familiar motorboat and I noticed the driver struggling with string tangled in her motor. The string itself was attached to what looked like a shark kite. Flying by, I caught one glimpse of the driver. She was wearing horizontal stripes in blue and white. I also noticed her boat’s contents. Buoys. And lots of them. I wondered how chakras and buoys worked together. At the moment, they seemed like a terrible combination, however strong Georgianna’s commitment to art was.

  Boy, could Andy pick them.

  Our boat had closed in on Mrs. Sterling. I took as wide a berth as possible in the opposite direction of her boat, then made my way across the waves toward her. It had been a long time since I’d tried to pull off the Slosh, and today I was going for more than a spray of water. I adjusted my hold around the rope that pulled me across the harbor, psyching myself up for the next few seconds. I could now see the chiffon layers of Mrs. Sterling’s blue dress that flew behind her. My skis pulled up starboard. When I could almost touch the boat, I let go of my rope. For a moment, I coasted along the top of the water, and then I leaned to the left and fell into her boat.

  It wasn’t the smoothest landing. I fell hard. I felt something sharp hit my head. I jumped to my feet, however, without pain. Honestly, I felt invincible. I knew I’d be bruised in the morning, but I was thrilled and shocked by my feat. As Mrs. Sterling turned around to register my unexpected arrival, I heard Peter slow the launch and begin to circle us.

  “It’s over,” I said, feeling a trickle of blood down my forehead.

  Mrs. Sterling stopped the boat. I didn’t think the woman could surprise me anymore, but she did. Without skipping a beat, she lunged at me. I braced myself for the impact of her leap and felt my hands automatically clench into fists. Before she reached me, however, I heard her scream and saw her clutch her head.

  “Get off,” she shouted. “Get off! Get this thing off of me!”

  I dropped my hands and watched as Tinker clawed at Mrs. Sterling. In spite of his fear of water, he’d made a several-yard leap across the seas to help me. I took one step forward to join the fight, but Mrs. Sterling tripped over Peter’s anchor and landed in a thud, knocked out cold.

  The box of candles was safely tucked into a basket of wine and glasses. I smiled at Peter to acknowledge his thoughtful evening preparations, then grabbed a rope from his tackle and began to bind Mrs. Sterling’s feet.

  “Guys?” said Emily. “I’m in labor.”

  Chapter 32

  Peter pulled the launch up beside the boat. Quickly tying the two boats together, he took off his jacket and reached his hand to me. I took it and climbed back to him and Emily, where he engulfed me in his ja
cket, warm from his body. Under its cover, I rolled down the bodice of my dress and let a wave of heat nourish me.

  “Take Emily to the beach at Monomoy,” said Peter, switching boats with me. “It’s two minutes that way. I’ll call an ambulance and Andy. I’ve got Mrs. Sterling.”

  Tinker, who had been sitting victoriously on Mrs. Sterling’s body, jumped back onto the launch with me.

  Emily moaned.

  “Got it,” I said, and took off.

  “Tell me how Mrs. Sterling killed Simon,” Emily said as I drove the boat as quickly as I could without bouncing her around.

  “Let’s think lovely thoughts?” I said.

  “I’m having a baby! In a boat,” said Emily. “Keep my mind off of things.”

  “OK,” I said, stroking her hair as I drove. “Where to begin? The murder was a combination of love and greed. I realized from a picture that Mrs. Sterling loved Simon and had spent a lifetime repressing her feelings. When Simon arrived this weekend, all of her feelings came back.”

  “But he’s so icky,” said Emily.

  “As it turns out, he was a good guy,” I said.

  “Keep talking,” said Emily. “What happened next?”

  “The afternoon that Mrs. Sterling arrived,” I said, “she saw Joe in conversation with the Hellers. She asked them what they’d said, but they wouldn’t tell her. Later, she saw Joe leave Simon’s room after he’d given the real ring to Simon in a ring-for-land swap. I don’t think Mrs. Sterling knew what was up between them, but she’d been wanting to bust Joe for something. Frank saw her knock on Simon’s door immediately after Joe left. I’m sure she confronted Simon ferociously as she tried to find out what was going on, so much so that after she left he hid the ring, just in case. I should have noticed the candle had been tampered with, but I was so worried about getting the new unity candle done. I only figured it out when the tobacco smell hit the chapel.”

  “Easy mistake,” said Emily, breathing loudly.

  “Rookie mistake, and you know it,” I said.