2 The Witch Who Saw a Star

by Emma Belmont

  True to its name, this card from the major arcana featured a large dark tower. But it was burning and people were falling from it. Maris stared at the image. Captain Hazelwood had likely fallen from the yacht to the deck of Slick’s boat. Fritz Falschung had essentially died from too much heat. Did this symbolize either or maybe even both of their deaths?

  In her lap, eyes closed, Mojo purred.

  She turned over the second. “The present,” she told him. It was the Queen of Wands. At her royal feet sat a black cat. Maris had to smirk. “If that’s supposed to be me, I’m missing the crown.”

  She revealed the final card. “The future.” This card, however, was upside down, also known as the reversed position. It was the High Priestess. A woman sat in front of a thin veil, flanked by two pillars. In her lap, she held a scroll that was partly covered by her robe.

  Rather than look at the little booklet of explanations, Maris lightly tapped her temple and brought up its image in memory. The reversed High Priestess directed your attention inward so that you could listen to your own voice and wisdom.

  Maris glanced down at Mojo. “Is that what I’m supposed to do?”

  In answer, he gave his signature meow, got up from her lap, and lightly trotted out of the room.

  Great. What was that supposed to mean? “Thanks,” she called out after him.

  18

  The next morning, Maris woke up to a late night text from Mac. He was going to be back at the yacht for more searches in the morning. She checked the time. Luckily she’d woken a little earlier than normal, but with more guests she’d need more time. She’d already planned to get up before daybreak to get to the clean laundry that was waiting in the utility room.

  Quickly she showered and, hair still damp, hurried to the kitchen. Cookie was at the stove, as usual. “Everything good here? I wanted to fold the linens and sheets before I left.”

  Cookie turned with a smile. “Good morning. Everything here is fine. How did you sleep?”

  Maris had already turned to go but stopped. “Good morning,” she said quickly and smiled. She held up a finger. “Be right back.”

  In the laundry room, she attacked the rumpled cloth with her usual systematic fervor. First came the largest pieces, the sheets for the queen beds, then the full sheets, and pillow cases. She snapped the fabric out smartly, making sure that everything was folded to within a millimeter of its life, perfectly square and crumple free. Then came the towels, also in order of descending size, tri-folded lengthwise and then in half so that they hung wrinkle-free. She stacked all of these in the linen closet, breathing a little hard. But as she moved the newer linens to the end of the line, and the older to the front, she saw a set of sheets that had doubled over on itself.

  “Rats,” she said. She took these back to the laundry room, shook them out, and folded them again.

  With those out of the way, she hustled back to the kitchen. But when she arrived, the warming trays had already been moved to the dining room and Cookie was lighting the burners.

  “Just in time,” the diminutive chef said.

  “Time?” Maris asked. “It looks like you’re done. I’m sorry I didn’t help.”

  Cookie frowned at her. “Of course you helped. Just not in the kitchen.”

  Confused, Maris looked at the trays, the waiting plates, the juice, coffee, and hot water dispenser. “Then what am I in time for?”

  “Breakfast, of course,” Cookie said.

  “Oh, Cookie,” Maris said, “I’m afraid I don’t have time. I’ve got to find my travel mug and–”

  “Where’s the fire?” Cookie asked, serving herself some oatmeal.

  Maris blinked at her. “Fire?” She glanced around. Was it a play on words?

  Cookie picked up a spoon. “As in, why are you in such a hurry?”

  “Oh,” Maris said exhaling and feeling a bit silly. “I’ve got to meet Mac at the pier.”

  “Okay,” Cookie said taking a seat. “Does he expect you to go without breakfast? Are you late for a certain appointment?”

  Though Maris grimaced a bit, she answered both questions truthfully: “No and no.”

  “Huh,” Cookie said, as if to herself. “Imagine that. Rushing off without eating, and no particular deadline.”

  Maris knew very well what the B&B’s chef was doing. Maris and her Aunt Glenda had both been self-acknowledged Type A personalities. But also like her aunt, she battled with her weight and cholesterol. Glenda and Maris’s mother had died of heart attacks, and her mother had been younger than she was now.

  “You’ve come here to settle down, haven’t you?” Cookie said, putting her oatmeal on the table.

  “Of course,” Maris answered, resigning herself to defeat.

  “Then settle down, young lady.” Cookie eyed her and pointed to the buffet. “Settle down and eat.”

  Although Maris had thought to grab a piece of toast and hit the road, she opted for what the chef was having. But instead of the butter and brown sugar in her oatmeal, she decided that her battle with cholesterol would have more success with a few dried raisins and cranberries.

  Cookie brought a teapot to the table and two cups, noting the time on her watch.

  “I see we have two new guests as of yesterday,” she said, sitting down as Maris did. “Did the yacht sink?”

  Maris laughed. “No, I’m afraid not.” Then she sobered as she remembered the coroner’s van. “The director, Fritz Falschung, the owner of the ship, died in the sauna.”

  “In the sauna?” Cookie asked, staring at her.

  Maris recounted the entire ordeal and all of the clues to date. Cookie poured some tea for them, and Maris finished with how both Kaitlyn and Nadia had wanted nothing more to do with the yacht after the second death.

  “I can’t blame them,” Cookie said nodding, sipping her tea and than having some oatmeal. “Next thing you know, it’ll fly the Jolly Roger and have ghosts at the wheel.”

  Maris had to laugh. “It certainly feels cursed,” she agreed.

  They chatted about Slick, and also Mojo’s turns at the Ouija board and tarot cards.

  Cookie wagged a finger at her. “He’s listening to the spirits, that little devil. I’d stake my prize herbs on it.”

  Suddenly, Maris found herself having the last of her tea, and looking down at an empty bowl of oatmeal.

  “That was delicious, Cookie,” she said. “Thank you.”

  “You’re very welcome, my dear,” she said as Maris got up. The chef checked her watch. “How much time do you think we spent having breakfast?”

  The question came out of the blue. Once Maris had decided she was not going to win any argument on slowing down for the sake of her health, she hadn’t looked at her watch. She started to bring her wrist up.

  “Don’t look,” Cookie said quickly. Maris stopped in mid-motion. “Just a guesstimate. Tell me how much time you think that you spent having breakfast.”

  Maris pursed her lips and tried to cheat by looking out the bay window. Unfortunately, the fog was no help. “Maybe…forty-five minutes?”

  Cookie smiled and shook her head. “Twenty-five.”

  “No way,” Maris muttered and looked at her watch. “Or yes way.” She scowled at it. Maybe it was running slow.

  As if the chef had heard her thoughts, she said, “Time isn’t running slow, you’re running fast.”

  Maris had to laugh at herself. “It felt like forty-five.”

  Cookie stood and picked up her bowl and Maris’s. “I know it did, my young friend. Slow it down. You have all the time in the world, and I want to make sure it stays that way.”

  As the chef passed, Maris touched her shoulder. “Thank you, Cookie.”

  She went back to her room, where Mojo was just rousing, took her purse, and headed to the front door. Not one of the guests had yet come down. There had indeed been plenty of time.

  As she opened the door, she heard Cookie call from the kitchen. “Get Slick on the ocean. We’re down to our last
fresh lox.”

  19

  Just as Maris was pulling into the pier’s foggy parking lot, Mac was getting out of his SUV. After all of the rush and hurry, and then having to slow down for breakfast, she’d arrived on time. But Cookie was right. There was no ‘on time’, not really. What if the sheriff had started the search on his own? What if she’d joined him an hour from now?

  But even as she thought about being late—or worse, disappointing someone—she inwardly cringed. It wasn’t part of her makeup, while being in a hurry, not to mention being competitive, was. She knew the chef was trying to help and that she needed to change, but the question remained whether or not that was even possible—for anybody.

  When she parked next to the sheriff’s SUV and turned off the engine, Mac opened her door for her. “Good morning,” he said. “You’re as dependable as day following night.”

  “Or the morning fog,” she said getting out. “And good morning to you too.” He closed the door and she locked it. Their footsteps quietly thudded along the wood planks.

  “So Maris,” Mac began, “are you a native of Pixie Point Bay?”

  “You could say that,” she said. “Via Dubai, Cancun, Jackson Hole, Cairo, Singapore, and Hong Kong, just to name a few of my waypoints.” Mac gave a low whistle. “But yes, Pixie Point Bay is my home. I spent a number of years here with my aunt.”

  Mostly it had been summers and holidays between school semesters, after her mother had died of a heart attack when Maris had been a high school senior. But from the first moment she’d stayed with Aunt Glenda at the B&B, it’d felt like home.

  “That’s quite the itinerary,” Mac said, as they made their way up the pier. There were only a few fisherman with their lines over the railing, none of whom Maris recognized. “It has to be a huge change of pace from places like those.”

  “Happily,” Maris said, “you’re right.” She gave him a sideways glance. “And where do you hail from, Mac?”

  “Originally?” he asked, and Maris nodded. “A little town up north called Pine Ridge. Then police departments in Portland, Palm Springs, and Los Angeles.”

  “The megalopolis,” she said, as they passed Slick’s boat. As usual he was on deck but this time the cowling over the engine was open. Mac nodded as they passed and she waved. “Now that has to be a change of pace.”

  “A good one,” he agreed. He looked out into the white mist and Maris wondered what he was seeing. “It’s strange because as the Medio County sheriff my territory is probably about twenty times bigger than anything I’ve covered in the city.” Then he looked back to her. “But it doesn’t feel like that. It feels small and hometown.”

  Maris smiled in reply. They shared more than crime solving, which pleased her.

  As they reached the gangway, Mac stood back and let her go up first. When they reached the deck, she said, “Where are we starting?”

  “I finished the crew rooms yesterday,” he said, “since they’re still living here and needed to have access to them. Same with the cinematographer’s.” They took their now usual path to the back of the boat. “Nothing unusual turned up.”

  “So that leaves the other guest rooms?” she asked.

  “Right,” he said. “But after what you overheard from Slick’s boat, I think we’ll start with the first mate.”

  But when they reached the sunken conversation pit, they discovered Alan Hecht having breakfast. He saw them just as they stepped down, and smiled. “We’ve got to stop meeting like this.”

  “Good morning,” Maris said.

  “Mr. Hecht,” the sheriff said. “Looks like you’ve pretty much got the boat to yourself.”

  The big man shrugged. “Well, it sure has been quiet.” Then he cast his glance to the floor. “Especially without Fritz.” Maris recalled their long history together. “I still can’t believe it.”

  He had echoed the same words as Lloyd about the captain. It seemed that both sides of the ship—the crew and the guests—had lost a leader.

  “Find any clues?” the cinematographer asked, looking hopeful.

  “Not at this point,” Mac said.

  “Are you enjoying your breakfast?” Maris asked. Today’s fare seemed quite a bit simpler: scrambled eggs, bacon, and toast.

  Alan frowned down at it. “Not particularly. I think the cook might be taking a bit of…down time.”

  Maris realized that without Nadia, the staff had quickly slacked off.

  “Well,” Mac said, “we’ll let you get back to it. The sooner we get this solved, the sooner the ship can get back to normal.”

  The cinematographer picked up his fork. “Godspeed then.”

  Apparently Mac had gotten familiar with the layout of the boat yesterday, since he took the stairs to the guest rooms, and then another flight of steps down. For a few moments, a familiar tightness rose in her chest. It seemed like they were descending below the water line, to an area that would be entirely enclosed. An image of the dark elevator leapt into her mind, but Maris gripped the handrail and forced it from her thoughts.

  But as they reached the next floor level, Mac made a sharp left, heading to the front of the boat and—impossibly—daylight.

  “What is that?” Maris asked.

  Mac waggled his eyebrows at her. “The lifestyles of the rich and famous.”

  The light was coming from an open bay in the side of the yacht. They weren’t below the water line at all. In fact, they were still a few feet above it. To her disbelief, they stepped into an amazingly clean white room with an equally clean and white dinghy, suspended in the air in front of them.

  “A boat?” Maris whispered, staring at it. “In a boat?”

  Lloyd Kunkel appeared from inside a large white control room. “The skiff,” he said, wiping his hands off with a rag and smiling. “For day trips, shallow waters, and all-around fun.”

  Maris gaped at it. As sleek as the yacht itself, it had twin, white outboard engines, and it’s inflatable hull was trimmed in silver. The enormous side panel of the yacht was ringed with thick rubber gaskets and raised high in the air outside the hull by two large arms with pistons.

  “Wow,” Maris said, still not quite sure they were safe with such a huge hole in the side of the boat, “this is amazing.”

  “Feel free to look around,” the first mate said. “Just don’t push any buttons.”

  “Actually,” Mac said, “we were looking for you. I have a few questions.”

  Lloyd’s smile slipped a little. “Okay,” he said and set the rag aside. “What can I do for you?”

  “I understand that the crew had a nickname for Captain Hazelwood,” the sheriff said, taking out his note pad. He opened it and looked through a few pages before looking at Lloyd. “Bligh,” he said.

  Lloyd took a deep breath. “Behind his back, yeah.” He glanced at the notepad. “They’d sometimes call him Captain Bligh. It’s a standard joke you hear on pretty much every ship.”

  “And pushing him overboard and calling him lost at sea?” Mac asked.

  Lloyd grimaced now. “It’s talk. Just talk. The crew needs to blow off steam now and again. I’ve never been on a ship where they didn’t. Most of the time, they’d come to me to vent. I’d listen to their gripes and sympathize, but at the end of the day there’s one captain and everyone obeys his orders.” He looked between Mac and Maris. “It’s the norm, not the exception.”

  Mac made no comment, but flipped to another page. “I’ve done a little records search,” he said. “It would seem that you’ve just received your captain’s license.” He closed the notepad. “Planning on being promoted?”

  Lloyd tensed and his lips pressed into a hard line. “Always,” he said. “It’s part of the job.” He glanced out at the white mist beyond the hull. “It takes years of work and study. It’s a constant part of the life.” He looked at them both. “No one wants to retire as a first mate.”

  “Fair enough,” Mac said. “Why didn’t you mention it?”

  “Because I’m p
lanning…or I was planning…on leaving Copernicus.”

  “Leave?” Maris said, and looked around at the amazing ship. “Leave all this?”

  Mac tucked away his notepad. “Especially when Falschung made you an offer for the captaincy?”

  Lloyd cocked his head back. “An offer? Me?”

  “We have the offer letter,” Mac said. “Signed by him and dated a week ago.”

  Lloyd shook his head. “I’ve never seen it.” He shook his head again. “No one even knows I passed the exam.” When he was met with silence, he said, “Look, I am going to captain a ship. I’ve worked long and hard for it. But it doesn’t have to be Copernicus. I wasn’t planning on staying.”

  “Do you spend much time in the sauna?” Mac asked.

  The first mate blinked. “The sauna? It’s off-limits for the crew.” He glanced upward in its direction. “Frankly, not even the guests used it. It was strictly Fritz’s thing.”

  “Did you ever seen anyone in its vicinity?” Maris asked. “Besides Fritz?”

  “Of course,” Lloyd said. “It was cleaned every day. One of the stewards would have been in there to clean and provide fresh towels.”

  Maris frowned as she thought back to how Fritz had tossed the towel to the floor in front of Nadia. She might have been in the sauna—at least to inspect that it was clean.

  Maris exchanged a look with the sheriff. There didn’t seem to be any more questions. Mac said, “I’ll let you get back to work, then. Thanks for your time.”

  “Thank you,” Maris said.

  “Of course,” the first mate replied. But Maris noted that they were leaving him in a decidedly less happy mood than when they’d arrived.

  When they’d climbed the stairs back up to the guest room level, Maris said, “He seemed genuinely surprised about the offer from Fritz.”

  “He did,” Mac said, gesturing down the hallway. “My gut says it wasn’t him. He might have wanted to see the captain out of the way, but killing Fritz was like killing the goose that laid the golden egg.” They arrived at a guest room, and he paused. “But that’s not why I don’t figure him as the perp.”