Murder at the Marina

by Ellen Jacobson

  “Well, there’s Ned and Nancy.”

  Scooter scoffed. “They’re a bit older, probably in their late fifties. I can’t picture either of them hitting Captain Dan over the head with a winch handle with enough force to kill him. Especially Nancy. She’s a tiny thing. I know you said she has a temper, but still.” Scooter gasped when he realized what he had said. He took a large gulp of his drink.

  “I thought that at first about Nancy, but then I saw her lifting heavy boxes at the store, and I know she exercises regularly. As for Ned, even though he’s had knee replacements and has some arthritis, he’s still in really good shape as well, what with working outside and helping out with boats.”

  “Okay, so maybe they were fit enough, but why?” he asked.

  “They blamed Captain Dan when the previous owners of Marjorie Jane stuck them with an unpaid bill.”

  “Sure, but is that reason enough to murder someone? It’s not like that would help them get their money back.”

  “True. But Nancy implied that there might be more to their grudge than just that. And don’t forget about the pink fingernail I found by the galley. Nancy was wearing pink press-on nails the day of the murder. She could have been on our boat that night.”

  “What about Sandy? Was she wearing press-on nails too?”

  “No, her nails are neatly manicured, but she wasn’t wearing any nail polish that day. I think I would rule her out because she’s so sickly, what with her headaches and poor sleeping. But if she were angry enough and had adrenaline running through her system, then maybe she could have done it.”

  “What does she have to be angry about?”

  “Captain Dan cheated Jack out of a lot of money. And they’re already having financial difficulties. What if the fact that they have to sell their boat and move back to their condo pushed her over the edge?”

  “I suppose.”

  “But, like we talked about before, it’s more likely that it was the other way around and Jack did it.”

  “What about Penny?”

  “Penny also had a pink manicure the day of the murder. The fingernail could be hers as well as Nancy’s. And don’t forget, I overheard Penny arguing with Captain Dan about how he cheated her out of some money.” There were two pretzels left in the bowl. I took one and offered Scooter the other. “They knew each other before in Texas. I can’t figure out why Penny is lying about that. She claims she didn’t meet him until she moved up here.”

  I went down below and grabbed the bag of pretzels from the galley. Sometimes it’s nice to put snacks in decorative serving bowls, but then you have to keep refilling them. Eating directly from the bag is so much more efficient. I shoved a few pretzels in my mouth and passed the bag to Scooter.

  “Did you know that Penny’s car is pink? I’m sure the inside of her boat is completely pink too.” He smiled. He knew how I felt about pink.

  “So why wasn’t Ben on your list?” Scooter asked, passing the bag back to me.

  “Oh, I don’t know. He seems so goofy. I can’t imagine him being serious enough to, you know...”

  “He was pretty serious the night of the barbecue,” Scooter reminded me. “Remember how he got into it with Captain Dan?”

  “That’s true,” I said. “But he did say his outboard was broken that night, so how could he get back to the marina?”

  “Why didn’t he row?” Scooter asked.

  “He said he dropped his oars in the water. See what I mean about goofy? I also can’t quite figure out his financial situation. One minute he’s complaining about being broke; the next minute I see him with a wad of cash. Where did he get the money from? Maybe he did find a way to get back to the marina that night, after all. Did he steal the money from Captain Dan, after he offed him?” I thought about the scrap of paper Mrs. Moto had brought to me on the beach. “Don’t forget that IOU with what looked like Ben’s name on it. Did he owe money to someone, and was it enough to drive him to murder?”

  Scooter put his glass down. “How about if we talk about more cheerful subjects for a while? Do you have any more chocolate left?”

  “Sorry, you’re out of luck. But I’ve still got some breath mints.” I looked around the cockpit. “What did I do with my purse, anyway? Have you seen it?”

  “Nope, I haven’t touched it.”

  “Let’s see, I gave you some ibuprofen, then you went down below. Ben showed me the windlass that you’re installing...that’s it! I set my purse down by the anchor locker.” I walked up to the bow.

  As I was on my way back to the cockpit, I remembered the compass. “Scooter, you know what I didn’t do yesterday? Give the compass to Chief Dalton.”

  “Well, that’s understandable, what with getting hit on the head. We can drop it off tomorrow.”

  I searched through my bag, unzipping all the compartments. “It’s not here!”

  “Of course it is.”

  “No, seriously, it’s gone.”

  “You probably left it back at the house,” Scooter said distractedly as he watched one of the dolphins leap into the air. “You’ve got so much crammed into that thing that the compass could be anywhere and you wouldn’t know it.”

  “I know my purse inside and out. I know exactly how many chocolate bars I have in it at all times, whether I have any change, and if I have a valuable compass inside. It was there and now it’s gone, and the only person who could have taken it was Ben.”

  CHAPTER 11

  DISNEYLAND

  SCOOTER AND I HAD A bit of a lively debate the next morning on the subject of Ben. He was convinced that I had taken the compass out of my purse the night we came back from the hospital and that it was lying around somewhere in the house. I was convinced that the compass had been in my purse when I left it by the anchor locker. The only reasonable explanation I had for its disappearance was that Ben had taken it. Scooter suggested that aliens might have abducted the compass.

  I’m pretty sure he was being sarcastic. Personally, I think sarcasm is an unfair debating technique, especially before I’ve had my second mocha. I retaliated by eating some of Scooter’s precious Froot Loops for breakfast when he wasn’t looking.

  In the end, we agreed that since I didn’t have any proof that Ben had stolen the compass, we’d still have Ben work on the boat, provided Scooter kept a close eye on him. We also agreed that Scooter owed me a foot rub. It’s possible he might not remember that last part of the agreement because he was upstairs getting dressed when it was discussed.

  Scooter suggested that I meet up with them later, as while two was company, three was a crowd, especially on a thirty-eight-foot boat with stuff strewn all around the place. I wasn’t hard to persuade. The thought of two guys working in a confined space without air conditioning in this hot, muggy weather sounded like a recipe for a real stink-fest.

  While the guys toiled away on the boat, I headed to the marina lounge. I sat in one of the comfy chairs, got out my laptop, and connected to the marina Wi-Fi. I heard a scratching sound at the door. I ignored it. It got louder. I continued to ignore it. Then the yowling started. I tried to ignore it but had to give up. I reluctantly got up and let Mrs. Moto in. She jumped on my chair, rolled on her back, and meowed insistently until I rubbed her belly.

  Finally, I picked her up, sat down, and set her next to me. I logged into my email account and scanned through my messages. My heart skipped a beat when I saw one from Brian Morrison with the subject line, “Watch Out for Lola!”

  Watching out for Lola kind of goes without saying. She’s someone who would stick a knife in your back, then ask you if you wanted her autograph while she wiped your blood off the blade. Lola fancies herself as something of a celebrity. She’s been an extra on a number of science fiction shows, as well as movies that have gone straight to DVD. She usually plays an alien, although she’s very picky about which aliens she’ll portray. She refuses to wear any prosthetics, wigs, or makeup that conceals her long, red hair, her big, blue eyes, or her curvaceous figure. The c
asting directors are more than happy to agree to her demands.

  I first met Lola five years ago when I attended the FAROUT convention in Texas. She was working at the registration desk, although “working” is a bit of an exaggeration. She was surrounded by a number of nerdy-looking guys, twirling her hair and regaling them with stories of her latest role as Xandra, a sexy alien princess from the outer moon of a planet in a galaxy far, far away. Thankfully, her character didn’t have any speaking lines and was killed in the first scene by a large lizard-like creature with two heads. Not that that deterred her fans.

  Eventually, I tired of watching her flirt and the guys drool in response. I pushed my way through the nerds, grabbed my badge, and eagerly went to attend my first session on “Signs You’ve Been Abducted by Aliens.” Who knew that session would lead to where I was today—vying with Lola for the investigative reporter job? I sighed and opened Brian’s email.

  Bad news. Lola submitted her report and it’s a doozy. She claims to have evidence of a government cover-up of a UFO landing next to Space Mountain in Disneyland. She states that the government is hiding the evidence inside Sleeping Beauty Castle. She has interviews with some Disneyland employees who’ve seen the spaceship (their identities are protected, of course) and she has photographs taken with a hidden camera (they’re blurry, but you can make out what appears to be aliens in the background). The board of directors is very impressed. I think they’re going to recommend that Lola be appointed as the new investigative reporter.

  Of course they were going to appoint Lola. Not only did she have the scoop of the century, all four members of the board were also members of Lola’s fan club.

  I think Mrs. Moto sensed how upset I was. She reached up, batted me on my chin with her paw, and meowed softly. I stroked her back while I tried to figure out what I could do to make sure Lola didn’t succeed. Getting a career as a sexy alien extra didn’t seem like a viable option in the time I had left before the next board meeting.

  Somehow, I had to convince Sandy to speak with me—not only about Jack’s illegal sideline, but also about her alien abduction. Maybe I could get her to recall details about the spaceship and what the aliens did to her. It probably couldn’t compete with Lola’s Disneyland exposé, but it was worth a shot.

  Considering the way Sandy had reacted the last time I saw her, I needed to find an opening that would make her want to chat. Mrs. Moto looked at me and meowed. That was it! Sandy had a soft spot for her cat. I’d ask her about taking care of Mrs. Moto when they went out of town, then slowly work the conversation around to Jack and to her abduction.

  BEFORE I TACKLED SANDY, I stopped by the Sailor’s Corner Cafe to pick up some lunch for the guys.

  “Hi, there,” Alejandra said over her shoulder as she walked past me carrying a tray laden with chocolate shakes. “I’ll be right with you.”

  I picked up a menu from the counter and looked at today’s specials. The Captain’s Chili sounded good, as did the Boatswain’s Burger. But what sounded even better was one of those shakes.

  Alejandra set her tray down on the counter. “Are you here on your own today?”

  “Just picking up some lunch to take back to the boat.”

  She whipped out her pad and pen. “What’ll it be?”

  “I’ll take three of the Boatswain’s Burgers with fries.”

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  “How about a chocolate shake while I’m waiting?”

  The young woman smiled. “Coming right up.”

  I sat on a stool at the counter and watched as she scooped dark chocolate ice cream into a blender, then added some full-fat milk along with a generous dollop of thick chocolate syrup. A few minutes later she set the milkshake in front of me. “Here you go.”

  I murmured my thanks between sips. Alejandra sat on a stool next to me, slipped off her sandals, and flexed her feet back and forth. I noticed her toenails were painted with purple-and-silver stripes. “It must be hard to run around on your feet all day,” I said, conscious that the only thing my toenails had going for them was a lack of fungus.

  “It is, but people tip well, especially the tourists,” she said. “Every penny I save means I’m one step closer to opening my own nail salon.”

  “How did you get into doing nails?”

  “During high school, my best friend and I would get together on Sunday nights to do our homework. When we were done, we’d reward ourselves by giving each other manicures.” Alejandra looked at her fingernails, which coordinated with her toes. “We had so much fun. When I graduated, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, so I found a job waitressing here. I got lots of compliments on my nails, and I thought to myself, here’s something I love to do that I could make a living at. I finished nail-technician training, and I’m taking some small-business classes at the community college. Now all I have to do is win the lottery so I can open my nail salon.”

  A woman at one of the tables waved at Alejandra. “Excuse me for a sec, chica,” she said, grabbing her tray and bustling over to help. I continued sipping my shake while she refilled ice teas and sodas. After she was done, she came back and perched on one of the stools.

  “What about your nails, Mollie? Have you ever thought of having a manicure?”

  I looked down at my hands. Although I didn’t bite my nails, they weren’t much to look at. I kept them short and pretty much ignored them. “I’ve never really had a manicure.”

  “Really?” she asked. “Never?”

  “Hard to believe, I know. It seems like a lot of work, especially when I see people with full-on nails like Nancy.”

  “Nancy is very particular about her nails,” Alejandra said. “She’s actually been one of my biggest supporters, always encouraging me about the nail salon. We get together occasionally for girls’ nights. We try out the latest nail products over a few glasses of wine. Lately, she’s been into press-on nails. They’re really easy to do.”

  The waitress dashed off to take care of another customer, while I reflected on the state of my cuticles. She pointed out a few of the town’s attractions on a souvenir map, then came back to the counter with a smile. “You must have gotten a good tip,” I said.

  “I’ll say,” she said, tucking some bills into the pocket of her apron. “Those are the kind of customers I like.”

  “Did you know I found a press-on fingernail on Marjorie Jane the night Captain Dan was murdered?”

  “You did?” Alejandra asked while she rolled up silverware into paper napkins. “What did it look like?”

  “It was pink with a white starfish on it.” I thought about it for a minute. “You know, I’m surprised that Chief Dalton didn’t ask you about it. You must be the local expert on nails.”

  Alejandra laughed. “Wouldn’t that be funny—being an expert witness on nails.”

  “Well, you’d probably know what kind it was, where it was bought, and who in town had similar nails.”

  “I don’t know about that. But it would be interesting to have a look at it. I wonder whose it was.”

  I took another sip of my shake. The straw made that disappointing slurping noise that lets you know you’re nearing the bottom of the glass. I twirled my straw and said, “The day of the murder, I noticed that Penny’s nails were identical to the one I found. At least I think they were. I tried to get a look the next day, but she had destroyed her manicure. She chews her nails by the way.” Alejandra made a tsk-tsk sound. “Nancy also had a similar manicure. Maybe the nail belonged to one of them.”

  “You know, Penny and Nancy did have identical manicures. Those pink press-on nails were ones that I brought over to Nancy’s last week for the girls’ nights. Penny’s eyes lit up when she saw the pink color. But what would either of them be doing on your boat?”

  “That’s a very good question,” I said.

  AFTER AN UNCOMFORTABLE lunch with Scooter and Ben—I still wasn’t convinced that Ben hadn’t been responsible for the missing compass—I decid
ed it was time to summon up my courage and go see Sandy. I hoped Jack wasn’t on the boat. The last thing I wanted was to run into him again. I rubbed the lump on my head. It was slowly going down, but it still ached a little bit. The bigger issue was that I was having a hard time coordinating its blue-and-purple color to my outfits. Imagine having to coordinate all your outfits to your manicure as well.

  I took a deep breath as I walked over to Jack and Sandy’s boat. As I got closer, I saw them standing on the dock. “Just stay out of it,” Jack said. “It’s none of your business!”

  “But it is my business,” Sandy replied, her voice trembling. “How could it not be my business? You sunk all our money into this venture and look what’s happened as a result. We’re broke, we have to sell our boat, and—worst of all—we have to give up Mrs. Moto.”

  “Is that all you’re worried about—the cat?” he replied with venom. “You pay more attention to it than to me.”

  “That’s not true.”

  “No, you’re right; it isn’t true. You pay more attention to him than to me. Or at least you did. Now that he’s gone, all you can think about is the stupid cat and money.”

  As Sandy started sobbing, I felt something rub against my leg. I looked down and there was Mrs. Moto staring up at me. I scooped her into my arms. “Don’t worry, kitty. It’ll be okay.” She began playing with my earrings, so I guess she was feeling better. Although I don’t do my nails, I always wear earrings. We each do girly in our own way, I guess.

  As I was cuddling Mrs. Moto, Jack stormed past. He was in such a huff, I don’t even think he noticed me. I walked up to Sandy and handed her cat to her.

  “Where have you been?” she asked, drying her tears on the soft fur. “I’ve been searching for you everywhere.” She turned to me and sniffled. “Thanks for bringing her back.”