Vitamin Sea

by Maia Ross

  “I guess. Look, I’m sorry to bug you, but I’m going to be doing some work at the clinic today. Do you mind driving me? My car still isn’t starting.” I was somewhat suspicious Irma had pulled the spark plugs out of my car or carried out some other sort of automotive sabotage. I’d driven my little Honda to the island with no problems, but it had mysteriously stopped working while parked in Irma’s driveway.

  Irma looked down at her clothes; a trim, white, short-sleeved casual blouse and baby blue pedal pushers with some old-fashioned yet stylish tennis shoes, and nodded. “I’m going sailing with Stu, so that would work perfectly. Can you please check in on Charlotte for me when you’re at the clinic?”

  I frowned. I liked the little old lady, even older and tinier than Irma. “Why, what’s wrong?”

  Irma caught me up on Charlotte’s collapse the previous day, and my heart dropped. “That’s terrible. Maybe she had low blood sugar or something.”

  “It’s possible. If you could please check in on her I’d appreciate it.”

  “No problem.”

  “I’m very glad you’re trying to get outside more.”

  I had no such intentions; my skin burned in about seven seconds. I didn’t like bugs. And I preferred small, enclosed spaces; you always knew what the limits of your world were. “I’m a couch potato, Irma. I’ll never be an outdoor person like you.”

  “You, my dear,” she said tartly, “Are no couch potato. You are very energetic and hard-working. Couch potatoes are lazy.”

  “We’re actually not; that’s just what we want you people think. Really, we’re controlling the world from our sofas.”

  She laughed. “Perhaps you’re right. I rescind my couch potato comments.” She took a breath. “Well, no time to waste. We’ll go by boat if that’s all right with you, dear.”

  I wasn’t sure if it was worse to be on the water in Irma’s meticulously restored vintage speedboat or on the road in her expertly maintained red MG roadster. Both were lethally fast and prone to making me nauseous. But by boat was often faster, if slightly more terrifying. “Perfect,” I said through gritted teeth.

  “Do you want to change?” Irma asked helpfully.

  “Why?” I looked down at my clothes: black t-shirt, black jeans, and Converse sneakers. Black, obviously. Then I glanced over at Irma, who looked like she was on her way to a summer brunch. I looked like I was on my way to a funeral. “What’s wrong?”

  “Nothing.” Irma gathered up a few items to pop into her purse; a bottle of water, some sunglasses—wait, was that a Taser?—two power bars and a pair of racing gloves. Eventually, she was standing in the middle of the room, glowering.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “I can’t find my cellular telephone. How on earth do you people keep from losing yours?”

  I stifled a sigh, palmed my phone and dialled Irma’s. A chirping noise erupted under one of the couch cushions.

  “I see your point, dear,” she said testily.

  We locked up the house and headed out to the backyard, where Irma’s dock and boathouse were situated, her speedboat bobbing in the water. A gusty wind was blowing off the lake, the water glittering in front of us like a disco ball. I tried not to look as nervous as I felt. It was never good to show weakness in front of Irma.

  She cast off and pointed us toward town, the boat skidding over the waves. Spray periodically broke over the bow, flinging itself into my hair. After a while, I realized I was smiling. My skin felt electric. Alive. There were no emails to answer, no calls to take, no work to do at all, just me and my thoughts. And there was something about looking out at all that blue and not seeing people or buildings or anything at all that landed perfectly inside me, like it belonged there. It felt like anything was possible. Maybe this was the vitamin sea Irma was always talking about. To be clear, it also felt a little like the coffee I’d had wasn’t actually going to stay put, but I managed to hold on to my insides long enough to get to the dock that ran along Main Street.

  “Thanks, Irma,” I said, trying to keep my balance as the boat wobbled.

  Irma threw me a rope. “Tie us up please, dear.”

  I tried, but Irma eventually jumped out and finished knotting the ropes in intricate patterns as the water slapped the pier. Then she walked me briskly up the small lane connecting the dock to Main Street. “Have fun, now,” she said when we arrived.

  “You too.” I gave her a little salute and walked toward the clinic, squaring my shoulders.

  Sixteen—Irma

  After I dropped Violet off, I popped by the post office to mail a few bills. On the way back, I swung by Renée’s. She was standing in front of her store, supervising the installation of a replacement window pane.

  “Irma,” she said warmly when she saw me. “How are you?”

  “I’m all right, dear. You?”

  She let out a relieved sigh before fanning herself. It was especially hot out today and I expected she couldn’t get her air conditioning working until everything was fixed up. “Better,” she said. “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Water?”

  “Certainly,” she said. “I just need some caffeine.”

  I followed her to the kitchenette at the back of the store. On the way, I passed a staff photo: Renée with a few of her salespeople, Scooter standing at the end in his security guard uniform, smiling widely, his hands on his hips. A nametag on his chest said S. VAN OOT. He looked proud of himself. A hollow feeling moved into my chest. He was so young. And still fighting for his life.

  Renée busied herself with coffee-making and poured me a glass of ice water that went down beautifully. I didn’t know her well—she was new to the island—but I liked her. We’d gotten tipsy together at the Victoria Day fireworks at the Club together last month, which was always an excellent way to start a friendship. A friendship I hoped would extend to her letting me sneak a peek at Scooter’s belongings if he’d left any of them here.

  “You must be glad to be opening back up. When’s the big day?”

  “Tomorrow,” she said, throwing me a grin. “I haven’t thanked you for being so supportive the other day. I thought I was going to have a breakdown.”

  “It’s just shock.” I smiled at her. “Reminding you you’re safe.”

  The happy look on her face started to crumple. “Well, Irma,” she said, swishing out the coffee pot with water. “Not all of us,” she finished quietly.

  “No, of course.”

  “Poor Sean.”

  “Poor Sean,” I echoed.

  She finished her coffee prep and left the machine to perk. After pouring herself some water, she sat down.

  “I hear Richard bought into the store,” I said.

  She rolled her eyes and let out a little laugh before her mouth turned down at the sides. It seemed like she wanted to tell me something, so I let the silence draw itself out. Most people hated that kind of quiet.

  “Actually, after some digging, it turns out that a company owned by Charlotte bought into the store, and Richard is administering the partnership on her behalf. But now he’s trying to tell me what to do every single minute of the day,” she said ruefully.

  “Really?” I said casually, sipping my water. But underneath I was simmering. I’d bet the farm that Charlotte had no idea about the recent purchase—surely she would have mentioned it to me when the store was robbed.

  “Uh-huh. He wants me to sue the city.”

  “I’m sorry, what?”

  “Sue them for not keeping us safe from gun violence.”

  “Goodness.”

  She nodded. “I know. It’s insane. And I have enough on my plate without launching frivolous lawsuits.”

  I made a sympathetic noise. “The insurance will take care of everything. And then you can just get on with your life.”

  A sigh. “That’s the other thing—”

  I leaned forward just a little. Not too much.

  “He over-insured the store. The police were asking me about it.”


  I forced my voice to be calm. “Are they sure?”

  A nod. “Someone called into a tip line or something.”

  My stomach tightened. “How interesting. And how does one over-insure something? And who would call into a tip line?”

  “He over-insured us by inflating the value of our inventory and buying a second policy without my knowledge. It was probably an insurance agent who called it in, frankly. The average Joe doesn’t get too miffed about insurance fraud.”

  “How much of the business did he purchase?”

  “Forty-nine percent.”

  “So you still control the business. Smart girl.”

  She nodded, but her mouth was downturned. “He even started insuring the employees. I know he just bought a policy on Scooter.”

  “Good heavens.”

  “I mean, it’s legal to insure your employees, and Scooter signed all the forms, but it was for a million dollars! Richard mentioned getting more insurance for me and I told him no way.”

  “What did you tell the police?”

  “About what?”

  “Richard’s insurance shenanigans.”

  “The truth! I’m going to buy him out. I can’t take it.”

  Another sympathetic noise escaped from me, but I was barely paying attention. Did Richard convince someone to rob the store, telling them that they’d sell the jewels and split the proceeds while planning on keeping the insurance money for himself? And did Richard arrange everything so Scooter could be bumped off for his life insurance at the same time—so it would seem part of the robbery? I wondered exactly how much money Richard had already sunk into his legal defence. The family was wealthy, but good legal representation could wipe away one’s life savings in a nano-second.

  “I know a good attorney who might be able to help with that.”

  “Bless you, Irma. You always know the right person.”

  “At least you got the jewels back.”

  “Not yet,” she said, giving me a meaningful look. “The police still have them. I’m going to have to swap out some other pieces until the police finish their investigation. And some of them are pricier than the others. It makes me a little nervous, honestly.”

  “Why’s that?”

  “I generally keep the more precious ones in the safe. On the day of the robbery, we mostly had engagement rings out. We were having a summer sale.”

  I nodded. But inside me, alarm bells were clanging. What if the robbery was actually an attempt to test Renée’s security measures? And the time it took the police to respond? It felt like it could be penetration testing. The job had felt like the work of an amateur, but what if it was done by a much more professional organization?

  “Have the police made any headway?” I asked.

  She shook her head and tucked part of her lip up so she could chew on it. “Not a thing. I call them every morning, and every morning they tell me nothing.”

  “I see.” Bugger. “Well, I’m sure everything will be fine, Renée. I’ll send you that lawyer’s name in an email. Will I see you at the fundraiser on Saturday?”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “Excellent. I look forward to it.” I turned to leave. “Oh, just one little thing. Did Scooter happen to leave any of his belongings here? I was hoping to return them to Charlotte.”

  “Just his laptop.”

  I made sure not to show my glee in my body language. “I see.”

  “Richard came and picked it up this morning.”

  “Perfect,” I said cheerily, even though inside I wanted to squash Richard like a bug. I gave her a jaunty wave and navigated an exit through the bustle of the store. Outside, I circled the block until I found a secluded park bench. Then I pulled out my cellular and made a call.

  “Oui, bonjour.” Yes, hello.

  “Bonjour, Camille. It’s Irma.”

  “Irma!” my security contact said delightedly. “I have some information about that white van.”

  “I’m all ears.”

  “It’s registered to a numbered company out of the Caymans. It looks like the actual provenance is a bit murkier. We’re still hacking away at it. Shouldn’t be long now.”

  “Any ID on my John Doe?”

  “Right. There’s a missing person’s report from Akranes that—”

  “Iceland?”

  “Oui. The report seems to match his description, although it’s hard to say for sure. I really wish you’d taken his fingerprints.”

  “I apologize, dear.”

  “If that’s him, his name is Einar Jonsson, a twenty-nine-year-old from Akranes. Unemployed. He goes by Evan. He might have been in the country illegally. No priors, no criminal record at all that I could find.”

  “I wonder if someone was aware he was here illegally and used that to blackmail him into the robbery. Maybe he was just in over his head. Can you see if he ever worked for OotCo?”

  “Sure. Why?”

  “Richard Van Oot recently became a partner in the jewellery firm that was robbed. And apparently, he over-insured it. He also insured his young nephew for a cool million. And they weren’t exactly friends.”

  “Ah, bon. Anything else?”

  “I’m probably just being paranoid, but can you please run a background check on Renée Deschamps? She’s the owner of the store that was robbed.”

  “Anything hinky about her?”

  “Just covering all the bases. You haven’t heard of any other robberies like this one, have you? I’m starting to get worried it was an attempt at penetration testing.”

  “Nothing like this, no.”

  I sighed. “Good.”

  “Bon. I’ll get back to you as soon as possible.”

  “Thank you, dear.”

  After that, I double-timed it over to Stu’s.

  “Top of the mornin’ to ya,” he greeted me cheerily, his eyes twinkling, his beard divided into two slightly demented-looking ponytails.

  “Hewo Iwma!” his delightful four-and-a-half-year-old grand-niece Annie bellowed. She had similar ponytails in her hair, although hers were a little neater, it had to be said.

  “Why hello, young lady,” I answered her in my poshest accent.

  She squealed and covered her face with her hands as if her head might explode if she got any happier. Then she twirled in a circle. Sometimes I wished I was a child again. Things were so much simpler.

  “I have Annie for another half hour,” Stu said, picking her up from the floor and plopping her on the counter. Annie reached over and clapped both of her hands on my cheeks and smooshed my face up. This was a new, and not altogether pleasant thing she’d started doing recently, but I smiled and made fish lips for her until she released me from her fierce little grip.

  Stu’s pocket made a ringing noise and he fumbled around for his phone like it was an otter trying to escape him. “Yes?” he said, his voice short. His expression changed as he listened. “Who is this?” he demanded.

  I frowned.

  “Yes, I’m with her now.” Stu listened some more, then laid the phone on his chest to muffle the speaker. “He won’t tell me who he is,” he hissed.

  “Well, I don’t think he can kill me over the phone,” I hissed back. He grudgingly handed it over. It was lovely to see Stu so protective of me, but the truth was that as a civilian, he was a sitting duck, and it was my responsibility to take care of him. Or it had been.

  “Irma Abercrombie speaking,” I said with a little bite in my voice.

  “Good afternoon, Irma.”

  “Hello, Boris.”

  “Imam nuzhda da te vidya,” he said. I need to see you. Well, he’d never been one for idle chit chat.

  “Kŭdeto?” I replied: Where?

  “Frenchman’s Bay.”

  I did not enjoy the feeling emerging in my stomach. There was a huge park beside Frenchman’s Bay, with a heavily forested area that was a great place to bury a body. And trust me, I’d done the legwork. But hadn’t he told me at the Club he’d been there fi
shing every day of his visit and had met so many islanders? Even Charlotte’s overly energetic party planner, Emily, had noticed him. Surely if he wanted to kill me he’d pick somewhere better.

  “I have found something you need to see.”

  “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”

  “I am at the overflow parking lot. Blagodarya ti,” he said. Thank you. And was it my imagination, or did he sound relieved I was coming? I didn’t try to tamp down the cold feelings now jittering around inside me. They would be helpful for what would come next.

  “Stu, I now have an errand to run before we can set sail, which will give you and Annie even more time together.”

  “Yay!” she squealed.

  “Everything okay?” Stu asked. “Do you want me to come with?”

  “I’m fine,” I said, jogging out the front door, waving over my shoulder. “I’ll be back in a flash.”

  I made my way back to the boat. During the weekend, the street and the pier would be swamped with tourists, but right now they were empty.

  Except for a lone figure who was leaned over my boat, their hand on the cushion of one of the seats. I couldn’t tell who it was from this far away, but they looked like a civilian. Non-military posture, fidgety. Wearing a hoodie and dark pants. I looped the strap of my handbag around my wrist. It could cause some damage with a good enough windup.

  They didn’t look armed, but that didn’t mean anything. I walked as softly as possible down the pier. The figure—I was pretty sure it was a woman now—had stepped back from the boat and was looking out at the water, shielding their eyes. They didn’t seem to have any situational awareness at all. I didn’t relax, though.

  Then she swirled around. “Mrs. Abercrombie, hello! Is this your boat?”

  “Good afternoon, Emily.”

  She grinned. Freckles were spattered all over her face, and a large pair of sunglasses hid her eyes. But she looked happy under her hood, which covered her purple-black hair. “I just love your boat. Charlotte told me about it, and I thought this was it but I wasn’t sure, but now you’re here, and it is, so that’s awesome, eh?”

  I wasn’t sure what question to answer first. “Yes, this is my boat.”