Death of a Hot Chick

by Norma Huss

  “That may have been your perception. She had to develop that tough skin. You should have known her before. A cross word upset her for days. She didn’t value her own worth. It was her father, of course. He beat her down, destroyed her confidence. I’m of the opinion that he sent her to Hanson Academy hoping she’d fail our rigorous schedule.”

  “Beat her physically?”

  Kaye jerked her head back like I’d thrown a rock at her face instead of a question. “No.” But she recovered and asked, “What happened last night?”

  “No more than I told you over the phone.”

  “Nothing more? Do the police have any ideas who did it?”

  “Would they tell me if they did?”

  “We’ll assume they’ll use all the help we can provide. Walk me through—show me everything. Interested and knowledgeable amateurs frequently are able to intuit answers when professionals can’t.”

  “Kaye, I hate to be the one to tell you. One summer during grade school finding the odd lost cat or misplaced newspaper does not make you a detective.”

  She smiled that know-it-all big-sister-smile that used to mean I was wrong and she was about to prove it. But I’d learned a few things since childhood.

  I kept up my barrage. “Just because you devour every speck of information about any mystery on the Eastern Seaboard, doesn’t mean you’re a detective. Just because you play mystery games with some club devoted to amateur solving doesn’t mean you’re a detective. Just because you....”

  “We have to.”

  “Kaye, Nicole’s death has nothing to do with us. Absolutely nothing.”

  “You know that isn’t true. I’ve lost a friend. You’ve lost an employer. We are vitally concerned.” She held up her hands to stop my answer. “Okay, no detecting. We’ll only gather information and turn it over to the police. Happy now?”

  “No. The police are gathering information. They don’t want us mucking up the place.”

  Kaye beamed with her big-sister-smile, knowing full well that she could wear me down. “At least tell me all about it. Show me where it happened. You know I’m interested.”

  I muttered under my breath, but I turned and led Kaye to the spot where I’d found Nicole’s body. And, I answered questions.

  And more questions, until Kaye said, “Now I have the complete picture, an important factor in any investigation.”

  I snorted and headed back to Snapdragon. Kaye followed, talking all the way, which is why I wasn’t watching and nearly ran into Wes.

  He stood on my finger pier and he didn’t look happy. “Hey, Cyd, what are you doing with a gangster’s boat?”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I’ve been checking, what with me signing that paper, and the gal getting murdered here. Boat belongs to Pop.”

  “Pop?” Kaye at my shoulder, asked. “Who is Pop?”

  “No,” I said. “Snapdragon belonged to Nicole. That’s what you witnessed, the title. It was hers and she added my name, so we both owned it. That makes it mine now.”

  “You own the boat?” Kaye asked. “And, who is Pop?”

  “He’s a crook. He’s in jail,” Wes said. “Why do you suppose that gal had to bring his boat here? Bayside Marina didn’t want her, and I don’t either. She’s gotta go.”

  I charged into the boat, ignoring Kaye as she said, “Did you know this?” I lifted the silverware tray, moved my emergency stash of twelve dollars, and grabbed the title. I returned, and waved the paper in front of Wes’s nose.

  “Here’s the title. Chester somebody. Chester Foltz signed it over to Nicole Joline. See?”

  “Chester’s some kind of relative. Just a paperwork deal. That boat belongs to Pop and he won’t be happy to see you on her. And I sure won’t be happy to have more trouble at Smith Harbor Marina. With him, or anybody.”

  Yeah, Wes had a reputation to keep up. “How can someone sign a boat away and still own it? That’s not true!”

  Kaye, the detecting peacekeeper, held up her hand. “Time out. Mr.... Your name is Wes, isn’t it?” He snapped around quickly, as if she’d appeared out of nowhere. “Wes, I understand your concern. Your perception is that this Pop individual will come here from jail and kill someone else. Is that right?”

  “Heh! A guy like that? He’d do anything he damn pleases.”

  “He does not own this boat,” I shouted, trying to be heard. “I’m not going anywhere.”

  Wes glared at me. “Pop gets out of jail July thirty-first. The slip fee is paid up to the end of July. Today is July twentieth. Figure it out. I’m not renewing the contract.”

  Chapter 3

  After Wes dropped his bomb shell he left before I caught my breath. When I did, I groaned. “I suppose Granny’s boat slips are full. So, what do I do now?”

  “That’s a rhetorical question, I assume,” Kaye said. “You realize this puts a new light on the investigation. Do the police know this? And what is that paper you showed Wes? The title? Why do you have the title?”

  “Nicole gave it to me.” Which was—maybe not completely true. But she did tell me to take from her pocket. More or less.

  “You say it’s your boat?” Kaye took the title. She stared at it for several moments. “The paper is damp, wrinkled, and a bit smudged, but I can definitely read it. Boat owner: Nicole Joline or Cyd Denlinger. There might be some legal ramifications, but you may be right.”

  My scrub brush and bucket waited for me on top of the boat cabin. “I’m cleaning. Are you helping?”

  Kaye stared at the title. I’d already pored over each line and knew every word. But what could I do except listen to her? She said, “Chester Foltz signed the boat over to Nicole, but there’s another name first. Not Pop, but that is undoubtedly a nickname, and hardly one to raise such angst. Certainly it denotes familial felicity.”

  “Oh, come off it. Forget you’re a professor for once.”

  “Arthur Estep. That’s the name of the original owner.”

  “I’m the owner now. I’m working on my boat, and looking for a job. That’s it.”

  Kaye muttered, “Dated, signed, witnessed.” She was quiet way too long. Finally, she said, “You do realize this title makes you a suspect.”

  “But I.... You don’t....”

  “A suspect to the police, you ninny. Not to your sister. But it also means you have an excellent reason to work with me in finding Nicole’s killer. So, what else can you tell me?”

  Blackmail. Her ever-loving kid tricks. Using an accusation to rope me into helping her.

  Kaye started with an easy question. “Let’s talk about her boat. Do you know how Nicole got the boat?”

  I gave up. She’d won. “Bought it? Maybe that’s where all her money went.”

  “No, she loaned money to some person but insisted he sign over his boat as collateral.”

  “The Chester guy? And he didn’t repay the money.”

  “Right,” Kaye said. She knew she had me. “Now, what did you say about her not having money?”

  “Okay, here’s the thing. She was broke last night. Officer Yarnell doesn’t believe me, but she gave me the last twenty-two dollars in her pocket and went to get thirty more to pay for supplies.”

  “No, that’s not a good story. You’ll have me suspecting you. Now, what did she really say?”

  “Hey, it’s not a story. She was going to pay me zip. She asked me to bill her. She said, ‘I’m highly leveraged at the moment,’ which to me, means broke.”

  “Actually, it means borrowing....”

  “Yeah, yeah. I’m not completely stupid.”

  “We must assume that was a delaying tactic,” Kaye said. “She probably needed to cash a check. Banks aren’t open that late.” I opened my mouth, but she waved me off. “Okay, ATM’s are open. Even so, consider the possibility that her funds were in CDs with a penalty for early payout. Or stocks and bonds with her broker, whom, I might add, would certainly not be available to transfer funds late at night.”

  “High
ly leveraged means broke. Just saying.” I grabbed my title. “And I’m putting this away.”

  Kaye followed me inside the boat. She cleared her throat a couple of times before she said, “Nicole had mentioned buying up controlling stock in her father’s foundation. Would that break her?”

  “You’re asking me?”

  “Even if she were completely out of funds, I don’t think you should mention it. No one will believe you. Not when you’re speaking of the Joline family, and Nicole in particular.”

  Since I really didn’t want anyone, not even my sister, to know my secret hiding place, I grabbed a book and shoved the title inside before I turned. “For instance, you don’t believe me, do you?”

  Kaye’s face went through the full range of emotions. Did she believe me? Was she wondering how badly I wanted my own boat after Al....

  The quick pang surprised me. I had to think it through. Somehow my boat Honey had burned to the waterline with Al inside. Think of him running away, maybe with that woman and the money that disappeared at the same time. Think of that, not that he took my boat, not away from me.

  Why couldn’t I find out what really happened! Too many gossips who only hint. Too many police who have facts that make no sense all. And too long...way too long to hope.

  “Of course I believe you,” Kaye said.

  Then, why did she look at me like I was at the wrong end of a telescope? “Thanks for that rousing endorsement.”

  ~ ~

  Evening

  Brandon Bates followed me into the room where our Captain’s class was held. For me it was all review, but there were a few positives. Brandon wasn’t one of them. He looked like a gangsta wannabe with his oversized jeans and grungy T-shirt that didn’t quite match his stock-broker haircut. Although he did more talking than listening, he often asked intelligent questions. For some reason he avoided his usual seat beside the class beauty and sat next to me.

  “Yo.”

  I glanced at him. He did seem to be talking to me. I smiled then turned away. He kept talking.

  “You’re the one who found that body, right?”

  “Yes.” Ah, the mystery solved. He was looking for inside information. Gossip. I was not into dishing. I opened the slim book that came with the course and turned pages without looking up. Would he get the hint?

  “That’s her boat you’re living on, right?”

  So, he was oblivious to hints. I flicked my best evil eye imitation in his direction, then turned back to the book.

  “Well, it is, isn’t it? I guess you have nowhere to go now.”

  I kept turning pages.

  “Guess you were fixing it up, right? I could help, you know.”

  “What’s with this third degree?” I asked. “Nicole’s body isn’t even cold yet. I really don’t want to discuss it.”

  Brandon didn’t give up, but he switched tactics. “If you’re looking for tonight’s chapter, you’re in the wrong place. Page thirty-five.”

  Fortunately, Ike, our instructor came in. I turned to page thirty-five, ignored any chuckles coming my way, opened my notebook, and clicked the ball point pen in and out, waiting to hear the usual opening.

  Instead, Ike said, “Come in, Finley.”

  Finley? I knew a Finley once. Could it be the same one? Yep, it was! She entered, striding like a muscle-bound football player. She could wrestle nearly any man to the ground—and had in the past. That was Finley Swent, all six feet of her.

  “Class, we have a treat,” Ike said, “a real working captain to share her experiences.”

  Without planning it, I jumped up and charged. “Finley!” I yelled.

  She did a double take, then boomed, “Cyd? My god, what are you doing here? Hey, I thought this was a beginners’ class.” She bopped her fist toward me and we did our “bloody knuckles” version of a high five.

  “Ouch, I forgot how much that hurts. What’s it been? Four years?”

  “Easily. But, what... by god, didn’t you keep up your license?” She scowled. “And why not?”

  I could say something like, “Not everybody lives for boats,” but that wouldn’t work with my old friend. We’d lost touch, sure, but once we were two of a kind. “Long story. Dropped out to be the loving missus, which didn’t work out.”

  “I heard. Sorry that he died.”

  The wave of grief hit unexpectedly. Anger. I had to remember the anger. “Be sorry he destroyed my sailboat,” I answered, then added with more determination, “Be glad he’s gone.”

  Ike banged his book on the desk. He bellowed, “Is old-home-week over?”

  “After?” I said and scooted back to my desk. Anger almost worked.

  But Finley, no longer paying attention, turned toward Ike. “Hey, Buster,” she said. “Lighten up, okay?” Then she turned to the room full of assorted adults, some snickering like second graders, some poring over the class book, some completely unaware of any conversations other than their own. “Okay, you want to see a real commercial boat captain? You get two for the price of one here. Cyd and I started together, and she wants to get back in. Hey, that’s inspiration for you.”

  That was Finley. Embarrass the hell out of you. I shook my head and caught Finley’s wink. She knew perfectly well what she’d done. And, she’d planned it—not for months, but at least for seconds. I tossed a “go ahead” motion, urging her to get on with something else. And, as Ike continued his anti-climatic introduction, I realized that I’d slipped right into the camaraderie, and the language, of our old relationship.

  Finley strutted her stuff with the short, inspiring version of her success, starting from the Six-Pack captain’s license and fishing charters all the way to her two-hundred-ton license. She didn’t mention the bumps the size of Mt. Everest that she ran into along the way. Before she left she stopped by my seat.

  “Hear you’re living on a boat in Smith Harbor Marina. I’ll stop by, okay?”

  “You bet.” When I first got my ticket, the woman with the unlikely name of Finley Swent had gotten her captain’s license as well. She’d stayed with it, then moved up to large commercial vessels. We were best buddies for a while, until Al returned to Smith Harbor and separated me from the boating life. Yes, we’d get together!

  “What’s your phone number?” I asked. “I’ll call you.”

  ~ ~

  Unfortunately, Brandon waited for me after class and fell in step.

  “How about we stop for a beer?” he said.

  There were several reasons that was not going to happen, not the least of which was that Brandon was too much like Al. Or, what I belatedly suspected about Al. All flash, no roots. “How about you stop for a beer and I’ll go do what I intended to do.”

  “I could help you instead. Or you could help me. You sure don’t need to study, right?”

  “Like I said, I’ve got things to do. Alone.” How could I get him off my back? Tell the truth, of course. “Brandon, I’m taking a break from any social arrangements for a very long time.” After Al, I didn’t want to trust another man, maybe forever. At least, not as in, love, honor, and you-know-what.

  He leaned closer and chuckled. “Since when is studying a social arrangement, hmmm?”

  I kept eyes forward and one foot in front of the other.

  He easily kept pace, grinning a silly smile, which I saw out of the corner of my eye. Maybe he thought it was a come-on. “I’d really like some help with my studying,” he said with an oh-so-sincere tone. “And if you’re taking this course, maybe you have to study too, even if you were a boat captain once. Did you get that section from last week? I figured we’d go over it again today, but we didn’t. I’m confused. How about you?”

  Had Brandon already forgotten that the week before he’d volunteered to help the teacher explain things?

  “Let’s get this straight,” I said. “You and I are not going to study together, have a beer together, or do anything else except attend the same class to bone up on requirements before taking the Coast Guard exa
mination for a captain’s license. Got it?”

  “You’re a hard woman. I like that.” He chuckled, then bowed ceremoniously. “See you next Monday,” he said and finally peeled off.

  What was it with the guy? I was no appealing sweet young thing. I wasn’t over the hill, but neither was I anyone’s idea of a trophy date. A scrawny string bean instead of slim with curves. And almost blonde, sure–but my hair was bleached by hours in the sun, which also kept my complexion a bit too tan. A man with money, like Brandon, didn’t go for public-school women. Maybe he figured no one knew he was wealthy and I was just protective coloring, like his clothes. None of that fooled anyone in Smith Harbor. The neighborhood he lived in was a dead give-away. He’d probably been one of the eligible bachelors at Nicole Joline’s coming-out cotillion.

  ~ ~

  As soon as I stepped on the pier headed toward Snapdragon’s slip, I saw Gregory Norris leaning against the piling. He was another part of my past that I wanted to forget, the second of my trio of poor choices. Okay, the first one was grade school, and shouldn’t really count. But I refused to call Gregory my first love. He was the senior who thrilled me, the lowly high school sophomore, until I finally figured things out a whole four years later. He was also the only one who hadn’t left me. I left him, but he’d been in such an alcoholic haze, he probably hadn’t noticed. And, of course, Gregory’s good buddy Al had been ready to step into the void.

  “So this is where you hang out,” he said.

  “Yeah, and guess what? Snapdragon is all mine and I’ve got the paper to prove it.” I really didn’t want to see Gregory, but he was in a position to hire me. That was another thing going for him. Not only sober for three or four years, but owner of a charter fleet that needed captains. And I could be one of them. Definitely time to play nice. “Want to come aboard?”

  “Power? Not sail?”

  “Just getting her in shape to sell.” I hesitated, then said, “She could be a good addition to your fleet. Smaller than the others you own, but comfortable. Think of a customer taking a non-fishing wife along. Put a TV inside, get a dish and a digital conversion box. You could charge twice as much for a couple.”