Radical Regatta!

by Anna Celeste Burke

  “He couldn’t have been happy about Brien interfering with his plan to grab Archie. It wouldn’t have worked, no matter who he’d paid to grab Archie if I hadn’t taken him outside. Maybe he blames—blamed—Brien for saving the dog. What if the idea was to drown the dog to get rid of whatever’s in the collar?”

  “I suppose that could be enough for a loser like Earl Gardner to want to kill Brien. I sure wish we could find the blasted collar. Bonnie searched every inch of the clinic. If it was there, Uri Popov must have snatched it. We might have lots of our questions answered if we could see what’s inside it, although we don’t know for a fact that there’s anything in it at all.”

  “Like Hitchcock’s MacGuffin.” Brien and Bernie both wore blank stares. “You know it’s a thing everyone’s after that drives action and conflict—like the Maltese Falcon or the suitcase in Pulp Fiction.” Mitchum broke into a smile.

  “I’m a detective. Of course, I know what a MacGuffin is.” Mitchum yawned.

  “Sorry, I’m running on too little sleep. I’d barely finished interviewing the punk who attacked you when the call came in about Gardner’s car. The young hoodlum said he’d been hanging out here for an hour or so before you came outside. MacGuffin or not, Earl Gardner told him to stay here until your friends left and the lights went out. I’m getting too old for crime sprees.” Brien opened his mouth to speak, and then must have thought better about it. That was a wise idea if Brien had planned to weigh in on the “too old” part of Mitchum’s comment given how frayed Mitchum’s nerves appeared to be.

  “You need more help,” I said.

  “That’s never going to happen unless it dawns on the local bigwigs that all the new development attracting rich tourists means we’re becoming a mecca for the criminally inclined with deep pockets.” Bernie sounded weary as he considered that prospect.

  “It’s their criminal inclinations that help some rich people acquire their deep pockets. I’m sure Bede told you about the owner of the Blazing Star and his shady past.” I waited for Mitchum to answer as he fought off another bout of yawning.

  “Yes. You’d think they’d have better things to do with their money than cause trouble for each other and everyone else.”

  “In this case, what do you mean by causing trouble for each other?” Brien asked.

  “I’m talking about Gardner who, no matter what he told your boss, Brien, was not looking out for the well-being of a regatta sponsor. Word got out right away about Gardner’s death and your friend in housekeeping—Lena Denton—called me before I could drag myself into the office this morning. Apparently, one of the women she supervises came to her in tears because she’d seen Earl Gardner go into the Masons’ suite. He’s the one who put up the Do Not Disturb sign, paid her a few bucks to keep her mouth shut, and she was afraid she’d get fired if she told us about it.”

  “That was Thursday, right? What was he doing in there?” I asked.

  “It wasn’t the first time she’d seen him going into the suite, but usually Goldilocks let him in.” Detective Mitchum did his shifty-footed two-step.

  “Aha! While her husband was out on the golf course or somewhere like that?”

  “Yes, it appears that Angela Mason and Earl Gardner met, privately, almost from the day she arrived in Corsario Cove. I’d say the delinquent was telling us the truth that he overheard Gardner speaking to a woman on the phone. Most likely, it was Angela Mason, given that they’d been seen together previously, and he promised not to bring back the dog.”

  “Most likely? What’s that about? Didn’t you find her number on Gardner’s cellphone? If you’re not sure it was Angela Mason, can’t you get the call records for her phone or track the location of the woman he spoke to?”

  “Hey, I’m certain it was Angela Mason, but she must have been using an unregistered phone when she took calls from Gardner. We know whoever he spoke to was close. That doesn’t help much.”

  “She’s slippery, isn’t she?” Brien asked.

  “Yes, she is. Anyway, to continue my story about Earl Gardner’s scheming ways, the woman in housekeeping said that on Friday, he came out of the suite carrying a black bag and left after he handed her a couple more twenties.”

  “That had to be Dr. Mason’s medical bag. I wonder why Al didn’t mention it.”

  “I’m a step ahead of you,” Mitchum replied. “Why should Al get a Sunday without being bothered at home? I called at the crack of dawn and asked him about it. He assures me that when Gardner came out of the elevator, he wasn’t carrying a bag.”

  “So, either he handed it off to someone on his way down or stashed it someplace and picked it up later,” I concluded.

  “I assume that’s what happened. Al sent us the surveillance video from the penthouse floor, but no one has had a chance to review it yet.” He yawned again. “I’m going to go home, take a quick nap, and then head back to my office. I want the crime lab folks to tell me what they’ve come up with after hauling in Gardner’s car to examine it. I’ll also take a chance on annoying my boss by paying overtime for an officer to go through the video footage now that we’ve got a narrower window of time we need to search.” Mitchum opened his car door and then paused before getting in.

  “Has Bede called you?”

  “No. Are you worried about him? He told us he thought it would be later today before he’d have more information from his sources.”

  “I’m not worried, but I’ve got a hunch we might learn something useful if we visit the Blazing Star.”

  “That’s an intriguing idea. Can’t you come up with a reason to board the boat?” I asked.

  “That’s no problem. I’d like to hear what the owner and the crew members can tell me about how a dead man could have been tied up in the slip their shuttle uses without any of them noticing any unusual or suspicious activity. I’m going to ask to be shown around, and I’d like to take Bede along to see if he recognizes anyone as we tour the yacht.”

  “Mega-yacht,” Brien said, correcting Mitchum.

  “Mega-menace is more like it if the owner’s responsible for the crime wave that’s hit the cove since it dropped anchor. I’ve got to go. It looks like you’ve made plans—doing something fun, I hope.”

  I wasn’t sure I should tell him we were planning to spend the next few hours spying on the mega-menace. I got a tingly sensation on my scalp when Mitchum shared his hunch with us. That both he and Bede had settled on the Blazing Star as a focus for the ongoing investigation, increased my urgency to get to work.

  “Bede suspects Dr. Mason and his wife might be guests of Nizenski,” Mitchum said.

  “We’ve sort of wondered about that, too. You haven’t said a word about finding a charge on Mason’s account for a room elsewhere or a dinner out.”

  “Nope, not a penny spent since he used it to charge the fees for a round of golf on Wednesday afternoon while his wife was visiting the spa.”

  If that’s really where she was, I thought. Mitchum got into his car at that point, backed into our driveway to turn around and headed out to the street. A golf cart came to a halt as Mitchum inched forward. The man in the driver’s seat waved for the detective to leave, but Mitchum declined until he was sure the cart had moved on. That was a relief. I didn’t like the way the driver was examining the entrance to our little enclave of cottages.

  “What do you make of that looky-loo?” I asked Brien as we hooked Archie’s harness to the seat belt. He was already in the back seat, waiting patiently for us to leave.

  “You’re such a good dog.” I leaned in, patted him, and he rolled sideways for me to pat his belly. Brien still hadn’t responded to my question about the man in the golf cart. It’s too bad Mitchum was in an unmarked car. I’ll bet the guy wouldn’t have hesitated to move on if the detective had been driving a police cruiser.

  “I’m so glad Earl Gardner sent that little ding-dong after Archie.” As I said that, I turned to glance at the intersection where the golf cart had passed by a minute ago.
“Let’s go nail the sucker at the center of the vortex of heinousness.”

  “I’m with Bernie and Bede that the trail leads back to the Blazing Star,” Brien said. He hadn’t laughed at my effort to be lighthearted about the chaos underway, which, to me, now included the snoop in a golf cart. Brien finally acknowledged my concern before I brought it up again. “I saw him. Get out your cellphone. If he’s anywhere within sight on the golf path, I’ll signal you, and you call Mitchum. Get him to turn around and come back here.”

  Brien pulled up and parked alongside our street near the edge of the intersection. While we were still out of sight, Brien stopped, jumped from the golf cart, and picked up a large, woody branch from a nearby tree.

  Then Archie began to bark. Brien stepped forward as the guy we’d seen earlier came zipping around the corner. He fixed his gaze on me, but he was going way too fast and didn’t see Brien. When Brien hurled that tree branch at him, it hit the golf cart before landing in front of him. The driver swerved and flipped over. Then Brien yanked him from the driver’s seat by the scruff of his neck, slammed him to the ground, and sat on him.

  “Mitchum,” I said when he answered my call. “We’ve got another one for you. This one’s no baby.”

  “I know, I know. I saw the guy turn around. I’m already on my way and I’ve called for help.” He must have switched on his siren at that point because I heard it. It wasn’t more than a few seconds before Mitchum screeched to a halt on our street.

  “Officer! Make this gorilla get off me!” the guy hollered in a deep voice with a heavy accent. Brien handed Mitchum a wallet he’d taken off the man. “He caused me to wreck my golf cart. I want him arrested.”

  “You were exceeding the speed limit, Mr. Spassky.” Mitchum said as he examined the man’s ID. “Boris, are you here for the regatta or a chess championship?”

  “Boris Spassky was the name of the guy who beat Bobby Fischer,” Brien said. The things he comes up with at odd moments often shock me. “Uh, this guy’s way too young, Detective.”

  “He makes a joke, Mr. Gorilla. Although this is no time for jokes. I’m calling my lawyer.”

  “That will be the first thing you can do once we get you to the station,” Mitchum said as Brien hauled the man onto his feet. A police car pulled up, and Mitchum hollered at one of the officers in it. “Cuff him.”

  “Hang on a second, the chess champion’s packing heat. Sore loser, are you, Boris?” Boris, or whatever his real name was, snarled at Brien who used the edge of his T-shirt to lift a handgun from a shoulder holster. Mitchum had pulled out one of the evidence bags that he always seems to have on him, and Brien dropped the gun into it.

  “You’d better have a license to carry a concealed weapon or no lawyer’s going to be able to do anything for you,” Mitchum admonished him.

  “I didn’t know they issued those in Canada,” I said peeking at the Canadian driver’s license Mitchum held. The wretched man peered at me in disgust, and then spit at me! I stepped back just in time.

  “Boris doesn’t appear to regard our laws about carrying a concealed weapon any more seriously than he does our speed limits.” The officer who cuffed him, patted down Boris and then pulled a cellphone from another pocket. One of those burner phones. Imagine that.

  “Good luck getting that nut to crack,” I said to Brien as the squad car took off and Mitchum left again.

  “Do you want to stay home? We can tell Bede we’ve been targeted twice in less than twenty-four hours, and don’t want to play the spy game.”

  “Are you kidding? Mitchum’s no jerk, but he’s in way over his head with scoundrels and crime scenes everywhere he turns! Whether he knows it or not, he needs us.”

  “I’m with you. He had our backs just now, so we should take up some of the slack for him if we can. We’ve got to find something that gives us a clue about the reason for the crime spree.” Brien sped toward the resort. This time, we arrived without incident, although I kept watching until we were safely at our destination. We chose a spot that gave us good cover, or so I thought.

  14 Under Wraps

  Brien finished a sandwich from a bag I’d brought with us. We were sitting on a blanket with a great view of the point at which the practice runs ended. Just beyond that point, was the real object of our attention. For over an hour, we didn’t see any action on board the Blazing Star or near it. Then the skiff began shuttling supplies to the ship. A dinghy brought a load to the boat, too. At least some of the boxes were marked with the MCIII name.

  “Goldilocks’ brand is being hoisted aboard,” I said. “Here, eagle-eyes, see if she’s lurking in the shadows with an ice bucket or a tiny bottle with skull and crossbones on it.” I handed the binoculars to Brien who scanned the ship.

  “Either they ran out of everything, or there’s an army on board that they’re feeding. The skiff and the dinghy are so full they’re dragging in the water.”

  “I don’t see any evidence of an army, do you?”

  “No. It’s just a boring mega-yacht, isn’t it?” Brien asked. “We must be wrong that the Blazing Star is at the center of the heinousness that’s going on.”

  “My gut tells me there’s trouble on board. I’m not sure what I expected to see. Grocery and booze deliveries? Please! Boring is right!”

  “There are worse things than a couple of hours of boredom. Are we adrenalized junkies?”

  “Surfing certainly counts as thrill-seeking behavior. Mitchum would call us adrenalin junkies.”

  “Not adrenalized?”

  “That, too! I don’t need to be on a thrill ride every minute, but boring isn’t good either.” Boredom makes me hungry, and my gut was also telling me to eat, eat, eat. I was halfway through a sleeve of butter cookies when, thankfully, things became more interesting. “Who’s on the water taxi that’s pulling up?”

  “It’s not an army, but it is a crowd. Stella, from public relations, just got out. Two members of the regatta organizing committee, whose names I can’t remember, are right behind her. Whoa! It’s a boatload of big shots. Dennis Harmon from resort development, Dick Delaney who honchoed the marina and yacht club addition, and Mayor Buckley. There are a couple of other people that I’ve never seen before.”

  “That’s quite the delegation of local authorities—movers and shakers. Can you see who’s meeting them?”

  “Yes! You’d better check it out because I’m not sure what the heck I’m seeing.” Brien handed me the binoculars, and a puff of air escaped my lips.

  “Well, well, well, Mrs. Mason, I presume.” Her whereabouts were no longer a mystery. The tall woman’s blond hair was upswept into a hairdo like Jennifer Lopez had worn to the Academy Awards a few years ago. She wore a royal blue suit that fit her perfectly—the way tailor-made designer duds are meant to. “She doesn’t look like she’s been a victim of the recent crime wave, does she?”

  “No, but the dude with her doesn’t seem to be doing so great.”

  Angela Mason was standing behind a wheelchair. Brien was right when he referred to the person sitting in it as a “dude.” Beyond that, it was difficult to say much about him. His head and face were covered in bandages, except for slits for his eyes, nose, and mouth. On the thin side, he wore what appeared to be a warmup suit and very expensive designer sneakers. When he reached out to shake hands, I spotted a chunky gold, jewel-encrusted ring on one hand.

  “Do you want to see him shake hands with the bigwigs?” I asked Brien.

  “Sure, is it Dr. Mason?”

  “I don’t think so. The guy’s thinner than Dr. Mason, although he’s not as skinny as Uri Popov.”

  “What a ring!” Brien exclaimed as he stared at the activity on the deck of the luxury yacht. “There’s a load of diamonds and a honking big sapphire. I’m not so sure about the shoes, but I could see Mason wearing the ring.” Brien quit speaking but kept spying. “You might have been right about the owner being a Saudi Prince. Mayor Buckley just curtsied.”

  “Let me see!” I
reached for the binoculars and grabbed them before Brien had them off his neck and dragged him toward me.”

  “Take it easy. You don’t have to hurt me to get a kiss.” He smooched me, and we were lost in the kiss. Then I shook it off, hoping we could get ourselves untangled so I could catch the rest of drama unfolding on the Blazing Star.

  “She did it again!” I gushed a minute later. “Mayor Buckley curtsied as she greeted Mrs. Mason. Maybe we should be calling her Lady Mason or the Duchess if her disputed origins mean she’s of royal descent.”

  “If royalty’s on board the Blazing Star, could they keep it a secret?” Brien asked.

  “Those bandages are one way to keep the man’s identity under wraps,” I replied. “Ha! The guy behind Mayor Buckley is eying the ring like he might kiss it. Forget about a Saudi Prince, it’s the Pope!”

  “That can’t be.” Brien and I both jumped at the sound of Bede’s voice. “I have it on good authority that he’s in Castel Gandolfo writing ‘como se i diavoli alle calcagna’—as if the devil is on his heels!” Bede smiled as he translated the phrase for us. Some watchdog! Archie was on his feet, wiggling his way to Bede. When he finally woofed, my heart rate had almost returned to normal.

  “Sorry to be so jumpy. I thought we’d done a better job of hiding,” I said.

  “No problem. I heard you all had an exciting morning.”

  “Oh, yes, and on the heels of a delightful evening,” I added. “I’m glad you spoke to Mitchum. He was wondering where you were.”

  “I know. He made me promise to track you down and keep you from getting into more trouble today.”

  “From what he told us, he can’t wait to get you into trouble. Did he explain that he wants you at his side when he boards the mega-yacht and demands to be shown around? If we did that, he’d accuse us of walking up to a sleeping lion and yanking its tail.”

  “Unlike you two, Mitchum is an officer of the law. Nizenski might hesitate before opening fire on him.” Bede sat down on the blanket and Archie flopped down alongside him.