A Tiny Dash of Death

by Carolyn L. Dean

  Sitting down, Claire realized they were next to Mrs. Freeman, who was wearing a full-sized Mexican sombrero with brightly-colored puffy balls on the rim, and happily chattering with a woman sitting next to her. Both turned toward Molly and Claire as they sat, smiling. “Hello, Molly dear,” Mrs. Freeman said in her somewhat reedy voice. “It’s so good to see you again. How are things at college?”

  Molly gave Claire a momentary look but responded to the older woman. “I wish I was still going to college! It’s been years but everything is going well.” She turned toward the other woman and waved. “Gayla! So good to see you.”

  The other woman had a friendly smile that was engaging and earnest, and sported fairly dark, shoulder-length hair strategically streaked with gray. Claire couldn’t tell if was done on purpose, but it came across as more stylish than not.

  “Wonderful to see you too, Molly. Are you still up for the potluck at church?”

  Molly nodded. “You bet, and if I can convince Claire to come, we might even be able to see Scott Bedford there as well.”

  Gayla turned to Claire and beamed at her, a definite twinkle in her eye. “Scott Bedford, my goodness. He’s one of Brightwater Bay’s most eligible bachelor, even if he does fidget too much when he comes to church. Still, we can put up with that, I’m sure.”

  Mrs. Freeman leaned toward Gayla with a slightly confused look on her face. “Who’s Scott Bedford?” she asked quietly. “Is he my plumber?”

  Gayla patted her hand, smiling gently. “He works in town. Nice man. You’ve met him and liked him.”

  “Oh, that’s good,” Mrs. Freeman said as she pushed the sombrero back from her face and turned back to Claire. “Is he boring nice or entertaining nice? I hope he can come. He sounds nice.”

  Claire nodded a little helplessly at the older woman, remembering what she’d been told about her fading memory and feeling badly for her, but she quickly schooled her face, not wanting to show her discomfort. “I’ll see what I can do,” she said to Mrs. Freeman.

  Mrs. Freeman smiled as if that settled it, taking Claire’s hand and squeezing it. “It will be good to see him again and I do love a good potluck. I’ll make scalloped potatoes! I just love putting bacon in it and using some of that Tillamook cheese. Wonderful stuff.”

  Claire looked at Molly and smiled as the people up on stage began turning the basket that held the bingo balls. Gayla had several cards in front of her, much like Claire and Molly but Mrs. Freeman only had one. However, she enjoyed herself immensely throughout the night, sometimes clapping when she had a good run of numbers, and scowling like a sailor whenever someone called out bingo. Every once in a while Claire or Gayla would gently let her know if she’d missed a number, or if she had marked one incorrectly, but the old lady didn’t seem to care. She was having a marvelous time.

  Gayla kept up a constant, friendly chatter with Claire and Molly, talking about all the things going on in town. It was fun to listen to, and Claire was amazed at the amount of innocent gossip the woman held until she mentioned that morning’s paper. Then her heart began to sink.

  “Did you read that article in the Brightwater Bay Review this morning?” She asked pleasantly as she marked a few of her numbers. “Seems the Cable boys haven’t had the best of luck. Shame really, but at least Officer Portman won’t have anything to worry about from Dexter anymore.”

  Claire’s ears perked up, at first worrying that Gayla would talk about Claire’s involvement and the unflattering commentary that had been directed at her, but she hadn’t expected to hear anything about Darryl. “Officer Portman? Why would he have had issues with Dexter?”

  Gayla leaned forward and smiled down the table at her. “Well, I’ve only heard rumors. Do you know him?”

  “He was the first person I met when I came to town, actually,” Claire said, suddenly concerned about her friend. “He was very nice to me.”

  “Oh, he is a very nice man,” Gayla said quickly. “Well respected around town, but there were rumors about his wife Ellen and Dexter. Something about a bar over in Hazelton a while back, but I honestly don’t know if there was anything to it. I hope it’s not true.”

  Claire exchanged glances with Molly, though her bubbly blonde friend didn’t look like she was surprised. She would have to pick Molly’s brain after this, not feeling comfortable with the sensitive discussion with so many people around. Still, it sounded like Darryl’s wife was involved with Dexter in some way. Strange that she left town prior to the body being found.

  She marked her bingo card automatically as she thought about what Gayla had said, and what it might mean. Had Darryl discovered something about his wife and Dexter? Crimes of passion were a classic motive for murder, though she dearly hoped her friend wasn’t involved in that way. He had been nothing but kind to her but did she owe the man anything if he was a murderer? She wanted to stay on the right side of the law, but she also was fiercely loyal to her new friends.

  The rest of the time was fun, though neither Molly or Claire won anything. Still, she had a good time and looked forward possibly returning in two weeks. Walking out of the gym, she looked sideways at Molly. “Care to go out and get some drinks? Maybe you can tell me what you know about Ellen and Dexter.”

  Molly grimaced slightly but nodded. “I’m not nearly the gossip Gayla is and don’t know much, but sure, we can go out for drinks. There’s a local tavern called the Gaelic Jig that’s got good snacks and not too loud. We can go there.”

  Chapter 7

  The Gaelic Jig was a beautiful, old-style tavern with lots of warm woods and light music filling the air alongside the conversations from the patrons. Claire was happy it wasn’t too boisterous, and after listening to the song playing, realized it was some sort of lively Irish instrumental.

  “I’ve always liked jigs,” Claire said, looking around herself as Molly beamed.

  “It’s one of my favorite places to come for a drink,” Molly said. “There’re a couple other places in town, but they don’t have nearly as much atmosphere. They’ll even have a live band come in on Fridays and Saturdays. It’s usually a group that plays Celtic music. I think there are musicians that come in from out of town to play here though I don’t know if they’re famous or not. I would like to think so, but,” Molly shrugged, moving toward one of the empty tables. “—it’s not exactly a happening place.”

  After they’d sat down a waitress was quick to come by and ask what they wanted. Molly got a glass of wine but Claire noticed a nice hard apple cider on the drink menu and asked for that. As soon as the waitress had left, Claire leaned on the table toward Molly. “Okay, spill it, sister.”

  Molly blinked. “It’s not like I’ve held out on you,” she said, laughing softly. “You’re making me feel like I’m in a spy novel.”

  Claire laughed, too. She had been so worried about the newspaper article and what people would think about her, she had to remember not to take it out on her friends. “You are so right. I’m sorry, Molly. I didn’t mean to jump at you about this. I’m just a little nervous about it since that Jeff Sinclair person was throwing around that I might be involved in some weird way.” She took a deep breath. “I’m not used to my life being public, especially in the newspaper.”

  “Don’t worry,” Molly said. “I completely understand. Jeff is a bit overly-dramatic and he wasn’t very fair to you in his article. If it helps, I’ll give him a piece of my mind the next time I see him.” She winked at Claire. “I’d bet good money Scott will, too.”

  “You’ll have to get in line, though Darryl suggested I’d probably see him around soon. You can bet I won’t hold back my opinion when I see him. The nerve of someone suggesting I had something to do with these deaths! It’s ridiculous.”

  “Well, give ‘em heck when you see him,” Molly said, making a fist and acting like she was punching someone in the face, and Claire laughed.

  “Will do.”

  Claire leaned forward, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial whisper. �
�Now, about the rumors of Ellen and Dexter. Like I said, I don’t know much except that Ellen hasn’t been happy with Darryl for a while. Ever since she ran for a seat on the town council and got trounced, she’s been trying to get Darryl to move out of town. I think when he turned down a job offer near Seattle, that was the last straw and she started going over to Hazelton to hang out at the bars there.”

  “But what does that have to do with Dexter?” Claire asked.

  “Well, nothing concrete that I know and I’ve never seen it myself, but the rumors began to circulate that she was seeing someone over there, and Dexter’s name came up.” Molly finished, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Claire.

  Claire leaned back, taking a long drink of her cider that had arrived while they’d been talking. It was good. Not too heavy, but with enough of a sweet tang that it teased her tongue. That was one thing she enjoyed very much about the Pacific Northwest. They knew how to brew all sorts of interesting alcohol.

  “Which bar?” Claire finally asked.

  “You mean which one did Ellen go to? I have no idea. I don’t go to Hazelton very often.”

  “Hello, ladies! What’s wrong with this bar?” came a familiar voice. Claire turned and saw Scott approaching their table, carrying a tall glass of beer.

  “Nothing,” Claire answered, smiling at seeing his friendly face. “What are you doing here?”

  “I think he’s stalking you,” Molly stage-whispered behind her hand, a definite twinkle in her eye.

  “Oh, I’m offended. Stalking is such a harsh word,” Scott said, throwing a dramatic hand over his heart. “I prefer surreptitiously accompanying.”

  Molly’s eyebrows went up. “Whatever helps you sleep at night, buddy,” she said, and Claire laughed.

  Scott ignored her. “For your information, I was here with some friends from the ferry crew, throwing darts. If anyone was stalking someone, it wasn’t me. Now, what is this about a bar?” he asked.

  “We were just talking about the rumors of Ellen and her adventures to Hazelton, but I didn’t know which bar she went to down there.” Molly volunteered.

  Scott frowned and considered what he’d been told. “I haven’t heard any rumors about Ellen, but there’s only one bar in Hazelton. It’s called the Pearl’s Plank and is pretty much a dive bar for the locals. I’ve been there a few times. It’s nothing special.”

  Claire patted the chair next to her, indicating for Scott to sit down, which he did. “Molly says that there were rumors that Ellen and Dexter were seeing each other, or something.”

  “Ah,” Scott said, sudden understanding appearing in his eyes. “This is about Dexter and who might have killed him? Do you think Darryl did it?”

  Claire wrinkled her nose and looked down at her drink. “I hope not, but it’s a possibility, right? Maybe Ellen did it? I don’t know her so I don’t know what kind of person she is.”

  “I can’t say for sure, but I just can’t see Ellen manhandling anyone into a boat and then cuffing them to a crab trap. She’s totally the poisoning type, if she did anything. Some sort of painful poison, that would leave boils on the corpse.” Scott said. “However, we have other things to worry about. Captain Karl is due back in port tomorrow. Are you still up for visiting the good captain?”

  Claire took a deep breath, thinking hard about how to answer his question. It had been several days since she’d suggested going down there, but she decided she was still up for the adventure. Besides, how bad could the man be?

  “Yes, I’m still up for it. I’ve already cleared it with Mrs. Applegate and she’s fine with me taking the time off.”

  “Captain Karl?” Molly said, staring at Claire with wide-eyes. “Oh boy.”

  Chapter 8

  Claire had decided to leave Roscoe at home after seeing the look on Molly’s face. The poor little dog would be cold out on the windswept docks anyway, and he would be okay for a bit of time. He’d been definitely put out when she’d left, sulking as he sat in his bed, even though she’d left him with a couple of treats and a new squeaky toy to chew.

  Brightwater Bay was not a large port for industrial fisherman, but it had a few warehouses and good-sized docks for the few professional fishing boats that operated out of the town. Scott’s Jeep had no trouble finding a place to park among the scattered crates and random equipment in the lot off the main road. As they got out, the huge flock of white seagulls that had been loitering in the gravel took off in a wild swoop of flapping wings, like gray and white confetti flying into the winter sky.

  Sitting on the solid concrete dock was a fairly large, red fishing boat with white lettering on the bow, identifying it as the Sea Havoc. It was mid-morning, and there were only signs of one or two men working on deck, but knowing nothing about fishing vessels, Claire had no idea if this was normal.

  She and Scott walked toward it, although Claire wasn’t nearly as certain this was a good idea as it had been a day ago. She was even less certain when they approached the plank, and a huge man walked out from behind a covered area under what looked like the bridge. He was easily a head taller than Scott and had massive shoulders topped by a huge, bushy beard.

  The man looked distinctly unfriendly when he stopped on the other side of the railing from them and crossed his beefy arms over his chest, giving them a once-over. “What do you want?” he finally asked in a deep rumble, his teeth somewhat brown from chewing on what looked like tobacco.

  “Uh, is Captain Karl available?” Scott asked, somewhat quietly as he looked up into the man’s grim features.

  “Maybe,” the man said. “What do you want with him?”

  “We wanted to ask him about a talk he had with Ben Draper,” Scott answered. “We just had some questions.”

  The huge man stared at Scott for a long moment before spitting a gob of brown liquid over the side of the ship into the water below. “I’ll go check if he wants to see you.” Without another word, he turned and walked back to where he had been, disappearing into a doorway.

  “Wow,” Claire said as she looked at Scott. “I didn’t know that Godzilla lived in Brightwater Bay.”

  “Yeah, you’re only half right,” Scott said. “That was Beast. They used to let him practice with the high school team when he was in middle school. Man, he could hit hard even then. When he actually got old enough to play in the high school games, he got banned for hurting too many people. I don’t think he ever stopped growing. It doesn’t help that he has a bad temper, too. Captain Karl is probably the only one who could keep him under control.”

  “Why is that?” Claire asked.

  “He’s meaner than Beast,” Scott answered, even as a man stepped out of the same doorway that Beast had disappeared into. He was wearing a dark-blue, wool coat and matching hat, and Claire was happy to see he wasn’t huge like Beast. As the man walked closer, he kept his sea-blue eyes under his bushy eyebrows focused on the two of them. Claire wouldn’t have been surprised to see the man’s bearded visage charging off of a Viking boat from history.

  “Hey, what ya want ta know about Ben?” Captain Karl said without preamble, eyeing them with a stern, unwavering stare. He had a thick Scandinavian accent, and it took a moment for Claire to work through what he’d asked.

  “Well,” Claire began, trying to ignore the man’s intimidating stare, “We heard that you and Ben had an argument in town a while back.”

  “Wasn’t no argument,” Captain Karl said in his clipped, sing-song tone. “I was yelling at him for breaking the law. I don’t care how stupid you are; you have to obey the law.”

  Claire blinked, taken aback by the man’s terse answer and hawk-like gaze. “What law did he break?”

  “Putting crab traps in the bay out of season. It’s against the law.” Karl said, clearly unimpressed by Scott or Claire.

  Claire looked at Scott questioningly, not having a clue about when anything was in season. “Yeah, technically in this area, the crab season is only between October and December, but Darryl lets him p
ut his traps out without bait. Even if he does catch anything, he throws it back.”

  “Yeah, it’s still illegal to put the traps out, eh?” Karl said, his eyebrows lowering a bit as his eyes narrowed. “It’s a navigation hazard for my nets. I’m tired of having to fish around dem things out of season. One almost got caught in my propellers a week ago. That’s why I was yelling at that idiot. Just because the man has mental problems shouldn’t give him the right to disobey the law, eh?”

  Claire frowned, put off at the captain’s offensive language, but the way he’d said it, she wondered something else. “Do you ever pull his traps up?”

  The man actually frowned this time and looked angry. “Listen, I don’t know who you are, but you need to be careful. That’s against the law, too, and I don’t make a habit of breaking the law. I think you need to get out of here. I’m done with you.” He said, throwing his hand up and brushing it in the air toward them as he turned away.

  Claire and Scott watched him walk into his ship before turning and heading back for Scott’s jeep. She was deep in thought, not paying attention to the seagulls that had settled once again off to the side, too consumed with what Captain Karl had said.

  Or not said.

  The gruff man hadn’t actually answered her question about pulling up the crab traps, which made her wonder. What if he’d had something to do with Dexter, killed him, and then gone out to Ben’s crab traps to frame him? Once they’d gotten into the jeep, she made her suspicions known to Scott, but her friend didn’t seem very convinced.

  “I don’t know, Claire. There has to be a reason for the man to have killed Dexter. Honestly, right now Darryl has more of a reason to have killed Dexter than Captain Karl. Right now, he’s only guilty of being grumpy and politically incorrect.”