Dead and Berried

by Peg Cochran

  A wave slapped the small boat, putting everyone off balance. For a second Monica thought she might be able to take advantage of the moment to grab the gun. She lunged toward Arline but Arline raised the gun in the air, and Monica couldn’t reach it. She landed on her knees in the well of the boat, the water they’d taken on soaking the hem of her dress.

  Monica scrambled back to her seat and tried to ring out the water.

  Arline laughed. “I wouldn’t bother with that if I were you. You’re going to be going for a swim in a minute.” She leveled the gun at them again. “Over the side you go. I don’t care which one of you goes first.”

  Neither Monica nor Gina moved. Monica stared at the dark gray water of the lake and shivered. She knew how to swim, but she wasn’t a particularly strong swimmer. And having lost her fiancé, who had at one time been considered for an Olympic team, to a swimming accident had made her especially leery of the water.

  Monica and Gina continued to sit and stare at Arline, not quite believing she meant what she said.

  “Get going now!” Arline raised the gun and fired into the air.

  Monica and Gina jumped and Gina gave a little cry. Monica wondered if anyone had heard the shot? If so, had they assumed it was a car backfiring or someone shooting off fireworks?

  Monica suddenly found herself staring down the barrel of Arline’s gun. She had a choice—certain death by a gunshot to the head or take a chance that she could stay afloat long enough to reach shore or another boat. She looked around. There were no other crafts nearby and the banks of the lake seemed impossibly far away.

  When Arline’s finger began twitching on the trigger of the gun, Monica took a deep breath and hurled herself over the side of the boat.

  The cold water made her gasp and she swallowed a mouthful as she rose to the surface, choking and sputtering. She reached out an arm and grabbed for the boat. The first time she missed, and she felt panic seize her before reason and instinct set in and she began treading water.

  She reached again for the boat, and this time she grasped the side with her fingertips. Gina’s white face loomed over her as she pulled herself closer.

  “You’ve got to let her back in the boat,” Gina said, a sob catching in her throat.

  “Let her back in?” Arline sneered. “You’re about to keep her company.”

  A look of fury tinged with determination came over Gina’s face. With lightning speed, she ripped off her stiletto-heeled sandal and brought the business end down sharply on Arline’s wrist.

  Arline yowled in pain and dropped the gun. The point of Gina’s shoe had punctured the skin and her wrist was bleeding. She grabbed her wrist with her other hand.

  Gina, meanwhile, took control of the gun and with a quivering hand pointed it at Arline.

  None of them saw the wave that had been gathering steam and was now bearing down upon them. It hit like a slap and washed over them, losing power as it rushed toward shore.

  Monica lost her grip on the boat and for a terrifying moment, went under, turning head over heels until she didn’t know which way was up and which way was down. She finally broke the surface, took a shuddering breath and spit out a mouthful of water.

  The boat had drifted several feet away and Monica struck out toward it, thankful she was wearing only a light sundress and not her usual jeans. A lock of hair had been washed across her face, covering her eyes, and she could barely see.

  The capsized boat seemed to drift farther away with each stroke she took toward it, but finally she reached it. She held on for a few moments, trying to catch her breath, which was coming in ragged gasps.

  Arline had struck out toward shore, her strokes strong and assured. Gina was flailing in the water several yards away.

  “Help,” Gina yelled.

  Monica reluctantly let go of the boat and set out toward Gina. She was beginning to tire and her breathing was labored. She stopped for a moment to tread water. She brushed the water from her eyes and looked around. There were no other boats nearby—they’d have to get back to their boat and hang on until, hopefully, someone saw them and rescued them.

  Monica set off again and with a few more strokes reached Gina.

  “Can you tread water?” Monica said.

  “I’m trying. Now I’m sorry I skipped gym when we had swimming in high school. I didn’t want to get my hair wet or ruin my makeup.”

  Trust Gina to make her laugh even at a time like this, Monica thought.

  “You’re going to have to swim to the boat.” Monica pointed toward the overturned vessel. She devoutly hoped that Gina’s swimming went beyond the doggy paddle, although it really didn’t matter how she got there—just that she did.

  Gina’s teeth were chattering and her updo had come down completely. Her hair hung lankly on either side of her face, with one long strand plastered to her cheek. The sash of her expensive sundress floated behind her like a piece of seaweed.

  “I’m not much of a swimmer, but under the circumstances, I don’t imagine I have much choice, do I?”

  Monica shook her head. “I’m afraid not. If you get tired we can stop and tread water or float on our backs.”

  Gina looked doubtful, but she dutifully struck out, her strokes tentative at first but growing stronger as she moved through the water. Monica stayed behind her. If Gina got in trouble, she would do what she could.

  Monica could have sworn that they were making no progress whatsoever, but eventually they did reach the boat, and clung to the rough bottom stained green by algae. Neither said anything for several minutes as they struggled to catch their breath.

  “What do we do now?” Gina finally asked. “The boat is too heavy to turn it back over.”

  “I suppose we can use it as a paddleboard and hang on and kick toward shore.”

  “I don’t think I have enough energy left to bat my eyelashes if a cute guy came along, let alone kick,” Gina said.

  Monica started to laugh, but water got in her mouth and she sputtered instead.

  “We can rest for a few more minutes, then we have to start kicking, okay?” She glanced toward the sun, which was getting lower on the horizon. “We have to get to shore before the sun sets.”

  Monica was anxious to get going—she was chilled to the bone and the kicking would warm them up—but she waited a few more minutes to give Gina a chance to rest. She needed to catch her own breath as well, but finally she decided they would have to move.

  “Okay, let’s get started. We need to kick together and keep the boat going in the direction of the shore. If you need to take a break, say so and we’ll stop for a few minutes.”

  They set off, but it was slow going and within minutes they were exhausted.

  “I can’t do it,” Gina cried, sniffing back tears. “You go ahead. You’ll be faster on your own.”

  “I’m not leaving you here,” Monica said in a stern voice. “We’re in this together. And we can do it. I know we can. You just have to put your mind to it.”

  “Alright,” Gina said, her voice sounding stronger and more determined. “You’re right. We can’t let that miserable Arline win. Let’s go.”

  They resumed kicking and actually began to make some progress. Monica was feeling hopeful when another rogue wave washed over them, tearing the boat from their grasp.

  “No!” Gina called after it.

  “Wait here. I’ll get it.”

  It took Monica longer than she’d anticipated to capture the runaway craft but she finally reached it and steered it back toward where Gina was treading water frantically.

  Gina grasped the side. “Thank goodness. I don’t think I would have lasted much longer. You rest for a bit, and then we’ll get going again.”

  “I’m fine. Let’s go.”

  They resumed their journey toward shore, holding onto the boat even more tightly this time. Their
knuckles were blanched white from the effort of clinging to the rough wood.

  They finally began making some progress when the wake from a larger boat sent them bobbing furiously and once again they were in danger of losing their grasp on the boat. The noise of the larger craft’s engine got louder and louder.

  Monica glanced over her shoulder. Bearing down upon them was a good-sized yacht. It had a sharp prow—like a swordfish—and its white paint looked fresh and gleaming. The Yooper II was written on the side in fancy black script.

  The skipper cut the engine.

  Gina turned around, too. “It’s a yacht. Oh my goodness, and here I look a complete mess. I’m sure my mascara’s run and my poor dress is completely ruined.”

  “I don’t think that matters at the moment,” Monica said dryly. “Besides, the owner might be a ninety-year-old fat, bald man who smokes cigars.”

  “Yes, but honey, that doesn’t matter if he owns a yacht. Money makes all men handsome, don’t you think?”

  Monica didn’t happen to agree, but she kept her mouth shut.

  “Having some trouble?” someone called from the deck of the other boat.

  A gray-haired gentleman in white pants and a navy blue polo shirt leaned casually over the deck railing, his hands cupped to his mouth.

  “Can we help?” he called again.

  “Yes,” Monica spluttered, waving her arms in the air. “Yes, please. Help.”

  Gina was attempting to bring some order to her hair but her efforts only succeeded in dunking her and she came up gasping and spitting out water. She dashed at her eyes and looked over at the yacht.

  “Not fat and bald at all,” she purred. “Very distinguished, actually.”

  Monica had to agree. Although all she cared about at the moment was the fact that the gentleman was offering to rescue them. She’d gone from being cold to being numb, and she was exhausted from trying to stay afloat in the water.

  Another man appeared on deck. He was wearing navy blue shorts, navy deck shoes and a white T-shirt with The Yooper II printed on the back. The two men put their heads together for a moment before the fellow in the T-shirt disappeared briefly, returning with two life preservers.

  He uncoiled two lengths of rope and tied one end to each of the flotation devices before tossing them into the water to Monica and Gina.

  They landed a bit shy of Monica’s position, but with two strokes, she was able to reach them both. She handed one to Gina and just in time. Gina was barely keeping her head above water—her face was pale with exhaustion and her teeth were chattering.

  “Hold on, and we’ll reel you in,” the gentleman on the deck yelled.

  Monica was more than happy to do as she was told. She made sure Gina had a good grasp on the life preserver then gave the signal for the men to start pulling.

  In moments they were being helped onto the boat, where a very young woman in a bikini and a brightly colored, gauzy cover-up appeared with two thick, plush terrycloth towels.

  Monica accepted one of them gratefully and wrapped it around herself securely. The gentleman in the polo shirt—who they assumed was the owner of the yacht—led them to two deck chairs.

  Monica collapsed as gracefully as possible onto one of them—and in the nick of time. Her legs were about to give out from strain and fatigue.

  “Do you suppose that’s his daughter?” Gina whispered to Monica as the owner conferred with the young man in the T-shirt.

  “I would hope so. He’s certainly old enough to be her father. More likely even her grandfather.”

  “He is handsome, don’t you think?”

  Monica mumbled agreement and sank back against the chair, her eyes closing. When she opened them again, the young man in the T-shirt had reappeared with a tray, two cups and saucers and a pot of hot tea.

  “This is the life,” Gina murmured as she stirred a spoonful of sugar into her cup.

  “Don’t get too used to it. It’s back to reality shortly,” Monica said.

  “Speak for yourself,” Gina said with a mischievous smile.

  “I should introduce myself.” The man in the navy polo shirt pulled up a chair and sat down opposite Monica and Gina. “I’m George Chadwick.”

  “Gina Albertson.”

  “Monica Albertson.”

  “Your daughter?” he said to Gina.

  Gina scowled. “My stepdaughter. I’m hardly old enough—”

  “Of course not,” he said smoothly. He smiled at them. “Do you want to tell me what happened? How you ended up clinging to that piece of scrap wood?”

  He had a glass of amber-colored liquid in his hand, which he agitated occasionally so that the ice cubes pinged back and forth against the sides of the glass.

  “Is that whiskey?” Gina asked with one eyebrow raised. “I’ll tell you all about it as soon as you bring me a drink.”

  “Well the sun is over the yardarm and has been for quite a while,” George said with a smile. “I’d be happy to oblige.”

  He looked at Monica and raised an eyebrow.

  “No, thank you. I’ll stick with the tea.”

  “Party pooper,” Gina said as she watched him walk toward the boat’s cabin. She twisted around in her seat so she was facing Monica. “I think I’d better book an appointment with Dr. Dixon back in Chicago for some Botox and maybe some filler.” She put her hands on either side of her face and pulled her skin back. “Is this better?”

  “You look fine the way you are,” Monica said, although she knew Gina wouldn’t believe her.

  “I can’t possibly look fine if that man thought you were my daughter.”

  “Here you go.” George came out of the cabin with a drink in one hand and a white paper napkin with The Yooper II written on it in navy blue. “Cheers.” He handed the glass to Gina.

  “You still haven’t told me how you ended up in the water clinging to that very unseaworthy looking boat, but I imagine you ladies are anxious to get home and into some dry duds. This evening I have a reservation at the Yacht Club for eight o’clock, and I’d love to have you join me. You can tell me all about it then.”

  He turned around and beckoned to the young man in the T-shirt, who was standing at a discreet distance, his arms folded across his chest. “I’ll have my man take you ashore, and I’ll meet you at the Club at eight o’clock.”

  Monica opened her mouth to protest, but George was already discussing arrangements with the young man. She would have to ask Gina to make her apologies for her.

  Gina was finishing her drink when they heard their names being called through a bullhorn.

  “What the . . .” Gina said, spinning around in her seat.

  A small motorboat with Cranberry Cove Police Dept. stenciled on the side in red pulled up alongside the Yooper II. Detective Stevens, her blond hair blowing in the breeze, stood at the helm, a bullhorn held at her side.

  Gina frowned. “Trust that woman to ruin everything!”

  Chapter 26

  “Arline Loomis is the killer,” Monica said as soon as she and Gina were safely on board the police cruiser with Detective Stevens.

  Stevens tucked an errant strand of blond hair behind her ear, but the minute the boat began to pick up speed as it headed toward shore, the piece came untucked and flew across her face again.

  She brushed it out of the way. “We’d reached the same conclusion. My men are out searching for her now.” She shielded her eyes and looked toward shore before turning back to Monica and Gina. “Do you two want to tell me what you were doing out on the lake in a stolen boat? The owner reported it missing an hour ago. Then we had a call come in from The Yooper II that they had picked up two women clinging to an overturned boat. The skipper found it odd that two women would be out in such a small craft dressed as if they were on their way to a garden party.”

  Gina looked down at her dress
and frowned. “If you think we stole that wretched motorboat, you’re crazy. I’m sure I have splinters from those rotting wooden seats.”

  “If you didn’t—”

  Monica cut in. “Arline Loomis stole the boat. She took us out into the middle of the lake and dumped us.”

  “Where is she now?”

  “The last we saw of her, she’d struck out toward shore.”

  “Swimming?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then we may be looking in the wrong places. We should be combing the shoreline. She can’t have gotten too far.”

  Monica hoped Stevens wasn’t going to ask too many more questions. The sun was getting lower in the sky and a cool breeze had picked up. Goose bumps were forming on her bare arms and legs and all she could think about was getting into a pair of jeans and one of her old sweatshirts.

  Gina stopped attempting to pin up her hair. Her eyes got wide. “You mean you haven’t caught her yet?” She turned to Monica with a panicked look on her face.

  “Don’t worry, we will,” Stevens said, her mouth set in a line of grim determination.

  “Of course, she might have drowned,” Gina said, inserting the last pin into her hair, which was now swept up into an approximation of a twist.

  “I hope not,” Monica said.

  Gina frowned at her. “How can you say that? After she tried to kill us by throwing us in the lake?”

  “No reports of drownings,” Stevens cut in brusquely. “Of course it might have gone unnoticed. People always assume a drowning person will flail around splashing and yelling for help, but in reality, drowning victims make hardly any noise at all. They simply slip beneath the water when their energy gives out. If we don’t find her hiding somewhere, we’ll send some divers out to look.”

  Monica shivered. “I hope it doesn’t come to that.”

  • • •

  When Monica got home, Mittens greeted her as if she’d been gone for days and not just a few hours. She picked the kitten up in her arms and cuddled her close, feeling Mittens’s soft fur against her face and the thrum of her excited purring.