Don

by Carlene Thompson

  "I suppose," Muriel had answered unenthusiastically. "Max and Charlotte certainly think so. I haven't been aboard many times…"

  Meredith let out a low whistle as they neared the Charlotte. "Now that's what I call a nice toy."

  Hysell cleared his throat and offered uncertainly, "Uh… people around here take boating pretty seriously, Sheriff."

  "So I shouldn't refer to a boat as a toy?"

  "Well, maybe not," Hysell said, certain he'd offended Meredith.

  Miraculously, the sheriff grinned. "Thanks for the tip. I don't want to make enemies without even knowing what I've done. Or said."

  Was Mr. Hot Shot New York City listening to him? Hysell wondered. Hard to believe. But Meredith had seemed to treat him differently after they were at Hunt's yesterday. Maybe there was hope yet.

  "No sign of activity." Meredith looked up at the yacht. "Let's see what's inside."

  As soon as they stepped on deck, a cloud of flies rose from a circle of dried blood at least two feet in diameter. A trail of black blood led down the steps to the saloon. Warren Hunt sat propped on a beige couch, his eyes wide and glazed above a gaping slash in his throat. His head lolled to one side and flies crawled all over his face, gorging. For an awful instant, Ted thought he might vomit. In the master stateroom, Charlotte Bishop lay in a tangle of blood-soaked satin sheets, her lovely head nearly severed from her naked body. Flies hovered everywhere, even around the words written on the wall in blood, open tomb.

  Ted ran from the bedroom, through the saloon and up to fresh air before heaving his stomach contents over the side of the magnificent Charlotte.

  10

  TUESDAY NIGHT

  Nick Meredith felt a hundred years old-shocked, disgusted, hopeless, emotionally and physically drained. He'd come to Port Ariel because he wanted to rear his daughter in a safe, wholesome environment. Safe? Someone had committed three homicides in forty-eight hours. Wholesome? Someone had nearly decapitated three people. What would Meagan think of this new life he'd created for Paige? Meagan would say nothing in life is certain except that nothing in life is certain. She would be understanding and philosophical. He was angry and resentful. Hadn't Paige been through enough? Hadn't he?

  He had more work to do, but at six he felt an overpowering need to see his daughter, to hear her laugh, to feel her slender amis around his neck. At times like this only she could restore him. He also wanted to make absolutely certain she was safe. He had niggling doubts about Mrs. Collins's diligence in the child-care department.

  When he arrived home he was surprised to see a gold Cougar sitting in the driveway. He knew no one with a Cougar. Had something happened?

  Nick nearly bolted in the front door and was greeted by the sound of laughter. In the living room Paige sat on the floor with a dark-haired woman. Natalie St. John. They were bent over Ripley, who lay on his back bouncing a toy mouse between his paws. Nick realized he'd been holding his breath when it came out as a loud whish.

  "That certainly looks like a sick cat to me," he said, grinning.

  Paige jumped up and ran to him. "Hi, Daddy. Natalie says-"

  "Dr. St. John," Nick corrected.

  "I asked her to call me Natalie." He hadn't noticed before that her voice was slightly husky. "It gives me the illusion of youth."

  "Anyway, Natalie says that Ripley does have mites. I told you he'd been scratching his ears."

  "What about that terrible limp I've never noticed?"

  "Maybe just a muscle spasm," Natalie said. "Nothing life threatening."

  "And his weight?" Nick asked.

  Natalie smiled. "Ripley could stand to lose three or four pounds."

  "He eats from nerves," Paige explained.

  "And what does Ripley have to be nervous about?" Nick asked, smiling.

  "These murders. I heard there were two more."

  Nick's smile faded. "How did you hear about them?"

  "Somebody called Mrs. Collins and they talked about them for a long time. Two people got their throats cut on a big boat! One was Tamara Hunt's husband. He was having an affair!"

  Nick's jaw tightened. He was furious that the child was privy to all this information. He looked at Natalie, who shook her head regretfully. Apparently she felt the same way. "Did you catch the murderer?" Paige asked anxiously.

  "Not yet, but we will soon. I don't want you to be afraid."

  "I'm not afraid," Paige said staunchly. Nick did not believe her. "Do you think this crazy person is killing special people or just anyone?" she asked.

  "We don't know that yet, but probably special people, particular people." Nick said uncomfortably. "I don't think you have to worry. They were all grownups."

  "Yeah, but he could decide to kill kids. Especially if they know something important."

  Nick looked at her closely. "Do you know something important?"

  "What would I know?" Except maybe where the killer is hiding, Paige thought miserably, but she could not tell Daddy about the Saunders house. She would be in so much trouble she'd never be allowed outside again. She'd never get to see Jimmy again, either, and that would be too awful to bear. "I just like mysteries," she ended lamely.

  "I'd prefer it if you kept your mind off this particular mystery," Nick said firmly.

  "Paige, Ripley is scratching his ears again," Natalie interrupted with false urgency. " Blaine had fleas and ear mites so yesterday I had the clinic where I work send me some prescription-strength flea medicine and drops for mites. The mite drops are right here in my purse. I'll show you how to put them in Ripley's ears and then you can do it until he's well."

  "Do you think I can put them in right?"

  "I'm sure you can. Come give it a try."

  Nick cast her a grateful look for changing the subject. Mrs. Collins was another matter. While Natalie and Paige worked on a less-than-cooperative Ripley, he walked into the kitchen. The woman sat at the kitchen table drinking coffee. She gave him a bright smile. "Sheriff, I wasn't expecting you home so early. I just put some pot roast and potatoes and green beans in the refrigerator. I'll fix a plate and heat it in the microwave."

  "Before you do, I'd like to talk to you." The woman immediately looked wary. "Did you tell Paige about the murders this afternoon?"

  She flushed guiltily. "I'm so sorry. A friend called to tell me-her nephew works at the marina-and Paige overheard me on the phone. But I think she got a call from that Jenkins boy. I'm sure he knew all about it and told her more than she should hear. He's a regular town crier. His mother should keep a tighter rein on him. I don't think he's a good influence on Paige."

  The woman was valiantly trying to shift attention from herself to Jimmy. It wasn't going to work. "Mrs. Collins, I wish you had waited until you got home to discuss the murders with your friend."

  "She called me?'

  "You should have told her you couldn't talk at the moment."

  "We hardly said anything."

  "My daughter knows quite a few details and she said she heard them from you." Nick looked at her sternly. "Mrs. Collins, Paige is eleven-"

  "She would have heard about the murders sooner or later!" the woman burst out indignantly.

  "Later would have been better. Later when I got home and could tell her in my own way."

  Mrs. Collins stiffened. "I suppose I'm fired."

  "No. I just want you to be more careful about what you discuss in front of Paige."

  "I raised a girl of my own," she said in vindication. "I know what I'm doing!"

  "I'm sure you do." Nick fought to keep his voice even. "We simply need to be clear on this point."

  "We are." Mrs. Collins stood. "I will be going, now that you're home."

  "I have to go back to work. I need for you to stay."

  "Stay! Tonight?" She shook her head violently. "I stayed late two nights ago. I can't always stay late without notice."

  "I'm sorry. The next time someone is going to be murdered, I'll ask them to let me know several hours ahead of time so I can
clear it with you."

  Mrs. Collins gave him a long, icy stare. "You don't need to be obnoxious, Sheriff. I'm doing the best I can. When I took this job you didn't say a word about night work. If you're so unhappy with me, I won't be back tomorrow."

  What will I do then? Nick thought. He couldn't lose the woman on such short notice. Feathers definitely needed smoothing.

  "You're right, Mrs. Collins. I've had a tough day, but that doesn't give me the right to take it out on you. Will you accept my apology?"

  She hesitated and Nick felt she was deliberately trying to make him squirm. "Well, okay," she said in a tiny, injured voice. "But I really can't stay any longer tonight. I'm having a birthday party for my sister. I can't cancel."

  "I understand." I understand you've just manipulated me into feeling like a creep when you were in the wrong, Nick thought. But what the hell. "I'll figure out something else for Paige tonight. We'll see you in the morning."

  Mrs. Collins marched past him cloaked in martyrdom. In the living room he heard her say, "Good night, Paige dear. Have very sweet dreams. We'll have a wonderful day tomorrow."

  Nick sauntered back into the room after the front door closed. Paige looked up at him. "How come she's being so mushy!"

  "Beats me. She's just in a mushy mood."

  "A weird mood. Daddy, I put the drops in Ripley's ears."

  "She did a fine job in spite of Ripley's protests," Natalie said. "We might have a future vet here."

  "I'd like to be a vet!" Paige exclaimed. "Either that or a police detective."

  "I vote for veterinarian," Nick said. "Safer."

  Natalie raised an eyebrow. "Have you ever treated a bad tempered pit bull in pain?"

  "I stand corrected." Nick sighed. "Paige, I'm going to have a cup of coffee. Then I have to go back to the office for a while. I'm afraid that because Mrs. Collins went home, you have to go with me." Paige made a face. "I thought you liked police headquarters."

  "I do. It's just that you only have a little-bitty TV and Jane Eyre is on PBS at eight. I love Jane Eyre."

  "Me, too," Natalie said.

  Paige's eyes widened. "Isn't it creepy when Mr. Rochester's crazy wife comes down from the attic and looks at Jane asleep?"

  Natalie shivered dramatically. "And when Jane comes back and Mrs. Rochester has burned down the mansion?"

  "Oh, yeah! And poor Mr. Rochester is blind!"

  "I see the Port Ariel Jane Eyre fan club is alive and well," Nick laughed. "I'm sorry, honey, but you'll have to watch it on the little-bitty TV set."

  "Sheriff Meredith, I could stay with Paige until you get back," Natalie said.

  "It's Nick and we couldn't impose. I'm sure you have things to do."

  "Actually, I don't. I'd like to stay and watch Jane Eyre with Paige." And he remembers you as the woman who shot up the local dance hall with a gun you were carrying illegally, Natalie thought. Very reassuring. She felt ridiculous for suggesting he entrust his daughter to her when there was a murderer on the loose. "Of course, I understand your wanting her to be with you, though," she stumbled. "I didn't mean to interfere-"

  "I love Paige's company, but I'm going to be busy," Nick said suddenly. "If you're sure you don't mind staying, I would appreciate it and I know Paige would, too. I don't want to spoil the movie for her."

  "Great!" Paige burst out.

  Amazing, Natalie thought. Maybe he didn't think she was a nut after all.

  "I'll be home by ten," Nick promised. "Keep the doors locked."

  "Oh, Daddy, I always do," Paige said. "I'm going to fix popcorn. And Cokes. Or 7Up. Or whatever you like, Natalie."

  "Sounds terrific." Natalie looked at Nick. "I'll take good care of her. You go do your duty. We'll be here suffering through the trials and tribulations of a nineteenth-century heroine and loving every minute of it."

  It was 10:45. He'd told Natalie he'd be back by ten. Would she be mad?

  "Nick Meredith, you act like you're married," he said aloud. "Natalie is not your wife. She's some woman you barely know. Probably shouldn't even have trusted after that dumb stunt she pulled at The Blue Lady. If she's mad, you never have to see her again."

  He hoped she wasn't mad.

  When he unlocked the front door and walked in, he saw her curled into a corner of the couch hugging an oversized pillow and watching Street Life. Her sandals lay on the floor and her long hair hung in a sloppy braid somewhere near her right ear.

  "Natalie?"

  She jumped, then smiled sheepishly. "I'm afraid I was somewhere between waking and sleeping. The movie ended at ten and Paige was worn out. She and Ripley are in hypersleep."

  Nick laughed. "I take it you two had quite an evening."

  "We did indeed. Before the movie we played the piano."

  "You actually got her to play?" Nick asked.

  "Yes. She said she hated her lessons, but I taught her a few songs. She has talent."

  Nick smiled. "Both the piano and the talent come from her mother."

  "I think she doesn't like her lessons because the teacher concentrates on classical music. It isn't her favorite. Afterward she got out her boombox and we danced and sang to some songs she does love. Did you know she's a closet rock star?"

  "I've had hints."

  "So was I at her age. I've promised to give her a few guitar lessons, if you don't mind."

  "You play the guitar?"

  "Yes, since I was younger than Paige."

  "Guitar lessons," Nick said thoughtfully. "Maybe they would spur her musical interest the way the piano doesn't. I don't have an ounce of talent myself, but I'd hate to see hers go to waste just because she's playing the wrong instrument."

  "It's not the instrument-it's the type of music. 'Fur Elise' doesn't inspire her," Natalie told him. "She'd prefer something more modern. Anyway, after our concert we played beauty shop. She's practicing her French braid."

  Nick grinned. "Judging by the looks of your hair she needs more practice."

  "Don't tell her that. She said this was her best braid yet."

  "Good Lord."

  "She'll improve." Natalie reached up and began untwining the long, shining strands of her hair. "During the movie we ate approximately five pounds of popcorn. After the movie she was determined to stay up until you came home but her eyelids were drooping. She'll sleep late tomorrow."

  Nick looked troubled. "Was she still frightened about the murders?"

  "She stopped talking about them. I'm sure she's still afraid, though."

  "She and the rest of the town. It's been one hell of a day."

  Natalie stood. She wore faded jeans and a pale green tee shirt. "You look tired," she said, slipping her slender feet into the sandals.

  "So tired I'll never get to sleep."

  "I'd suggest a drink but alcohol makes you sleepy, then wakes you up in the middle of the night. May I fix you some warm milk?"

  "I would love some warm milk, but after the evening you've put in with my daughter, I certainly can't ask-"

  "You certainly can," she said briskly. "Warm milk coming up, on one condition."

  "And that would be?"

  "You get milk, I get information."

  "About the murders?"

  "Yes." Sensing his reluctance, Natalie said, "Sheriff Meredith-Nick-I knew these people. Tamara was one of my closest friends. Warren was her husband. This is all striking pretty close to home."

  He sighed. "Okay. You deserve information. Just give me a few minutes to unwind."

  Nick followed Natalie into the kitchen and took mugs from the cabinet while she got the milk. "Sit down before you fall down," she directed, putting the full mugs into the microwave. "Do you like cinnamon in your milk?"

  "I never tried it, but it sounds good. I feel like living dangerously tonight."

  She smiled. "I guessed you were a risk-taker."

  When he took a sip of warm cinnamon-flavored milk he said, "That's great. I didn't know what I'd been missing for thirty-six years."

  "My moth
er used to fix milk this way." Suddenly she laughed. "Once she read some silly article that said nutmeg had the same effect as LSD, so she rushed out and bought some for herself, sprinkled it in milk, and gulped it down. She looked so disappointed when nothing happened."

  Nick stared at her.

  "Let me explain Kira to you," Natalie went on. "I was never allowed to call her Mommy-only Kira. Her parents lived in San Francisco. They were artists, very successful and very bohemian. Their son Peter was straight as an arrow. He and my father met in medical school. Unlike Peter, Kira was even more unconventional than her parents. She and my father were a total mismatch. I still don't understand why she married him and had me. Maybe Dad and I were an experiment for her. Anyway, when I was six she took off. She was supposed to pick me up at school. She didn't show.

  Lily's mother took me home. The house was empty except for the dog. Three hours later when Dad got back from the hospital, he found a brief note in the bedroom saying she was sorry but she had to explore her inner self or some such nonsense. She said she'd be fine and in touch with us soon. Soon turned out to be six months. She was in California. She'd joined a commune, she called it. I think it was really a cult."

  Natalie tossed Nick a lighthearted smile, but he saw the pain behind it. "She's still floating around from group to group, man to man. I hear from her a couple of times a year. I haven't seen her since I was twenty-one. She actually came to Columbus to talk me out of going into veterinary medicine. She said it was plebeian and that I should pursue my music. I ignored her."

  "That's sad," Nick said, and immediately felt foolish. The woman had poured out her heart and all he responded with was "That's sad." He tried again. "Back in New York I ran into cases of neglect and desertion by parents all the time. I got almost used to it, but then I never knew the people involved. It seems almost unbelievable to me when I think of my own mother, though. She had seven kids. Didn't believe in birth control. My dad worked two jobs and Mom was a waitress, but things were still tough. She didn't have a lot of free time, but what she had she devoted to us. And my own wife Meagan… well, she was a great mother. A wonderful, loving mother. I wish she could have seen Paige grow up," he ended, feeling his throat muscles tighten. He took a sip of milk and sat rigid-faced when it wouldn't go down.