The Second Richard Deming Mystery MEGAPACK®

by Deming, Richard

  He knelt beside her with his back to me, placed a cigarette in her mouth, and lit it. After taking one draw, she took it from her mouth, put her arms about his neck, and drew him to her.

  Ever since she had left the wheelhouse that afternoon, I had been stewing about what transpired there. I had finally decided that if she wasn’t going to leave her husband, we were not going to have just an affair.

  I still wanted her as a wife more than I’ve ever wanted anything, and maybe if she had been married ten years, I might have settled for having her just as a mistress. But I wasn’t quite rat enough to cuckold a groom on his honeymoon.

  Apparently, my soul-searching had been for nothing. I could think of no reason for her deliberate show of affection in front of me other than that she had decided to let me know in definite terms that the scene in the wheelhouse had been a mistake. I looked away, not wanting to see her kissed by Trader.

  I felt something touch my left foot and glanced down. My pulse started to pound when I saw her right foot rubbing against my instep. Her carmine-tipped toes waggled in urgent demand for some response.

  With her arms wrapped around her husband, the gesture seemed more likely to be an invitation for a clandestine affair than a signal that she wanted a more permanent relationship. Since I had already decided against settling for that, my conscience told me to withdraw my foot.

  My desire for her was stronger than my conscience. I raised my foot and pressed its sole against hers. Her toes worked against mine and along the sole of my foot in a lascivious caress, all the time her arms tightening around her husband’s neck until finally it was he who broke the kiss.

  As he started to rise, her foot drew away from mine, and I dropped mine back flat on the deck. Trader sank onto the other mat and lit a cigarette.

  “I’m beginning to like this married life,” he said to me with a grin. “You ought to try it, Dan.”

  “I may if I ever meet the right girl,” I said, getting to my feet. “Think I’ll turn in. It’s been a long day.”

  “Good night, Dan,” Peggy said softly.

  “Night,” I said without looking at her, and headed for the wheelhouse.

  The following morning when I climbed down on deck, Arden Trader was screwing some kind of bracket to the timber immediately right of the hatchway which led below.

  “Morning,” I said. “What’s that?”

  “Morning, Dan,” he said affably. “I’m installing an outside shaving mirror I picked up in town last night. The head’s too small and too poorly lighted to get a decent shave.”

  He lifted a round shaving mirror from a paper bag and slipped the two small vertical shafts at its back into holes in the top of the bracket. Then he moved the bottom of the mirror in and out to demonstrate that it could be adjusted to suit the height of anyone using it.

  “Now all I need is a basin of hot water and my shaving equipment,” he said as he started below. “You can use it when I’m finished if you want.”

  I did use it from then on.

  I had no opportunity to be alone with Peggy during the two days we were in port because Trader was playing the attentive groom. By the second day, I couldn’t stand his constant little attentions to her and, since I wasn’t needed aboard because they were taking their meals in town, took the day off and spent it on the beach by myself.

  On the third day, we pulled out for Nassau. As the trip would take six hours, we got under way at eight a.m. About ten, Peggy came into the pilothouse, again wearing a bikini.

  “He’s taking a nap,” she said, and with no more preamble moved into my arms.

  I spiked the wheel so as to have both arms free. Hers went about my neck, and her body pressed against mine as our lips met. We were both trembling when she finally struggled from my arms and stepped back. It was none too soon.

  She backed clear to the pilothouse door. We were both so out of control, if her husband had walked in at that moment, neither of us could have concealed our naked emotion from him.

  “What are we going to do?” she whispered.

  My good resolutions lay in shreds. I didn’t care what we did so long as it meant being together in some way. If she wanted to shed Trader and marry me, I would be happiest. But now I was willing to settle for just an affair if she wanted that. If she had suggested solving our problem by holding hands and jumping over the rail, I would have at least considered it.

  I jerked out the spike and gripped the wheel with both hands in an effort to control my trembling. “What do you want to do?”

  “Do you love me?”

  “Do you have to ask?” I demanded.

  “I want to hear you say it.”

  I took a deep breath. “I love you. I’m absolutely nuts about you.”

  She closed her eyes. “I love you, too,” she said almost inaudibly. “I’ve never felt such overwhelming love. Do you want to many me? Answer me truly, Dan.”

  “There’s nothing I want more,” I said in a husky voice.

  Her eyes opened, and she seemed to get a little control of herself. In a more normal tone, she said, “I couldn’t just have an affair, Dan. Despite my behavior, I’m really a quite moral person. I’m not a prude. If I were single, and we were alone out here and planned to get married when we reached port, I wouldn’t insist we wait until the proper words were spoken. But there’s some Puritan strain deep within me that makes it impossible for me to violate my marriage vows.”

  “We aren’t going to have an affair,” I told her. “I’ve already told you I want you for my wife.”

  “But I have a husband.”

  “You shouldn’t have any trouble getting an annulment after this short a marriage. Why do you think it would cost you a half million?”

  “Because I know Arden. I know him so well, I made him sign a premarital agreement waiving all claim to my estate except whatever I decided to leave him in my will. I didn’t think it wise to put him in a position where he could become rich if I died.”

  I turned to stare at her. “If you thought him capable of murdering you, why in the devil did you marry him? What possessed you?”

  “Oh. I really didn’t think he might try to kill me. But he’s a fortune hunter, and you don’t place temptation in the hands of men such as Arden. Because he is a fortune hunter, I know he’ll hold me up if I ask for an annulment. My guess that his price for cooperating will be a half million is based on sound experience. That’s exactly what it cost each of two women friends of mine to shed fortune-hunting husbands.”

  “Wouldn’t your premarital agreement cover that?”

  “That only applies in case of my death,” she said. “Actually, I could get out of paying him a red cent if I wanted a legal battle. No court would grant him any kind of settlement. But there’s a pattern of blackmail men such as Arden use. If I refuse to pay him off, Arden will fight me in court with every dirty tactic he knows. He’ll drag my reputation through the mud by filing countersuit for divorce and accusing me of infidelity with a dozen men. The tabloids will have a field day.”

  I said sourly, “You knew all this in advance of marrying him. How the hell did you bring yourself to do it?”

  “I assumed it was going to last, Dan. How was I to know you would come along?”

  I took my gaze from her and looked ahead again. “If you don’t get rid of him, how are we going to marry?”

  “Oh, I intend to get rid of him,” she said softly.

  “By paying him off?”

  “There’s a much simpler way, Dan. Who would suspect anything if a brand-new groom fell overboard and was lost at sea on his honeymoon? The wife might be suspected after a ten-year marriage or even after a year—but not after just a week. Dan.”

  A sudden chill doused the warmth I still felt from having her in my arms. “Murder?” I said
shakily.

  “There wouldn’t be a chance of suspicion. Who could suspect a love triangle when I’m on my honeymoon and you and I have only known each other a few days? It’s even incredible to me that we’re in love. How could the thought ever enter the heads of the police?”

  The logic of what she said was penetrating my mind even as I was rejecting the thought. Under the circumstances, who could possibly suspect? My throat was suddenly so dry I had to clear it.

  “There would be some suspicion after we announced our marriage.”

  “Why? No one knows you’re only a temporary employee. I’ll simply keep you on in some permanent capacity—say as my social secretary. I’m the only woman in my set who has never had one, and it’s about time I acquired one. You’ll show sympathy for my bereavement, and I’ll show appreciation for your sympathy. Gradually, your sympathy and my appreciation can ripen into love. It won’t be the first time a sympathetic male friend has ended up marrying a grieving widow. I think it would be safe at the end of as little as two months.”

  Again her argument was so logical I had no answer, except that it takes more than mere certainty that you won’t be caught to condition your mind to murder.

  “It has to be that way or not at all,” she said in a suddenly definite tone. “I’ll leave you to think it over.” She turned and left the pilothouse.

  I was still thinking it over when it came time for the noon mess. By then, we were passing through Northwest Providence Channel. I had deliberately kept to the center of the channel, and land was barely visible on the horizon on both sides. The water was calm, with only a slight roll, and the sun was shining brightly. There wasn’t another vessel in sight.

  Arden Trader had emerged from below in swim trunks about eleven o’clock, and both he and Peggy were lying on the inflated mats at the stern, deepening their already rich tans. I yelled for Trader to come take the wheel while I prepared mess. He rolled off his mat, leaned over Peggy, and gave her a long kiss. Jealousy raged through me so hotly I had to turn my back to get control of myself. When he came into the wheelhouse, it was an effort to keep my voice calm while I gave him his bearing.

  The sight of his kissing Peggy had brought me to a decision. Peggy came into the galley only a moment after I got there and stood looking at me expressionlessly. “All right,” I said.

  Her nostrils flared. “When?”

  “Right now if you want.”

  “How?”

  “Why don’t you go out and suggest a swim before lunch? The water’s calm enough. I’ll do the rest.”

  Without a word, she turned and left the galley. I waited a moment, then followed, pausing astern while she climbed to the pilothouse. A moment after she entered, Trader cut the engine, then they both emerged.

  “Okay, Dan,” Peggy called. “You can throw out the sea anchor.”

  I was already standing next to it. I tossed it over-board and let down the wooden-runged ladder strung with rope so that swimmers could more easily get back aboard ship. “Think I’ll have a dip with you,” I said. “I’ll put on my trunks.”

  When I came back out on deck, Trader and Peggy were already in the water. Trader was floating on his back about four feet from the boat, his arms outstretched and his eyes closed. Peggy was treading water near the rope ladder. I motioned her aboard. Quietly, she climbed up on deck. Trader opened his eyes and looked up at her.

  “Be right back, honey,” she said, and ran below.

  Trader closed his eyes again.

  It had been my intention to swim up behind him and give him a judo chop, but his outstretched position made him vulnerable to a safer form of attack. Taking a running jump, I launched myself feet first at his stomach, bringing my knees to my chest and snapping them straight again with terrific force just as I landed. The air whooshed out of him, and he was driven deeply under water in a doubled-up position.

  I must have caught him in the solar plexus with one heel, temporarily paralyzing him, because when I reversed myself and dove after him to grab his shoulders and push him even deeper, he barely struggled. I forced him down and down until my own lungs were nearly bursting, then reversed again, got my feet against him, and gave a final shove which drove him deeper and shot me toward the surface.

  I made it only a microsecond before I would have had to breathe in water myself. Starting under with no air in him, I was sure Trader couldn’t possibly survive. But when I recovered my breath and had climbed aboard, I crouched at the rail and studied the water for a good ten minutes just to make absolutely certain. Then I called Peggy from below.

  When she came up, her face pale beneath its tan, I said tonelessly, “There’s been an accident. I think he had a cramp. I was on deck with my back turned and didn’t see him struggling until I happened to glance around. I tried to reach him, but he went under before I got there. I kept diving for nearly an hour in an attempt to spot him, but he must have sunk straight to the bottom. That’s my story for the record. Yours is simply that you were below when it happened.”

  She stared at the gentle swell of water in fascination. “Will he come up?” she whispered.

  “Eventually, if something doesn’t eat him first, which is more likely. Not for days, probably.”

  She gave a little shudder. “Let’s get away from here.”

  “We have to stick around for at least an hour,” I said. “I spent an hour futilely diving for him, remember? If we head straight on, somebody just might check to see when we left Southwest Point and when we arrived at Nassau. It would look fishy if there weren’t enough of a time gap to allow for our hour of waiting around.”

  “Why say we waited an hour?” she asked. “We’d know after ten minutes he wasn’t coming up.”

  “You’re a brand-new bride,” I said. “You wouldn’t give up hope after ten minutes. We’ll do it my way.”

  “Do we have to kill the time right here?” she asked nervously. “There’s no mark on the water where he went clown. Run a few miles and throw out the sea anchor again.”

  With a shrug, I hauled in the sea anchor, pulled up the rope-strung ladder, and went tops to start the engine. Peggy went along with me and stood right next to me, with our arms touching, as I drove the boat through the water at full throttle for about five miles. Then I reduced speed until we were barely making headway, scanned the horizon in all directions to make sure no other vessel was in sight, and finally cut the engine altogether. I went aft, tossed out the sea anchor, and lowered the ladder again, just in case another vessel came along during the next hour and I actually had to start diving.

  Peggy followed me from the pilothouse. She emitted a deep breath of relief and threw herself into my arms, clinging shakily. We were only about two hours out of Nassau. We arrived about three-thirty p.m.

  No one showed the slightest suspicion of our story. As Peggy had surmised, it didn’t even occur to the police that it might be a love-triangle murder when they learned she had been a bride for less than a week and she had never seen me until two days after her marriage. Their only reaction was sympathy.

  Since we said we had waited in the area for a full hour after Trader went down, they didn’t even bother to send ships to look for the missing man. A couple of helicopters scanned the general area for a couple of days in the hope of spotting the floating body, but it was never spotted, and Arden Trader was finally listed as missing at sea, presumed dead.

  Since Peggy’s secret marriage wasn’t revealed to the press until the drowning of the groom was simultaneously announced, both got wide news coverage. But again there wasn’t the slightest intimation that it could have been anything but a tragic accident.

  Peggy owned a half-dozen villas in various parts of the world, and one of them was at San Juan. When the police at Nassau released us, we continued on to Puerto Rico, where the grieving widow went into seclusion. New
s reports said that the only people accompanying her to the villa were a female companion and her personal secretary, neither of whose names were reported.

  The “female companion” was a middle-aged housekeeper who spoke nothing but Spanish. I, of course, was the personal secretary.

  The villa had its own private beach, and we spent an idyllic two months on a sort of premarital honeymoon. Long before it was over, there was no question in my mind about being in love. The physical attraction was just as strong, but that wasn’t Peggy’s only attraction anymore. I was as ludicrously in love as the hero of some mid-Victorian love novel.

  At the end of two months, Peggy thought it safe to emerge back into the world and for us to be quietly married. She had been in correspondence with one of her several lawyers meantime, and the day before the ceremony was to be performed, she presented me with a legal document to sign, a waiver of all rights to her estate except what she voluntarily left me in her will.

  “You think I might murder you for your money?” I growled after examining it.

  “It’s my lawyer’s idea,” she said apologetically. “While I’m not legally bound to follow my father’s re-quest, it was his expressed wish in his will that if I had no heirs, I leave most of my estate to set up a research foundation. If we have children, naturally the bulk of the estate will go to them, and of course I’ll see that you’re well taken care of. But just suppose I died the day after we married? I have no other living relatives, so you would inherit everything. Would it be fair for my father’s dream of a Matthews Foundation to go down the drain?”

  “I’m not marrying you for your money,” I told her.

  “If you died the day after we married, I’d probably kill myself, too. But it’s not worth arguing about.” I signed the document.

  The ceremony was performed before a civil judge in San Juan, with our housekeeper and the court clerk as witnesses. Peggy wanted only a plain gold band, and it cost me only twenty-five dollars. The diamond she wore, I discovered, had not been given her by Arden Trader but had been her mother’s engagement ring. She said she preferred to continue to wear it instead of having me pick out another.