by Vicki Delany
“No!” Alan said. “Keep back. I’m almost there.”
Christina ran across the pool deck. Sally was well ahead of her, flying down the boardwalk to the beach.
“She’s heading for the boat shack. She’s going to get away!” I yelled.
“Stay where you are. I’m sending a police boat.”
“I can’t. Christina needs help.” I shoved the phone into my pocket and ran.
Startled guests and hotel staff watched us pass.
I hit the beach. I kept running. Sally was well ahead of us. Her feet were bare. I wore running shoes, a disadvantage in the soft sand.
She reached the boat shack. The man staffing the shack was helping a family put on life jackets. Sally leaned over the counter and came up with something in her hands. Keys. Two motorboats bobbed in the calm water about thirty meters offshore.
Sally waded in up to her waist. Then she dove into the water and swam. She reached the closest boat. She grabbed the ladder draped over its side and scrambled aboard.
The hotel employee realized what was going on. He yelled and waved his arms. Sally’s boat started with a roar. She spun the wheel and headed for the open ocean.
“Hey! You can’t take that out!” the man shouted.
Christina stood up to her knees in the water. She turned to the man as I ran up. “We have to go after her. She’s not in her right mind. Give me the keys for the other boat.”
He hesitated.
“The police are coming,” I said. “If we can follow her, we can tell them where to go.”
“Okay, but I’m driving.”
He ran to the shack and grabbed the keys. By the time he got to the boat, Christina and I were already in it. Christina pulled up the anchor.
“That boat’s bigger than this one,” he said. The engine started with a roar.
“Then you’d better be a good pilot,” Christina answered.
“Does Sally know boats?” I asked.
“Oh yes,” Christina said. “I have a cottage on Lake Muskoka. I let her use my boat whenever she wants.”
“Different on the ocean,” the man said. “Very different. I’m Jeremy. I don’t think we’ve been properly introduced.”
Christina laughed. “No time like the present.”
Our boat bounded over the waves. The wind tore at my hair.
Christina’s laugh died, and she turned to me. “I tried so hard to get her to like me. But everything I did seemed to make things worse. She never accepted my marriage to her father. I tried to understand. I thought she hated me because I encouraged him to get on with his life after her mother died.”
“Instead,” I said, “she hated him for it.” My hair whipped around my face. Salt spray stung my eyes. We were keeping pace with the other boat but not gaining. Sally stood at the wheel. She did not look back.
“I think,” Christina said, “she’s just a hater.”
Jeremy pulled out his phone. He held it with one hand and controlled the steering wheel with his other. “We’re off Cape Sophia. She’s heading due north. Blue-and-white boat with red trim. I’m about two hundred meters behind. Got it.”
He hung up. “The police boat’s almost here. We don’t have a lot of gas. But I filled the other one up last night.”
“Keep going,” Christina ordered.
Our boat began to slow down.
“What are you doing?” she yelled. “We have to keep up with her.”
“She doesn’t know these waters,” Jeremy said. “She’s heading straight for the reef.” Ahead, a line of white water marked where waves broke on the rocks. To our right a handful of charter boats bobbed in the sea. People were in the water, snorkelers and divers exploring the rich life of the reef.
Sally had seen the danger. Her boat slowed and turned left. Then it sped up again. It ran beside the rough waters of the reef.
“She knows she’s going too fast to try to find a path through,” Jeremy said. Our boat also sped up. He took his hand off the wheel and pointed. “There. Look. Police boat.”
A large blue-and-white launch was heading for Sally. The flag of the V&A fluttered from the stern. Men and women in uniform stood on the deck.
Sally saw them too. Once more her boat turned north, out to the open ocean.
“Don’t do it,” Jeremy muttered. Our boat slowed to a halt. Christina gripped the railing. Her knuckles had turned pure white.
Sally’s boat passed into the line of breaking waves. It rose on the swell of water and then plunged down. I heard the sound of metal tearing. It lurched forward again but began tilting to one side. It slowed and then came to a shuddering stop. The engine screamed as Sally tried to force it to keep moving. She whirled around and stared over the churning water at me. We were close enough that I could see her eyes. They were wild, frightened and furious. She had torn the bottom out of her boat.
The large police boat stopped short of the reef. It launched a dinghy with two officers in it. “Police,” a voice yelled through a loudspeaker. “Prepare to be boarded. Put your hands up.”
Sally climbed onto the gunnel. She stared down into the churning water.
“Please, no,” Christina whispered.
“She’ll cut herself to ribbons if she tries to swim,” Jeremy said.
The police dinghy pulled up beside her.
Sally turned. Again she looked directly at me.
Then she stepped down, back into the boat. An officer scrambled aboard after her.
I let out a long sigh of relief. Christina dropped into a chair with a sob. She buried her head in her hands.
“Good one,” Jeremy said. “Anytime you ladies want to do that again, I’m your man.”
Only then did I realize where I was. On the open ocean. And what I was standing in. A small boat. I swallowed.
“You okay?” Jeremy said. “You’re not going to be sick, are you?”
I looked back the way we’d come. The turquoise water, the line of white sand, the big beautiful hotels, the clear blue sky.
“No,” I said. “I’m not going to be sick. In fact, I think I’m going to be just fine.”
ELEVEN
SALLY, HANDS CUFFED behind her back, was helped onto the launch. One of the officers tied a rope to the boat she had stolen so it could be pulled off the reef by the police launch. Jeremy, Christina and I followed it to the police dock.
“That was exciting,” Jeremy said to me. “What’s the story?”
“You’ll be reading all about it in the papers.” I went to stand beside Christina. I slipped my arm around her shoulders. Her body shivered. Tears ran down her face.
Alan Westbrook stood on the dock, waiting for us. He watched as Sally was escorted off the police boat. He spoke to the officers and pointed toward a waiting patrol car. Two officers marched Sally toward it. She didn’t turn around.
Christina and I clambered out of our boat. Jeremy threw a rope onto the dock.
Alan approached us. “You all okay?”
“I’m good,” I said. I was more than good. I’d been on a small boat on the open ocean and I’d survived. I’d probably come down with an attack of nerves later, but right now I was perfectly calm.
“I’ll arrange for a ride back to your hotel, Mrs. Hunt,” he said.
“No,” Christina said. “I want to go with Sally.”
“I don’t think she wants you to,” I said.
The patrol car drove away. It did not put on lights and sirens.
“That doesn’t matter,” Christina said. “She’s Julian’s daughter. She’s my responsibility now. Do you know any good lawyers, Sergeant?”
“I can give you a number. Do you want to come to the station with me?”
Christina nodded.
“Janet!” he called to a policewoman. “Please show Mrs. Hunt to my car. I’ll be with you in a moment.”
“Come with me, madam,” Janet said.
When they’d walked away, Alan turned to me. “Do you need a lift home, Ashley?”
&nbs
p; “I can find my way, thanks. I need to go back to the Club Louisa for my bag.” I eyed Jeremy and the motorboat. “I might even hitch a ride on that boat.” I let out a long breath. “I was played for a sucker, wasn’t I?”
Alan grinned at me. “I’d say you led us to a successful conclusion.”
“What happens now?”
“Sally will be charged with the murder of Julian Hunt and with attempting to escape arrest. That will be for starters. You’ll be called as a witness. Christina also, although I have a feeling she won’t want to testify.”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I said.
“Good.” He smiled at me. “I mean that in more ways than one. I have to go now. Can I take you out to dinner later? I can fill you in on what’s happened.”
“Sure. I’d like that.” I returned his smile.
TWELVE
THE SUN WAS DIPPING behind the hills to the west when Alan picked me up. We went to a place on the beach. The restaurant seemed to be made of nothing but wood planks and rope. Lanterns had been hung from the rafters and placed along the railing. In the open kitchen, men chopped vegetables and stirred huge pots. People laughed, and reggae music played softly. We were shown to a picnic table on the sand. Alan had a beer, and I ordered a rum cocktail.
“You were quick to guess that Candice’s child was Julian’s,” Alan said. The waiter brought our drinks, and we clinked glasses.
“It was much more than the color of Rose’s skin,” I said. “She made me think of Sally in one very important way—how her lip turned up when she smiled. In other circumstances, I might not have realized what it meant. But when I talked to Candice at the hotel, she seemed to be truly grieving for Julian. More than because he was a nice guest. When I saw Rose, I knew why.”
“That was smart.”
“Not really. I studied biology at university. I’d planned to be a medical researcher until the medic bug bit me. My interest was in genetic inheritance. Everything we have, we get from our parents. Our looks. Our health. Our habits and our mannerisms.”
“Not everything, I hope,” he said.
“No it sounds as though Sally’s parents were both nice people. Julian didn’t want to be involved with the child he’d fathered, but he did want to do right by her.”
Alan sipped his beer.
“Does Sally have anything to say?” I asked.
“Not much, but enough that I can piece together what happened. Her father told her he’d decided to include little Rose in his will. Sally didn’t care for that. First a wife, and now a sister to share her inheritance with. He’d had a heart attack a year ago, and his overall health wasn’t good. Sally decided to get rid of him before he got home and rewrote the will.”
“And she convinced me to help her point the guilt at Christina. She must have been laughing at poor gullible me all the time.”
“Don’t be too hard on yourself, Ashley. It’s tough to believe someone we know is capable of something like that.”
I still felt like a fool. Everything Sally had said to me, I’d believed without question.
“Even if she’d gotten away with it,” Alan said, “it would have been for nothing. Julian didn’t have much money.”
“I thought he was rich.”
“So did Sally. He made a lot of money when he and Sally’s mother sold their first company. He lost almost all of it through some bad investments.”
“The Club Louisa can’t be cheap,” I said.
He grinned. “It isn’t. Christina paid for the holiday. Christina is a wealthy woman in her own right.”
“What?”
“That’s right. Which is why I never took Sally’s accusations seriously. I’d checked Christina’s and Julian’s bank accounts. I knew Christina wouldn’t have killed him for money. No one would have killed him, I thought, for money. I didn’t realize Sally didn’t know about it. Christina, by the way, intends to continue sending the monthly allowance to Candice for the care of Rose.”
“That’s nice of her.”
“It’s not a lot, but it will help with Rose’s future.”
“Sally told me Christina was seeing some guy at the hotel. I’m guessing that was a lie.”
“First I’ve heard of it. If it had been true, Sally would have used it to focus my attention on Christina.”
“What actually happened, do you think?”
“Sally says it was an accident. She and her dad went for a pre-breakfast ride in a paddle boat. They had a mishap. The boat sunk. Julian died. She decided to pin the death on Christina. She says she only wanted to scare the woman. She didn’t intend to have Christina charged with Julian’s murder.”
“Another lie.”
“We found the paddle boat, by the way. It was in a rocky cove in about three meters of water. Giant hole in the bottom.”
“What about the signature on the sign-out sheet? What about Robert?”
“The signature was Julian’s. No doubt about it.” Alan eyed me. “Which is why people who don’t have police resources shouldn’t interfere in police investigations.”
“How did Sally get back to the hotel?”
“I suspect she hailed an illegal cab to take her back to the hotel. Even if we’d asked anyone who might have seen her to get in touch with us, a jitney driver wouldn’t.”
I sipped my drink.
“Sally paid Robert off. Told him to say Julian had gone out with Christina. What she didn’t realize was that Bobby Green was not only greedy, but he also wasn’t too smart. He took her money. Then he came back for more.”
“You think she had him killed?”
“I do.”
“How would she do that? How would someone even go about finding a hit man?”
“Consider yourself lucky you don’t know, Ashley. We’re starting to get some police records from Canada. Sally was no angel. She’s never been charged with anything, but she is definitely on police radar.”
“Haven’t I been a fool,” I said.
“Are you ready to order?” the waiter asked.
“I haven’t even looked at the menu yet,” I said. “Give me a couple of minutes?”
“No problem.”
“The fish tacos are great,” Alan said.
My phone rang. “Probably my mother,” I said.
It rang again.
“Go ahead and answer,” Alan said. “We have to keep our mothers happy.”
“Ashley! We need you.”
“What? Who needs me? Why? Who is this?”
“Liz, of course. Kyle had a giant fight with his boyfriend. He quit. He’s leaving the island. Tonight.”
“Can he do that?”
“No, he can’t do that. But he has. I’m not working this shift alone.”
“What about Rachel or Gord?” I said.
“Gord’s wife’s gallery is having their big reception tonight. The governor himself is going to be there. He’ll kill me if I call him. Rachel isn’t answering.”
“But…but…”
“That’s the radio now. Multi-car accident on the highway. I’ll swing by your hotel.”
“I’m not there, I’m…”
Alan stood up. He threw money on the table. “Tell Liz you’ll meet her at the scene. I’ll drop you.”
We ran for his car.
I settled myself into the passenger seat and did up my seat belt.
I glanced at the man beside me. He turned his head and gave me a grin. Then he put the car into gear.
Life on the Victoria and Albert Islands was going to be very interesting indeed.
VICKI DELANY is one of Canada’s most prolific and varied crime writers. She is the author of more than twenty-five crime novels, including standalone Gothic thrillers, the Constable Molly Smith series, the Klondike Gold Rush Mysteries and the Year Round Christmas Mysteries. Under the pen name of Eva Gates, she is the national bestselling author of the Lighthouse Library cozy series.
The first book in her Sergeant Ray Robertson series for Rapid Reads, Jub
a Good, was nominated for a Derringer Award, an Arthur Ellis Award and the Ontario Library Association’s Golden Oak Award.
Vicki lives in Prince Edward County, Ontario. She is the past president of the Crime Writers of Canada. For more information visit www.vickidelany.com.
Read a sample from the
Ray Robertson Mystery Series
by
Vicki Delany
CHAPTER
ONE
I jumped out of the way of a speeding boda boda and tripped over a pregnant goat. The driver of the scooter yelled at me. I gave him a hand gesture in return. Not a good idea, in this town, at this time of night. But I’d had a rotten day and was in a matching mood.
The goat I ignored. It was not a good idea to interfere with her. She was worth money.
Juba, South Sudan. April. The dry season. The air red with dust blowing down from the desert to the north. Choking dust. Getting into everything. Me, coughing up my lungs half the night.
At six foot three, I’m considered a big guy back home in Canada. Here, in a group of locals, I’m about average. Some of these guys—heck, some of the women—must be close to seven feet. Damn good-looking women though.
My name’s Ray Robertson. In Canada, I’m an RCMP officer. In South Sudan, I’m with the UN. Our role is to be trainers, mentors and advisers. Help the new country of South Sudan build a modern police force.
Yeah, right.
I’ve been in the country eleven and a half months. Just over two weeks to go. First thing I’m going to do when I check into my hotel in Nairobi is have a bath. A long hot bath. Get all that red dirt out of my lily-white skin. Jenny gets in the next morning. We’re going to Mombasa. A fancy hotel. A week on the beach. Sex and warm water and clean sand. More sex. Heaven.
I climbed into the police truck. I’d recently begun working with John Deng. He was a good guy, Deng. From the Dinka tribe, so about as tall and thin as a lamppost. He didn’t say much, but what he did say was worth listening to.
His phone rang. Deng spoke into it, a couple of short words I didn’t catch. He hung up and turned to me. His eyes and teeth were very white in the dark.