Whale of a Crime
A Gray Whale Inn Mystery #7
by Karen MacInerney
Published 2017 by Gray Whale Press
Copyright 2017 by Karen MacInerney
Digital design by A Thirsty Mind Book Design
All rights reserved.
This novel is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination, or, if real, used fictitiously. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the express written permission of the author or publisher, except where permitted by law.
Dedicated to my mother, Carol Swartz, and my sister, Liza Potter, with love.
Table of Contents:
Whale of a Crime
List of Titles by Karen
Recipes
About the Author.
CHAPTER ONE
“Red sky in morning, sailor’s warning.” I’d heard it a thousand times, but as I stood staring out at the cloudless sky suspended like a blue bowl over the Gulf of Maine, I reflected that the day had turned out perfectly after all.
Boy, was I wrong.
Of course, I didn’t know that at the time. I was aboard the Summer Breeze, savoring the feel of the wind and the salt spray in my face and enjoying the rhythm of being aboard a schooner as it rode over the waves. The sun was warm on my face, and being out on the open water was invigorating. I loved the sea; something about it always energized me.
I was playing hooky from the Gray Whale Inn for the afternoon and joining my guests on a whale-watching outing. I had booked the inn for the week, and I was providing breakfast, lunch, and dinner to the ten guests who had signed up for the Northern Spirit Tours excursion. Even though it had been a beautiful summer on Cranberry Island, the inn had been so busy I hadn’t had much time to enjoy it. Today was going to be a welcome respite.
As I opened my eyes and took in the sun on the sparkling Gulf of Maine, a short, rather squat woman lumbered over to the rail and stood beside me. “I didn’t much care for the frittata you cooked this morning. Are there any snacks?”
I turned and gave Doreen a thin smile. She’d only been here for twenty-four hours, and she was already a top contender for the “most irritating guest” award.
“There’s some fruit in the galley if you’re really hungry, but I’m afraid that’s all I’ve got until lunch.”
“I get low blood sugar,” she complained. “It’s important for me to have access to food.”
“Maybe I’ll send some muffins tomorrow,” I suggested.
“Just as long as they’re gluten-free,” she reminded me, and marched off to talk to the first mate about something else.
I looked back at the water, trying to recapture the mood, but it had evaporated.
“I can see why you decided to move here.”
I turned to see Alex van der Berg, the handsome tour naturalist. This was the tour’s second time at the Gray Whale Inn, and my best friend Charlene was absolutely delighted. She and Alex had gone out to dinner a few times during the July tour, and now that Alex was back, my friend was practically a fixture at the inn. It was a good thing her niece Tania was able to run the Cranberry Island General Store and handle the mail, or half the island would be out of milk and behind on their bills.
To be honest, I could see why. Not only did Alex have sun-streaked blond hair and an appealing grin, but he had a great personality to match. It was a good thing I was married to a handsome man, or I might find myself sorely tempted. “You’ve got a pretty terrific job yourself,” I pointed out. “You get to go all over the world.”
“I do,” he agreed. “But sometimes it would be nice to settle down.”
I gazed back across the water to where the inn nestled at the end of the island. “It has been wonderful living here,” I said.
“Even with certain guests?” he asked, glancing toward where Captain Bainbridge was now grilling first mate Martina Garza, who was looking very uncomfortable. I wasn’t surprised; I knew a big investor was on the tour, and the crew were trying very hard to make everything look as perfect as possible.
I laughed. “Adds spice,” I said. “Might want to remind the captain of that when you get the chance.”
“He’s been in a bad mood the last few days,” Alex admitted. “He and Martina haven’t been getting along.”
“Probably the stress of having the investor on board,” I said.
“Martina’s having heartburn about buying a second boat, I think,” he said.
“They’re co-owners, aren’t they? It’s a big investment,” I replied, remembering how nervous I’d been when I plunked down my savings to buy the Gray Whale Inn. “But the tours seem to be going well.”
“They do,” he said. “The plan is to do winter tours in the south, where the whales migrate during the winter months.”
“Makes sense,” I said.
“The new boat even has sleeping quarters and a full kitchen,” he said. “If you’re ever looking for a winter job, they might be in the market for a cook.”
“Tempting,” I said, “but the inn runs year-round these days. Besides, I’m not sure I could cook in a kitchen the size of a shoebox.”
“Worth thinking about,” he said. “It’s awfully cold here in January.”
“True,” I said, mulling over the idea. Maybe I would talk to John about it...
All of a sudden, the engine slowed. I listened; a moment later, the distinctive hissing sound of a whale breathing came to my ears.
“They’re here,” Alex said, pointing to where a gray fin slid through the blue waves. The whale released a plume of vapor from its blowhole before submerging again.
“It’s a humpback,” he said, turning to address the other passengers with a smile. They hurried to the side of the boat, cameras at the ready. “With any luck, they’ll be bubble netting.”
“Oh, I’d love to see that,” I breathed. I’d often read about how humpbacks swam in circles, forming nets of bubbles around their prey, then came up through the center of the net, breaching the surface. As we watched, the rest of the passengers crowded to the side of the boat.
“We can’t get closer than 100 yards,” Alex said as the boat slowly moved closer to the whales. There were at least three of them. “They seem to be hanging out,” he added. “Maybe we’ll get lucky.”
As we watched, the first mate Martina steered the boat closer to the breathing whales. Alex glanced over toward the captain, who was directing Martina to move the schooner closer to the whales as the would-be investor stood at his right arm.
“Martina,” he called. “Back off a bit. We’re getting too close.”
“It’s fine,” the captain said.
“Really,” Alex said. “We have to back off. It’s not safe for the whales.”
The captain narrowed his eyes at the naturalist, then countermanded him. “It won’t hurt them if we get a little closer.” Martina looked between the naturalist and the captain, and acceded to the captain’s wishes.
“Isn’t that illegal?” I asked Alex under my breath.
“It is,” he said. “And bad for the whales. If I didn’t need this job so much, I’d report him.”
His eyes scanned the water, his jaw tight. I followed his gaze. “What’s that?” I asked, noticing something trailing in the wake of one of the whales.
“Fishing gear,” he said. “Bad news. I think it’s caught up in it.”
“Oh, no,” I said. A murmur went through the
crowd; I wasn’t the only one who had seen it.
“Is that normal?” Jan, one of the guests on the tour, asked.
“No,” he said. “In fact, it can be fatal. Not only does the gear make it harder for the whale to get to the surface to breathe, but it can get caught up on other gear and drown it.”
“Drown it?” I asked.
He nodded. “They need to get to the surface to breathe. If they can’t...”
“That’s terrible!” Jan said, echoing my thoughts. The edges of her brown eyes crinkled in worry; I knew she fostered cats back home in Iowa and had a soft spot for animals. “We need to do something about it!”
“Ideally we’d be able to remove the gear, but I’d need a smaller boat... we’re not set up to do that. Plus, I think we need to notify one of the conservation agencies.” As we watched, the whale surfaced again, dragging what looked like at least 25 feet of tangled fishing gear behind it. “Poor thing,” Alex said.
A moment later, a flurry of small bubbles began popping on the surface of the water, about fifty feet away from us. “Look,” Alex said, pointing to the silvery ring. “Bubble netting!”
A moment later, an enormous humpback whale exploded from the surface of the water, landing with a loud smack. The tour group broke out in spontaneous applause.
“That was amazing!” Jan said, mouth agape.
“Did you get a picture?” Herb, a stout, red-faced sixty-something man asked Gayla, his wisp of a wife.
“I think I missed it,” she said.
He sighed. “It happens one time, and you miss it.”
“Here,” she said, shoving the phone at him. “If you’re so good, you get the next shot.”
I stifled a grin.
As we stood there, another whale leaped into the air, coming down with a huge splash.
“Incredible,” Jan breathed.
“Did you get the shot?” Gayla asked Herb.
“What?” he asked, still staring at the spot where the whale had disappeared back into the water. “Oh... I’ll get the next one.”
“That was absolutely magnificent,” Jan said, still watching the water.
I had to agree with her; the sight of the massive whale leaping through the air, the salt spray gleaming in the sunshine, had taken my breath away. But I was more worried about the whale with the fishing gear attached. Would we be able to help it before it got caught up in one of the thousands of lobster trap lines that cluttered the Gulf of Maine?
I certainly hoped so.
***
John was deep into dinner preparations when the captain dropped anchor offshore from the inn; I could smell garlic sautéing in butter from the boat, and even though I’d eaten a lobster roll and several cookies for lunch, my stomach was rumbling. I went ashore with the first group of guests, and hurried up to the kitchen to help.
John stood at the stove, sautéing mushrooms in garlic. My husband, I reminded myself, touching the ring on my left hand as if making sure it was true. With his sandy hair, green eyes, and lean, athletic frame, he looked like an L.L. Bean cover model. A sculptor who worked with wood, he had a delicious woodsy scent that was even better than the lovely aromas emanating from the pan on the stove. I walked up behind him and touched his shoulder. “Hi,” I said. “It smells delicious.”
John turned and smiled at me. “You’re back! How did it go?”
“It was terrific,” I told him as he kissed me on the cheek. “We saw a pod of humpbacks bubble netting,” I told him.
“You did? That’s incredible!” he said.
“Yes, but one of them has a bunch of fishing gear attached to it. Alex is going to call a few people he knows and see if he can organize something to help free it.”
“Poor thing,” he said. “I hope they manage to figure something out.”
“Me too,” I said. “It looked awful.”
“Did the guests have a good time?”
“All except Doreen,” she said. “She spent the morning talking about her low blood sugar, and most of the afternoon complaining that there aren’t any gray whales off the coast of Maine.”
“I always did wonder why you named the inn that,” John said. “With your background, I figured you’d know better.”
I poked him playfully. “Just because I have a background in wildlife conservation doesn’t mean I can’t have flights of fancy,” I said. “There was something about the gray color of the shingles that made it feel right. Besides, the Gray Whale Inn sounds a lot better than the Humpback Whale Inn.”
“You have a point,” he conceded as I grabbed a chocolate cookie out of the cookie jar on the counter.
“Where’s Charlene?” I asked.
“She’s on her way,” John said. “She’s been calling every half hour to see if you were back yet. By the way, we may have a new neighbor; she said there was someone looking at Cliffside yesterday, and there’s a rumor there’s a contract on it.”
Cliffside was an imposing house with a commanding view of Cranberry Island’s small harbor. It had sat vacant for some time... some islanders said because it was overpriced, and others said it was because the scent of herring from the lobster coop was a bit too close for comfort. “It’s been on the market for how long, now?”
“Years,” John said. “It’s a big house; you could have a family reunion in it and still have free rooms.”
“I hope it’s someone nice,” I said. The last owners had been anything but. “Thanks for cooking, by the way. Why don’t I set the tables, and then I’ll come back and give you a hand with the last minute stuff?”
“Thanks,” he said. “It was on my list, but I haven’t gotten to it yet.”
“Believe me, I understand,” I said. “Where’s Gwen?” I asked. My lovely niece, who had been staying with me for the past few years helping out at the inn while working on her budding art career, usually helped out in the evening, but she was nowhere to be seen.
“Adam’s cooking her dinner tonight,” he told me. Adam, her fiancé, was a local lobsterman and Princeton grad. They were very happy together... even though I knew my sister wouldn’t approve. Gwen had just called and broken the news to her last week. It hadn’t gone over well.
“Where’s your mom?” I asked. My mother-in-law Catherine was also remarkably absent.
“Oh, gallivanting with Murray, as usual,” he said. To our surprise, Catherine had paired off with local irritant Murray Selfridge not long after moving into what used to be John’s carriage house. We’d expected the romance to die down, but it had been almost a year and they were still going strong. I still wasn’t sure how I felt about it, but since Catherine seemed happy, it really wasn’t my business.
“With all this romance, it’s amazing any work is getting done,” I said.
“I can work and kiss at the same time,” John said. “Try me.”
I laughed. “Let me get the tables set, and I’ll take you up on it.”
“Promise?”
“Absolutely.” As I turned and opened the door to the dining room, angry voices pulled me up short.
“I told you it’s a bad idea. We’re already in debt. What happens if we can’t sell the cabins at that price? We haven’t ever done anything in that market.”
“It’ll work out,” the other voice responded. “We can get our passengers so much closer to the whales than the normal cruise ships... they’ll pay for the privilege.”
“Alex is a problem,” the first voice said. “He was causing trouble with the passengers today.”
“Then we’ll get rid of him,” he said.
“What if he complains to the Coast Guard?”
“He won’t,” the voice responded in a tone that made my skin crawl. “I promise.”
CHAPTER TWO
“I’m investing everything I have in this. If you hadn’t managed to pull strings, we would have taken a bath last time...”
“You worry too much. I have everything under control.”
“You’d better,” came the voice,
with a note of warning that made my hackles rise. I chose that moment to push through the door noisily; I was curious to see who was talking.
“Oh, hi!” I said brightly as I rounded the corner. It was Captain Bainbridge and Martina, the first mate. “I didn’t realize anyone was in here,” I lied. “I hope you like beef stroganoff; John should have it ready in about fifteen minutes.”
“Great,” Captain Bainbridge said. His had been the “under control” voice, I realized; it was the first mate, Martina, who had been sounding the alarm bells. “It was so nice having you out with us today, Natalie,” he said. “And the lobster rolls were terrific!”
“I’m glad you liked them,” I said. “It was amazing to see the bubble netting. But I’m still worried about that whale with the fishing line attached to it. Is there anything we can do?”
“Martina here is getting in touch with some of the scientists to see what we can do,” the captain said, clapping a hand on his first mate’s shoulders. It may have been my imagination, but Martina looked surprised.
“Well, there are a lot of lobstermen on the island who would be happy to lend a hand, I’m sure,” I said. “Keep me posted.”
“Thanks,” Captain Bainbridge said.
“I should probably get the tables set,” I said. “There’s a bottle of wine on the sideboard if you’d like,” I said, “and it looks like John put out some smoked trout dip and crackers.”
“We don’t drink on duty, I’m afraid,” the captain said. “But I’m sure the guests will be pleased.”
“Thanks again for staying with us,” I said. “It’s been a lot of fun; I’m hoping I can sneak out for one of the tours later this week.”
“We’d love to have you,” the captain said. “And the food and rooms have been terrific. So much better than docking at Bar Harbor.”
“I’m glad you think so,” I said, wondering if getting a bigger boat might mean they wouldn’t need the inn. Then again, Alex had said they were planning on running tours in the south; would they have two boats running in different places, or move them around?
Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7) Page 1