Whale of a Crime (The Gray Whale Inn Mysteries Book 7)

by Karen MacInerney

  Breakfast was well received—I made a mental note to add the muffin recipe to my binder, as they disappeared almost instantaneously—but only two-thirds of the crew turned up in the dining room. Bridget sat in the kitchen the entire time, watching with tight lips and never offering to help, but I managed to ignore her and focus on the tasks at hand. Jan came in and took a look at the kitten, pronounced her old enough to eat canned food, and wondered about her family. “She was on the back porch?”

  “Yes,” I said.

  “Have you seen any other cats around?” she asked as she stroked the kitten’s head.

  I shook my head. “She just showed up this morning,” I said.

  “Well, she’s old enough to survive without her mother, but keep her warm and keep an eye on her. I’d get her to the vet to get her tested, too.”

  “The mobile vet should be here this week,” I said.

  Jan nodded. “Good,” she said, and smiled at me. “I’m so glad you’re taking care of her. If you hadn’t taken her in and warmed her up last night, she might not have made it.”

  “Thanks,” I said, as we walked back to the dining room. “And thanks for taking a look at her.”

  “Anytime,” Jan said, beaming, as she returned to her seat.

  I scanned the room; everyone was down except for the captain, which was unusual. He was usually the first one up.

  “Where’s Captain Bainbridge?” I asked Martina as I refilled her coffee.

  “I don’t know,” she said, looking worried. “I knocked on his door twice, but he didn’t answer. I was hoping he went out to the boat early, but the skiff is at the dock.”

  “Maybe he went out for a morning walk?” I suggested.

  “Maybe,” she said, but she looked unconvinced. She glanced at her watch. “We’re supposed to head out at 8:30,” she told me. “If he’s not here in ten minutes, we’re going to have to go out without him.”

  “I’m sure he’ll turn up,” I said.

  “I hope so,” she told me.

  As I headed back to the kitchen, Gayla stopped me. “What kind of coffee is this?” she asked, blinking at me through thick glasses. There was an intensity to her that was interesting, but inconvenient at the moment; I often felt as if I were a bug under a microscope, for some reason.

  “French Roast,” I said. “I have it roasted specially for the inn.”

  “Where?” she asked. “I’d love to have this at home.”

  “I’d be happy to send some with you,” I said.

  “It would be so much easier if I could get it directly, though,” she said.

  “I’ll get you the info after breakfast,” I said.

  “By the way, how did you manage to organize getting the tour group here?”

  I put on what I hoped was a pleasant expression and tried again. “I’d love to chat, but I’ve got to help out in the kitchen. Maybe later?”

  “I’m free after breakfast,” she said.

  “Unfortunately, I’ve got to take care of the rooms. Maybe this afternoon?”

  She didn’t look pleased with that answer, but I didn’t have a choice; with a full inn, I couldn’t afford the time. Besides, I still had to figure out what to do with my sister.

  Eight-thirty came and went, and there was no sign of Captain Bainbridge. Martina stood up and put on a big smile, but I could see the worry in her eyes. “Everybody ready to go see some seals?”

  “What about the captain?” asked Stacy, the young, dark-haired reporter who was doing an article on Northern Spirit Tours—and who I suspected had a crush on the handsome Bainbridge, since she’d been following him around since she arrived.

  “He’ll join us later,” Martina said. “Let’s head down to the boat.”

  I grabbed the basket of cookies and fruit I’d prepared for a late morning snack—lunch wasn’t until 1:30—and followed them down to the dock. There were a few murmurs about the captain, but Martina and Alex were putting a bright face on things, and simply assured everyone that he’d be back.

  I handed Martina the basket and leaned against the dock, chatting with Alex and the remaining group as Martina headed out with the first group.

  “What are you going to do without the captain?” I asked Alex in a quiet voice.

  “I’ve been on boats since I was a kid. I’m licensed; we’ll be fine,” he assured me, and I relaxed. The last thing I wanted was to send my guests out on an understaffed boat.

  As the skiff returned for the second round of passengers, I lingered at the dock, enjoying the cool, beautiful morning—and, to be honest, putting off going back to face my sister. The sun gleamed on the wooden boat, and I found myself wishing I were joining them. Heck, I’d rather do a tour of Maine landfills than go back and deal with my sister and Gwen this morning.

  I could hear the sound of the winch pulling up the anchor chain; they were about to cast off. I was about to turn back to the inn when there was a scream. I peered at the boat; there appeared to be something large and floppy attached to the chain. I squinted and shaded my eyes, and then sucked in my breath.

  It looked like they’d found Captain Bainbridge.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I ran back to the inn.

  “What’s wrong?” my sister asked as I rushed into the kitchen. “I need to talk to John,” I told her, and hurtled up the steps.

  My husband was still sound asleep with Biscuit curled up at his feet. “John,” I said, shaking his shoulder.

  “I thought you were doing breakfast,” he said sleepily.

  “Breakfast is over,” I informed him. “I think they just pulled Captain Bainbridge up with the anchor.”

  John’s green eyes flew open, and he sat straight up. “What?”

  “I think it’s him, anyway; I just saw it from a distance. He didn’t come down to breakfast this morning, and when they pulled up the anchor, there was... what looked like a body attached.”

  He leapt out of bed and reached for his jeans. “I’m going out to take a look,” he said. “Will you call the police?”

  “Of course. My sister’s here, by the way,” I said as he rummaged in a drawer for a T-shirt.

  He looked shocked for the second time this morning. “What?”

  “She showed up while I was making breakfast. I’m sure it’s about Gwen.”

  He sighed. “Well, if you’re right about Captain Bainbridge, at least we’ll have an excuse for being busy.”

  “Not much of a silver lining,” I said.

  “I know,” he grimaced, pulling a green T-shirt on over his head as he reached for the doorknob. “I’ll head out and secure the scene if you’ll call the police on the mainland.”

  “Got it.” A moment later I followed him downstairs.

  “This must be your husband,” Bridget said as we came into the kitchen. “He’s more handsome than I expected.”

  “Thanks,” I said dryly.

  “Nice to meet you,” John replied politely, not breaking stride. “I’d love to stop and say hi, but there’s an emergency.”

  “I’ll bet you have a lot of maintenance issues in an old house like this,” Bridget said, misunderstanding the nature of the emergency.

  He gave her a tight smile and opened the door as I reached for the portable phone. I followed him out to the porch so that Bridget couldn’t listen in, and dialed as I stared out at the schooner. I was guessing they’d either dropped the anchor again or somehow levered the body onto the deck; in any case, it was no longer hanging off the side of the boat. Five minutes later, the dispatcher assured me someone was on the way, and I headed down to the dock.

  ***

  The guests looked like they’d seen a ghost when I tied up alongside the Summer Breeze, right next to John’s skiff Mooncatcher. When I climbed onto the deck, it was a very different scene from yesterday. A body-sized lump lay under a big piece of canvas. A length of chain and the curve of an anchor protruded from beneath the edge of the cloth, and I didn’t want to think about what else was under ther
e. Something glinted in the sunlight; a hairpin. I stooped down to pick it up on instinct, then realized it was a crime scene and let it be.

  John stood nearby, examining the schooner’s gunwale.

  “What happened?” I asked.

  “The captain,” Martina told me, looking pale and shaken. “He must have gotten caught up in the chain and gone under.”

  “But how?” asked Stacy. “The anchor line is on the side of the schooner, and the skiff was moored at the dock. Unless he swam out here and was planning to swim back to shore, there’s no way it’s possible.”

  “Maybe he was climbing the anchor chain to get into the boat and got caught up in it,” Gayla suggested.

  “He got his leg tied to the chain two feet above the anchor,” Stacy said. “Pretty impressive feat, since it was at least sixty feet down.”

  She had a point. The guests started glancing around at each other, as if suddenly realizing there might be a murderer among them.

  “Why don’t we let the detectives figure things out,” John suggested. “In the meantime, if you’d like to go back to the inn, I’m sure Natalie and Martina can escort you. He gave me a level look; I knew he wasn’t leaving anyone alone with the body unattended until the mainland police arrived.

  “Excellent idea,” Alex, who had been uncharacteristically quiet, said. He was pale, but forced a grim smile.

  “I’m staying here,” Martina said stubbornly.

  “Then Natalie can transport everyone,” he said, looking at me.

  “I’ll help,” Alex said.

  “Thanks,” I said, relieved. “I’ve got tea, coffee, and cookies back at the inn—and something stronger, if anyone feels the need for it. I’m so sorry it’s been such a... terrible morning.”

  At the promise of cookies, the mood brightened at least a fraction, and within five minutes, we had the first group in the two boats and were heading back to the inn.

  Once everyone stepped out onto the dock, I joined them on the walk up to the inn while Alex went back to retrieve the last few guests. The normally talkative group was somber as I led them into the dining room and hurried into the kitchen to make another pot of coffee and load up a plate with cookies.

  “What’s going on?” Bridget asked as I scooped coffee into the coffee maker.

  “Someone got caught up in the anchor chain and drowned, I think,” I told her as I put the last scoop in and turned the machine on.

  “Yikes. Good thing it didn’t happen on inn property, or you might be sued. You’re not affiliated with this company legally, are you?”

  “Mom,” Gwen said as she closed the dishwasher. “Someone just died.” She looked pale. “Was it anyone from the island?” she asked.

  “It was Captain Bainbridge,” I said.

  “The captain? What a terrible accident,” Gwen breathed. “I can’t believe it.”

  Bridget looked like she was about to say something, but before she could open her mouth, I said, “Gwen, could you please put on the kettle? I’m going to take the coffee that’s left in the thermos out, along with some cookies.”

  “Of course, Aunt Nat.”

  “You really think cookies are going to make things better?” Bridget asked.

  “Do you have another suggestion, Mom?” Gwen said.

  “I was just saying...”

  “Well, don’t,” Gwen said, her cheeks flushing with anger.

  I busied myself with the cookies and hurried out of the kitchen, happy to leave a very uneasy mother-daughter detente behind me.

  The mood in the parlor was not much better than the mood in the kitchen. Gayla and Herb sat close together on the love seat. The first mate and Stacy were still on the boat, along with gluten-free Doreen, thankfully. Jan sat by the window in a wingback chair, looking out at the schooner in the distance. Alex tried to entertain the two kids of the family from Minnesota with a game of Go Fish, but all they wanted to do was look out the window at the boat.

  “Do people usually fall off boats and get caught up in the anchor?” Liam asked.

  “No,” his mother said, looking shaken. “It was a freak accident.”

  “Would you like some cookies?” I asked the kids, hoping to distract them from the morning’s gruesome discovery.

  Lizzie wrinkled her nose. “Is there coconut in them?”

  “No,” I said. They’re chocolate chip.

  “One each,” their father admonished as Lizzie reached for a plate.

  “How’s the kitten?” Jan asked as the kids bit into their cookies.

  The little girl brightened. “Kitten?”

  “I found one on the back deck when I came down to make breakfast,” I told her. “Would you like to see it?”

  “What color is it?” she asked.

  “Gray, with a little bit of white,” I said. “Stay here, and I’ll bring her out.” Their mother gave me a grateful look, thankful for the distraction from difficult questions.

  I went back into the kitchen, where stony silence still reigned, and picked up the drowsy kitten, nestling her into my arms. “Are you putting me up with Gwen?” Bridget asked as I reached the door.

  “Let me talk with Catherine first,” I suggested. “There’s more room in the carriage house.”

  “What do you want me to do with my suitcase?” she asked.

  “Why don’t you leave it at the base of the stairs. If you need to change, you’re welcome to go upstairs and use our room,” I told her. “It’s the door on the left. It’s a gorgeous morning for a walk, if you’d like to explore the island,” I suggested, hoping to give Gwen a reprieve.

  “I think we need to catch up a bit first,” she replied, casting her daughter a critical look. “And I need to meet this boyfriend of yours.”

  “Fiancé,” Gwen corrected her.

  “Do you even have a ring?” Bridget asked.

  “It’s right here,” Gwen said, holding up her left hand.

  “Oh, that’s all? No wonder I didn’t see it.”

  I gave Gwen a pitying look and pushed through the door to the kitchen. At the rate my sister was going, there might be a second death at the inn before the week was out. I wasn’t sure who was going to be responsible: me, or her daughter.

  As soon as the kitten hit the parlor, the body on the schooner was forgotten—at least by the children. “He’s so small!” Lizzie breathed, eyes wide.

  “It’s a she, actually,” Jan said, smiling.

  “Do you keep that cat in the kitchen?’ Gayla asked with a sniff of disapproval.

  “I just found her on the back porch last night,” I said. “She’s staying near the radiator to keep warm.”

  “Is that health code?” her husband Herb asked. Nan, the wealthy investor from New York, was eyeing me with interest.

  “I’m just keeping her in a basket by the radiator while I figure out what to do with her,” I said.

  “You’re going to keep her, aren’t you?” Lizzy asked. “Or maybe,” she added, turning back to her mom, “We could take her home with us!”

  “I don’t think our other cat would like that very much,” their mom said. “She is very cute, though. As if on cue, the kitten opened her eyes.

  “They’re blue!” Lizzie said. “Just like mine!”

  Yvette and I exchanged looks.

  “We don’t want to take her away from her home,” her mother said.

  “But she doesn’t have a home. Miss Natalie said she just found her this morning!”

  “We’re not taking her home,” Yvette said, looking to her husband for support. Carson, however, was on the other end of the living room, staring out the window, evidently still transfixed by the schooner; he hadn’t said a word since they got back to the inn. I felt bad for Yvette. It was clear the burden of parenting fell on her... and the captain’s discovery must have been a real shock for the kids.

  “How long have you had the inn?” asked Nan, reaching for a cookie and studying me. Although her investment company had made her a multimillionaire,
she was simply dressed in jeans and a T-shirt, and her silver hair was cropped. Her eyes had a bright intelligence to them, and I got the feeling not much slipped by her. Ever since she’d arrived, I had the feeling she was inspecting everything about both the schooner and the inn. Although I was comfortable with the level of service I was providing, something about her was unnerving. Between Nan and Stacy, I was feeling a little bit like a paramecium under a microscope. And with the addition of Bridget’s surprise visit and the captain’s unfortunate anchor accident to the mix, the week was shaping up to be less than relaxing.

  Still, I put on what I hoped looked like an easy smile as Lizzie petted the sleepy kitten. “I opened the inn a few years ago,” I said.

  “Did you have a hospitality background?”

  “Actually, I worked in the Parks and Recreation Department in Austin,” I told her.

  “Risky move,” Nan said.

  I smiled. “It’s worked out better than I could have dreamed,” I said. With the exception of the dead captain, that was. I turned to Yvette. “Can you hold her for a moment?”

  “I’d love to,” she said, scooting back on the couch so that I could put the kitten on her lap. “She’s so soft. She looks like a little mouse.”

  “That’s what you should call her,” Liam said. “Mousy!”

  “No,” Lizzie argued. “That’s a terrible name for a cat.”

  “Ratty?” Liam suggested as I stood up.

  “How about Felicia?” Alex suggested.

  Lizzie scrunched up her face. “Felicia?”

  “Short for Felis catus,” Alex told her. “It’s the scientific name for cat.”

  “I like it,” Lizzie said. “She kind of looks like a Felicia.”

  I shot Alex a grateful look for defusing the argument and said, “Coffee, anyone? Tea is on the way, too.”

  “I’ll take some, thanks,” Nan said.

  “Do you have hot chocolate?” Liam asked. “With marshmallows?”

  “That’s so much sugar, though, sweetheart,” Yvette said, then glanced out the window and seemed to change her mind. “I guess it’s okay as a special treat,” she said. Anything to keep the kids’ mind off the boat.

  “So how do you think the captain got stuck in the anchor chain?” Liam asked.