by Janine Marie
“No—I mean yes, I’ve seen her at the club. It’s her; I checked the name on her chart. I know I haven’t met her before but we recognized her from the Yacht Club fundraiser, when you and Thomas sat with her, so I knew she was a friend of yours. That’s why I’m calling.”
“Thank you, Tiffany, it was good of you to call me,” I replied. “Do you know why Stella was in hospital?”
“Not for sure, it’s all confusing. She was in bad shape…. “ Taking a deep breath Tiffany continued, “She was very bruised, swollen and bloody. She was waiting to go in for full body x-rays because they say she has multiple broken bones.”
“Oh my God, how horrible! Was she in a car accident?” I asked.
“No, that’s the confusing part: the aid who was pushing her around said under her breath that she had JUMPED in front of the commuter train. She is on suicide watch and they are searching for relatives to advise on what facility to send her to once she is all bandaged up.”
“She jumped in front of a train! Wow, I don’t believe it, really? I hardly know her, but from what I know it’s not in character! Where is John—her husband?” I added, in case Tiffany didn’t know his name.
“I asked if they had located her husband and was told no, not yet, and that they would appreciate any assistance I might be able to give.”
“Right; that’s where I come in,” I replied. “I know they were staying with Catherine after Lorenzo’s death anyway… hmm. They may still be. I’ll call over there now. If I don’t find him there I’ll try Trent Braise-Bottom the Third; he might know where I can reach John.” Even with this sad news, I still had to work hard to stifle the giggle that always came when I said Trent’s ridiculous name.
“Janeva, that’s not all.” Tiffany added. I resisted filling in the silence as I sensed that something else was bothering her. “It’s just that when I took Stella’s hand and told her I was a friend of yours and you would be able to track down her husband…. Oh, this is so strange… maybe she was delirious with pain killers…”
“Tiffany, what did she say?” I interrupted.
“That John pushed her”!
“What… what exactly did she say?” I insisted.
“I quote, ‘No, not John, he pushed me… John pushed me.’ Then she started to cough up blood and the aid waved me away.”
Thanking Tiffany and ending the call, I called Catherine’s house and left a voice message. Then I called Trent’s and left the same message. I easily retrieved those phone numbers from the Yacht Club member directory we keep on our boat. Catherine’s cell number was on my cell phone contact list from the stabbing at Lorenzo’s office on Friday. Again no answer, so I left yet another voice message, then called the club to see if Catherine, Trent, or John were there and was told that Catherine and a guest had lunched in the lounge but had left a little while before.
I asked to be transferred to the upstairs lounge where they had eaten and was told by the bartender, after he looked out the window, that they were walking down the dock to the Atlantis, that yacht having just returned to the dock from Canada. Unsure what to do next, I decided to bring Thomas up to speed and get his ever practical advice.
“Don’t stress about it. I’m sure the hospital will find John soon enough; anyway, it sounds like Stella might need some time to sort things out first,” was Thomas’s reply after I relayed the events to him.
Then, looking at his watch, Thomas announced, “Time to leave.” I knew this meant “I’m going to start the engine now and cast off the lines,” so I said a quick goodbye to Greg and Steph. Kevin and Sam hadn’t emerged from their boat and the shades were still down, so either they were still asleep or they were watching a movie or deep in a video game.
As I’d predicted, our engine was already running by the time I had said my goodbye, so I untied our bowline and tossed it on the boat, then moved to the mid-ship line and waited for Thomas to release the stern line. After uncleating the mid-ship line and giving the boat a big push, I jumped on.
Fortunately for me there was no wind, as the phone call from Tiffany had distracted me and I hadn’t finished stowing away all the breakfast dishes. After I finished coiling the dock lines and putting them in the hatch, along with the fenders, I went down below to finish up with the dishes and remind Katie that she had better get packed up now because her friend Alix’s mom was picking her up at the Yacht Club as soon as we arrived; the girls were going to Alix’s house to work on their school project.
Leaving Katie doing packing, I joined Thomas on deck; it was a quiet peaceful morning as we sat companionably watching the fog burn off, to be replaced by sun and a cloudless blue sky.
“I just can’t believe the luck Catherine is having,” I said.
“Luck has nothing to do with it! She just made poor choices in friends,” Thomas replied with an eye roll.
“What? Just because her husband was murdered and John’s wife was pushed or jumped in front of a commuter train?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes,” replied Thomas, who hates to analyze other people. Ignoring him, I carried on, hoping that I might draw him in and get his insights. “And how do you explain the break-in at the company and stabbing of the security guard… now, that had nothing to do with choices that Catherine made.”
“True, that is very strange. I don’t understand why she doesn’t just sell that company. She should take her money and get away from that group.”
“Oh, I forgot to tell you! She can’t sell even if she wanted to.”
“What why on earth not?” Thomas demanded.
“Because Lorenzo needed money to finish some new product he was about to launch.” I paused. “He was counting on investor financing that was to close last week, but with his death it all fell apart.”
“So all the more reason to sell. It does seem like the obvious solution.”
“It might, but he put the house up for a line of credit that is now maxed out. I gather the only way they will make payroll and the office lease payment is from the sale of the Atlantis on Monday.”
“Okay, okay, but I still don’t get it. If she sells the company, the new buyer deals with the line of credit in the purchase. Catherine gets the lien off her house, which by the way she should sell, too, and start a new life. Really, what am I missing?”
“When you put it that way, its seems very clear, but Frank—”
“Who is Frank?” Thomas interrupted.
“Frank Duffy is the company COO and acting CEO. He said that the other company’s offer was way too low, especially since the new product was about to launch. I’ve seen some of it and it’s amazing.” I went on to tell him about it and showed him the Dexia app and told him about the new product. Of course I made him promise not to tell anyone. “So you see, a purchaser will have to pay a lot more once the new product—E-lett something or other—is selling. Catherine wants to wait to sell, plus I think she is doing it as much to honor Lorenzo’s dream as for the money.” Looking at the horizon where the grey-blue water met the clear, light-blue sky, my thoughts returned to Lorenzo’s murder.
“It’s a good thing that the Canadian police are convinced that the murderers are those two missing crew members.”
“Why do you say that?” Thomas asked.
“Well, with all that’s happened to Catherine, if its not them, then it has to be someone we know…. I wonder what Lorenzo did to them that they had to murder him?” I mused.
Laughing, Thomas said, “Sorry. I completely forgot to tell you: that Canadian police inspector called me.”
“Really? Was it because they had released the Lorenzo’s, I mean Catherine’s, yacht?”
“No… they wanted to ask me more questions. Apparently they found the two missing crew members and ruled them out as suspects.”
“What! Really?!” I cried.
“They called…”
I interrupted “But why?
“Because…” Thomas tried again.
“Where were they?”
“They were at…”
“Who else could have done it?”
“Stop with the hundred questions and give me a chance to answer,” was Thomas’s frustrated reply.
I firmly closed my mouth and looked at him expectantly.
“I’m not going to tell you unless you get me another cup of coffee,” he replied with a smirk; he was enjoying taunting me.
“But the Yacht Club is right there,” I said, pointing to the Yacht Club and marina on our bow.
“No coffee, no story,” was the frustrating reply.
“Okay, okay. Do you want a biscotti with that?” I inquired sarcastically as I headed down below to pour him a coffee out of the thermos I had made earlier.
Stepping up from the galley into the cockpit, I handed Thomas a mug of coffee.
“Were is my biscotti?”
Rolling my eyes, I handed it to him.
“Look there is the Atlantis” I said as we turned into the marina. “Tell me, why were the two crew members released if they murdered Lorenzo? And if they didn’t murder Lorenzo, then who did?”
“You’re doing it again!”
“Sorry, please tell me!” I begged
“Can’t now, we are at our slip.”
Groaning, I got up to secure the docking lines to our boat, then yelled for Katie to come and help. I jumped off the boat with my line, securing it to its cleat, then I caught Katie’s bow line, secured it, and finally, after a short sprint on the dock from the bow to the stern of our boat, I grabbed the stern line from Thomas. Back on the boat I went down below to finish the cleanup while Thomas grabbed the hose and busily scrubbed the deck.
As the sounds of scrubbing and rinsing subsided, Thomas yelled down “Katie, Alix’s mom is here to pick you up!”
Katie grabbed her school knapsack, gave me a quick kiss, and was gone. I smiled to myself and wondered how much work the girls would really get done for their project in a group setting. But I guess it’s never too early for them to learn the ninety-ten percent rule. Since Katie was part of the ten percent who do all the work, I was sure to hear about the project in great detail as she vented later that so-and-so wasn’t doing his or her share.
Thomas left to walk Katie up the dock to where Alix and her mom were waiting. As I tossed our overnight bags up onto the deck from below, my gaze strayed to the Atlantis. It looked both familiar to have it back in its slip and strange, since the big yacht’s space had been empty for the last few weeks and I was used to seeing open water behind it now.
Turning to go back down below to bring up the next load, I was surprised to see John Blackwood walking down the dock with an overnight bag. How strange! I thought. Oh well—I’d better finish the packing before Thomas returns with the wheelbarrow to move our bags and the cooler to the car.
It only took a minute to finish loading the cooler and lug it up to the deck, where I was even more surprised to see Trent walking up to the Atlantis. What was he doing there?
Chapter Twenty
“Now what?”
My curiosity was piqued, to put it mildly. Why was John hanging out at the club with Catherine when his wife was in hospital needing him, and why was he going to the Atlantis? Just as interesting, why was Trent following him? Looking up the top of the dock, I was happy to see Thomas chatting with some other club member. I wondered if I could get to the Atlantis and back before he returned. I did, after all, have a good reason to go to big Hatteras yacht: someone had make sure that John was told about his wife; he couldn’t possibly know or he would be by her hospital bed. Jumping off the boat, I walked quickly to the Atlantis. Thomas would be furious to learn that I was following Trent who was following John when I should be minding my own business and packing up the boat.
Looking back, I was happy to see that Thomas was still deep in conversation and that several other club members had joined him, forming a small circle at the top of the dock. So I quickly darted up the dock that the Atlantis was moored on, relieved that I was now out of Thomas’s sight.
I was surprised to see that the dock was empty, with the exception of the small overnight bag that John had been carrying. Looking very out of place, the bag was just sitting in the middle of the dock, and I wondered why John would drop the bag there. The Atlantis was the only boat on this dock, which was the last dock in the marina, so there was nowhere else for him or Trent to go. They had to be on the boat, or else they would have had to walk past me as I made my way here.
My eyes moved again to the overnight bag and then to the yacht. Should I pick up the bag? It would give me another reason for boarding the Atlantis…. If I didn’t do something quickly, I might as well go back to our boat. So instead of standing around looking foolish, I picked up the bag, thinking to myself, John must have gotten distracted, talking to Trent perhaps, and put the bag down and forgotten it, so I should just take it to him; I need to tell him about his wife anyway.
Taking a deep breath to steady my nerves, with bag in hand I walked to the stern of the boat and boarded. The boat was quiet, too quiet; where were the crew? I walked up the stairs through the outdoor seating and dining area to the main cockpit sliding glass door and knocked and knocked, but no one came, and when I finally tried the door I was surprised to find it locked. What should I do now? I could see into the main salon and dining area through the sliding glass door, and the rooms were deserted. Now what? Where could they all be? I wondered, as I looked around the marina. All the neighboring boats were buttoned up tight and clearly empty. With a sigh I decided to put the bag on the cockpit table and turned to return to our boat.
It was as I was walking to the table that I heard the bang, followed by a muffled scream—a woman’s scream of “Noooo!”—It definitely came from somewhere below. My first thought was Catherine: Was she in trouble again? Still clutching the bag, I turned and ran along the narrow side deck to the side door where the galley was. Darn, locked again!
I continued, circumnavigating the yacht, past the bow lounge seat and back to the cockpit and up the long curved stairway to the pilothouse deck. Finally I found an open hatch. Quickly I went down the inside stairway to the glamorous main deck landing. I decided that the main salon, dining room, and galley were empty, as I had already seen inside those rooms through doors and windows as I ran around the outside of the boat. So I turned in the opposite direction, heading toward the bow and master stateroom. Here I collided with Trent, who was just leaving the master stateroom.
“Trent, what are you doing here?” I stammered.
“Why do you have Wiffy’s bag?” Trent wheezed simultaneously, holding his stomach and looking at the bag I was still carrying, which had swung forward and knocked the wind out of him in the collision.
“Wiffy’s bag?” I repeated, looking at it. “No, it’s John’s.”
Still breathless, Trent pointed at the dirty and worn embroidery. Looking closely at it, I saw that it was a stylized GB3.
“GB3,” I read, and shrugged.
“It stands for ‘Georgina Braise-Bottom the Third.’ I bought it for her when we were first married.”
“Oh, Wiffy’s real name is Georgina… I always wondered if she had a real name,” was all I could think to say. Then, “It was on the dock, John had the bag…. Why did John have Wiffy’s bag? And why are you following him?” I asked, my senses coming back to me.
“I’d better take Wiffy’s bag home to her,” Trent said, reaching for the bag.
I handed it to him. “Thanks,” he said, looking at the bag, puzzled. “I haven’t seen this bag for years. Actually I thought it had been given to Goodwill.”
“Trent, what are you doing here?” I inquired.
“What are you doing here?” he countered.
“Um, uh, John’s wife Stella is in hospital, and I saw him walking down the dock so I thought I should tell him.”
“That was nice of you, but I really don’t think he cares.” He turned and pointed to the master bedroom scene he had previously been blocking by standi
ng in the small doorway.. A champagne bottle and glasses, messy bedding, and strewn clothes all over the floor told the story.
“But where are they now?” I asked.
Shrugging, Trent said, “I don’t know. I was about to up to the pilothouse to see if they were in the hot tub.”
“No, they’re not, I just came from there,” I said, shaking my head. “Anyway, I’m thinking we should just leave, clearly they want to be alone… why else would they have locked all the doors? How did you get in, anyway? The only open door I could find was the pilothouse.”
“Locked? No, I came in the main salon door, it wasn’t locked, actually it was open partway.”
We looked at each other in confusion. “We’d better go,” I said.
We turned and walked back down the short hallway and up the stairs to the pilothouse.
“It’s locked,” I said, trying the hatch door.
“What? Let me try,” Trent said, edging past me and handing me back the bag.
After some pushing and shoving I asked, “How did we get locked in? Aren’t doors supposed to lock from the inside?”
“Are you sure you came in this way?”
“Yes I’m sure” I snapped.
“Okay, okay, it looks like this hatch locks with a key on the inside and someone has taken the key.”
We turned and headed back down the narrow stairs to the main cabin, intending to go out one of the sliding doors on the main floor.
“So why are you here?” I again asked Trent as we were walking.
He shrugged. “Shoes, if you can believe it. I’m looking for a certain pair of shoes—”
“Please don’t!” came a faint cry, interrupting Trent.
Trent and I stopped and looked at each other.
“I think that cry came from the lower deck,” I whispered.
“What should we do?” Trent said.
“We can’t just leave!… Follow me,” I said, and continued down the next flight of stairs to the lower deck with the guest cabins and laundry room.