Anchors Away and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  Before I could ask that question, though, she waved at my clear concern with that handful of dampness and forced a small smile. “I can’t stop thinking about poor Lester,” she said, catch in her voice. “Sitting around makes it worse.” Well, I was just as guilty of needing something to do to take my mind off things so I couldn’t really argue her reasoning, nodding instead. “I came to get some work done. To distract me from everything. And I still have a job to do, whether Lester is here or not.” She blinked behind her glasses. “It’s so quiet here at night, you know. Peaceful, with no one else around.”

  Yikes, poor old dear. I had to call Mom. “Doreen, why did Lester and David Campbell fall out?” I patted her hands, knowing my empathy for her would take second seat to my curiosity even before I opened my mouth.

  She seemed grateful for the distraction, frowning down into her tissues, shaking her head finally. “I don’t know,” she said. “He never actually came out and told me. But he seemed to think it was funny. Talked about David owing him from now on. That a lot of people did, whatever that meant.” She exhaled heavily, her lips pursing, regret flashing as she spoke ill of the dead. “He wasn’t a very nice person sometimes.”

  Yeah, I had gotten that picture loud and clear, even when he was alive. But what could David Campbell possibly owe Lester? “How long was he president?”

  She wriggled in her seat, face calming, whole demeanor settling down as she was forced to focus on my questions so I didn’t feel so badly grilling her when she was down. We were both getting something out of it, right? “Oh, ages,” she said. “No one else wanted the job. At least as long as I’ve been treasurer, and that has to be ten years now.” She blew out a soft sound of regret before her face tightened and she leaned closer, drawing me to her with her hand grasping mine tightly. “They used to be thick as thieves, those two,” she said.

  “David and Lester?” David said they were old friends.

  “Something happened between them,” Doreen said, eyes flickering to the entry and back to me like she expected to be called out for speaking about it. “Right around the time David bought his boat. The funny part was no one can pinpoint why they fell out—no big blow up or anything. Just a quiet and sudden break and then they were enemies.”

  Huh. “No guesses?”

  She hesitated, wiping her nose with her wad of tissues. “Money,” she finally said. “It has to have been over money. But I don’t know why or what happened.”

  I’d take it. Money was a good motive to kill someone.

  If only I knew either way if this was murder.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty

  Doreen returned to her office, claiming she had work to do though I knew from the haunted look on her face she was just keeping busy. Fair enough. As I turned to exit the building, still on the lookout for Luke though I was fairly sure he’d already left the area, I caught sight of a deputy’s car pulling into the parking lot. It didn’t take much encouragement for me to pounce on Jill as she emerged from the driver’s side, and the grimace on her face told me she wasn’t happy to find me there. I tried not to take her attitude personally, knowing it was her reticence to talk about where Crew went that had to be feeding our newfound distance.

  “Hey, Fee.” Jill sighed, shook her head. “I don’t know anything, I swear.”

  Okay, fresh tactic to maybe soften her up and get info another way. “How’s Matt?” She and the handsome park ranger had really hit it off since he’d stopped being a blind idiot and realized she was into him. Sure, he’d come onto me at probably the least opportune time ever—during a murder investigation while Crew and I were finally making headway into our relationship—but Jill didn’t seem to mind the ranger had to be guided in her direction by yours truly. If anything, she’d been pretty grateful, though all I did was kick his butt that he’d been missing out on her awesomeness.

  It wasn’t that she (cough) owed me (cough) or anything. Right?

  Jill softened slightly, grinned. “He’s great,” she said, that dreamy look in her eyes telling me they were still in the enraptured honeymoon phase. “Missed me.” It was bright enough with the renewed lighting I caught her cheeks flush before she cleared her throat and gave me a guilty grimace. “I see what you’re doing.” I didn’t say anything. If Dad taught me a skill it was to stay quiet in the face of someone who had something to tell you even if it was their intent not to spill. Silence and guilt typically led to confessions. I just waited, faint, friendly smile firmly in place and let her babble her way to what I wanted to know. “You’re trying to make me talk. Fee, there’s nothing to say.” She looked away, shrugged, sighed. “Look, fine, be like that. I thought we were friends.” Jill needed to buck up on her own interrogation techniques if this was working. Either that or she felt really guilty. “Okay, you win, here’s all I know. Some woman showed up yesterday morning. Wearing a suit, looking like she meant business.” I ignored the tightening in my stomach and let her go on. That was me trusting him. “I was leaving for breakfast when she came knocking, so I didn’t get a good look at her. I was still eating when he texted me he had an emergency. That’s it.” She huffed at me, eyes sorrowful. “You happy now?”

  I hugged her before stepping back. “Thanks, Jill.” Not much to go on. But growing suspicion was leading me away from another woman in his romantic life and toward something far more worrisome and likely dangerous. “As it turns out, I have something for you, too.” I filled her in on what I’d seen, about Luke and Keira and David’s conflict with Lester. Jill listened carefully, nodding at the right places before hitching her belt.

  “Thanks,” she said. “I’ll go in and chat with Doreen, see if I can’t convince her to head on home and get some rest. Think I should call the doc?” That was Jill, caring enough to worry about the woman’s state of mind. I felt a bit guilty I hadn’t gone there myself.

  “I’ll leave that up to you,” I said, heading for my car, waving goodbye as she disappeared into the club. I slipped into the driver’s seat and called my dad, getting him on the second ring. When I told him about David and the kids, he just grunted his usual quiet acceptance of the details.

  But when I broached the topic of Crew, Dad cut me off. “I promise I’ll tell you when I’m sure of my source,” he said. He sounded grim enough I let it go, because now I was pretty sure I knew exactly what Crew Turner was up to and I really didn’t want to worry about whether he was coming home or not.

  Instead, I drove back to Petunia’s, cranking the radio of my car and forcing myself to sing along so I didn’t drive myself nuts with the need to call Crew over and over again until either he picked up or the woman did. Because that would get me nowhere fast except on a crazy train I refused to board just now.

  I’m not sure if it was a good thing or a bad thing that distraction found me the moment I walked through the door of Petunia’s, though perhaps I should have been grateful for the chance to stop thinking about Crew and focus on something I could take action on. Though, dealing with the smug expression on Rose’s face and the source of that personal victory—real or imagined—was likely going to give me heartburn and an excuse to kick her out onto the street.

  Still, here was my chance to dress down the woman doing damage to the self-esteem of my darling Daisy. Not to mention the fact she stood behind my counter, fiddling with my computer in my foyer when her “job” entailed helping Daisy. I hadn’t given Rose permission to access my files, had I? Awesome. The yelling would commence in three, two, one…

  “Fiona.” Rose stepped back from the keyboard, faintly guilty, enough I pounced on the fact she knew she wasn’t supposed to be doing whatever it was she was up to. “I booked in a new guest for you, since no one was here to answer the phone.” She sniffed like she’d done me a favor, like I’d dropped the ball.

  “The next time,” I said, keeping my voice low and cold, “don’t.” Was it possible I was overreacting? That my redheaded temper was getting the better of me and I was seeing things
that weren’t actually there out of jealousy Daisy’s step-sister seemed to have more influence on her these days than I did? Maybe. Snarl.

  Rose’s face tightened, her snotty little nose rising like she was queen of the bed and breakfast and not a temporary pain in my backside. “You’re welcome,” she snapped.

  “Didn’t ask for help,” I cracked back. “As a matter of fact, just for future reference, I don’t appreciate you interfering with my business or treating my best friend like she’s not good enough.” I should have kept things professional, left Daisy out of it. I had ground to stand on, after all, when it came to Petunia’s. But Daisy was her sister. I realized I had clouded the issue even as the words left my mouth. Too late.

  Rose shrugged, crossing her arms over her chest, lips pinched as she tilted her head to one side, self-righteousness almost getting her a punch in the face. I’d do it, too, precedence had been set when it came to Daisy. Though Vivian French and I had been young enough I had an excuse for breaking her nose.

  “I have no idea how you stay in business,” she said. “You’re never here, always gallivanting around Reading being nosy about things that don’t concern you.”

  Back to Robert, were we? That didn’t help my temper and neither did the crack about my busybody nature. I was well aware of my failings, thanks, and the guilt I felt over slipping away was mine to deal with, not hers to shove in my face.

  I was about to deliver a blistering and likely untakebackable rant that would have devolved into me shouting and her hitting the pavement with the kind of force that broke bones when Daisy appeared through the swinging kitchen door, her face closed off, gray eyes unreadable. She came to stand next to Rose while I finished my tirade inhale, stopping with the sort of hurt, pinched expression that was probably the only thing that could diffuse me in that moment.

  So, instead of blowing off steam and telling Rose what I thought of her and where she could take her opinions, I instead found myself deflating somewhat unhappily, dissatisfaction burning a hole inside me but unable to push myself past the knowledge that yelling at Rose would mean hurting my best friend.

  Well, crap.

  Rose, meanwhile, turned to Daisy with disdain, pinching her side with her index finger and thumb. “There you are,” she said. “Fee’s been mean to me, Day.” Her pout was near enough to ridiculous I almost ignored my instincts and chose in favor of yelling all over again.

  Daisy sighed, barely perceptible, before gesturing for the front door. “I’ll meet you in the car.” At least Rose wasn’t staying here, small blessings. I could only imagine constant contact with her step-sister wasn’t doing my bestie any favors. Maybe I should have invited Daisy to stay with me for a while, to let Rose have the run of the apartment. Instead, I watched Rose stomp her way across the foyer and out the front door, positive at the last second she’d turn and stick her tongue out at me or something equally childish. Instead, she flounced out, her skirt—wait, that was Daisy’s new dress she had on, wasn’t it?—flaring around her thighs as she went.

  I waited until the door thudded shut behind her before inhaling once again, but Daisy beat me to the conversation. From the low vibration in her quiet voice, she’d been holding back, too.

  “I asked her to help,” Daisy said. “Okay?”

  I shook my head. “Not okay,” I said. “This is a partnership, Day. You, me, Mom. All three of us have to agree or no go.” Mom would side with me, I was sure of it.

  Daisy twitched, stared at the door. “Then maybe this was a bad idea.” She left without another word, my mouth hanging open as she softly closed the door behind her. Wait, what? How had our friendship and partnership and everything turned around so fast? Where was the Daisy I loved and adored? Gone without a fight, with a whimper. Was I not even going to get a chance to fight for her?

  No way, not acceptable. I spun and stomped into the kitchen, finding Mom there with Petunia at her feet, my mother frowning into a giant pot of something that seemed to have offended her somehow.

  When she looked up and met my eyes, hers were angry. “Did you talk to Daisy?”

  I stumbled to a halt, stared at her. Wait, had the conversation I’d just had with my best friend begun here? “Mom, what happened?”

  My mother’s shoulders twitched, her green eyes snapping. “That fool of a girl seems to think she’s a liability to the business,” she said. “She actually asked me just now if I would consider buying her out.”

  So the parting shot wasn’t something she pulled out of the air. “Mom.” I choked on the word, sagging against the counter. “This has to be Rose.”

  My mother nodded, her long spoon stirring far more aggressively than was necessary. “Agreed.”

  I wanted to scream, to go after Daisy, something, anything, but every scenario I considered ended in disaster. And from Mom’s sullen silence and the way she abused what smelled like stew in the pot she was spiraling down the same road.

  Thankfully, our mutual black mood wasn’t meant to last. Dad appeared at the kitchen door, took one look at the both of us, and came in for a group hug. Mom resisted far more than I did—what did Daisy say to her exactly? Had to be a lot more than what my mother gave up for her to be so upset—but we both caved at last, my dad’s shirt smooshed against my nose, Mom’s green eyes glaring at me while we let him have his way.

  When he released us both, I actually felt lighter, like maybe the world as I knew it wasn’t coming to an end. Mom exhaled sharply, crossing her arms over her chest while Dad kissed the top of her head. Instead of asking us what was wrong, he turned to me, grimaced a bit, then touched the tip of my nose with his right index finger.

  “Hate to add to the mood,” he said, “but I found out where Crew went. And you’re not going to like it.”

  I sighed. “With a woman,” I said. “Likely FBI.” Because that was the only logical explanation, right?

  Dad grinned but without humor. “Should have known you’d suss it out,” he said. “None other than Crew’s old partner, Special Agent Elizabeth Michaud.”

  I swallowed hard, remembering her from a few months ago. She’d seemed happy to see Crew, the pair with obvious history. And while I knew nothing romantic happened between them, it was the call of the FBI that worried me more than feminine wiles. He’d left to become sheriff of Reading. But what if getting a taste of the Bureau again changed his mind?

  “What’s he doing running off with and FBI agent?” Mom sounded cross enough I almost hugged her.

  Dad shrugged. “Not sure, though from what I could find out it’s tied to an old case, one he worked when he was still with the Bureau.”

  If it was an old case and he felt responsible… it would be like Crew to want to help.

  I left Mom to Dad, to the sound of him cajoling her into leaving, retreating to my apartment where I could call Crew in private. And, despite my previous agreement with myself not to bother, I called three times in a row, finally leaving him messages to get back to me. Followed by an email. Two texts. Pissed off texts, because seriously.

  Knowing I was playing the crazy almost girlfriend but unwilling to let him jerk me around like this—there was a supposed murder to solve for goodness’s sake (sure, that’s why I was mad)—I stomped my way back upstairs, looking for an outlet for my irritation and fully intending to comb through the front desk computer for evidence Rose screwed up just to make myself feel better. At least I could distract myself from one worry with another.

  Instead of diving in, though, I was startled to stumble across one of my guests slipping quietly through the foyer, one who created an even better distraction than more worry.

  ***

  Chapter Twenty One

  Heather Parborough nodded to me, clearly nervous. “Hi, Fee. Sorry to be coming in so late.” It really wasn’t that late, only about 10PM. Her anxiety reminded me I’d caught her sneaking out of Lester’s office, hadn’t I?

  “No problem, Heather,” I said. “Can I offer you anything?” We’d had coffe
e enough times in the past surely it didn’t sound like too fishing of a question.

  She hesitated, like she wanted to take me up on my offer, but shook her head. “Thanks. It’s been a long day. Just going to get some sleep.”

  I spoke up quickly before she could head for the stairs. “A shame about Lester,” I said. “They still don’t know what happened to him.” Wow, was that a flinch of guilt? Sure looked like it. “I know you two worked closely together to build interest in the marina.” Okay, I was guessing, but she nodded so my guessing paid off. “I hope his loss won’t mean trouble for you and your business.”

  She swallowed hard, gaze flickering to the stairs and retreat before she shrugged. Something was obviously weighing on her. Was it his death? Or whatever she’d been up to in his private office the day he died? “It definitely complicates things,” she said. “Paperwork, that sort of business. You know.” Like her vague answer should offer the kind of information I was looking for.

  “I get it,” I said, trying for an easy grin and rewarded when she seemed to relax somewhat. “Can’t be easy, your job. Selling those big, expensive boats. Especially in such a small marina.”

  She paled, so ghostly white I actually took a step toward her, one hand extended in concern before I could stop myself. She recovered quickly, but not nearly fast enough.

  “You work for a small boat company, don’t you?” Idle chitchat to fill the moment between her horrified response to my seemingly innocuous comment and her next inhale. At least, I hoped she thought that was all I was asking. Otherwise she’d be clamming up before I got another thing out of her.

  Her faint grimace at the question made me pause. It was a straight forward enough inquiry and shouldn’t have elicited such a response. Unless, of course, she had something to hide about her employment.