Anchors Away and Murder

by Patti Larsen

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Five

  I went home, feeling defeated and out of sorts, leaving Dad at his office and Jill, shoulders bowed, expression darkly worried, heading back to work. I’d hate to lose her, not just as a deputy. I liked her personally, too. Reading would be a smaller, sadder place without Jill in it, certainly on the path to downfall without at least one person in the office to keep Robert in check. Mind you, there was Toby, but I still had my suspicions about the small desk at the front of Dad’s new office and the sight of a casually draped fleece vest across the back of the chair behind it. Yeah, screamed defection.

  I checked my phone on the way home, stopped at the crosswalk in shock when I realized I had a missed call. A foreign number, one I recognized from earlier, a number Malcolm Murray dialed. But there was no message and when I shakily redialed the number, no one answered. Leaving Siobhan Doyle out of the equation for now, I hung up and tucked my phone away, reactivating the sound on my ringer, though I wasn’t so sure I wanted to talk to her right now.

  Speaking of difficult conversations, I’d barely set foot in the foyer of Petunia’s when I heard Mom’s voice calling out to me. I followed her beckoning volume and pushed through the swinging door to the kitchen, finding her sitting at the counter with Daisy beside her, the two huddled over a pot of tea and a tray of fresh baked cookies.

  Relief flooded me at the sight of Daisy’s familiar smile, her little wave of welcome. The strained feeling between us seemed to have vanished and the carefree bestie I loved was back in full force. What happened to walking out with Rose? I had to believe her tantrum was just that. She hadn’t acted on it, after all. And I was willing to forgive her anything right now. I joined them, hugging her quickly around the shoulders, maybe a bit harder than I’d intended, but her own hands clutched at me a moment like she knew how I felt, the silent conversation of our body language enough to tell me she was as sorry as I was we’d let anything come between us.

  Never again.

  Famous last words, right?

  “We need to talk, ladies.” Mom’s no-nonsense tone made me feel like I was sixteen again and in a heap of trouble for acting out. Daisy gulped and nodded, all focus on my mother while one of her slim, strong hands held mine like she needed the lifeline. Mom looked back and forth between us, green eyes taking our measure before she leaned forward and patted our joined hands with hers. “This partnership is young, fresh, and we have kinks to hammer out. But we’re all in this together. And I want to be sure we’re on the same page moving forward.”

  “Me too,” I said while Daisy nodded with excessive enthusiasm.

  “Excellent.” Mom whipped out a sheet of paper she’d hidden in the pocket of her apron, smoothing it out in front of her. It was covered in the neat, perfect cursive of her handwriting and looked about as official as any court document in that moment. Gratitude for Mom’s efficiency made me grin a crooked smile while she beamed at us and spoke again. “First things first. We rushed forward into this partnership without defining our needs in our roles.” She pointed at me. “Yes, we know Fee is in charge of the ‘bed’ aspect, in the general running of things. And I’m in charge of the ‘breakfast’ side of the equation.” She used air quotes. So adorable. “Miss Daisy, you’re our special events and staff coordination section.” My best friend nodded again. “But what does that mean, exactly? We’ve all been crossing paths and bumping into each other as we do.” My mother turned to me. “You’ve been poking your nose into Daisy’s work, Fee, and the kitchen. And I’ve been directing the staff lately.” She turned to Daisy again. “As for you, I’ve noticed you’ve been taking on a lot of Fee’s check-ins and responsibilities that might be taking away from your ability to do your usual job.” I did my best not to feel stung at Mom’s almost accusation I was slacking. Because I knew exactly where this conversation was heading and why she was addressing things this way. Classic Lucy Fleming. Show a united front as a group while sliding in an option to fix things and, when the time was right, offer up a solution to a problem that the person being pandered to was causing. Namely, Daisy’s attachment to Rose.

  Brilliant.

  “I don’t mind,” Daisy started saying, but I shook my head, squeezed her hand.

  “Mom’s right,” I said. “You’re not our catch-all for everything that needs to be done.” And she wasn’t, either. I really was slacking. Whoops. Murder investigations did that to me. “I don’t think there’s anything wrong with backing each other up,” I nodded to Mom, “but clearly defined responsibilities so we know where we’re crossing lines and how to help if one or the other of us feels overwhelmed? That’s a great idea, Mom.”

  Daisy looked thoughtful then perked. “Lucy, you’re so smart,” she said, right on the edge of a trademark giggle that made me grin.

  I am positive things would have been smoothed over, as polished as a freshly washed wineglass, as shiny as a newly buffed teapot. Except, of course, for the wild card who had become such a thorn in my side I had to wonder if she was actually designing her interruptions to create chaos.

  This time, when Rose spoke up, startling the three of us, turning us toward the kitchen door where she stood, my immediate reaction was one of utter disgust. Partly tied to the fact Robert hovered at her side, glaring at me, mustache wriggling like an unhappy caterpillar attempting to escape.

  “Maybe if you actually focused on your clients instead of each other,” she said, whining tone so biting I felt my fingers crush Daisy’s for a moment. She meeped and jerked her hand from mine, looking up at me with hurt in her gray eyes while her step-sister went on. “We’ve been waiting for service for ages.”

  Right, because I’d only been back here, like, a minute. Snarl. Daisy leaped to her feet, flushing as she rushed forward, the moment between us broken. “The staff should be out there,” she said, brushing past Rose and Robert on her way to the dining room. I let her go, crossing my arms over my chest. I’d deal with Daisy later. Right now, the pair of annoyances turning into massive pains in my behind standing in my kitchen? Yeah, they could just take a flying leap into the nearest active volcano.

  But before I could comment on Rose’s interference, Robert spoke up.

  “Looks like someone should be spending more time at home,” he said, “worrying about her own business. And leave the police work to those of us who actually know how to do the job.” He sniffed, thumbs hooked in his belt, while Rose looked up at him with adoration.

  “You’re such a great sheriff, Robbiekins,” she said.

  Ack. Barf. What? “You’d still be sitting on your hands if I hadn’t brought Heather in,” I snapped.

  His furious eyes locked on me while Rose’s disdain made a dent in my already fraying temper. “Your bumbling has made my job all the harder,” he shot back. “I had Heather in my sights from the moment I started the investigation. If it wasn’t for you poking your nose in, I would have arrested her days ago.”

  Whatever, creep. “Because of the video footage?” Yikes, I couldn’t help myself, could I?

  Robert’s irritating smugness told me he thought he knew something I didn’t. “That circumstantial evidence?” He snorted while Rose preened. “Maybe if you were trained to investigate crime you’d have found what I did. That Heather was embezzling money from the yacht club coffers and making it look like Lester did it.”

  I wanted to shake him. “Says who?”

  “I’ve seen the paperwork.” He looked away, trying to sound blasé and in control but coming off as arrogantly ignorant. Typical Robert. “Like I owe you an explanation of any kind. But let this be a lesson to you, Fiona Fleming.” He jabbed a finger at me. “A little knowledge is dangerous. You run off half-cocked without all the facts and that puts innocent people in danger or under suspicion. If our previous sheriff hadn’t been screwing you, you’d be in jail for impeding an investigation. Something I’ve been seriously considering.”

  I didn’t get to comment. Mom took a firm step forward and spo
ke up. “You watch your mouth, Robert Carlisle,” she snapped. “How dare you malign my daughter? You want to keep that job you’re playing at for the time being? You’ll show respect, young man.”

  He actually backed down, though not surprising. Robert was, at heart, a coward. And Mom? Mom had been bossing him around since he was a kid. Still, there was enough defiance in his face, in his posture and the way Rose paid him attention I knew courage might find its way into his heart at the least opportune moment. And bravery didn’t mean class or good nature, unfortunately. Someone like Robert? If he ever found his spine we’d be in for a whole world of trouble.

  “Tell Uncle John I already fetched the treasury paperwork,” Robert said, at least using the title Dad was owed. “Lester was the victim here, and Heather the practiced criminal siphoning money and pretending he was blackmailing her.” What exactly did the paperwork he mentioned show that he came to that conclusion? I needed to get my hands on it. “Now, I’m officially telling you to back off and that your interference from now on will be met with police retaliation. Are we clear, Fanny?”

  There wasn’t much I could say to that. All I could do was stand there and fume as Robert left, Rose simpering on his arm while Mom shook her head next to me, looking worried enough I knew I was in trouble.

  But it wasn’t me my mother was anxious about, apparently. “Poor Doreen,” she said. “She must be horrified.”

  Would have been nice to ask her. Except I’d rather not go to jail, thanks.

  Damn, this was turning into one of those days.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Six

  With my chance to make up with Daisy lost, I retreated to my apartment to (sulk) collect myself and (complain) talk over my options with Petunia. The pug, naturally, had very little to say, head tilting comically from side to side as my impassioned pleas for assistance fell on doggy ears either too sensitive to comprehend my patheticness or brilliant to tell me I already knew what I should be doing about Daisy, about Crew, about everything. Starting with dropping the poor Fiona act and doing my best not to worry about things that I couldn’t change.

  Hush, pug. Way to be smarter than me.

  My pacing set Petunia off like my chatter didn’t, her soft whining and yawning meows reminiscent more of a cat’s protest than a dog’s proof of her agitation. I hated upsetting the dear girl, but honestly, I didn’t want to be the only one.

  “Heather is innocent,” I told the tongue-lolling canine as she swiped at her nose fold with one fawn paw before her small, black ears perked in response to my assurance. “I think.” Damn it, waffling wasn’t helping. “I know, I know,” I said, shaking my head at the pug who grunted at me in her oh-so-helpful manner. “The evidence is certainly against her.” Was Heather really innocent or was I just being stubborn because I couldn’t stand the fact maybe Robert was right and I was wrong? That thought brought me to a jarring, uncomfortable halt while I swallowed my pride and did a deep breath, shake yourself, put the accused first attempt at collecting myself before I scowled at Petunia like this was her fault. “No way,” I shot at her while she whined, her ears dropping, whites of her eyes showing. Whoops, I guess I was angrier about this whole thing than I thought. Guilt over taking it out on my pug sent me to her, crouching to scratch those soft ears. She immediately perked and panted her joy at the attention, groaning in pleasure while she leaned into my hand. “Robert’s wrong,” I whispered to the silly creature, knowing I was being about as silly so it was the pot calling the kettle out. “Still.” What Robert said about the boat rep stealing from the yacht club just didn’t sit right. It made more sense that Lester himself was stealing from the fund, didn’t it? So why was Robert determined to pin that on Heather? “I need to see that paperwork, Petunia.” Now in my nasty cousin’s possession, there wasn’t much chance of that happening. Yeah, about an icicle’s chance in the bowels of an active volcano.

  I hated that my mind immediately betrayed me, carrying my need to talk this out not to my father but the handsome, blue eyed and dark haired sheriff I was missing so much these days. No way Crew would be railroading Heather, not without listening to me first. But my option to discuss this with him was long gone, down the rabbit hole of his old case with the FBI that might or might not have him in the kind of danger I really, really didn’t want to think too closely about considering the kind of stress I was already under.

  On the other hand… I sighed when I sank to the tile floor and hugged my pug, exhaling my anxiety into the quiet of my apartment while the house above me came to life, guests moving around as dinner was being prepared in my mother’s capable kitchen. Why was I even bothering? Dad was on the case, after all, helping Olivia. And if Crew wanted to throw his job and the life he’d built here in Reading away, that was his choice. I could sit back, do my thing, really mind my own business for once and let Robert make a fool of himself when the truth of Heather’s involvement was proven false.

  Then again, what if he bungled things badly enough Heather’s arrest stuck and she actually went to prison for something she didn’t do? A faint itch woke under my skin, a tingling sensation I couldn’t scratch while I squirmed next to the pug who panted up at me with the kind of expression that told me she had utter faith in me no matter what I decided. Good thing one of us did.

  I exhaled in to the quiet before letting her go and standing, brushing at the seat of my jeans with both hands. “I’m a busybody, pug,” I said. “But how much of my need to dig into this is just a way to distract myself from Crew?”

  She yipped a soft bark at me, grinning like it was funny. I wasn’t getting the joke.

  Was I trying to prove something to him? That I didn’t need him, could solve the case without him? Or that I had his back, that he could trust me to handle things when he wasn’t here? I fought with my ego and all the reasons why I needed to step back, take a breath, mind my own business. All while the sounds of dinner unfolding above prodded me to go upstairs and at least pretend the goings on in my bed and breakfast had my full attention.

  I forced myself to get to work, head down, pug at my feet, mind racing. Normally I took my time opening my apartment door before hurtling myself into the foyer, but my distracted thoughts betrayed me. It was only the faint gurgling squeak of the woman I ran into that kept me from impacting her in full force and I found myself clutching at Doreen’s shoulders with both hands to keep her from falling sideways as I barreled into her.

  “Sorry!” I let her go while she flushed bright red, her cardigan askew. When I tried to straighten her out she shook her head, hugging her sweater to her despite its sideways tilt.

  “My fault.” She looked like she’d been crying again. “I came to see Lucy, but…” She glanced over her shoulder at the line of guests waiting for the staff to seat them in the dining room, the sound of Mom’s voice in the kitchen reaching even through the closed door as she began her bootcamp-like whip cracking so unlike her normal self it still made me grin and feel a bit afraid of her at the same time. “I lost track of the time.” She clutched at my hand, face pinched and still showing grief. “I need to talk to you, Fee,” she whispered. “I think Lester was hiding something and I can’t go to the sheriff. I know they think Heather killed him and all, but now I’m not so sure they have the right person.”

  “What was he hiding?” If Doreen could just lead me in the right direction…?

  Her distress was pretty clear as she let me go. “I wish I knew. They say that there’s paperwork proving Heather was embezzling from the yacht club, but… I do those books, Fee. I’m sure it was Lester.” She just said the magic words. “I just remember he always hinted about how he knew more about everyone in town than he should and that even those who seemed above reproach had secrets he kept for his own benefit.”

  Yikes, that sounded bad. And like more motive for murder. “Why are you telling me? Dad needs to hear this, Doreen.”

  She nodded, sniffling. “I guess I just got tired of trying to protect someone who w
asn’t the good person I thought he was.”

  Poor thing. “How about I tell Dad for you,” I said. “If Lester was keeping secrets, my father’s the best one to uncover it and protect it.” And bring anyone committing wrongdoing to justice.

  Doreen hesitated, looking stricken by guilt suddenly. But before I could convince her this was the best course of action she bobbed a nod and fled, shuffling her comfortable shoes to the door, disappearing between a pair of returning guests and out into the early evening.

  The rest of the next two hours passed quickly, more than busy enough to keep me from focusing on Heather, Crew or the murder, and despite how tired I was when it was over, I was grateful for the respite. I hugged Mom on my way out of the kitchen to fetch one last load of dirty dishes, the two girls serving with me tonight pattering past me on sneakered feet. One of them paused as something shiny caught against her toe and went flying and I found myself scrambling to retrieve a set of keys that had somehow slid under one of the tables, lost in the shuffle.

  A quick check of the ring told me they belonged to Doreen, a small engraved panel with her name etched carefully into it giving me the owner. Whoops, I must have knocked them out of her pocket when I ran into her earlier and the keys had travelled under the eager shoes of guests coming to dine. I bounced them in my hand, glancing out the front door glass into the gathering dark. She would have gone home without them, would be missing them. I really needed to return them to her, right? This seemingly serendipitous opportunity woke up my nosiness like I’d been handed an edict from the Universe.

  Yes, I’d return Doreen’s keys like the good girl I was. Via the yacht club. And a quick check of Lester’s office for evidence he was the real thief.

  ***

  Chapter Thirty Seven

  I took care not to slam the top drawer of Lester’s desk in sheer frustration, scowling into the dim quiet of his office while my heart beat just a bit too fast and hard for my own good. Sneaking into the club hadn’t been that hard, though. A bit of a smile for the two couples boarding their boat for an evening jaunt and acting like I was supposed to be here seemed to do the trick, though I did take care to skirt the view of the camera pointing at the end of the dock just in case. Sure, I might be caught on the one Chris and Wanda had set up, if they were even still filming, but from what I knew they were on my side. Still, there was something about messing around with breaking and entering that left me with that kind of shivery feeling inside that had me on edge and ready to run at a moment’s notice.