Ransom at Sea

by Fred Hunter

He puffed out his cheeks, held the air there for a moment, then pushed it out between his lightly closed lips. “Have to say, they all seemed pretty shocked. All except the Farradays, and the crew. And your friends, of course. I got to hand it to that old lady of yours. She can really keep her head.”

  “Yes, she can. In far more difficult situations than this,” Ransom responded rather proudly. “What strikes me is that the things these people say they did yesterday seem fairly odd. Driscoll with his little prank on Langstrom, Trenton going off on her own in a strange place, Holmes and his mysterious client…”

  “Wait a minute—what?” Barnes said, knitting his brows.

  “Stuart Holmes, the former lawyer, was seen talking to the same man in Sangamore, the boat’s first stop, and here. He denied it at first, but when pressed he told me that the man was a client. He wouldn’t go farther than that. Didn’t Emily tell you about the mysterious stranger?”

  “Yes, yes she did.”

  “And what did Holmes tell you?”

  “Just that he didn’t know the guy. It was someone he ran into both places. That’s not hard to believe. People from Sangamore come through here all the time on their way to the U.P.”

  “But you didn’t press him on it?”

  Barnes shook his head. “No, I didn’t. I’m afraid I didn’t take Miss Charter’s views very seriously. Seems I should have.”

  “Many people have made that mistake, Sheriff,” Ransom said, calling to mind his first encounter with Emily, when he’d taken her for a doddering old woman. “Even myself.” He paused to take another drag from the cigar. “So assuming that Holmes is telling the truth and the stranger is simply an old client and not someone with whom he has hatched a diabolical plot to kill a harmless, senile old woman that neither of them knew, that leaves us with next to nothing.”

  “You see my problem, then?” said Barnes.

  “I saw it from the start.”

  Barnes straightened up. “I’ve got another bit of bad news for you. Coroner’s report is in, and he found a lump on the old girl’s head, of course. He says it means it’s likely she was clocked on the head before being strangled, which is what I figured.”

  Ransom nodded. “That doesn’t come as a surprise.”

  “Yeah, I know.”

  “Was it a strong blow?”

  “Strong enough.”

  Ransom smiled. “And why is that bad news?”

  Barnes shrugged his broad shoulders. “It means for sure that the girl could’ve done it.”

  “It also means anyone else could have,” Ransom said. “Some of the passengers might not have been physically up to strangling a struggling woman of Miss Hemsley’s size while she was conscious, but I’ll wager most of them could manage it if she wasn’t.”

  Barnes pursed his lips thoughtfully. “I hadn’t thought of that.”

  “That’s because, despite your feelings, you’re thinking in terms of evidence against Rebecca Bremmer.”

  Barnes smiled. “Well, you’re thinking about evidence against anyone else.”

  “No,” Ransom replied without emotion, “I’m just focusing, for the moment, on the evidence against others.”

  “But you haven’t found anything.”

  “Not really.” He reached into his pocket and pulled the film out, which he handed to the sheriff. “Only this.”

  “What’s this?”

  “The Millers are amateur shutterbugs. They were up the beach taking photographs around the time the murder took place. It’s an outside possibility, but they might have caught something on film, though they claim they were too far away. Can you have these developed?”

  “Sure.” Barnes squeezed the canister in his fist for a moment, then stuck it in his pocket.

  “Good. I know I don’t have to say this, but be careful with it, please. The Millers were very anxious about them. I told them you’d make copies for them.”

  Barnes emitted a single laugh. “Okay, sure.”

  “Other than that, all I’ve found is the same thing you did: it seems unlikely that any of these people committed the murder. Most of them have fairly good alibis, and even the ones who don’t, I haven’t found any reason they would want to kill Hemsley. All of them claim that they had very little acquaintance with the victim, and knew nothing of her other than the fact that she was getting senile and was running her niece ragged. All of them claim to like the niece, but they all think she did it.”

  Barnes sighed. “Well, if that’s the case, I’m afraid I’m going to have to let them go on their way. If you don’t have anything more.”

  “Hmm,” Ransom said in a tone of understanding. He had, perhaps, a little more information than that, but despite the generally amicable relationship he’d formed with the sheriff, he didn’t want to share the possibilities that occurred to him. “When will you let them go?”

  “Not till morning.”

  * * *

  “She’s very nice … she’s just very nice, that’s all,” Lynn said. She held a blouse up by the shoulders and shook it. It was light plum with tiny white buttons.

  “That’s the way she struck me as well,” said Emily, who was seated on the bed next to the case. They were in Rebecca’s cabin. “And something more as well.”

  Lynn folded the blouse and laid it in the suitcase. She looked down and her elderly friend. “What’s that?”

  “The way she looked after her aunt spoke volumes about her character. Whatever Marcella might have been when Rebecca was a younger woman, she had through no fault of her own become quite disagreeable. The way Rebecca looked after her was admirable. She must be a very strong young woman.”

  “Yes, she is,” Lynn said in a tone so odd it caused Emily’s eyebrows to rise. Lynn slowly went over to the closet and retrieved another blouse, this one white, and began to fold it as she recrossed the room.

  “What is it, my dear?” Emily asked. “What’s troubling you?”

  “Emily … Rebecca is the first person I’ve cared about since Maggie died—I mean other than you and Mr. Detective. I don’t think she could harm anyone.”

  “Lynn, what is the matter?”

  The young woman draped the blouse over the upraised back of the suitcase, then sat down beside Emily. Hesitating, she laid her hands on her knees and looked down at them.

  “The other night—the night her aunt made the fuss—Rebecca was talking to me about her. Unburdening herself, I guess you’d call it. She told me … she told me that she wished her aunt was dead. She knew she would’ve been miserable in a nursing home, and wished she would just die.”

  “Very natural to feel that way.”

  “She asked me if I felt that way when Maggie was dying. I told her I did, but I lied: I didn’t. I didn’t want Maggie to die, no matter how badly off she’d become. Do you think that … wanting to hang on like that makes me selfish?”

  Emily laid her right hand on Lynn’s left. “No, my dear.” She allowed a silence, then added, “But there’s something more, isn’t there?”

  “No … no, I don’t know what you mean.”

  “Lynn, just because Rebecca expressed those feelings, that doesn’t mean that she killed her aunt.”

  An involuntary impulse caused Lynn to gently pull her hand away. “No. I don’t think that.”

  “Oh. Well, of course not,” Emily said lightly. “It’s only that that, too, would be a natural thing to fear about someone one with whom might be developing feelings … because in such early days, and in such dire circumstances, you might realize that you didn’t really know that person.”

  The two women were startled by the sound of a throat being cleared.

  “Oh, God!” Lynn exclaimed, looking over to the doorway and finding Ransom standing there. Her eyes narrowed. “How long have you been standing there?”

  “I just arrived. I haven’t been listening in on your conversation, if that’s what you’re afraid of.”

  She flushed and lowered her eyes. “Sorry.”

 
; “Lynn, you must stop thinking of Jeremy as the enemy,” Emily said. “He’s here to help find out the truth.”

  “Assuming that the truth is what you want,” said Ransom.

  “Of course it is!” Lynn said defensively. “So why wouldn’t you tell me what was going on up on the deck?”

  “Because Sheriff Barnes was there, and I didn’t feel it appropriate to share views with him that might needlessly cast suspicion around.”

  “Then you have learned something?” Emily said with interest.

  He pulled the small wooden chair out from the corner, turned it to face them, and sat down. “Emily, outside of Rebecca, it doesn’t seem that anyone else could’ve done it—”

  “There has to be!” Lynn exclaimed.

  Emily patted her hand. “Please.”

  Ransom continued. “Apparently nobody could have, with the possible exception of Mrs. O’Malley, though why she should kill a perfect stranger is a mystery. Or Lily DuPree, except that even I still doubt she could’ve wielded anything with enough force to knock out the victim, let alone be able to strangle her.”

  Emily was looking at him intently, a half smile on her face. “There’s something more, isn’t there?”

  “Yes … and I know you’re not going to like it.”

  “What?”

  “You’re friend Joaquin.”

  “What?” Emily exclaimed with surprise.

  “He was the last to leave the boat. You all left first, the captain and his wife, then Douglas, and last was Joaquin.”

  Emily knit her slender brows. “Really. I seem to remember.…” She searched her memory, then shifted slightly. “Lily DuPree said that she saw Joaquin leave before David … of course she was very vague.”

  Ransom shook his head. “She was half-asleep. Both Mrs. O’Malley and Joaquin himself verified that Douglas left first. But that leaves Joaquin here on the boat for a time, and we have only his word for when he left. It’s possible that Miss Hemsley came back to the boat and found him doing something he shouldn’t have been doing.”

  Emily sighed. “I’d hate to think it. Of course, I’ve seen enough of life to know that anything’s possible. But … Joaquin?”

  “It’s those Bambi eyes of his, Emily. That’s what’s getting to you.”

  She smiled. “‘Bambi eyes’ rather denotes innocence, doesn’t it?”

  He laughed. “So, say Joaquin managed to leave the boat without killing Miss Hemsley. What does that leave us with? That somebody came back to the boat and did her in? The problem with that is first of all, everyone is alibied for at least part of the time, if not all of it. The notable exceptions are Claudia Trenton, who went off on her own, Bertram Driscoll, who was alone part of the time, and Douglas, who claims to have been walking on the beach.”

  “I see,” said Emily, sitting back.

  “And I think we can rule out Driscoll.”

  “How so?”

  “You remember we wondered if it would’ve been possible for him to come back to the boat via the beach, kill Hemsley for whatever reason, then double back and ‘run into’ you?”

  “Yes?”

  “Well, Douglas headed south on the beach, sometime between ten-thirty and eleven.”

  Emily nodded thoughtfully. “Ah, yes!”

  “I don’t get it,” Lynn said testily.

  “You see, my dear, if Mr. Driscoll had come down the beach, he would’ve run into Mr. Douglas.”

  “Oh, yeah,” Lynn said. Then her visage darkened again. “That’s assuming Douglas is telling the truth!”

  “Of everything he’s said,” Ransom replied, “there’s one thing I’m sure of: he was telling the truth about going down the beach.”

  “How can you be sure about that?”

  He shrugged. “Why lie about having been alone for so long? It would only cast suspicion on him. And someone could’ve seen him. He knew that.”

  “Who would’ve seen him?”

  “Lily DuPree might have, for one. And possibly the Millers.”

  “Did he know they’d gone up the other end of the beach?” Emily asked.

  Ransom nodded. “He saw you off. And then there’s the possibility that Joaquin could’ve seen him as well, since he left after Douglas.”

  “Oh, dear,” Emily said, her eyes widening.

  “What is it?” Lynn asked.

  “I’ve just realized that anyone who planned on coming back to the boat was running a great risk of being seen—the passengers all thought that the Farradays, the rest of the crew, and Lily were on the boat, and the Millers were in view of it.”

  “Yes,” said Ransom. “And even the crew knew that DuPree and the cook were on board, and the Millers were nearby.”

  “It really does look bad for Joaquin in that case, doesn’t it?” said Emily.

  “Yes. Hemsley could’ve come back, surprised Joaquin doing something, he killed her, then went to the shops to establish something of an alibi.”

  “Why didn’t you want to tell the sheriff that?” Lynn asked warmly. “That must be it! That has to be it!”

  Ransom and Emily glanced at each other.

  “No, Lynn, that couldn’t be what happened,” Emily said.

  “Why not? He just said—”

  “Yes, yes, I know,” said Ransom. “But Lynn, the thing is, Joaquin did go to the shops. At least we know he went to the general store.”

  “So what if he did?” Lynn demanded.

  “If Rebecca didn’t kill her aunt, and her aunt really wasn’t there when she looked in, then Miss Hemsley had to have been murdered between the time you spoke with Rebecca after she left the boat, and when you discovered the body. That lets Joaquin out because we actually know that he at least went to the general store—Mrs. Friendly confirmed that. If he’d left the boat after Rebecca, you would’ve seen him.”

  “That would also definitely let Mr. Driscoll out,” said Emily, “since it was during that time that we spoke to him.”

  The young woman’s lips trembled. “Then I don’t see how it could’ve been done.” She gave a forlorn sniff, working at keeping herself under control. But it proved too difficult. She rose from her place on the bed and without raising her eyes, said, “I should get Miss Hemsley’s things together,” and left the room.

  Ransom sat down beside Emily and sighed. “What she really meant is she doesn’t see how anyone other than Rebecca could’ve done it.”

  “The poor dear,” said Emily. “I know it’s only been a short time, but she really does seem to care for Rebecca.”

  He turned as curious eye toward her. “A short time? Maggie’s been dead for a few years now, hasn’t she?”

  Emily bestowed a smile on her ersatz grandson. “I meant a short time since she’s met Rebecca.”

  This correction occasioned a rare blush from the detective. “Ah. Of course.”

  “I suppose people do form bonds quickly nowadays, just the way they do everything else. Especially under such extraordinary circumstances. In my day things would’ve always been taken more slowly.”

  Ransom produced an impish grin. “Emily, in ‘your day’ a respectable elderly lady would not have been playing matchmaker to two women.”

  She laughed. “Yes. As you would say, touché!”

  The detective’s smile quickly faded. “The trouble is, I’m afraid Lynn is going to be disappointed. I’m not a magician. And … no matter how she may feel, you realize she doesn’t really know what Rebecca’s capable of.”

  Emily nodded. “And she knows that, too.”

  They fell silent for a time, each lost in thought. Then Emily said, “You know, there is one other possibility, as far-fetched as it sounds.”

  “What’s that?”

  Her shoulders elevated slightly. “That the murder was done by someone who has nothing to do with the tour. They watched the boat, waiting for an opportunity to come aboard, perhaps to rob it? And they could’ve taken the opportunity and been caught by Marcella.”

  “And the
n what? When they left the boat, if they went north up the beach they would’ve run into the Millers, south would’ve taken them to Douglas, and if they’d gone around the general store they would’ve run into you.”

  “I know,” Emily said with a cluck of her tongue, “it’s very vexing. But you know, it is possible. There was that incident quite some time ago when a man strolled into Buckingham Palace, walked the length of it, went up the stairs and wandered into the queen’s bedroom.”

  “Yes, I remember that.”

  “Well, as unlikely as it may be, someone could’ve watched the boat until after Joaquin had left, seen that Lily was asleep, and took a chance that so near to lunch the cook would be busy in the galley, just as she was. Then he or she could’ve come onto the boat, been discovered by Marcella when she returned, killed her, and fled. You said that Mr. Douglas left the beach?”

  “Yes.”

  “Then couldn’t it have been a stranger who came on, committed the murder, then went a little way down the beach and disappeared into the woods?”

  Ransom heaved a sigh. “I grant you, it’s possible. But I don’t like it.”

  Emily nodded ruefully. “It doesn’t seem likely.”

  “It’s not just that. I have enough trouble with the suspects we have without bringing a mysterious stranger into it.” He got up from the bed. “And speaking of which, the one last thing I have to do is check up on Stuart Holmes’s friend, or client, or whatever he is. I’ll be back to take you and Lynn to dinner.”

  “Oh, no, I don’t think you should do that,” said Emily, getting to her feet with his help.

  “Why not?”

  “I think it would be better if we dined with the rest of the passengers—Lynn and I, I mean—because we might be able to get some useful information.”

  Ransom smiled. “All right. I’ll be off, then.” He started for the door, and she followed, intending to go to her own cabin. But Ransom stopped short. “Oh, one other thing: the sheriff plans to tell the captain that you’re all free to go in the morning.”

  “Oh, dear,” Emily said quietly.

  * * *

  Lynn had gone from Rebecca’s cabin to Marcella’s, where she proceeded to fold the old woman’s belongings. It was with some effort that she’d managed to pull herself together after leaving Ransom and Emily. She was at once embarrassed by her loss of control and disgusted with herself for allowing her feelings to grow so strong for someone she really didn’t know.