by Mary Birk
She hoped she wasn’t going to die on a boat named after her.
The Sweet Rita rocked as they boarded, and with her arms bound, Rita had trouble with her balance, but Will grabbed her arm to steady her. He led her into the salon and pushed her down on to the leather semi-circular couch. The curtains were all pulled shut. He locked the door from the inside and put on some music. At first, Rita thought maybe he’d been serious, that they were going to talk. Then she realized that a more likely explanation was that he thought the music would cover any sounds coming from the boat. Oh, God, what kind of sounds? What was he going to do to her?
He yanked the tape from her mouth and the skin on her lips ripped to raw skin. She cried out, then dissolved into whimpering as the pain ebbed.
“Don’t be such a fucking baby, Rita. It was just tape.”
She wet her lips with her tongue and tasted her blood. She wanted to kill him, but right now, she needed to pee. Badly.
“Will, I need to go to the bathroom.”
He looked annoyed. “Now?”
“I’m sorry, but I really do.”
He pulled her over to the main head, opened the door and tugged her pants down. He pushed her on to the seat and waited impatiently until she finished, then pulled her pants up. He took her back to the couch, taped her legs up again, and moved them up on to the cushions so that she was lying down. He put one of the couch pillows under her head and put her sable coat over her like a blanket.
He started to tape her mouth up again.
“No, Will, I’ll be quiet. Please. My lips are sore.”
He looked at her, appraising. “Okay. There’s no one around anyway.” He patted her. “Now you lay here like a good girl while I get us out of the dock area. Then we can have some wine and dinner and talk about what we’re going to do.”
She heard him going up to the helm after he left the cabin. Dinner? Talk? So he wasn’t going to kill her. She let herself feel comforted by his words. Somehow she would get him to see reason. They would talk, he said.
She would live.
Chapter 77
ANDREW GRAINGER put down the telephone. He felt dizzy and an anger that heated his blood like a raging fever rose in him. He couldn’t process what Martha had just told him about the medical records Anne had found. She said Anne had been fixed on one particular part of those records. Martha hadn’t understood their significance, but Andrew did.
Full term. If Lenore had been full term, then he had not been in Bodega Bay when Marisol had gotten pregnant. He’d been through Marisol’s diary and knew what that meant. The only man around Marisol at that time that could have impregnated her was the man that pretended to be his best friend. Will Kempton.
Will. He’d been around Marisol all the time. Deep down, Andrew thought he must have always known his friend was in love with Marisol. Andrew had been proud that so many men envied him his beautiful young wife. Had Marisol had an affair with Will to punish him for being too busy to give her the attention she wanted?
He would have thought that the impact of his wife’s betrayal wouldn’t be so strong considering how long ago she’d died. He’d felt the hurt deeply when he’d learned about the DNA results and realized what it meant. But then he’d still had Anne, or he’d thought he did, and knowing he had her love had assuaged the wound. Now not only did he not have Anne, but he knew now that the man who’d betrayed him was his best friend.
Andrew remembered how relieved he’d been that Lenore had been healthy even though she had been born so early. But why had no one said anything about her not looking premature? Lenore’s doctor would be the logical person to say something, but of course, Lenore’s doctor was Will.
What opportunity or motivation had there been for anyone else to say anything? In the wake of Marisol’s sudden death, he did not go out much. He had just focused on the baby and surviving his grief. And why would anyone else have thought it mattered if Lenore was premature or not? He doubted anyone else would assume that it made any difference, that no matter when the child was conceived, that of course it would have been his.
Then his mind jumped to the next unthinkable thought. Lenore. Could Will have taken Lenore? Why? And if so, why would he kill Lenore? Even racking his brain, he couldn’t think of any reason for Will to kill Lenore. What harm could Lenore possibly do to him? And if Will had been the one who’d taken her, had he also been her molester? He was around Lenore all the time when she was sick and would have had innumerable opportunities. But if so, why hadn’t Lenore said anything?
All of these thoughts had sped through his mind as Martha talked, and the realization of what it all meant hit him. As if he were operating from outside of himself, in a dead calm he told Martha to bring her things and come stay at the house, and if she wanted, to bring her mother-in-law, all the while feeling a force he could not control overtaking him.
For the first time in his life, he wished he owned a gun.
He went to the kitchen and told his sister, Ellen that he was going to the Kemptons, not to wait dinner for him and that Martha and perhaps her mother-in-law would be staying with them for a while. Then, ignoring her puzzled look, he put on his coat, took his keys and left.
He’d make Will confess and pay for what he had done—unless Will could explain, tell him he was wrong. But if the man he thought was his best friend hadn’t just betrayed him with his wife, but actually raped and killed his little girl, Andrew didn’t think he could let the man live. He needed to confront Will himself. If he called in the authorities, he might never have the opportunity to get the answers he wanted. Will would get a lawyer and would probably never talk—he might get away with killing Lenore. Andrew couldn’t face that possibility.
The Kemptons’ house was completely dark, inside and out. Andrew got out of the car, went up to the house and rang the doorbell just to be sure. Then he dialed the Kemptons’ home telephone number from his cell phone. He heard the telephone ringing inside the house but no one picked up. Should he call Will’s cell phone number? No, Andrew decided not to warn Will that he was looking for him. Where else could he be?
He sat in his car trying to decide what to do when an old Dodge Dart pulled up and turned into the driveway. The Kemptons’ housekeeper got out of the car and headed to the back door.
He got out of the car and followed her. What was her name? Bernice? No, Bertha. He called out, “Bertha, it’s Andrew Grainger, do you know where I can find Dr. Kempton?”
The woman, frightened by hearing a man’s voice coming out of the darkness, relaxed when she recognized him. “Mr. Grainger, hello. No, I’ve been out for my day off. Did you try his cell phone?”
“Yes, but there was no answer.”
“Let me check the calendar and see if they were going out to dinner or something.”
Andrew followed the stout woman inside. She put her purse and a carry-all bag on the kitchen counter and went over to a large calendar on the wall. “It doesn’t say anything here.” Then turning, she picked up a note on the counter. “Oh, he and Mrs. Kempton went out to the boat for the night. It was their anniversary yesterday. Ten years. They must still be celebrating.”
Chapter 78
ANNE GOT TIRED of pacing around, wondering what was going on, and decided to do something useful. He’d asked her to cook dinner. Not in a bossy way, but in a sweet way. Actually, he wanted dinner in bed. That limited her menu ideas. Not pizza—that was too easy. She decided to get fresh sourdough bread and make crab salad sandwiches with the local Dungeness crab and put lettuce and tomatoes on top. With wine, and brownies for dessert, they would be set. She ran out to the store for the ingredients she needed.
It was almost six o’clock by the time she got back to the Mermaids with her groceries. Terrence’s car still wasn’t back. Something must be going on or he would have been back by now.
Sighing, she put the groceries on the kitchen table and let the dogs out again. They waited by the back door for a few minutes to see if she was coming, so
she opened the door and shooed them. “Go on by yourselves. I’m busy.” She tried to ignore the look of betrayal they gave her, poured herself a glass of white wine and started to make the crab salad. Just in case dinner was still on.
Andrew’s face came to her mind, not for the first time that day, and with it, her guilt at having abandoned him at such an awful time. She’d told Terrence that she would still be Andrew’s friend and he hadn’t argued. She dialed the Grainger Colony house. Andrew’s sister Ellen answered.
“Hi, Ellen. Is Andrew there?”
“No.” The other woman paused, then said in a brusque voice, “Anne, I don’t think it’s a good idea for you to call. Hasn’t he been through enough?”
Anne refused to be daunted by his sister’s decision to be the gatekeeper of Andrew’s calls. He’d been adamant that he wanted to talk to her whenever she wanted. “Actually, I think he was expecting me to call. Do you know where he went? Maybe I’ll try him on cell.”
With obvious reluctance, Ellen answered, “He said he was going to the Kemptons. He said not to wait dinner so I think he’s having dinner there. Maybe you should just call back tomorrow. With what’s happened with Gus Warren, we have our hands full over here. Martha is coming over here to stay. Andrew didn’t think she’d be safe at home.”
“What’s happened with Gus?” Why would Martha not feel safe at home? Had Gus come home and threatened her? Or even hit her?
“He was shot. They found his body in the park this afternoon.”
“Oh, no.” Anne remembered what Terrence had said, that whoever killed Lucy might have been after the records. Was that what got Gus killed?
“I’ll let you go, Ellen. Sounds like you have your hands full.” Anne immediately dialed Andrew’s cell phone.
He picked up after a few rings, sounding stressed.
“It’s Anne. Are you okay?”
“God, I’m glad you called. I’m going crazy. I think Will was Lenore’s biological father. He may have even killed her, I don’t know. I’m on my way to the marina to talk to him.”
“What?” Then she realized what he’d said. “Andrew, even if you’re right, you shouldn’t go there by yourself. Did you call the police?”
“No, I want to talk to him first. I could be wrong, but if I’m right, I’ll never get a chance to talk to him by myself if I don’t do it now.”
“Andrew, that’s crazy. Let me call Dougal.” She didn’t want to mention Terrence right now.
“No, don’t. I have to go now. I’m at the marina. I’ll call you as soon as I can.”
He hung up. Anne looked at the telephone in her hand and bit her lip, thinking. She needed to tell Terrence. She’d never forgive herself if something happened to Andrew.
Chapter 79
ANDREW PULLED INTO the marina parking lot. The Sweet Rita was still in the marina with its lights on. He switched off his headlights and coasted in. He wanted to make as little noise as possible. He put his cell phone on silent so it wouldn’t ring and give him away. Quickly getting out of his car, he ran down the dock ramp as quietly as he could. He didn’t want to alert Will that he was there and startle him into taking off.
As Andrew got closer to the Sweet Rita, he slowed his pace. Will was coming out of the cabin and starting up the ladder to the bridge to take the captain’s position at the helm. Andrew approached the boat casually but then, when he got close enough, quickly jumped on board.
Will turned, startled. “What are you doing here?”
Trying his best to appear calm, Andrew said, “I need to talk to you.”
“Why didn’t you just call my cell?”
“I tried, but I couldn’t get through.”
“I must not have heard it. How did you know I was here?”
“Bertha told me. I hoped I could catch you before you set out.”
“This is kind of a bad time.” Will smiled. “Our anniversary was yesterday, and Rita and I are going out to sea to celebrate and spend the night. I’d ask you inside but, we’ve already started and Rita is, you know, not dressed for company. She’s waiting for me to come back to finish where we left off once I get us out of the marina.”
Andrew heard a noise from the cabin.
“Was that Rita?”
Will smiled, his expression sheepish, but his eyes looked nervous. “Sorry, pal. She’s waiting for me. Can we talk later?”
“No. I need to talk to you now. Rita is going to have to wait.”
Will’s eyes flickered toward the cabin, then pointed to where the ramp connected to the beach. “Wait for me over there. I’ll just go in and tell Rita to keep her panties on for a few minutes.”
Andrew vacillated.
“Go on, wait for me. I’ll be right there.”
Andrew hopped off the boat and started to walk down the ramp back to the parking lot. Of course Will wouldn’t want Rita to hear. Rita would kill him. Or at the very least divorce him once she learned he’d slept with Marisol. Maybe that was all it was—an affair. Kempton couldn’t have killed Lenore, could he? After all, if he was right, Lenore had been Kempton’s child, too. Andrew couldn’t get his head around that thought. No, Lenore had been Andrew’s child. He’d loved her and cared for her all her life.
Will went down the steps to the cabin and opened the door just as an almost inhuman scream shrilled from inside the cabin. The door slammed shut.
Andrew ran back down the dock and boarded the boat. He yanked open the cabin door and stepped inside the cabin. Startled, Will dropped the roll of duct tape he held in his hand. A disheveled Rita, her limbs bound, sat on the couch, her fur coat on the floor. Part of her cheek and her lip was split open, and her face was caked with blood.
“Andrew, I asked you to wait.” Will’s voice was sad. Then he reached inside his jacket and pulled out a gun. “Sorry, but now I need you to move over there.”
Andrew tried to think whether he could get away if he ran. He was pretty sure he would be shot before getting far, so he obeyed.
“What’s going on?” Andrew put his hand in his pocket, trying to be casual, and fingered his cell phone. Where was the redial button? He pushed where he thought it would be. If he could just get the connection, maybe Anne would hear and send help.
Will shut the cabin door. “Why did you have to come here now? I was taking care of everything. Goddamn it, you’re my best friend. I don’t want to have to do this. But now I have no choice. What was so important you needed to talk to me about it now?”
Andrew decided he might as well go forward. It was why he’d come. He tried to speak loudly enough so that the cell phone would pick up his voice. “Lenore. I came to talk to you about Lenore. It was you, wasn’t it? You and Marisol.”
Will motioned him to the dining area. “Sit there.”
Andrew carefully backed into the seating area and sat down. “You don’t need the gun. I just want to talk to you.”
“Hand me your cell phone.”
“I didn’t bring it.”
Will looked at him, exasperated. “I know you did. Give it to me.” Will raised the gun to point it at him, and Andrew took his cell phone out of his pocket. Was it on? Had Anne heard that Will had a gun? He handed it over, hoping his voice would carry and that Will wouldn’t notice the phone was on. “Will, come on. We can work this out.”
Will took the phone and threw it in the galley trash. “I wish I believed that.” Then, turning to Rita, he narrowed his eyes, glaring at her. “This is all your fault.”
The woman just looked at him, loathing radiating from her whole being. A coiled and vibrating rattlesnake.
“And you’ve got yourself sitting up now. I should have put the tape back on your mouth before I went to the helm. No good deed goes unpunished, I guess. Now look what you’ve done. Gotten Andrew involved.” He calmly went over and hit his wife across the face with the gun. She howled and fresh blood started running from her nose.
“There now,” Will said. “I feel better.”
Andrew moved
to help her and Will pointed the gun and him. “Sit down or I’ll shoot you. I don’t want to, but I will if I have to.”
He could tell Will was serious, so he slowly sat back down. If he could get closer, he could overpower Will and try to get the gun away. That was their only chance, he thought. Anne had been right. He should have called the police before coming here.
Will took the open bottle of white wine from the picnic basket. He poured wine into two plastic glasses with his left hand, keeping the gun trained on both of his captives. He put the bottle down and emptied half a dozen tranquilizer capsules in each glass. He handed a glass to Andrew. “Drink or I’ll shoot you.”
Andrew hesitated.
Will lifted the gun and pointed it at him. “Your choice.”
Andrew took a drink.
“All of it.” Will pulled back the slide of the gun.
Feeling like a coward, Andrew swallowed the rest of the wine.
“Now you, Rita. You’ll need some help.” He gestured to Andrew. “Go over and help her drink. Usually she’s great at drinking by herself, but she doesn’t usually have her hands tied.” He gave a short laugh at his own joke.
When Andrew didn’t move, Will said, “Make her drink or I’ll shoot her.”
Andrew, obeying, crossed the small living space to the banquette couch to sit by Rita and put the glass up to her lips. Rita looked at him in a silent plea for help, but he couldn’t think of anything he could do. Will watched carefully to see that she was actually taking the liquid down her throat.
When the wine was gone, Will said, “Good. Now we’re all going to be a little more relaxed and I can decide what to do next.” Sweat had built up on the man’s elegant forehead, dampening his hair. He pulled a bottle out of the freezer, poured himself a tumbler of vodka, and took a long swallow.