Murder Walks the Plank

by Carolyn Hart

  Annie hurried across the floor, Max close behind. The boat was running hard and she had to concentrate to keep her balance. As they reached the group, Ben said gruffly, “Going as fast as we can. We dock in about ten minutes.”

  Annie felt a moment of surprise when she looked at the table and saw Emma Clyde seated next to Pamela, holding one hand in a firm grip. Emma glanced up. “Pulse is steady, Annie.” Long ago Emma had been a nurse. And Emma could always be counted upon to take charge, whatever the situation.

  Annie felt shaken when she looked at the limp form. She’d known that Pamela was unconscious, but to see her like this was shocking. Pamela was wrapped in a dark gray blanket. There was not a vestige of color in her skin. The slack muscles made her almost unrecognizable. Her face was as still as marble. The hair plastered against her head was darkened by the seawater. If she was breathing, it wasn’t apparent. But Emma said her pulse was steady.

  Annie noted the odd little lump beneath the blanket on Pamela’s left shoulder and blinked back tears. She knew Pamela well enough to be sure that she’d been very proud of her costume and was eager to tell everyone about Miss Pinkerton’s beloved canary, Dickie. Annie reached out, gripped Max’s arm.

  “She’s breathing.” Emma was reassuring. “Apparently she hit her head when she fell. They’ll run tests. When the swelling goes down, she’ll very likely regain consciousness.”

  Ben Parotti glared at the still figure. “Don’t make no sense to me. She must’ve been where she had no business to be to fall from the upper deck. If she was behind the railing, there’s no way she could take a tumble, not unless she climbed up and over and jumped.”

  “No.” Annie was emphatic. Some things were possible. Some weren’t. Pamela Potts was not a candidate for suicide. If ever anyone accepted seriously the charge to finish the course, it would be Pamela.

  Ben lowered his head like a terrier ready to snap. “Then, missy, you tell me how it happened.”

  Max used a handful of paper napkins to wipe his face. He gave a couple of swipes at his head. His wet hair stood on end. Water dripped from his slacks. “Wait a minute, Ben. Didn’t anybody see her fall?” He looked at Billy.

  Billy frowned. “Nobody’s come forward yet to say they saw her go over.”

  “We heard someone scream.” Annie looked toward the windows of the saloon. Night pressed against the glass. The outside deck was invisible. Of course Pamela hadn’t fallen from this level.

  Billy kneaded the side of his neck. “By the time I got up there, a bunch of people were hanging over the rail, pointing to her bobbing in the water. Nobody admitted seeing her fall—or jump.”

  “She didn’t jump.” Annie’s retort was swift and decisive.

  “We’ll have to see what an investigation reveals.” Billy’s answer was rather formal.

  Max flapped the damp napkins at her. His blue eyes held a warning.

  Annie understood. Damn. Why had she been so sharp? It wouldn’t help matters to embarrass Billy. Billy was the hero of the night, along with Max. She spread her hand in apology. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude. But I know Pamela. She’d never, ever do anything like that.” How could she make Billy understand that Pamela never met a rule she hadn’t embraced? “She’d rather die than cause a public scene.”

  Mavis cleared her throat. “Maybe she felt sick. Or faint. Maybe she started to fall and she slipped between the railings.”

  Billy squinted his eyes in thought. “A chest-high wooden rail runs from stanchion to stanchion and knee-high metal rails. I don’t see how anyone could fall accidentally.”

  Ben scratched at his bristly jaw. “Looked to me like she must of come off that portion of the deck by the upper lifeboat—and that’s behind a chain. Ain’t nobody got no cause to climb over that chain.”

  “Look”—Annie shoved a hand through her hair—

  “why don’t we check it out? Ask people who were near that spot?”

  “I expect someone would already have spoken up if she’d been seen. And Ben knows his boat. If he’s right, she must have jumped.” Billy spoke with authority, a man who’d covered a lot of accident scenes. “You say she wasn’t the kind for a big scene. Likely she waited until the deck was empty and then she got over the rail. But we can try.” His tone was equable. He flung up a meaty hand, gestured. “Hey, Cole, come over for a minute.”

  Cole Crandall stiffened. He looked like a truant summoned to the principal’s office, wild-eyed and nervous. “Yeah?”

  Billy waved his hand again. “You were closest to the spot where she went over.”

  Cole Crandall moved slowly across the saloon. He stopped a few feet away from Billy. “Yeah?” He hunched his thin shoulders, jammed his hands deep in the pockets of baggy black shorts. He averted his face from the table and its still burden.

  “Okay, son.” Billy was reassuring. “Tell us what you saw.”

  Cole licked his lips. “I didn’t see her.” He emphasized the pronoun, but he wouldn’t look at the table. His face wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “Most people had gone in to get food. There wasn’t anything going on where I was. I was between those two lifeboats. I kept walking up and down the deck, but there wasn’t anybody out there. Anyway, it was real hot and I decided to go get a Pepsi. I must have been inside when she went overboard. I’d just stepped back on the deck when everybody started yelling.” He rubbed his cheek with his knuckles. “I looked and she was in the air.” He ducked his head toward the floor.

  Annie had a sudden, hideous picture: Pamela head down, plummeting toward the water. Annie reached out a hand. “How did she fall?” Her words came fast. “Was it a jump? Like somebody leaping from a diving board? You know, hands up in the air, feet first toward the water? Or was it a real dive? Was she screaming?”

  The teenager took a step back, shaking his head. “She was turning over and her arms and legs kind of flopped. She wasn’t making any noise. There were screams, but they were coming”—he waved his hand—“from the front of the boat.”

  Annie swung toward Billy. “That means she was already unconscious.” Annie struggled for understanding. If Pamela didn’t jump—and she didn’t—and if Pamela didn’t fall—and why should she?—and if Pamela was unconscious when she went over the rail, then Pamela was pushed.

  But Billy’s face was placid. “Looks like she bumped her head as she went down.” His eyes squeezed in thought. “Yeah. Say she took a leap and her feet went out from under her so her head came down on the rail. That knocked her out and she fell like a dummy.” His nod at Cole was approving. “Anyway, you didn’t see anybody near the spot where she went over. Right?”

  Cole rocked back and forth on his sneakered feet. “You mean, somebody could have caught her?”

  Before Billy could answer, Annie clapped her hands together. “Caught her? If there was anybody close to her, they pushed her!”

  Cole took another step back. One eyelid jerked in a tic. “Why would anybody do that?” His voice shook.

  The question hung in the air.

  Annie looked at their startled faces. Max’s gaze was puzzled. Emma yanked on a silver curl as if an answer might pop forth. Ben was an incredulous gnome. Mavis pressed one hand to her lips. Billy frowned, his good humor gone.

  Annie lifted her chin, looked at each in turn. “I don’t know why. But nothing else makes sense. If Pamela was unconscious when she went over the railing, how did she get over the railing?”

  “Oh, Annie.” Billy heaved a sigh. “Come on. You got too many mysteries in your head. For starters, maybe she was conscious when she went over and then banged her head. If it was an accident, maybe she felt seasick—”

  Annie wanted to point out that the Sound was mirror smooth.

  “—or maybe somebody spilled something on the deck and she slipped and got knocked out, and the way she went down, she flopped through the rails. Accidents can be weird. We may never know what happened. Or maybe she’ll wake up and tell us. But people”—his look at Annie wa
s patient—“do the damndest things. Maybe she was down in the dumps and didn’t tell anybody. Maybe that’s why she came tonight, thinking she’d jump off and no one would even notice.”

  Annie clenched her hands into fists. To suggest that Pamela came on board with the idea—Annie stood still, her thoughts whirling. “Wait a minute. Wait a minute. Billy, that’s not why she came.” Annie spread out the words as if she were dropping diamonds on a velvet cloth, each one distinct and separate, hard and shiny and inescapable. “She…came…because…she…got…a…free…ticket.”

  Emma’s piercing blue eyes narrowed. Max glanced toward the still form on the table. Ben fingered his bristly chin, pursed his mouth. Mavis nodded, murmured, “Just like us.” Billy shrugged, unimpressed.

  The excursion boat’s whistle shrieked.

  Ben clapped his hands together. “Coming in. I’ll go see to the gangway—”

  Billy was abruptly official. “I’ll hold back the crowd till we get her off.”

  Annie reached out, caught his sleeve. “Billy, don’t you see?” Her words tumbled faster and faster. “Pamela didn’t plan on coming. There’s no way she could have planned to be here tonight. She got a free ticket”—Annie tried hard to remember Ingrid’s report of her telephone conversation—“and she just got it today. She thought it was from me, but it wasn’t. That means somebody wanted Pamela to be on board tonight.” Annie could almost accept Billy’s insistence that somehow in a freak accident Pamela had fallen overboard and was unconscious because she banged her head as she fell. Yes, but that didn’t explain the free ticket. And if Pamela was enticed onto the boat and came close to dying, might yet die, the possibility of an accident seemed remote. Annie discounted it absolutely. “Somebody deliberately—”

  Billy shook off her hand. “—did a good deed. Just like you, Annie, giving tickets to me and Mavis. Sure she thought the ticket came from you. Anybody would think that.”

  He was moving toward the port doorway.

  Annie was on his heels. “Billy, before you go down to do crowd control, tell me one thing.”

  “Sure.” He was patient, even though he obviously thought her deductions out of line. “What?”

  She met his gaze, held it. “If somebody pushed Pamela over, that person is still on board. Right?”

  “Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grinned. “In the event we got a maniac running around, he’s still on board, because we didn’t hear another splash. Now I got to get outside—”

  The boat was slowing, wallowing a little as it neared the dock.

  “While you’re holding everybody back to give the medics a chance to move Pamela, wouldn’t it make sense to have all of us fan out”—her hand sweep included Max and Emma and Mavis and Ben—“and get the names of everybody on board?” She saw him consider it, took heart. After all, why not? Quickly, she added, “That way we can ask if anybody saw anything. Maybe we can find an eyewitness. I’ll bet Ben would appreciate a list of possible witnesses. In case of liability.”

  “Liability?” Ben sounded like a frog with a golf ball in his throat. “Now wait a damn minute. People go where they ain’t supposed to go, there’s no blame can be—”

  Max clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Looks like Annie’s got a good idea. That would be your best bet, Ben, in the event a lawsuit ever gets filed.”

  Ben’s eyes were wild. “Yeah, let’s get the names.” He started for the door, called over his shoulder, “I’ll round up paper and pens. Everybody meet me up by the gangway.”

  Billy clapped his hands together. “Sure. Get the names. Who knows? Like you said, we may find an eyewitness, settle everything.”

  Eyewitness.

  Annie turned, strode toward Cole Crandall, who had returned to his post on the starboard side of the saloon.

  He looked at her warily, hands still deep in his pockets.

  “Listen, Cole, it’s important to know everything that happened on the deck where you were. If you think of anything”—Annie plunged a hand into her pocket, pulled out a card—“be sure and call me. Okay?”

  “Yeah, well, sure. But I didn’t see anything.” He moved from one foot to the other.

  The boat shuddered to a stop.

  She waited until a sticky hand took the card, jammed it into a pocket. He mumbled, “I never did see her come up there.”

  Annie whirled and hurried to Max. “Come on, let’s get started.”

  Emma called out, “You have enough without me.” Her gruff voice was determined.

  Annie looked back in surprise.

  Emma nodded toward the still figure on the table. “I’ll stay with Pamela.” She picked up her purse from the floor, opened it, pulled out car keys. “You can bring my car to the hospital. I’ll go in the ambulance with Pamela.” Emma tossed the keys to Annie. “I won’t leave her.”

  Annie carried fear with her as she climbed the steps to the second deck, fear for Pamela, fear and a burning anger. Pamela was good and decent and kind, sustaining as oatmeal and just about as exciting. She never caused harm. She tried to do good. Somebody had lured her aboard a boat bound for fun, intending that Pamela would never return. As Annie took down names, she saw Max and Mavis and Ben moving alongside the lines waiting patiently to disembark, slowly filling up their sheets. Names and names and more names.

  One belonged to Pamela’s would-be murderer.

  Three

  THE AMBULANCE SIREN faded as its flashing red lights disappeared behind a stand of pines.

  An offshore breeze, pungent with the scent of salt water and creosote, ruffled Annie’s hair, lifted seabirds on rising currents. The dock echoed with the footsteps of disembarked passengers walking toward the parking lot. Headlights stabbed into the darkness as the long line of cars began a slow exit.

  The excursion boat had a feeling of emptiness, the slap of water against the hull the only sound except for the cackle of gulls. On the upper deck, Annie moved her hand back and forth, the sharp white beam from the borrowed flashlight exposing the scuffed deck, dropped candy wrappers, and crumpled cups.

  Ben Parotti glowered at the refuse. “People is pigs.” He held a twin of Annie’s big flashlight. “Okay”—his tone was demanding—“here we are. I don’t see nothin’ that isn’t what it should be. The chains are up, the rails in place.”

  Annie swung her light toward the tarp-covered lifeboat beyond a chain. “Billy should be up here. Taking pictures. Looking for fingerprints. Figuring out what happened.”

  Max leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets. “Annie…”

  She jerked toward him, hearing a world of comment in the sound of her name: caution, concern, and—most disturbing—patience. His gaze was kind, his dark blue eyes filled with understanding. And resistance.

  “Max”—her voice was strained—“surely you don’t believe Pamela jumped.” Before he could answer, she pointed at the lifeboat. “That kid—Cole Crandall—was up here on pickpocket patrol for Billy, but Cole said he didn’t see Pamela. Yet this is the spot where she must have gone overboard for him to turn around and spot her in midair. Where was she right before she fell?”

  Max frowned at the projection of deck that curved over the water and was roped off by a chain. His gaze was measuring. “She must have climbed over the chain—or ducked under it—and squeezed past the lifeboat. She could have crouched behind the lifeboat and he wouldn’t have seen her. If she did, that means she was trying not to be noticed. If she hid behind the lifeboat, she meant to jump. Why else would she go out there?”

  Ben’s grizzled head nodded emphatically. “Clear as clear. Annie—”

  She bridled at Ben’s patronizing tone, gave him glare for glare.

  “—you got murder on the brain. The poor lady decided to jump. Some people can’t get out on dark water at night without feeling lonesome and blue.” His raspy voice was mournful. “You know she ain’t got nobody at home. Her ma went and died last year, and maybe she got tired of always being an outsider—”

  Annie bi
t her lip, a sudden vision of Pamela walking alone into church, smiling, nodding, but yes, she was always alone, doing good works but coming and going by herself. Annie stopped the beam of light on the small sign that dangled from the chain:

  OFF-LIMITS

  The bright red letters glistened against a white background.

  “No.” Annie spoke with certainty. “Pamela wouldn’t go past the chain. Look at that sign! It means ‘Don’t go there.’ Pamela followed the rules. All the rules. All the time. She would not go past that chain.”

  Max’s glance was still kindly. “Okay, let’s say she didn’t jump. You say there’s no way she would commit suicide. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe her hat blew off. Maybe she was trying to catch it.”

  When Pamela lay unmoving on the table, wrapped in the blanket, her wet head was bare. The hat might have come loose as she fell or when she went into the water. No matter. Annie was adamant. “She wouldn’t go past the chain. Not for her hat. Not for her purse.” As Annie spoke, she moved to the chain, swung her leg over it. She ignored the calls from behind her—

  “Careful now, missy.” Ben’s shoes clumped on the deck.

  “Annie, watch out!” Max’s tone was sharp.

  —and pointed the sharp white beam at the painted surface. Ben and Max were right to warn her. The metal was damp and slippery as a slick skillet from the night air and sea mist. She leaned against the lifeboat, edged forward. Okay, the critical point was that Pamela wouldn’t step over the chain. The men, including Max, dismissed Annie’s claim that she knew what Pamela would and wouldn’t do. Fine. But Annie knew she was right. The sun came up in the east, Max loved her, and Pamela Potts followed the rules. So if Pamela didn’t step over the chain, how did she get out on this ledge?

  Annie pictured Pamela being held at gunpoint, smooth countenance wrinkled in puzzlement, wide blue eyes questioning, pleasant voice perplexed: “Excuse me, please, that gun is pointed toward me. I believe it is improper to carry a firearm aboard a public conveyance. If you will be so kind…”