Stowed Away

by Barbara Ross

  I had so many questions. Had Geoffrey Bower bought the necklace from my family at the auction? He must have. Did he know when he bought it he was coming to Busman’s Harbor? He must have. The necklace had gone to auction in April. Wyatt had started work on the redesign of the Garbo the previous October. The refit would have been scheduled at Herndon’s before then, possibly years earlier. I wondered so many things. Why had he bought the Black Widow? Did he know about its Busman’s Harbor connection? And, if he did, why didn’t he say anything to me about it when we met?

  I moved Le Roi gently to the floor and searched for information about hemlock water dropwort. As Binder had said, it was highly poisonous. Symptoms would come on within an hour or so of ingesting it, terrible symptoms including vomiting and massive convulsions. As an interesting side note, scientists believed that it was the poison used to kill pesky, elderly relatives in ancient Sardinia, the origin of the expression “sardonic grin.” Both Genevieve and Captain Marius had joined the Garbo in Sardinia. Coincidence? Probably.

  But was there an antidote? There was, of sorts. Large doses of anticonvulsants given relatively soon after ingestion could save the victim. People had lived to tell the tale.

  I looked for information about Geoffrey Bower. As Quentin had said, for someone who’d made a huge financial killing, he’d managed to stay largely out of the press. There were notes about the Garbo on bulletin boards where people traded information about yacht sightings, and a few faraway shots through long lenses by paparazzi in Biarritz and Monaco who were no doubt hunting more glamorous prey. They showed the man I’d met, slightly pudgy wearing the yachtsman’s clothing and cap.

  Finally, I searched for information about the Alliance for a Fairer Universe. There was nothing. And nothing about Cliff Munroe either. Which struck me as a really funny way to run a protest group in the age of the Internet.

  * * *

  I knocked on the Snuggles’ unlocked front screen door. Fee hurried out of the first-floor room in the back the sisters shared during the summer in order to maximize the number of bedrooms upstairs for rental.

  “Julia!” She pushed her thick glasses back with her hand. Mackie stuck close on her heels as always.

  “Is Flynn . . . er . . . Tom, here?”

  “In his room, I think.”

  “Thanks.” I dashed up the staircase before she could object. I realized at the top I didn’t know his room number. “Tom!” I called on the landing. “Tom!”

  There was a fumbling behind the door to room five. The knob turned and opened a crack. “Julia?” He was in jeans and a white undershirt.

  I hurried over to his doorway. “You’re trying to find out what happened to Geoffrey Bower,” I said. “On your own. Why?”

  “I guess you’d better come in. Mind if I finish getting dressed?” He gestured toward a blue, plaid, cotton shirt laid out on the unmade bed. “Then shall we take a walk?”

  I was embarrassed to have burst in on him like that. “Good idea.”

  He put on his shirt and stepped into a pair of brown loafers. As we left he called to Fee. “If Genevieve gets here before me, tell her I’ll be right back.”

  He didn’t say anything until we were near the top of the hill beyond Mom’s house, starting down toward Gus’s. “How did you know I’m asking questions about Bower’s death?”

  “Emil, the bodyguard, and Marius, the captain, both told me you’d talked to them. You’re wearing jeans, clearly not working. You’re freelancing. Captain Marius had the impression you were working with the state police. Can’t you get in trouble?”

  His mouth relaxed into a grin. “Only if I get caught.”

  Both Marius and Emil had told me with little prompting about Flynn’s activities. They could easily tell others. “Why would you take that risk?”

  He left the sidewalk and walked to the edge of the harbor where he stood on a boulder and stared down at the rocky, silty bottom. “Why are you talking to crew members?” He didn’t look up at me.

  “I told you. Quentin asked me to help Wyatt.”

  “You said you hadn’t seen Wyatt in thirteen years. You have a business to open in days. You’ll have to do better than that to convince me.”

  I hesitated. “There is something else. I have a theory of how the crime happened. It all fits. I’ll tell you, but only if you agree to work together. Two of us can cover more ground and learn more than each of us separately.”

  He surprised me by putting his hand on my shoulder, looking me in the eye. “You’re trying to help Wyatt. My interest is Genevieve. What if one of us discovers something that incriminates one of them?”

  “Genevieve’s my friend too. Much more so than Wyatt. Besides, what does Genevieve have to worry about?” I asked. “I can’t see she had a motive to kill Geoffrey, and she’s dating the lead investigator’s partner.”

  “She’s been accused of murder before. By you, I believe.”

  “I was younger and more naive in those days.”

  Flynn rewarded me with one of his rare laughs. “You’ve grown since last fall.” We went a few more steps and he continued. “Genevieve is scared to death she accidentally killed Bower. She’s talking to Lieutenant Binder now.”

  “I don’t think it was an accident, and neither does Lieutenant Binder. I’ve just come from talking with him. The state police are certain the crime was deliberate and I have a theory that fits.”

  “Did you run your idea by Lieutenant Binder?”

  I shook my head. “I’m not ready to yet. I need more confirmation.”

  I unlocked the door to Gus’s and walked Flynn to one of the booths. Gus was gone for the day. The place was immaculate. My eyes swept the counter to see if there were any slices of Mrs. Gus’s homemade pie left, but the glass shelves of the case were empty. I was disappointed but not surprised. I thought of offering soda or coffee, but I knew from experience Flynn would never touch the stuff. I sat opposite him, took a deep breath, and began. “You know I saw a diamond ring in the lobster’s claw the night Geoffrey died.”

  He put his arms on the table and leaned forward. “I know you’re the only one who saw it.”

  “There was a lot to see in that room. The food on the table, the awful grimace on the corpse. I noticed the diamond right away. I took that second look because I had seen that diamond before.” I told him the story of the Black Widow. How my mother had received it and eventually sold it. About the anonymous bidder who’d bought it over the phone, and how I was convinced the diamond I’d seen the night of the murder was cut from the strand of the necklace. “I think Geoffrey had the Black Widow. In his safe. It was the motive for the murder.”

  “That seems crazy to me. Bower was worth billions. Why murder him to get a bauble worth five million?”

  “Guys like Geoffrey, they don’t go to their ATMs and pull out millions of dollars. When it comes to their money, they’re essentially corporations. If he called his banker and told him to deliver five million in cash immediately to him on the Garbo, alarm bells would go off. Banks don’t just do that. But the Black Widow is portable. Bower simply hands it over.”

  “It would be hard to fence.”

  “As a necklace, sure. But as individual gems? Only the center stone, the black diamond, is recognizable. It’s your area, not mine, but I’m sure there’s some Russian oligarch, some Chinese billionaire, someone who’d be willing to pay for it, no questions asked.”

  “Okay. I’ll buy it. How do you think it went down? Why poison?”

  “The killers put the poison in the curried chicken salad. The effects wouldn’t kick in for an hour or more. His murderers confined Geoffrey in some way so he couldn’t call for help and told him what he’d ingested. They promised him the antidote. All he had to do was give them the combination to his safe and let them take the necklace.”

  “But why didn’t he tell them?” Flynn asked. “Why die for a five-million-dollar necklace if you’re a billionaire?”

  “Maybe he did tell the
m. Maybe they never intended to give him the antidote. Or maybe it didn’t work or was too late. The only treatment is an anticonvulsant. That doesn’t remove the poison from your system—it treats the symptoms. It’s not an antidote exactly.”

  “How did the killers know he had the necklace?”

  “For the same reason he trusted them to bring him his lunch from the refrigerator. Because they worked for him,” I said.

  “You’re supposed to be finding reasons it couldn’t have been Genevieve or Wyatt.”

  “I know. But if the necklace was the motive, then our suspects are either people involved in the purchase of the necklace or its delivery to Bower, or the killers were someone who worked on that ship.

  “Let’s review the possibilities,” I continued. “Captain Marius and Emil seem pretty tight. They claim they were together in Portland. Lieutenant Binder has confirmed they were in the Old Port in the early evening, but that leaves several hours unaccounted for. Ian, the mate, and Doug, the engineer, said they were around town all day. Again, the state police have several witnesses who saw them in bars, but can’t account for the whole afternoon.”

  “Rick, the steward, seems like a lone wolf,” Flynn said.

  “Possibly. He claims he met up with Ian and Doug at Crowley’s for dinner, but before that was at the beach on his own.”

  “Harder to check perhaps, but not impossible.” Flynn was getting into it. Did that mean he believed me, or was at least entertaining the notion? “Then we have Maria Consuelo.”

  “Who’s disappeared.”

  “There were two other possible killers aboard the Garbo,” Flynn reminded me.

  “Wyatt and Genevieve,” I agreed. “Working together? Were they friends?”

  “No, I don’t think so. Not together. With another one of the crew. Or with an outsider.”

  That wasn’t a road I wanted to go down. “The obvious outsiders are Wyatt working with Quentin—”

  “And Genevieve with me,” Flynn finished.

  “Binder would never suspect you.”

  “He has to go where the clues take him.”

  “Which is not to you, not to Quentin, not to Genevieve.”

  “And not to Wyatt?”

  I hesitated. “And not to Wyatt,” I agreed.

  “You’re guessing about all of this.” He didn’t hide his skepticism.

  I didn’t blame him. I’d finally articulated my big theory and I could hear how outlandish it was. Except that it fit all the facts. Murder using a poison that took time to work. The necklace provided the motive.

  “What about the ring?” Flynn asked. “Why leave it behind?”

  “I don’t know. I think it had something to do with the scene setting the psychologist talked about.”

  “Who made the ring?”

  “That I think I do know,” I answered. “Will you come with me to meet him?”

  Flynn pulled his phone from his pocket and looked at it. “No text from Vieve. I’ll come, if we can make this quick. We have dinner reservations at the Westclaw Inn tonight. I’m trying to get this romantic weekend back on track.”

  “The ring maker is nearby. If he tells us Geoffrey had the Black Widow, will you help me convince Lieutenant Binder to at least consider what I’m saying?”

  “Of course,” he said. “If I’m convinced.”

  * * *

  We made it to the corner of Main and Main as Mr. Gordon was locking up his shop. The jeweler peered at me through his thick glasses. “Why, Julia, what brings you here?”

  “We have a matter of some urgency to talk to you about. Can you stay for a little longer? This is—”

  Mr. Gordon reached out a hand. “I know Sergeant Flynn.” They shook. Mr. Gordon glanced up and down the street. “No reason to stay open late on a Sunday evening this early in the season. The weekenders have gone home. My wife has a pot roast on the table for me, but I have a few minutes.”

  The three of us entered the shop. Both men looked at me expectantly. “This is about the Black Widow,” I started.

  “Do tell.” Mr. Gordon rubbed his stubbly chin. When the necklace had first come to my mother, he had authenticated it. Normally, the Black Widow would have been a favorite topic, but I sensed his wariness.

  “Have you seen it recently?” I asked. “Did someone ask you to make a ring to match it using one of its stones?”

  “I don’t think I should discuss that with you.” With his shaggy white hair, balding head, and round cheeks, Mr. Gordon looked like a Christmas elf. But he had a reputation as the soul of discretion. He sold engagement rings to nervous would-be grooms, and trinkets to cheating spouses. He knew who in town lived in genteel poverty, yet possessed priceless gems, and who lived like royalty, but brought their jewels to him for quick sale.

  “I wouldn’t ask”—I tried, and failed, to keep the pleading sound out of my voice—“but I believe the Black Widow is connected to the murder on the yacht in the harbor. And you know, Sergeant Flynn here is state police.”

  “Not in an official capacity,” Flynn quickly clarified.

  Mr. Gordon didn’t seem to take note of the caveat. “I’ll tell you,” he conceded, “but only because you’re connected to the Black Widow—and because he’s here.” He gestured in Flynn’s direction. Flynn didn’t see fit to clarify his role a second time. Mr. Gordon went on. “I have seen the necklace recently. A month or so ago, I was approached by an attorney who told me his client wanted to use one of the diamonds to make an engagement ring. Apparently he planned to offer the ring when he proposed and then provide the full necklace for the bride to wear on her wedding day.

  “The attorney said they wanted me to create the ring because I’d dealt with the necklace before. That was a matter of public record. He believed I had the skill required. Also, his client was to arrive here in the harbor shortly.”

  “So you accepted the job,” I prompted.

  The jeweler nodded. “A courier delivered the necklace the day after I agreed. It was an easy enough job. The Black Widow has an abundance of possible stones. I took one from the top of the strand on each side, to keep the necklace symmetrical. I fashioned one of the diamonds I removed into the ring, keeping the filigree, so that the ring and the necklace would match.”

  “Do you have the necklace now?” I could barely speak. I was right!

  “Heaven’s, no. I put the ring in a ring box, and put the necklace, the extra diamond I’d removed, and the ring box into the purple case in which the Black Widow had been delivered.”

  “I know that case,” I said, my heart beating faster. “That’s how the auction company packaged the necklace. Did the same courier pick the jewels up?”

  “No. It was someone else. The lawyer called ahead to say this man was coming. I showed this man the ring, and my work on the necklace ensuring the removal of the diamonds wouldn’t show. He was most complimentary. Lovely man, with a French accent.”

  We thanked Mr. Gordon while he locked up the shop once again. He climbed into the ancient VW bug parked at the curb. As he drove off, I turned to Flynn. “French accent! He gave the Black Widow to Rick, the head steward. This proves my theory.”

  “It proves the part of your theory about the necklace, not the murder,” he corrected.

  “We have to talk to Rick.”

  Flynn looked at his phone. “Genevieve’s back at the Snuggles, wondering where I am. Our dinner reservation is for seven thirty. I’m not blowing this again.”

  “Seventy thirty!” I’d completely lost track. “What time is it now?”

  “One minute after seven.”

  “I told my mom I’d drive Page’s friend home at seven. Tomorrow morning we talk to Rick—I’m not kidding.” I took off running.

  Chapter 19

  Vanessa was quiet on the drive to her trailer. I didn’t know if she was tired or in a funk because she and Page had fought, so I let her be.

  When I turned into their driveway, Emmy appeared on the top step of the trailer, the
baby on her hip. She smiled and waved as Vanessa darted out of the car. “Thanks so much. Want a beer?”

  “Yeah.” I threw the emergency brake on the Caprice. “I’d love one.”

  Emmy disappeared into the trailer and came out with two bottles of Budweiser. The one I took from her hand was cold and sweaty with humidity. “Thanks.”

  “You look like you could use it.” She sat down in the doorway of the trailer, the baby on her lap. I sat on the next step down. The baby was adorable, fat and smiling, a little older than my nephew Jack. He had his mother’s coloring, blond curls and big blue eyes, not at all like Vanessa’s long, tawny hair and the green eyes that haunted me.

  Emmy moved her bottle to mine and clinked the necks. “Cheers,” she said.

  “Only one shift today?”

  “Yes, thank goodness. Or not. I’ve struggled all spring with how little work they offered me. First they were only open weekends, then weeknights, finally now all day, every day. The tips are great, but the hours are brutal. That’s why I so appreciate your mother’s help in looking after Vanessa. Luther stays more or less still. My grandma doesn’t have to chase him.” To illustrate her point, she gestured across the yard to where Vanessa was running in circles around an empty, cracked birdbath. She hadn’t been as tired as I thought. “By next year that will change. He’ll be running around, but Vanessa should be old enough to help my grandma run after him. I just need to get through this summer. Somehow.”

  “Vanessa’s really well behaved for my mom.” The circus at the sleepover four nights before notwithstanding, she had been.

  “Page is great for her,” Emmy said. “Calms her down, balances her out.”

  Like all kids, my niece had her moments. “Page puts all her energy into the swim team.”

  Emmy took a pull on the beer. “Nessa needs something like that. Maybe dance or karate. Something to channel all that energy. Maybe next season, if I can make enough over the summer and find a winter gig. I’m glad she found Page. I worried about moving, especially in the middle of the year, but I had no choice.”

  “Where did you come from?”