New England Clam Murder: A Rocky Cove Culinary Cozy

by Summer Prescott

  She held the note that he had supposedly left out to him, her hand shaking so badly that the paper rattled. “Did you leave this for us?”

  The old man shook his head, confused. “No, I didn’t write that,” he frowned.

  “Excuse me a minute, Joey, I have to call the police.”

  **

  “Mrs. Lenora Thornton,” Gramble ground out, determined. “I have a warrant for your arrest in the murder of Lacey Kellington-Langworth, and a search warrant for this house.” The detective had a uniformed officer cuff the elderly woman, who sat grimly silent on her settee refusing to speak while her attorney was en route, and read her her rights, while he and the forensics team searched her office, coming up with what they were looking for in a matter of moments. His phone rang, and he would have ignored it, but it was Reynolds, so he took the call.

  “Gramble,” he barked into the phone.

  “We’ve got a situation here,” Reynolds said, not bothering with pleasantries. He filled his partner in on what had happened with the note and Becca’s disappearance, pointing out that she had been missing for several hours now. “This had to be part of Lenora’s plan,” the young detective said suspiciously.

  “I’m on it,” Gramble replied, hanging up. Fortunately, Lenora’s attorney was present by the time that Chester hung up the phone, so he could begin questioning her and hope to get at least some answers that would save Becca’s life. The society matron refused to even dignify Gramble with an acknowledgement of his existence, so he addressed Stephen Foster, the overpriced lawyer directly.

  “Here’s the deal Foster,” he began. “We have video footage of your client passing off a bag of a white powdered substance to a Mr. Trevor Wycliff. Mr. Wycliff was escorting Lacey Kellington-Langworthy to an event at the Thornton residence, and was seen dumping the powder into a drink, which he later served to Mrs. Langworthy, who died later that night, having ingested poison. We have procured a sizeable amount of that exact poison from the desk drawer in your client’s study, implicating her in the murder. She and Mr. Wycliff had planned the murder weeks in advance, according to a conversation that was overheard by a housekeeper and verified with phone records. It seems they wanted to eliminate Mrs. Langworthy in order to force Lenora’s grandson into a marital arrangement with Mr. Wycliff’s sister, thereby merging the two family fortunes into one interdependent enterprise.

  My partner is currently looking for Mrs. Thornton’s caterer who has gone missing after having provided us with information that was instrumental in bringing our investigation to its logical conclusion. The caterer, Becca Rogers was seen recently in Mr. Wycliff’s company. Witnesses report that they had a quarrel and Mr. Wycliff left enraged. Stephen, your client is in a great deal of trouble right now. As a co-defendant to a pre-meditated murder, she’s likely to spend the rest of her penniless days wearing an unsightly shade of orange, but...if she can assist us in locating Ms. Rogers, the prosecution would not take that help lightly.” Gramble peered over the top of his hornrims as Foster squirmed with indecision.

  “I’d like a moment with my client,” the fussy little man insisted.

  “Make it quick, Foster,” Gramble ordered. “Time is of the essence.”

  For the first time since the police had arrived, Lenora Thornton looked worried.

  **

  Becca’s head throbbed and felt like it was filled with cotton. There was a washcloth stuffed into her mouth, making her abominably thirsty, but she couldn’t take it out because it was tied to her with strips of cloth, and her hands and feet were bound with plastic zip ties. She moved a tiny bit, wincing because of the pain in her head, and the fact that the zip ties were cutting into her wrists and ankles. She was laying on a wooden floor on her side, in complete darkness and heard gurgling sounds below her. Memory came flooding back in a flash. She had gone to the Sea Glass to look for Joey, and someone had made her pass out. She must be in the hold of the boat. Trying not to panic, she knew she had to get out of there as quickly and quietly as possible, while the boat was still docked. She hoped that she hadn’t been unconscious long enough that the boat was in the middle of the ocean somewhere, and wracked her brain, trying to think of who would possibly have a reason to do such a thing. Could it be Simon, her ex-husband? Despite the fact that he had been cheating on his new wife, Becca still couldn’t bring herself to think of him as a killer. Who then? She didn’t have long to speculate, as the sound of feet coming toward her grew louder, and a hatch was thrown open, letting daylight spill into the dank hold.

  “Well, well, well, looks like somebody is done with her little nap.”

  Despite the fact that the light blinded her, she recognized the voice instantly, it was Trevor Wycliff! Becca attempted to talk, but the dry washcloth prevented her from being able to make even a tiny sound. Her throat ached horribly, she couldn’t see, and tears slipped down her cheeks, falling to the floorboards.

  “You were out for quite a while,” Trevor said conversationally. “I was able to leave you for hours to go stock up on my supplies. “I figure I’ll keep you around until I get tired of you, then dump you over to feed the fish and continue on until I hit some pleasant little tropical island to hang out on while all of this murder nonsense dies down, no pun intended,” he chuckled to himself. Becca’s heart pounded madly. Trevor intended to kill her. Her mind raced, wondering what she could possibly do to get him to change her mind. “If you behave yourself, I’ll bring you up to the salon once we leave the harbor. Might even give you some water while I decide what to do with you,” he said magnanimously. “For now, just kick back, relax and enjoy the ride,” he advised pleasantly.

  Trevor slammed the hatch shut and Becca heard the sound of his footsteps receding. A short time later, she heard a sound that reminded her of a very loud, very powerful washing machine, as he started the engines. Her tears flowed freely, knowing that this was the beginning of the end.

  **

  Attorney Stephen Foster came back into the room where Detective Gramble and his team had set up shop, after conferring with his client.

  “My client denies any knowledge as to Mr. Wycliff’s whereabouts,” he began, cagey as usual. “But she did say that if one had to find him, he often spends his leisure time aboard his vessel, the Sea Glass.”

  Gramble immediately put his phone to his ear, “We need a chopper.”

  **

  Detective Lance Reynolds raced to the marina with Katie in tow after she had begged to be allowed to go along, hysterically worried about Becca. His first stop was the dock area around Joey Malone’s boat. There was a tall, thin teenager hanging out by the concession stand, and Lance went over to question him while awaiting the arrival of the Coast Guard ship that would transport him to wherever the Sea Glass might be.

  “Any action today?” he asked conversationally.

  “Not really,” the teenager shrugged, bored. “Got a really good tip from some rich dude though,” he pulled out a wad of bills from his pocket.

  “Sweet,” Reynold’s nodded. “What’d you do for that kind of money, clean his boat with a toothbrush?”

  The teen smirked, “Nahhh, I just had to tell some lady that a guy named Joey was waiting for her down on the other side of the marina on the Sea Glass.” The boy looked around in alarm as two police cruisers came up at full speed with lights and sirens, just as the Coast Guard vessel docked, throwing their ropes around pylons so that Reynolds and Katie could board. Lance ordered one of the uniforms to take the boys statement and information, then hopped aboard with Katie in tow, the boat leaving the dock moments later.

  **

  Reynold’s strained to hear his phone over the sounds of the boat’s engine and the wind that whipped relentlessly. He and Katie had gone below when the boat left port, waiting to hear from Gramble as to a possible direction that Wycliff may have headed, and as gruesome as it seemed, officers were combing the immediate harbor area in case he had acted spontaneously and left any trace behind in the water or on th
e pier.

  “Did the cell phone locator info come through yet?” the detective shouted when he heard his partner’s voice. “Perfect. Will do.” He hung up the phone and turned to Katie. “They were able to track Becca’s cell phone. They haven’t traveled far, there’s a helicopter en route and we’re heading that direction now too.”

  “Oh, what a relief, we’ll find Becca!” she exclaimed excitedly. Reynolds merely nodded grimly, knowing that even if they did find Becca Rogers still on the boat, Wycliff may have just been taking her far enough out into the ocean to dump her body. He kept his thoughts to himself and hoped for the best, not wanting to rain on Katie’s parade.

  Chapter 10

  The Sea Glass picked up speed as it left the harbor area, and the water was apparently more than a bit choppy. Becca was rolled back and forth, bumping her elbows, knees and head on unknown obstacles and felt a powerful nausea rising up within her. She didn’t know if it was the result of the chemicals that Trevor had used on her, the rolling motion of the waves, or a combination of the two. She knew that, with the cloth in her mouth, there was no way that she’d survive seasickness, so she tried to get to sleep as quickly as possible, but kept getting jolted awake by the waves. She finally wedged herself in between what seemed to be a pile of life jackets and some sort of wooden support structure, enabling her to stay still enough to try to sleep through the worst of the nausea, a tactic she had used successfully since she was a child.

  Becca was abruptly jolted from sleep, as the yacht continued to rise and fall, by a sound that she couldn’t quite identify. Her stomach roiling, she tried to hold very still to listen to what sounded like a rhythmic thumping. Whop, whop, whop...the sound seemed to be moving closer and she wondered whether engine trouble at this point would be a good thing or a bad thing. She was thinking the latter, but rather than working herself into a panic, she decided to focus on trying to identify the sound. The boat lurched forward suddenly, as though Wycliff had thrown the throttle completely forward, and the sound of the boat slapping the waves rang fiercely through the hold as Becca was once again bounced around like a child’s toy in the small space.

  The Sea Glass slowed suddenly, and Becca heard what sounded like a voice on a radio, but couldn’t make out the words. Was Trevor meeting up with someone? Was she about to be handed off to strangers that might be even more sinister than Wycliff? Her head and body ached, her throat was raw and dry and her heart pounded as Becca wondered if she was taking her last few breaths. Hearing several large thumps above her head, she deduced that someone had come aboard, and it actually sounded like several people. More thumps and dragging, scuffling sounds came through the walls, and then Becca heard the approach of several pairs of feet running toward the hatch. Beginning to cry, she closed her eyes and accepted her fate.

  “Becca?” she was never more glad to hear the deep voice of Detective Lance Reynolds, and couldn’t help but wonder for a moment if she had passed out again and was dreaming. She thumped her feet against one of the supports to make some noise, not wanting him to leave without finding her, and was thrilled when he jumped down into the hold and shone a flashlight into her eyes to make certain that she was okay. “She’s alive!” he called up to the waiting crew above them. “Now just relax, Becca,” he soothed, while taking out his service knife. “We’re going to take good care of you.” He removed the ties that were holding the washcloth in her mouth, putting them aside to bag up later for evidence, then gently removed the washcloth.

  “Toss me a bottle of water,” he called to someone above, uncapping it and putting it to her parched lips when it was tossed down to him. “There we go,” he said, helping her drink. “Better?” She nodded, not trusting herself to speak, as tears of relief ran down her cheeks. Reynolds removed the zip ties from her hands and feet, rubbing the life back into her limbs as she shivered in shock. “Ready to go home?” he asked gently. She nodded again and he scooped her up easily, handing her off to the Coast Guard medics who waited above.

  Chapter 11

  When asked why he had kidnapped Becca, Trevor Wycliff admitted that, aside from the fact that she knew too much, he thought if the main suspect disappeared, Lacey Kellington-Langworthy’s murder investigation would end, and after a short spate in the islands, he’d come back under no suspicion whatsoever. Lenora Thornton had been arrogant enough to think that no one would ever suspect her, firmly believing that if they ever got caught, she could simply throw Wycliff under the bus, legally, and come out unscathed. The evidence that was gathered left no doubt that Trevor and Lenora had planned and carried out Lacey’s murder after finding out that there was the possibility that she was carrying Niles Thornton’s child. It was determined during the autopsy that Lacey was not pregnant. Trevor was given a life sentence without the possibility of parole, and Lenora’s sentence was milder, 20 years to life, due to her advanced age and her help in finding Becca.

  Simon Langworthy sold his consulting business and moved to New York. All things considered, Becca wasn’t the least bit sad to see him go. Niles Thornton had been entirely unaware of his grandmother’s plot with Trevor Wycliff, and was devastated that her ill-conceived plan had resulted in the death of his tennis partner, and her own incarceration.

  As for Becca, if she had learned one thing, it was that she should never make exceptions to her rule about mixing business with pleasure. She had been carefree in her flirting with Trevor Wycliff, and it had almost gotten her killed. She had developed an unexpected crush however, on the tall, dark and mysterious Detective Reynolds. There was just something about a man who knows how to rescue a woman, and if she had to be swept up into someone’s arms in the cargo hold of a yacht, she was glad that it had been Lance Reynolds. After the trial and sentencing were over, she took a vacation to a warm, tropical place where she left all of her cares and concerns behind for a couple of weeks, coming home refreshed and ready for Clambake Season.

  A letter from the Author

  To each and every one of my Amazing readers: I hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it. Let me what you think by leaving a review!

  I’ll be releasing another installment in two weeks so to stay in the loop (and to get free books and other fancy stuff) Join my Book club.

  Stay Curious,

  Summer Prescott