by Barbara Ross
It was a new fiberglass lobster boat, a big one.
There weren’t any boats moored close enough to be in immediate danger. Within five minutes, the Coldport town fire engine pulled up to the dock. Firefighters attached the hose, but the burning boat was too far away. The water from the hose fell ineffectively into the harbor.
“Can you tell whose boat is it?” Sonny asked the man.
“Ayup. It’s the Gilded Lilly. Belongs to a fellow named Hughie B. Hubler. Never could figure out what a dub like him was doing with a big, fancy boat.”
Hughie B. Hubler. The guy from Gus’s who’d said Sonny had the best motive for murdering David Thwing.
Sonny whirled to face me. “We’re getting out of here.”
“Sonny, wait. We saw it go up. Someone might want to talk to us.”
“We’re going,” he insisted. I could see it was pointless to argue.
We sped away as fast as a lobster boat like the Abby could carry us. A Coast Guard fireboat sped by us going the other way. I held on and kept my mouth shut.
A few miles from Coldport, Sonny changed course, heading toward Westclaw Point. Now what? Surely we were headed home. But as we approached the narrows, Sonny cut the engine and grabbed his gaff again.
“Aren’t we done?” I moaned. I was so tired and achy, I could barely face the idea of more lobstering.
Sonny pulled a buoy over the side. Not his dad’s orange and bright blue ones, but neon green and navy. Exactly like the ones Quentin had found floating in the water the day Thwing was killed.
“Those aren’t yours,” I pointed out.
Sonny nodded. “They’re Peter’s. A few of us have been hauling his traps. You know, until they figure out what happened to him. Lorrie Ann’s gonna need the money.”
The traps had lobsters in them, some of them legal-sized, though not nearly as many as Bard’s. Sonny and I found our rhythm again and pulled, emptied and returned ten strings of Peter’s traps into the sea.
I was tremendously relieved to have discovered the truth about where Sonny had been the day Thwing was murdered. But unless Sonny came clean with the state cops and the feds, they’d continue to suspect him.
“Sonny, you have to tell Binder and Flynn what you were doing the afternoon David Thwing died,” I said as we worked.
He straightened up, wiping his brow with his forearm. “Who says I do?”
“Surely being suspected of murder is more dangerous than confessing to working with a harbor gang that isn’t your own.”
“They’ll need some evidence to arrest me for killing David Thwing, which they won’t find. All they have are a few idle threats I made at town meetings, and the accusation of an hysterical woman that I was supposed to be on that boat.”
He had a point. The police wouldn’t come up with evidence, because he hadn’t been there. And someone had made sure of it.
“Really, Sonny, who do you think telephoned you that morning?”
“Honestly, I don’t know. I can’t figure out why anyone would do that to me.”
“You definitely didn’t recognize the voice? Could it have been someone you know, disguising his voice?”
Sonny shrugged. “It could have been. I was out of my mind.”
What the caller had said was awful, but was it so awful he couldn’t even recall the voice?
Sonny saw the question in my face. “It wasn’t the first time,” he said.
I was shocked. “It wasn’t the first time you got a terrible call like that?”
Sonny shook his head. “The last time I got a call like that, it was real. Livvie lost our baby.” He didn’t look at me as he said this, but gazed out over the stern at the horizon.
I felt like I’d had the wind knocked out of me. “If Livvie had a miscarriage, I would know.”
“It was five years ago.” Sonny voice was low. I had to lean in to hear him. “Your dad was near the end of his life. We decided not to tell anyone on your side of the family. You had all you could handle emotionally.”
I could see, from the pinched lines at the corners of his eyes, he was telling the truth, and there was still a lot of pain in it. I wanted to throw my arms around my bear of a brother-in-law. Poor Sonny. And poor Livvie. At a time when I’d thought my father’s illness was as much as I could bear, she’d had to bear more.
I wiped a tear from the corner of my eye with my wrist. My hands reeked of fish. “Sonny, I’m glad you told me about the miscarriage, even at this late date. Back when it happened or anytime later, who else did you tell?”
Sonny gazed at the horizon. “My dad,” he said. “And Peter.”
So at least two people knew how deeply the information that Livvie was miscarrying would affect Sonny. Peter had no reason to make the phony phone call. He could have telephoned Sonny and simply said he didn’t need him to help on the El Ay.
Would Bard do such an awful thing to his son? What would the motive be? Whatever it was, at the moment I wasn’t feeling so positive about the Coldport-lobster-selling, possibly-phony-phone-call-making, possibly-innocent-mother-seducing Bard.
After an hour and a half of hauling Peter’s traps, Sonny took a bandana out of his pocket and wiped his brow. “Had enough?”
“Plenty.”
We took Peter’s lobsters to sell at the Busman’s Harbor lobster pound. Sonny pocketed the cash.
“Have you been taking the money to Lorrie Ann?”
“Nah. She doesn’t want to see me. I give it to my dad and he takes care of it.”
I flashed for a moment on the new TVs, furniture, and possibly cappuccino machines Bard was passing out. No, those were bought before Peter Murray died. Bard’s extra money came from lobstering undisturbed in Coldport waters.
Chapter 25
Sonny maneuvered the Abby into her slip. He hosed down her deck, washing away the bits of old bait and non-lobster sea animals that had come up in the traps. I wiggled out of the enormous oilpants.
“I came to help.” Kyle stood on the dock, in better shape than he’d been in the day before when I’d seen him at Bard’s house, but obviously high. It was painful for me to see him that way. I could only imagine what it did to Sonny and Bard.
“When I needed your help was this morning, when you were supposed to haul traps with me,” Sonny said without looking up.
“Sorry,” Kyle mumbled.
“Sorry doesn’t cut it.” Sonny turned his back on his brother and continued washing down the deck.
Kyle, crestfallen, didn’t attempt to defend himself. He jumped aboard and picked up a mop. They’d spent years on this boat, knew every inch of it, and fell back into their routine like a choreographed team.
“If you don’t mind, I’ll be going.” Neither brother acknowledged me, though I wasn’t sure they’d heard me over the noise of the hose. As I climbed to the dock, I spotted two men in uniform headed toward me, Jamie and his partner, Officer Howland.
I stayed put. I couldn’t have passed them on the narrow wooden walkway, anyway. When they got to the Abby, they stopped. Jamie glanced at me, then turned toward the boat, clearing his throat loudly.
“Sonny,” he said, then corrected himself. “Mr. Ramsey. We need you to come with us to police headquarters, now.”
Sonny shut off the hose and stared at Jamie. “What if I don’t want to?”
“Then we’re to place you under arrest.”
“For what?” Sonny demanded
“For arson,” Jamie said. “Destruction of the vessel Gilded Lilly.”
What? “I was with Sonny all day!” I shouted. “Standing right next to him when that boat went up. He didn’t do anything. Besides, you couldn’t possibly have completed an arson investigation in such a short time. This is ridiculous.”
Jamie grimaced. He’d known Sonny for years, ever since Livvie had brought him into all our lives. Officer Howland didn’t look any more comfortable. He and Sonny were friends. I wondered what jurisdictional kink, in a police station full of cops from so many agen
cies, had resulted in having local officers do this job.
“We have a witness who places Mr. Ramsey on board the Gilded Lilly moments before the fire,” Jamie told me. “Our witness took photos with his phone of the Abby speeding out of Coldport Harbor while the Lilly was still on fire.”
“Why on earth would I set fire to that boat?” Sonny thundered.
“Lots of things happen during a lobster war,” Jamie answered.
“This is bogus,” I said. “If you look at the phone photos, you’ll see I was on the Abby, too. Ask the guy at the co-op in Coldport. We were with him when the fire broke out.”
“Julia!” Sonny glared at me.
Was he still determined to keep his crazy secret? “Oh, Sonny, give it up. You’re not continuing this charade about Coldport now. You’re about to be arrested.”
“Shut up, Julia. If you want to help,” Sonny said evenly, “call my wife. And have her call a lawyer.”
Sonny climbed onto the dock and asked Jamie and Howland, “Are you going to cuff me?”
“No need,” Jamie answered. “You’re coming in voluntarily.”
The cops led Sonny off the dock to their cruiser. I used my cell to give my shocked sister Sonny’s message. Before I left the dock, I looked around for Kyle. During the commotion, he’d faded away.
When I arrived at the police station, Sonny was nowhere in sight. I waited, pacing and jiggling, until Jamie walked by.
“You know this stinks,” I hissed at him. He raised and lowered his shoulders in that way that said, Nothing I can do about it.
I charged into the multipurpose room and found Lieutenant Binder. He was deep in conversation with Sergeant Crisp, the Maine Drug Task Force guy I’d met the night before.
“I need to speak to you. Right now,” I said to Binder.
He nodded to Crisp and followed me into the corridor.
“Sonny’s being arrested,” I said.
“I know,” Binder responded.
“It’s completely made-up. He wasn’t near that boat. I was with him the whole day. Why is this so-called witness on Coldport Island more believable than me? What’s his name, anyway?”
“Keep your voice down,” Binder commanded. He looked around to make sure we were alone. In a low voice, he said, “The gentleman’s name is Hughie B. Hubler.”
“That guy has it in for Sonny.” My voice rose again. “He was in Gus’s yesterday mouthing off about how Sonny had the best motive for killing Thwing.”
“Shhh!” Binder checked again to make sure there was no one nearby. “I’m sure your brother-in-law will be released soon. I doubt he’ll even be charged. The fire’s an excuse to bring him in and question him about the murder.”
“But I know where Sonny was Monday afternoon. He was lobstering in Coldport waters on the Abby. He sold his haul at the Coldport co-op. You can check it out.” Sonny might still have qualms about telling people where he’d been, but I didn’t.
“That’s great, Julia, but eyewitnesses have told us the Abby went out twice on Monday. We can’t find anyone to confirm the time she first departed, but she returned around noon and left again not long after. We believe Thwing was killed before noon. We also believe it was on that first trip back to the marina that Sonny brought in the drugs.”
“What drugs?” I demanded. How could this get any worse?
Binder put a hand on my arm. “Julia, we believe Peter Murray was responsible for bringing in the tainted drugs that hurt Mrs. Gus. And we know Sonny was Peter’s partner in the drug-smuggling operation.”
“What!” Livvie stood three feet away with Cuthie Cuthbertson, attorney-at-law.
I’d found an answer to my own question. It could indeed get worse. It just had.
Chapter 26
Even with everything else that was happening, it was the first time I’d seen my sister since Sonny’s revelation that afternoon about her miscarriage. I threw my arms around her and hugged her close.
“Okay, okay.” Livvie wriggled free, annoyed with the hug like Page would have been. She had more immediate problems to deal with. “Tell me what’s going on.” While I’d hugged her, Binder had slipped away.
“Yes, what do you know?” Cuthie Cuthbertson asked. He was short and round, with a head full of brown hair that had been coated in “product” that smelled like Vaseline. Despite his girth, his suit was too big for him. Light blue and polyester, it hung on him like pajamas. Appearances to the contrary, Cuthie was a brilliant criminal lawyer. He’d represented Chris when he’d been accused of a murder he hadn’t committed, as well as an innocent employee of ours in the summer.
I told them everything that had happened, including what Binder had just told me. While I talked, Livvie went pale, then pink, then bright red. She was clearly furious. At Sonny? The cops? I suspected both. She didn’t ask why I’d been on the Abby. She was concentrating too hard on my story, which included an alibi for her husband on the arson charge, at a minimum.
“I’ll put a stop to this,” Cuthbertson said when I finished. He walked briskly down the hallway.
“I’m staying here.” Livvie’s voice was clipped. “Can you pick up Page at swim team?”
“Of course. Whatever you need.”
When I pulled up at the Y, Page was as delighted to see me, as I was to see her, even given the circumstances. I’d seen her every day all summer on Morrow Island, but between her busy school schedule and my move to the island, it had been close to two weeks since we’d had any alone time.
“Can we get pizza?” she asked before she settled into the car. “Please?”
“We’ll see. We’re going to Grandma’s.”
She nodded enthusiastically. “Where’s my mom?”
“She’s tied up right now.” Let Livvie and Sonny explain as much to Page as they wanted. “She’s been at the Murrays’ all day,” I added.
“Oh.” Not much got by Page. “PeeWee hasn’t been in school since, you know.”
“Is he a friend of yours?”
Page sniffed like an English lord, affronted by the suggestion. “No, silly. He’s a kindergartner!” Then she burst into giggles at her ridiculous aunt.
When we pulled into the garage, Mom’s car was back. She was in the kitchen, fussing with the cappuccino machine.
“Le Roi!” Page had spent the summer with her beloved cat, and true to form, he ran to her and let her manhandle him in all sorts of undignified ways.
“Page is staying with us until Livvie and Sonny are free,” I said to Mom in a tone that didn’t invite questions.
Mom nodded. She understood we weren’t discussing the reason Sonny and Livvie were tied up in front of Page. Besides, nothing could get in the way of her delight at seeing her granddaughter. She threw her arms around Page and Le Roi and kissed the top of Page’s head.
Page squirmed away. At nine, she could hug the cat, but she was getting too big for grandmotherly cuddles. She grabbed her backpack and headed through the swinging door to the dining room to start on her homework. She’d spent so many afternoons at Mom’s house during Dad’s illness and in the years since his death, even given the fall’s new routines, she fell immediately into her old groove.
“Would you like a cappuccino?” Mom had the instruction book propped open on the counter. She was dressed in nice slacks and wore makeup, which was unusual and deeply suspicious. I glanced at her left hand and was relieved to see she still wore her wedding ring.
“No, thank you. I’ll have tea.” I put the kettle on, not so subtly telegraphing Isn’t this more your speed? “What’s up with that thing, anyway?” I asked when I couldn’t stand it any longer, indicating the new machine.
“It’s a treat for me,” Mom said. “Do you have a problem with that?”
“Of course not.” I meant it. Mom deserved the best of everything. But she’d never been one to indulge herself. So who was indulging her? That was the question that plagued me.
She finally got her cup of espresso and frothed milk made. I had to
admit, it smelled kind of great. Page wandered into the kitchen looking for a snack. I gave her one of Livvie’s whoopie pies and took one for myself, suddenly aware I’d eaten nothing all day except the sandwich Sonny had given me on the Abby.
From beyond the kitchen’s swinging door, I heard the sound of the front door opening and closing.
“What were you thinking?” Livvie yelled.
“I told you to stay out of it!” Sonny commanded. They were in the front hall, on the other side of the kitchen door, out of our sight.
The skin over Page’s pretty nose pinched. She sat heavily next to my mother and took her hand, desiring the physical contact she’d so recently brushed away.
“How can I stay out of it?” Livvie demanded. “I’m in it. What if they arrest you for real next time? That will affect Page, me, and the new baby. Why are you still lying? To them? To me?”
“They’re not going to arrest me.” Sonny shouted. “If they could’ve, they would’ve.”
Page was pale and trembling. I was a little queasy myself. Livvie and Sonny didn’t fight, at least not like this. They bickered, sure. And Sonny was a yeller, though not at Livvie. As a couple, they always had each other’s backs.
Now they faced an unimaginable chasm. If Sonny truly was a partner with Peter Murray in a drug-running operation, not only had he taken a huge risk and broken the law, he’d lied to Livvie about it. I knew my sister well enough to know that was what hurt the most. Could she forgive him? Would she?
Mom asked Page quietly if she wanted to creep up the back stairs and watch the TV in her sitting room. Page shook her head, craving the comfort of family.
Sonny’s voice dropped. “Livvie, you have to trust me,” he pleaded.
“Trust you? How can I trust you when you didn’t even tell me the truth?”
There was a lot more shouting. I tried not to listen. Page and I played tic-tac-toe on a napkin, both of us desperate for a diversion.
“I’m outta here!” Sonny finally yelled. “Call me when you’ve calmed down.”