by Barbara Ross
“Five o’clock off my bow. One is forty feet away, the other sixty, both drifting, moving away from Teapot Island toward the open ocean.”
“We were able to track you. We’re nearby, heading to your position. Can you get one or both on board?”
I looked at Quentin. “The harness?”
He shook is head. “They’re too far.”
“I’m getting in the dinghy.” The same one Quentin had told Chris was too dangerous. He didn’t protest, which only underlined for me how dire the situation was.
“Maybe. One at a time,” I told the Coast Guardsman.
I lowered the inflatable dinghy, climbed in, and started the engine. The little electric motor fought the increasing swells. It was two steps forward, one back as I battled the waves. I was soaked to the skin and shivering in seconds, not quite in as much danger of hypothermia as the men, but if I didn’t act fast, I’d be the third casualty.
Sonny was closer and he was injured. My sister’s husband, the father of my beloved niece and a longed-for baby. But if I got to him first and took him back to the Flittermouse, Chris might die. Chris, my love.
I lost sight of them both at intervals as the waves tossed me up and down. I didn’t think Chris and Sonny could see each other, but Chris rose up on a wave and spotted Sonny, his right arm flapping as he tried to keep himself afloat. Chris motioned with both hands, urging me toward Sonny, mouthing, Get him! Get him! Chris, who’d shed his boots and jacket, kicked off toward the island. I saw one bare foot skim the waves. It would be minutes before hypothermia stopped him from moving, and he drowned.
I steered the little raft toward Sonny. His movements slowed as exhaustion set in and his body temperature dropped. I came alongside him.
“You have to help me get you into the boat.”
Sonny nodded his understanding. I grabbed his shoulders and heaved. He howled in pain. I thought he might pass out and leave me with his dead weight hanging from the raft.
“Think of the new baby!” I screamed at him. “Page! Livvie!”
He gave one tremendous kick and I pulled him up over the side. Crying with relief, I turned the boat to the Flittermouse. If I tried to pick up both men in the little rubber raft, we’d all die.
It seemed to take forever as I fought the current to get back to the sailboat. “I have to get Chris!” I yelled to Quentin and Kyle as they pulled Sonny on board.
“You’ll never make it,” Quentin warned.
“I have to try.” But just as I turned the dinghy around, a Coast Guard ship came into view. Quentin reached over and pulled me forcibly onto the sailboat’s deck.
He ran back to the radio. “Vessel Flittermouse. We have one man on board, one still in the water,” he shouted.
“Do you have a visual?”
“One hundred feet off our bow.”
I looked over. Chris was gone. “We’ve lost visual,” I screamed.
“We’ve got this. Back away,” the Coast Guardsman commanded.
I looked at Quentin, who revved the engine. No part of me wanted to leave, but having two boats in the small area would be infinitely more dangerous for Chris. The Coast Guard vessel had EMTs aboard. He was better off with them.
Two divers jumped off the Coast Guard ship and moved swiftly to the area where I’d last seen Chris. I couldn’t see him anymore.
“Vessel Flittermouse return to port,” the Coast Guardsman ordered.
“We need two ambulances to meet us,” Quentin said. “And the police.”
“They’ll be there.”
I grabbed a set of binoculars tethered to Quentin’s console. I watched as the divers brought something to the surface. Chris’s head! The three moved rapidly toward the Coast Guard boat. Hands reached out and hauled them aboard.
Chris’s body, that body I knew so well, was inert. He neither helped nor fought his rescuers. He made no movement on his own.
I stood frozen on the deck, trying to breathe.
Chapter 34
We reached the marina before the Coast Guard ship. There were three ambulances waiting in the parking area. One for Sonny, one for Peter, and—my heart leapt with hope—one for Chris.
The parking lot was filled with cops, some wearing uniforms, others wearing windbreakers with their agency names emblazoned on them. I looked for Binder and spotted him in the lead as a group of lawmen made their way down the dock.
I scrambled off the Flittermouse and ran to him. “Peter Murray’s alive,” I said, panting. “And Lorrie Ann Murray tried to kill Kyle Ramsey, but Sonny and Chris ended up in the water.”
“Kyle Ramsey? Are you sure?”
“Yes. Kyle said it was time to tell the truth. The whole truth. Then Lorrie Ann went after him with the boom.” As I spoke, I scanned the marina behind Binder’s back, searching for the Coast Guard ship.
“You’re soaked and shivering.” Binder seemed to notice for the first time. “I’m putting you in an ambulance.”
“No! Please. I have to know if Chris is alive.”
Binder’s eyebrows rose, comprehending. “I’ll find a Coast Guard officer. Don’t move.”
Binder barked something at the men behind him, but I barely heard. The Coast Guard rescue ship entered the marina. I ran to meet it. “Chris! Chris!” I screamed.
I jostled my way to the front, where the EMTs waited with a single stretcher, craning my neck for the first sign of him.
Then I heard his unmistakable baritone, so dear to me. “I’m fine. I don’t need all this fuss.”
“You’ve been unconscious, had water in your lungs, and your body temperature is low. You’re headed to the hospital,” a woman’s voice said firmly.
They brought him off the boat on a stretcher covered in a silver blanket. I wept as they transferred him to the EMTs’ gurney and was still crying when I reached his side.
“I thought I’d lost you,” I cried. “I couldn’t picture my life without . . .” I broke down.
Chris snaked a pale, cold hand from under the blanket. “I know,” he said. “Me, too.”
The EMTs whisked him off the dock. The other ambulances were loaded. The police allowed Lorrie Ann to ride in the back with Peter, but Sergeant Flynn also rode with them. Kyle was handcuffed and loaded into the back of a police car.
They wouldn’t let me ride in the ambulance with Chris. I was neither a spouse nor a relative. Binder put me in his official car and turned on his siren. I was halfway to the hospital before I thought to call my sister.
The waiting area for the emergency room was strangely empty when we got there. Brittany, my phone-extension-finding pal, brought me a warm blanket and a pair of scrubs. I could hear the bustle in the back, as the ambulances were unloaded. Over the noise, I heard Chris insist, “I’m fine. I’m fine.”
I’d changed into the dry scrubs by the time they finally let me see him. We were enjoying a deeply satisfying “You’re not dead” kiss when Livvie arrived, auburn hair flying, eyes wild with worry. Sonny’s arm was badly fractured and he was in shock. They were stabilizing him before they operated.
Two hours later, Chris was unhooked from the saline they’d used to bring up his body temperature and discharged. He, too, wore scrubs the hospital had given him. We waited with Livvie while Sonny was in surgery.
I realized I’d left the marina without thanking Quentin, either for finding Peter Murray or for his mad boating skills rescuing Sonny.
I called him on my cell. “Thank you, Batman,” I said.
He chuckled appreciatively. Of course he cultivates it. I handed the phone to Livvie, who cried so hard she couldn’t speak. Finally, I took the phone from her gently and spoke into it. “Got that?” I asked.
“I did,” Quentin answered. He sounded a little choked up, too.
Chapter 35
Binder showed up sometime after 8:00 PM. He greeted Chris and Livvie politely, then motioned for me to follow. We walked the hospital corridors as we talked.
“We have both Lorrie Ann and Kyle i
n custody,” he said. “Each one blames the other for killing Thwing. I’ve just come from interviewing Peter Murray at his bedside. They’re all lying, but I think he’s telling the story closest to the truth.”
“What happened on board the El Ay?” I asked.
“Your brother-in-law was supposed to show up with the Abby to pick up the prescription drugs.” Binder glanced at me, trudging along at his side. I didn’t protest Sonny’s role. “As far as he knew, it was a normal run. Peter and Lorrie Ann believed once Sonny was there, and they were in possession of the oxycodone, he’d have to go along with smuggling it. They must have been awfully good friends.”
Or, Peter knew about Bard selling his lobsters in Coldport and threatened to reveal it if Sonny didn’t cooperate. I kept that thought to myself.
Binder continued. “Kyle Ramsey overheard his father and Belle talking about Peter and Lorrie Ann’s plan. He decided he wanted in on the deal. He was desperate for drugs, and for money to support his habit. He made the call to Sonny about your sister. Then Kyle took the Abby out to meet the El Ay.”
So Kyle had called Sonny, but not to prevent his brother from involvement with oxycodone smuggling. To get him out of the way. I’d believed what Kyle had said about making the call to keep Sonny safe. I should have known better than to be taken in by the chronic lying and manipulative ways of the addict. Nonetheless, at the end, Kyle had wanted to tell the truth about what happened about the El Ay. Lorrie Ann had been determined to stop him.
If Kyle took the Abby out on the first trip that day, it also explained why Sonny hadn’t gone out on the boat straightaway when he got back to the marina. It wasn’t there. He must have realized his brother had taken it. That was why he’d continued to lie, insisting he’d gone to Bard’s house and seen Bard and Kyle. He’d been covering for Kyle.
“What happened next is what the participants dispute,” Binder said. “When the Abby drew up alongside the El Ay, Thwing recognized Kyle. He’d worked for a time at Le Shack.”
I remembered Genevieve’s abortive wave to Sonny from the Snuggles’ front porch. From that distance, the Ramsey brothers looked so much alike, she must have thought he was Kyle. The healthier, heavier version of Kyle she’d known when he’d worked at her restaurant.
Binder resumed the tale. “When Kyle worked at Le Shack, ironically, he was fired due to his drug problem. When Thwing saw him approach on the Abby, he assumed they were being robbed, and that Peter had orchestrated the robbery, telling Kyle where they’d be. Thwing pulled a gun and threatened to kill Peter and Kyle. Lorrie Ann snuck up behind Thwing with the gaff, swung it over her head, crashing it into his skull. At least that’s what we think. She hasn’t admitted it, but it fits the physical evidence.
“Once Thwing was dead, they compounded the bad decisions each one had made up to that point by making more terrible decisions. Thwing had paid the supplier for the oxycodone when they took possession of it. Peter and Lorrie Ann were determined to sell it and pocket all the money. But they were afraid he might have partners who would come after them for the profits once the drugs were sold, so they decided to stage a tragedy at sea. They tied Thwing up in the line and left Peter on Teapot Island. The El Ay would turn up empty.”
Binder paused. “Sorting through all the versions of the story, I think Kyle was a reluctant participant from the beginning. He says he argued they should go to the authorities and claim Thwing’s death was self-defense, but Lorrie Ann and Peter had a boatload of drugs they didn’t want to throw overboard. All three of them had reasons for wanting to stay away from law enforcement.
“Kyle brought Lorrie Ann back to town on the Abby, along with the prescription drugs and a small amount of oxycodone for Kyle’s personal use and so he could begin to find customers. Lorrie Ann took charge of the rest of it. She used the promise of more to keep Kyle in line, but he was unraveling.” Binder paused. “She’s admitted delivering the prescription bottles to Mrs. Gus and the others and given us the addresses. We’re collecting them now so no one else gets hurt.”
“It’s a miracle no one did.”
“It seems since the supply was so uncertain, most people ordered their prescriptions well in advance, so they’d have them for the future. But yes, it is very lucky.”
Binder stood for a moment, as if considering this bit of good luck, and then continued walking. “Lorrie Ann ‘borrowed’ a boat from the marina in the middle of the night on Monday and took food, water, and a sleeping bag to Peter. But for some reason, after that first night, she couldn’t return.”
“She and her mother had a huge fight on Tuesday afternoon,” I told him. “Her mother left the house. Lorrie Ann couldn’t go to Peter that night because she was alone with her kids.”
Binder nodded.
“The next day, my sister organized the lobstermen’s wives so they spent twenty-four hours a day with Lorrie Ann,” I said. “And your guys were dropping in to question her at least once a day, sometimes twice. She must have felt like a trapped rat.”
“There’s no natural fresh water on Teapot Island.” Binder picked up the story. “Lorrie Ann was frantic. She was looking for any excuse to bring Peter home. I don’t know what you told her when you visited her house today, but whatever it was made her decide to move up the date for Peter’s ‘miraculous rescue.’”
“I said I knew she was aboard the El Ay that day. I accused her and Peter of murdering Thwing, with Peter accidentally dying in the process.”
“You were close,” Binder agreed. “But not on the money. She may have hoped to disprove your story by showing Peter was alive. That way, she refutes your version and gets him off the island before it’s too late. Then they could concoct another lie to explain Thwing’s death.”
“But before they could, Kyle spouted off about telling the whole truth.”
Binder stopped walking. We’d wandered into a deserted hospital corridor without me even noticing.
“What happens now?” I asked.
“Lorrie Ann, Peter, and Kyle will all be charged with something. The prosecutors are sorting it out.”
“And Sonny?”
“He wasn’t there the day Thwing was killed. There’s no evidence of his prior involvement with the prescription smuggling except the say-so of three people about to be charged as felons. I assume he isn’t holding any drugs and there’d be no sign of extra money if we chose to look. So I doubt anything will happen to Sonny.”
Almost the exact reasons Chris had given me for why he wasn’t in danger.
“But,” Binder continued, “Sonny would do well to stay on the straight and narrow from now on. In fact, I’d say that was good advice for all the men in your life.”
“You don’t have to worry. They will,” I said. “I’m sure of it.”
After Binder left me, I pulled my phone out of my pocket. There was a text from Livvie saying Sonny was in Recovery, and there were four calls from Owen Quimby, the last one with a voice mail. I deleted it without listening. Some options were no longer possible. Leaving Chris was one of them.
While I had time, I snuck upstairs to visit Mrs. Gus. Fee and Vee were in their accustomed places beside her bed. Mrs. Gus was, if anything, more restless, but her eyes were still closed.
“If they move her to a rehab facility,” Fee said to Vee, “Gus will go back to work. But who will make the pies, I wonder?” She shook her head sadly. “I can’t imagine Gus’s without the pies.”
“Her secret recipes are in a card box in her kitchen,” Vee answered. “I can make the pies for Gus.”
Mrs. Gus’s eyes popped open. “Not with my recipes, you won’t!” She tried to sit up in bed. “Where’s my pocketbook? Where’re my shoes? Time to go home!”
Her friends ran to her and hugged her, while I shouted for the nurse.
When they finally let Livvie in to see Sonny, I took Chris back to the cabin. He fell into bed, still in the borrowed scrubs, and was instantly asleep. I took a hot shower in the bathroom-without-walls and c
rawled in beside him.
In the morning, oddly, or perhaps not, we were tentative with one another. Something had shifted between us. Our relationship was in a new phase. It would take some getting used to.
Chris used his cab to drop me back at Mom’s house. Livvie had kept her up-to-date with things last night while she stayed home with Page. Coming so close to losing Chris made me want to check in with everyone I loved.
Mom was in the kitchen when I came in, and she was in full makeup, fussing with her cappuccino machine.
“Julia, would you like an espresso?”
I sat heavily at the kitchen table. “Mom, when are you going to cut the crap and tell me what’s going on with you?”
She turned around, mouth gaping. I’d never talked to her that way before. “Whatever are you talking about?”
“I’m talking about the cappuccino machine. And the fact that you’re never home. And you’re always tired. And for whatever reason, you won’t tell me or Livvie where you’ve been or what’s going on.”
She pulled out a chair and sat at the table beside me, spreading her delicate fingers on its white enamel top. I sat up straight and squared my shoulders. I was ready for whatever she hit me with. At least I knew if she had a boyfriend, it wasn’t Bard Ramsey. He was spoken for.
“I’ve taken a little job,” Mom said.
“What?”
“I’m working at Linens and Pantries, the big chain store in Topsham.” And then she burst into tears.
I almost did, too. Tears of relief.
“Everyone is so busy,” she said. “Everyone’s lives have gone on. Even Page has swim team. So I thought I should do something and I applied and they accepted me. Oh, Julia. It’s awful. My schedule keeps changing. It’s days. It’s evenings. I have no routine. And I can’t do anything or figure anything out. The store is as big as a football field, the cash register system doesn’t make any sense, and in the evenings my supervisor is . . . a high school student.” She put her head on her folded arms and sobbed. “I hate it.”