Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series)

by Jenifer LeClair

  “Just thought I’d get to you before the competition.”

  “This your lobsterboat?”

  “It’s mine all right.”

  Scott marveled at the tenacity of those who eked a living from the sea, sometimes under dreadful conditions. He’d often heard Captain DuLac express his respect for the dangerous work they did and knew the captain counted many friends among the lobstermen. Coming from his privileged background, Scott couldn’t imagine the hardship of their work—the long cold hours at sea in all kinds of weather with no guarantee of income. Yet he knew these fishermen wouldn’t have traded their work. It was generational—in the blood.

  Pete arrived on deck and joined Scott at the rail. “Ahoy there,” he shouted and waved to the fisherman. Anna Stevens, busy keeping her boat a safe distance from the Maine Wind, waved from the wheelhouse but didn’t try to communicate.

  “Pete, call down and see if George wants some lobsters at four bucks each.”

  Pete walked to the companionway and yelled down. “Hey, George. Can you use some lobsters at four bucks apiece? There’s a fisherman up here wants to know.”

  George polled the crowd. “Whataya say, folks? Can you stand any more lobster?”

  There was a chorus of assent.

  “Why else would we come to Maine?” Rob blurted out. “They’ve got windjammers in the Caribbean, you know.”

  Brie amused herself with the thought that if you reverse the letters in “Rob” you get “Bor.” His demeanor shed light on Alyssa’s antics. After all, Brie thought, one act of insensitivity probably begets another.

  “Tell him we’ll take a baker’s dozen, Pete,” George called back. “Come on down; I’ll give you the money.”

  Pete descended to the galley, where George gave him money in a zipper baggie that had a couple of stones in it for weight. “Throw that down to the fisherman,” George said.

  In the meantime Scott had gone down to the storeroom and retrieved a creel to hold the lobsters. He headed back aft and descended to the yawl boat. Anna motored slowly to the stern of the Maine Wind and counted thirteen good-sized lobsters into the creel. Scott tied it to the ship, where it hung submerged in the water.

  Pete arrived with the money, threw it down to Scott, and quickly headed back to the shelter of the galley. Scott passed the baggie to the woman. She dropped it into her raincoat pocket, walked back to the wheelhouse and motored through the thick rain toward shore.

  Down in the galley, the passengers slouched contentedly at the table, sipping coffee. George’s stew had worked like a drug, dispelling some of the pre-dinner edginess. In Pete’s absence, John had moved down next to Brie and was chatting quietly with her. George was in the galley, mounding chocolate chip cookie dough onto baking sheets. He opened the feeding door on Old Faithful and shoved in a log to keep the oven temperature up.

  Scott came back down the ladder, fresh from his lobster trading. He peeled off his rain slicker and hung it up. Scott was less flamboyant than Pete but better looking, and Brie wondered from which side of his family he’d inherited his lively green eyes and red hair.

  “It’s getting dark topside, Captain,” Scott said. “Should Pete light the lanterns?”

  Surprised, DuLac checked his watch. The time was five past nine. “I didn’t realize it was so late. Take care of it, Pete.”

  Pete started up the ladder, paused and turned around. “Has anyone seen my marline spike?” he asked. “I used it to unjam a line this afternoon during the storm. It may have fallen out of my belt on the deck somewhere.”

  No one had seen it.

  “I’ll keep an eye out for it, Pete,” Scott said. “We’ve got a couple of spares down in the storeroom. Why don’t you grab one?”

  “Will do.” Pete continued up the ladder.

  Scott sat back down and filled his coffee mug. He stretched out his legs and leaned his head back. Howard spoke to him from the far end of the table. “So, Scott, are we going to be treated to a short concert tonight?”

  “I’m game if everyone else is,” Scott said.

  “No rush, though,” Howard added. He nodded his round bald head encouragingly toward Scott. “You just enjoy your coffee and warm up.”

  When Pete came back down, he noticed the captain had taken over his place next to Brie. “Say, Captain, I’d love to reclaim my spot,” he said winking at Brie.

  “Too late, Pete. You forgot to say ’quack quack seat back,’” George grinned.

  “Don’t be annoying, Dupopolis.”

  “Knock it off, Pete, and sit down. You’re not getting your spot back,” DuLac said.

  Brie had run into lots of guys like Pete whose flirting knew no bounds. But she noticed Alyssa looked flustered, as if she expected Pete’s attentions to be reserved for her alone.

  “If the storm doesn’t let up, we’ll go onto the island tomorrow,” DuLac said, letting out a yawn. “I know the people who own the Snug Harbor Bed and Breakfast. For a small fee everyone can get a nice hot shower, and Betty serves a mean cup of coffee along with some of the best blueberry and apple cobbler in Maine. This time of year their place is usually empty, and they won’t mind if we make ourselves at home. They’ve got a great library with a fireplace and plenty of comfortable furniture.”

  “Do they have anything like a TV?” Will asked sullenly.

  “There’s a TV room with a pretty good video collection. There’s also a pool table and lots of other games and activities. It’s a nice place to hang out on a rainy afternoon.”

  While the captain was talking, Scott had retrieved his guitar from the crew’s sleeping area behind the galley. Brie had been impressed by his ability when he played the night before. She’d asked him about his training and received a brief history of his life. Scott had grown up in Providence, Rhode Island, the son of a wealthy doctor, and had begun studying violin at age six. By the time he was eighteen, he sat as concertmaster in one of the top youth symphonies in the country. “I was supposed to attend Harvard that fall, and after that, medical school. My father had it all planned out,” he had told Brie.

  That August Scott loaned his $20,000 violin to a friend whose family would never be able to afford an instrument to match their son’s talent. He bought an acoustic guitar, some guitar books, and a used Chevy Blazer. Leaving the keys to his Beemer along with a letter to his mother, he took the highway north to Maine. “That was seven years ago, and they’ve been the happiest seven years of my life,” he had said.

  Scott pulled a stool up to the end of the table and began tuning his guitar. He reminded everyone that this was not a concert but background music, and that they should feel free to visit with one another.

  Brie was mesmerized by the mellow tones of the guitar filling the cozy galley, mingling with the crackling wood in the stove and the howl of the wind outside the ship. She relaxed into the yellow glow thrown off by the hurricane lamps in the low-ceilinged space, and the smell of cookies baking in the oven wrapped itself around her like a warm blanket. This experience alone was worth the price of the ticket.

  Scott began with some folk selections, moving on to classical and jazz pieces after he warmed up. As he played, some of the tension around the table dissolved, and quiet conversations started up. He was happy to see his music become the backdrop for a more amiable scene.

  Brie ventured into conversation with Tim, who was sitting across from her. She hoped to draw him out a bit. He’d been virtually silent the past few days.

  “You mentioned on the first day out that you’re in the Coast Guard,” she said. “Are you new to the service?”

  “Pretty new. I just finished training in my specialty, and I’ll be heading for my first assignment in two weeks.”

  “Why did you choose the Coast Guard?” she asked.

  “They save lives.” His response was immediate and intense. Then, as if to soften it, he added, “But the main reason is I’ve lived near the ocean all my life. I couldn’t stand to be far from the water.”

 
; “What specialty did you train for?” Brie asked.

  “Marine Science Technician.”

  She noticed the note of pride in his voice. He seemed to gradually warm to the conversation, once he got over his surprise at someone showing an interest in him. Brie was used to the fact that with most men, especially young ones, there were few reciprocal questions. Conversation usually felt more like interrogation. That was fine with her; the fewer questions she had to answer about herself right now, the better.

  “So where’s your first assignment?” she asked.

  “Coast Guard Station Juneau. In Alaska.”

  “That’s a long way from home.”

  A faraway look came over him, and behind it, Brie sensed an intense emotion. Sadness, pain, regret? A moment later it was gone, like the lid snapping shut on a tightly hinged box.

  “I need to visit new places,” he said emphatically. “It’s bad to stay in one place all your life.”

  Brie noted the use of “need” rather than “want” and wondered what drove that need.

  George had pulled two large cookie sheets out of the oven, and they had been sitting with the cookies cooling for the past few minutes. The smell of butter, sugar and chocolate filled the galley. Finally, DuLac spoke up. “George, you shouldn’t keep chocolate chip cookies from a man who’s sailed through a gale. So serve ’em up now, or I won’t be held accountable for my actions.”

  “Sorry, Captain. Let me grab my spatula—I wouldn’t want to lose a hand passing them out.”

  George ladled out the goods, and within fifteen minutes, the cookies were gone, along with doses of brandy the captain administered to anyone who was interested.

  Scott continued playing for a while, but the evening was winding down. It was almost ten o’clock on what had been a draining day for all present. Rob Lindstrom and John had actually leaned their heads back and dozed off. Brie was starting to feel as if she might have to be carried to her cabin on a stretcher. Alyssa and Pete were eyeing each other in a high-risk flirtation, considering Rob’s hair-trigger temper. Tim had pulled out a pocketknife and a piece of wood and was whittling away at it, happy that it kept him from too much human interaction.

  Suddenly Rob lunged across the table. “Keep your eyes off Alyssa, you sonofabitch!” An index finger jabbed threateningly at Pete.

  Pete stared at him defiantly. “Hey, man, get a grip!”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game,” Rob growled. The finger jabbed again. “Don’t mess with my wife.”

  The captain brought the flat of his hand down on the table. “That will do, gentlemen! McAllister! Topside, now. Check out the lanterns and the anchor.”

  Pete almost trampled George getting past him and up the companionway.

  “There will be no threats or animosity on this cruise. Is that clear?”

  Rob glared at the captain but said nothing.

  DuLac continued. “The rest of the passengers have a right to the atmosphere they paid for. I’ll not tolerate a troublemaker on my ship.” The captain’s eyes held Rob in a steely gaze.

  “Then you’d damn well better keep your crew in line, Captain.” Rob nodded to Alyssa. “Let’s go. Time to turn in.” They slid out from behind the table, and Rob pawed through the rain slickers until he found his.

  “Rob, could I borrow your raincoat? I’m a little cold.”

  “Oh, Alyssa, for Christ’s sake.” Rob peeled off his slicker and handed it to her. “Give me that thing,” he said, grabbing the umbrella. “Here, George, make this disappear before it embarrasses me to death. Maybe you can chop it up and use it as a garnish.” He stormed up the companionway ladder with Alyssa following behind.

  The remaining passengers and crew surveyed one another in stunned silence. “And here, all along, I thought the guitar was a calming instrument,” Scott said, dispelling some of the tension.

  “We need to set the watch,” DuLac said, eager to wrap things up. “You take the first watch from 2200 to 0100 hours. Pete already asked about his watch and knows he’s on from 0100 to 0400, when I’ll come on deck to relieve him.”

  “Sounds good, Captain. I’ll go topside and tell Pete to hit the sack.”

  Scott disappeared into the crew’s sleeping area, where he stowed his guitar. He pulled on the pants to his foul-weather suit, hiked the suspenders up over his shoulders, and headed back out to the galley to grab his rain jacket.

  “There’ll be a fresh carafe of coffee down here, as usual,” George said.

  Brie spoke up. “Thanks for the concert, Scott; it was great.”

  Howard seconded her enthusiastically.

  “My pleasure, folks,” Scott said, heading up the ladder.

  “I think everyone can safely sleep in tomorrow,” John said. “This rain and wind is likely to hang around for a day or two. George, you may as well plan breakfast for an hour later than usual.”

  “No arguments from me on that, Captain.”

  “I’ll pass the word to Rob and Alyssa when I go down,” Brie said.

  “You’re a brave woman, Brie,” Howard said, patting her arm in a fatherly manner.

  On that note, everyone slid out from behind the table, donned their rain slickers and said a hasty goodnight to the captain before climbing the companionway ladder. Up on deck, cold wind and rain assaulted them. Their hunched forms shone eerily in the yellow light cast by the hurricane lanterns that swung from the rigging. They made their way along the rain-soaked deck and descended into the belly of the ship, heading for their cabins and warm sleeping bags.

  At the foot of the ladder Brie stepped over and knocked on the cabin door directly across from hers. Alyssa’s voice came through the louvers. “Who is it?”

  “It’s Brie. Just wanted to let you know that breakfast will be an hour later than usual. So you can sleep in.”

  “Thanks, Brie; we’ll see you in the morning. Sleep tight.”

  “Good night,” said Brie.

  Inside her cabin, Brie wasted no time in her nightly routine. She drew off a basin of water from the wooden cask that sat up on a small shelf in the corner of the cabin. Grabbing her soap, she washed her face. Then, leaning over the bowl with cupped hands, she shivered as the cold water splashed the soap away. She held the soft hand towel against her skin for an extra moment, warming her face, then filled her small cup with water from the cask and brushed her teeth. The cold water felt better in her mouth than it had on her face, and she swished it around a few extra times before spitting into the wash basin. The basin would sit there until morning, when she’d go up on deck and throw its contents overboard.

  Brie sat down on the berth, pulled her weather radio out of the duffel and switched it on. She was hoping to hear a report on the storm, but got only crackly static. Suddenly her vision blurred. Nausea dampened the back of her neck, and she felt the familiar grip of panic as she spun back to that night.

  “All units—460 in progress, 3147 Upton Avenue North.”

  Brie grabbed the receiver. “Unit 14 responding.” Her arm pressed hard against the door as Phil spun the car around and headed back the opposite direction.

  “Code 2,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled, advising no lights, no siren.

  “Ten-four.” Brie glanced over at Phil as she replaced the receiver. She knew he was eager to get home. His son was sick and his wife would be tired. “Sorry, Phil.”

  “Hey, when it rains, it pours.”

  They’d just left the scene of a homicide less than a mile away and had joked about making it home before the witching hour. It wasn’t likely to happen now.

  The bronze Crown Victoria made its stealth approach, drawing silently up to the curb in front of a two-story duplex. The warm breeze that ushered them up to the gaping door carried a promise of spring. Guns drawn, they paused to make eye contact before slipping into the darkness beyond.

  Just inside the door a rank smell of body sweat and stale cigarettes assaulted them. They stood for a moment, barely breathing, letting their eyes adju
st to the dark. Phil motioned his gun toward the doorway on the opposite wall, signaling her to check it out, and turned his attention to the door on his left. Too late, she glimpsed movement. Deafening sound and searing pain struck her in the same instant. Then slow motion. Phil falling, screaming from somewhere, the floor rising toward her and darkness.

  A flash of lightning filled the cabin. Brie looked around, disoriented, trembling. For a moment she thought she was back in the hospital. Her hands shook as she squatted down and dug into her duffel. She brought out her off-duty pistol—a Glock 9mm—and clip-on holster. Before the cruise, when she’d told the captain she was a police officer, she had asked his permission to bring the gun aboard. Having it with her, even on vacation, was one of the ways Brie tried to convince herself that she felt safe. In reality, she hadn’t felt safe for a long time.

  She checked the clip and chamber and sat down on her berth. She turned the gun over in her hands, debating. Finally, she slipped it into the holster and placed it under her pillow. Still shaking, she crawled, fully clothed, into her sleeping bag and zipped it all the way up. The rain drummed steadily on the deck overhead. After a while its rhythm began to calm her. She thought back on the scene after dinner and, as she drifted toward a restless sleep, wondered how they were going to survive peacefully here until this gale blew out.

  4

  IN THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT Brie jolted awake, shaken by a scream deep within her. The echo of it clung to her as she sat up. Sweat sheened her body, and the cold hand of death wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing. Her fingers went unconsciously to her side, to the spot where the bullet had entered. She drew in a deep breath of the cold salt air, trying to slow her racing heart. As she listened to the rain pummeling the deck, she heard footsteps overhead.

  “Pete! What’s going on?” DuLac shouted.

  Alyssa’s frightened voice shot through the darkness. “Up here.”

  Brie jumped off her berth, realizing the scream was no invention of her unwelcome dreams. She clipped her gun onto her jeans and grabbed her raincoat off its peg as she headed out the door. She nearly collided with Rob as he rushed into the narrow passageway from the cabin opposite hers.