“How are you, dear?” she said, with all the warmth of a mother to her own son.
“I’m fine, just fine. I apologize for the hour.”
“Oh, nonsense! Glenn and I are always up at the crack of dawn. Come in, come in. It’s nasty out here.” She ushered them through the front door into a wide hallway.
A pumpkin-pine floor glowing with orange and brown tones stretched toward a formal staircase that ascended to the second floor. A jade-green oriental rug filled the center of the hall. On it sat a heavily-carved mahogany table with a pitcher of lilacs on top.
“Glenn!” Betty called. “It’s John. John is here.”
“Well, for heaven sakes,” Glenn said as he came out of the library at the back of the central hallway. He was wearing his slippers and reading glasses, but that was as far as the old man image went. He came across the hall with the stride of a man in his forties and gave John a backslapping hug. “How are you, son?”
“Just fine, Glenn. You’re looking as spry as ever.”
“That’s thanks to Betty. She doesn’t let me get too lazy. And who are these fine folks?”
“These are two of my shipmates, Brie Beaumont and Tim Pelletier,” John said. “And this is Scott Hogan, my first mate.”
“Come and have some coffee. And tell us what brings you up here so early,” Betty said. They removed their shoes, and Betty herded them back toward the kitchen.
“Actually, Brie and I need to speak to you and Glenn privately,” John said. “Maybe Scott and Tim could wait in the kitchen.”
“That’s fine. Let me get you all some coffee. Then we’ll go into the living room.”
They moved through the second door on the left into a formal dining room. “Wow, this is lovely.” Brie was surprised by the amount of light pouring into the room on such a dreary day. On the opposite wall a long bank of leaded-glass windows looked out onto an ornately fenced perennial garden. “This must be incredible on a sunny day,” she said.
They walked through the dining room and into the inn’s large kitchen. Brie looked around. The room was a good fifteen feet wide and ran all the way across the back of the inn. A sturdy work table with a butcher-block top sat in the center of the kitchen, and at the far end were three square tables covered with gingham cloths, each with a set of high-back chairs around it. Brie could imagine the guests gathering here for coffee and conversation. As they hung their raincoats on the chairs, she saw Glenn notice her gun and send John a concerned look.
Betty moved over to the cupboard next to the stove and took out six stoneware mugs. She filled them with steaming coffee and handed two of them to Scott and Tim. “Now, you two gentlemen make yourselves at home,” she said. From the back of the counter she brought out a plate of cranberry muffins, removed the plastic wrap and set them on the work table. “Help yourselves. You must be hungry.”
“Thanks, Betty. That’s very kind,” John said. “We could all use a few calories about now.” He and Brie selected muffins and placed them on the plates Betty had set out. Then they took their mugs of coffee and walked into the living room with Glenn and Betty. They sat in four wing chairs that flanked a brown brick fireplace.
John wasted no time broaching the topic. “I’m sorry to tell you this, but it’s a grim situation that brings us here. Last night my second mate, Pete McAllister, was murdered on board the Maine Wind.”
“Lord save us!” Betty’s hands flew up to cover her mouth. Glenn jumped up and stepped over behind her chair. He placed his hands comfortingly on her shoulders. Betty seemed suddenly older and frailer.
Silence fell—the aftershock of what had been revealed. Finally Glenn spoke. “What can we do to help you, John?”
“First of all, our radio was sabotaged, and we need to notify the Coast Guard.”
“I’ll radio them immediately,” Glenn said. “What else can we do?”
“It so happens that Brie is a detective, on leave from the Minneapolis Police Department.”
“That’s amazing too,” Glenn said. “What are the chances of that?” He glanced at her gun—this time with seeming relief.
John continued. “Our problem is, with the storm blowing, we could be stuck here for several days. And considering what’s happened, I think it would be good to get the passengers off the ship for a while. I was hoping we might bring them here for the day. Brie needs to begin questioning them, and the inn would offer more privacy for doing that.”
“You’re certainly welcome to use the inn, John,” Betty said.
Glenn hesitated as he looked down at Betty. “Are you concerned for the safety of any of the other passengers?” he asked.
“It’s the most important consideration in a situation like this,” said Brie. “We must take every precaution. As I’ve explained to John, most murderers are after one victim, but the fact is, we just don’t know. Frankly, I’d feel better if you and Betty weren’t here if we bring the others to the inn. But would you be comfortable having us here when you’re gone?”
“We trust John,” Glenn said. He turned to face DuLac. “You know your way around this place as well as anyone. I know you won’t let anything bad happen here. You and Ben have certainly helped us out enough over the years. This would give us a chance to return a little of your kindness. I’ll leave it to Betty to arrange the details with you. I’d like to get that call in to the Coast Guard.”
John gave Glenn the sheet containing Pete’s information and asked him to have the Coast Guard notify the authorities in Brunswick.
“Do you have any friends on the island you might visit for the day?” Brie asked Betty.
“We could probably visit our friends, Frank and Helen Thompson, who live on the other side of the island. They’ve wanted us to stop over and help them plan some new garden space. Glenn is quite a gardener, you know.” As she spoke, Betty made a motion with her hand, indicating the perennial garden on the west side of the inn. “I’ll give them a call right now, if you’ll excuse me.”
“John and I will wait here,” Brie said.
Betty headed for the door to the hallway, but before leaving the room, she paused and turned back to them. “You know, there’s something familiar about that name—Pete’s name. I just can’t seem to remember why.” Shaking her head in a distracted way, she turned and left the room.
John sat back down, and he and Brie took the opportunity to eat their muffins and down their mugs of coffee.
Glenn came back into the room first. “I reached the Coast Guard and reported the situation. They said they’re swamped with distress calls from the gale, and if no one’s in immediate danger, they’ll get to you after the storm has lessened. Sounds like it could be at least another twenty-four hours.”
“I expected as much,” John said.
“Oh, and they’ll notify the police over in Brunswick to get ahold of Pete’s parents.”
“Thanks, Glenn.”
“Betty went to call your friends, the Thompsons. She thought you two might spend the day with them,” Brie said.
“That’s perfect,” Glenn nodded. “We’ve been planning to get over to their place for two months now. So, in a way you’ve done us a favor. Be watchful of things, though, John. Betty and I have put our hearts into Snug Harbor. We’d hate to have anything compromise our feelings for this place.”
“I’ll make sure nothing happens, Glenn. Before I forget, is it all right if the passengers use your extra shower facilities downstairs? Before all this happened, I promised if we came up here they could all get a nice hot shower.”
“By all means,” Glenn said, “and, what’s more, it’s on the house.” He turned to Brie to explain. “Part of what we advertise is that boaters are always welcome to stop at the inn for a hot shower and a hot lunch. We installed some nice facilities downstairs. There are five shower stalls with a small dressing room off each. We supply towels and hair dryers for a fee of five dollars per shower. It’s surprising how many people we get—I guess the shower facilities on most bo
ats aren’t all that great. Quite a few folks who come up for a shower end up staying for either lunch or tea. So, it’s a nice little sideline business. And a good number of them have returned at some point to stay at the inn.”
Betty came back in. “We’re all set with the Thompsons,” she said. “They invited us to stay for dinner, too. John, would you like me to prepare a lunch for your passengers before we leave?” she asked.
“No need for that, Betty. Our cook, George Dupopolis, will take care of preparing lunch if you don’t mind him using the kitchen.”
“Heavens no,” Betty said, waving a hand. “Tell him to help himself to whatever he needs. There are plenty of supplies in the larder.”
“We’ll have dinner back on the ship later in the evening,” John said, standing up. “We should start back. It’s eight o’clock, and I was hoping to get back to the ship by 8:15.” He and Brie picked up their plates and mugs. As the four of them walked back to the kitchen, Glenn gave John a key to the inn, along with a phone number where he and Betty could be reached.
“Thanks again, you two. I’ll lock up when we leave this evening, and Brie and I will stop back up here before the Maine Wind leaves its anchorage.”
“Good luck, and stay safe,” Glenn said.
They rounded up Scott and Tim, and after donning their raincoats, the four of them headed for the front door. They waved goodbye to Betty and Glenn as they descended the porch stairs.
A cold northeast wind blowing over the top of the island assaulted them as they emerged from the shelter of the inn and crossed the front lawn. Storm clouds roiled overhead. It felt good to Brie to drop down along the road, out of the biting wind, toward the cove. She wondered why Pete’s name might have seemed familiar to Betty. Could he have stayed at the inn? As she surveyed the Maine Wind lying at anchor, its masts like skeleton fingers pointed accusingly at the ominous sky, she wondered what other dark surprises this day had in store.
6
A S THE YAWL BOAT CROSSED the harbor, Brie watched the Maine Wind for signs of life, but found none. The passengers were either still sleeping or clinging to their cabins to stay out of the raw weather until George rang the bell calling them down to the galley. They approached the stern of the ship, with Scott cutting the engine a few yards away. Brie noticed Scott had been unusually silent this morning, engaging in none of the easy banter she’d come to identify with him. He helped DuLac secure the yawl boat to the stern of the ship, and the four of them climbed the ladder with Brie leading the way.
“Thanks for your help, Tim,” DuLac said.
“Glad to,” Tim replied. “If there’s nothing else you need right now, I’d like to go below and wash up before breakfast.”
“Go ahead,” DuLac said. “Scott, let’s tighten up those lashings around the mainsail.”
Brie caught his arm as he started to hop up on top of the cabin. “Captain, I need to ask you some questions before we take the passengers ashore this morning. You have important background information on the crew, and possibly a few facts about some of the others that may be of help. I’d like to get that information from you now, because once we get to the inn, I’ll need you to keep an eye on everyone while I’m doing the questioning.”
“That’s fine, Brie. Just tell me when and where.”
“We need to talk someplace private.”
“How about my cabin, before breakfast? We still have a half hour.”
“What about Rob and Alyssa?” Brie asked. “Their cabin is just across the passageway.”
“I’ll go down right now and ask if they could go forward to the galley early.
“Great. I’ll help Scott finish up on deck and meet you down there in a few minutes.”
Having secured the sail, Scott hopped down off the cabin top. “Brie, could you help me bring the kerosene lanterns down to the storeroom?” he asked.
“Sure, I’ll get the ones up near the bow and bring them below.”
Moving forward, Brie retrieved a lamp hanging from the ratlines, a ladder-like system of tarred rungs and rope rigging, used for going aloft, that ran at an angle from the ship’s gunwales, three quarters of the way up the masts. Over the last three days, she had watched the crew climb the ratlines to work on the topsails and rigging far above the deck. They reminded her of trapeze artists or tightrope walkers at the circus, climbing to their tiny perches above the audience. The sailor in her longed to climb up there. She’d have to get John’s permission to do it before they got back to the mainland.
She found a second lamp on the galley cabin top and started down to the storeroom. At the bottom of the ladder she nearly collided with Tim, who had just come out of the head and was pulling on a white tee-shirt. She took in the unusual tattoo on his chest. It depicted either a rising or a setting sun, and there was a woman’s name under it. Brie wondered if it implied that the sun both rose and set in this woman. She thought back to their conversation at dinner last night; he hadn’t mentioned a girlfriend. She made a mental note to ask him about it when she questioned him.
Proceeding into the storeroom, she placed the lanterns in their cabinet and passed Scott on her way out the door. “See you at breakfast,” she said. She headed to the stern of the ship for her meeting with the captain. At the bottom of the companionway ladder she rapped on the door to her left.
“All clear down here?” she asked when John opened his door.
“Yup,” he replied. “Rob and Alyssa jumped at the chance for an early cup of coffee in the galley. They both looked like hell. Alyssa had obviously been crying a lot, and Rob looked like he could use a strong drink—and I’m not talking coffee.”
“I need to grab my recorder and notepad in my cabin, and we’ll get started,” Brie said.
She was back a few moments later. Stepping into DuLac’s cabin, she closed the door after her and looked around. On the back wall was a chart table and, under the table, a wood rack with small, square pigeonholes that held rolled-up charts of all the coastal waters John sailed. A bookcase next to the table was filled with books on sailing and the sea. Directly across from the door was a double berth, half of which tucked under the deck overhead, and just to the left of the door was the radio transmitter—now inoperable. In front of the chart table was a wooden chair, the seat of which both swiveled and rocked. Brie noticed it was bolted to the floor-boards so it wouldn’t fly around when the ship was under sail. John rocked back in the chair, hands locked behind his head, one foot propped on his knee. He wore a red flannel shirt that set off his dark hair and placed a butterfly in Brie’s chest.
“Would you like the chair, Brie? I can sit on the berth,” he said, starting to get up.
“That’s okay. I’ll just sit up here.”
Climbing onto the berth, Brie folded her legs under her Indian style. Her detective training had taught her to position herself higher than the person being questioned, thus creating the psychological sense of having the upper hand. She wasn’t sure, though, if having the upper hand by sitting on the bed of a man you were attracted to, who was, coincidentally, a suspect, would qualify as correct procedure. But what the heck—it was the best she could do.
Brie switched on the recorder and began to speak. “Wednesday, May 14th. Interview with John DuLac, captain of the schooner Maine Wind.” She rewound a little of the tape to make sure it was recording and then addressed John.
“I’ll start with some questions about Pete, and then move on to some background on Scott and George,” she said.
“Okay, shoot.”
“How long have you known Pete McAllister?”
“Only since March, when I hired him to crew this summer.”
“Do you know who employed him previously?”
“He was second mate on the Yankee Pride. Jim Gallaway is the skipper. I checked with him before I hired Pete.”
“And what did you find out about his time on that ship?” Brie asked.
“Jim said he was a hard worker and excellent on the high rigging, wh
ich was one of the main reasons I hired him. The first and second mates frequently have to go up the masts to do a repair or unfoul a line or sail while we’re underway. You want the most sure-footed mate you can get at the top of a swaying 80-foot mast. Pete was made for that work. He was a rock climber—had even taught some classes in it, I hear. He had absolutely no fear up there.”
“You admired him,” Brie said.
“There are aspects of sailing that require raw courage. Pete had it, and I admired that part of him.”
Brie wondered, recalling Pete’s face in the midst of the gale yesterday. She knew that the real test of courage often comes when you’re face to face with something totally beyond your control—when you’re hurled blind into the darkness.
“Don’t get me wrong,” John said, as if reading her doubts. “Pete had his flaws like all of us.”
“And what were those?” Brie asked.
“Pete liked the ladies, and sometimes he didn’t discriminate between the married and unmarried ones. It got him in trouble on the Yankee Pride. Jim Gallaway warned me about it. You saw the result of his outrageous flirting last night at dinner. I thought Rob Lindstrom might kill him on the spot. I warned Pete before I turned in—any more of that and he wouldn’t finish the season with me.”
“Did Jim Gallaway fire him?”
“No. Jim’s long-time second mate had been injured a few weeks before the season began last year. When he hired Pete, Jim made it clear that it was only for one season.”
“Did you hear anything unusual in the night? Anything wake you?” Brie asked.
“If it had, I’d have been up on deck moments later. It’s my job to check out anything I hear. A ship lying at anchor is always vulnerable. That’s why we stand watch. Everyone on the crew is trained to respond to any unusual noise or vibration. Unfortunately, I heard nothing. Yesterday was an exhausting day, and I was out like a light the minute I hit my bunk.”
John studied Brie as she jotted down notes. He hoped this interview would take a while. He liked her sitting on his bed and wished he could be over there with her. He had become increasingly attracted to her over the last few days and found her straightforward, no-nonsense demeanor refreshing. She displayed a kind of bare-bones honesty that was a rare find in anyone, man or woman. To top it off, he found her simply beautiful, with the emphasis on simple. Everything about her suggested clean straight lines, from her perfect posture to her long blonde hair. She had the kind of translucent beauty that needed no make-up or fancy clothing to enhance it. He guessed she had been an athlete at one time; there was a refined strength about her movements that implied some form of disciplined physical training. But she was also somewhat of a study in contrasts, he thought. Strength mixed with vulnerability, self-assurance coupled with shyness. She was complex, and in that lay a challenge. John liked challenges.
Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) Page 7