Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series)

by Jenifer LeClair

  “How much time do you need?” he asked.

  “Ten minutes should do it.”

  “No problem. As a matter of fact, I have a few things I need to go over with them before we leave the ship. The crew’s sleeping area is accessed from behind the companionway ladder in the galley. You saw Scott go in there last night for his guitar.”

  “Thanks. I’ll see you on deck in a few minutes, then.”

  Within fifteen minutes the passengers and crew were climbing down to the yawl boat wearing their rain gear. John released the line holding the boat to the stern of the Maine Wind. As Scott steered toward the docks of Lobsterman’s Cove, Brie wondered about the edginess she’d seen in George and the watchfulness that Will had displayed. Could their reactions be written off as fear of a killer in their midst, or was something much more sinister behind the change?

  8

  THE YELLOW-CLAD ENTOURAGE wound up the hill toward the inn like some mustard-worshipping cult on the way to its temple. As they trudged along the wet road, Brie, who was bringing up the rear of the parade with John, mentally reviewed the list of suspects, motives and questions that were accumulating in her mind. The most obvious motive belonged to Rob. If he caught Alyssa with Pete, he may have murdered him in a jealous rage. From Alyssa’s reaction to her question at breakfast, Brie guessed she had seen Pete at some point before he died.

  Will had the other obvious motive. He had killed Pete because Pete got the job he wanted. Hard to believe, Brie thought, but she’d seen stranger things. That marline spike she’d found in Will’s bunk troubled her, though. Had he put it there? Why would he keep it if he had murdered Pete? Maybe he had the kind of devious mind that thought in layers. You’re guilty, so do the thing a guilty person would never do, and it makes you look innocent. Kind of a reverse psychology strategy. And in the same vein—the Will’s-a-devious-thinker vein—if you’re going to commit a murder, why not bring your dear old dad along to remove some more suspicion from yourself?

  As they climbed up the hill, mud stuck to their shoes, making obscene little noises. So much for the obvious motives, Brie thought. Now, moving on to the weak motive department. That would be John’s department—the captain-kills-second-mate-for-disobedience department. Suppose Pete, despite the captain’s warning, had met Alyssa during his watch—in fact went beyond merely meeting her. The captain wouldn’t need to kill him when he could simply fire him. Either way, he’d be out a second mate. Furthermore, she’d found nothing when she searched John’s cabin except the broken radio transmitter, and others had had the opportunity to tamper with that. If Brie was any judge of character—and she was—John didn’t have a killer’s bone in his body. And anyway, despite Pete’s shortcomings, John liked him. That was obvious from her interview with him this morning. So, pending some hidden motive that might rear its head, Brie felt safe eliminating the captain from her list of suspects. She heaved a sigh of relief as they trudged along.

  “You okay, Brie?” John had been walking beside her in silence.

  “Yup. Just processing,” she said. “It’s a big part of the job. Never become a detective if you don’t like to think. It’s nine parts analysis and one part action.”

  She returned to her thoughts as they climbed toward the inn. Howard was too old to have committed the murder. His age and short stature ruled him out, along with the heart medication she’d found in his duffel. Sixty-eight-year-old men with heart conditions don’t overpower strong twenty-eight-year-old men.

  Alyssa was unwise in her choices, but she didn’t seem malicious. It was obvious to Brie, from Alyssa’s apparent state of emotional collapse, that she somehow felt responsible for Pete’s death. But she did not think for a minute that Alyssa was actually the killer. She remembered Alyssa boarding the ship on Friday evening, carrying her duffel with two hands and not having an easy time with it. Brie had lifted that duffel this morning and could have easily carried it in one hand. Alyssa didn’t have the strength to kill Pete, unless, of course, she’d had an accomplice. Brie hoped questioning her would reveal why she was acting guilty.

  No, she thought, the front-runners are definitely Rob, Will, Tim, and George. There was something hidden in Tim’s life. Something he brooded about but didn’t discuss. Whether it related in any way to Pete or the murder, she would have to find out. And George’s behavior was also odd. Either he knew something about the murder or he had some motive for killing Pete.

  As she mulled over the suspects, the inn came into view above the last curve in the road. Anyone lulled into a Zen-like state by the climb in the rain was slapped back to consciousness as they crossed the wide lawn against a stinging northeast wind. All nine of them broke into a jog, heading for the shelter of the porch.

  John unlocked the heavy front door and they stepped inside the inn. The smell of lilacs from the pitcher on the hall table engulfed them. They removed their raincoats and hung them on a large brass coat rack that stood next to a parson’s bench in the front corner of the hall.

  “I’m going to set up shop in the library, Captain,” Brie said. “When I’m ready, I’ll come and get you, one by one, for questioning.” Brie padded across the polished wood floor in her socks and disappeared through the second door back on the right.

  “I’ll give everyone a tour of the downstairs, and then you can settle in wherever you’re comfortable.” John led the group through the door on the left into the living room. Glenn had left a fire burning in the fireplace, and John added a couple of logs to the glowing embers. He ushered everyone through the dining room and into the kitchen. Betty had left an urn of hot coffee next to a tray of mugs. Alongside the tray sat a large pan of blueberry cobbler with a note that everyone should enjoy it throughout the day.

  John smiled. Betty was the perfect innkeeper. She mothered everybody, and because of that the inn had thrived, supported by a loyal clientele who wouldn’t miss their annual visit to Snug Harbor Bed and Breakfast for anything. But he knew there was another side to Betty. She was a survivor. Her life had called for a kind of strength most people would never have to find—the strength that allows a mother to go on after the death of her only child.

  A few of the passengers helped themselves to coffee, and John led them from the kitchen back out into the hall, where he pointed out a bathroom tucked under the staircase. He indicated the library door, which Brie had closed, and then led everyone up the hall and into the game room directly across from the living room. A massive billiard table with ornately carved legs sat at the far end, and comfortable furniture in muted greens, golds and rusts filled the rest of the room. Two sofas, chairs and tables were grouped around a large entertainment center. In front of the windows, two wooden game tables, each with a set of upholstered chairs, invited guests to play a game of cards or Scrabble and take in the ocean panorama that stretched out before them.

  In the library Brie prepared for a long day of questioning the passengers and crew. At least this was a great room to be stuck in. Being surrounded by books was one of the most comforting things she could imagine. Since childhood, she’d always loved curling up in a big chair with a good book. She looked around the room. Except for a large French window at one end, the fireplace and the door, every inch of wall space was covered with handsome walnut bookcases. A large mahogany desk sat in front of the window, facing into the room, and soft leather furniture and polished wood tables invited guests to settle in. An oriental rug of bold reds and blues warmed the already inviting room.

  Brie stepped over to the fireplace. Glenn had set a fire there, and she stoked it back to life. Checking her watch, she walked over to the desk. It was 10:40—time to get started.

  She unbuckled a large fanny pack from around her waist, zipped it open and took out an assortment of items she had brought with her. The small tape recorder, a note pad with the names and addresses of the passengers and crew, the sheet containing the birth dates, a pocket phone directory, and finally, a length of quarter-inch braided rope, grayed from lots of ha
ndling. She also took out the sock containing the marline spike that she had found in Will’s bunk, opened the top drawer of the desk and put it inside. Then she sat down in the leather swivel chair behind the desk, flipped open her phone directory, and dialed up Garrett Parker at the Minneapolis Police Department.

  A voice came across the crackly connection. “Parker here.”

  “Gare! Hi, it’s Brie.”

  “Brie! My God, what a surprise! I thought you’d gone completely underground. Where are you? There’s a lot of static on this line.”

  “Well, I’m on an island off the coast of Maine.”

  “Jeezus, when you run away you’re serious about it, aren’t you?”

  “You know me—never do anything halfway.”

  “So, why do I feel like you’re not calling because you miss my voice?”

  “I need your help, Gare.”

  “I can hop a plane this afternoon, kiddo.”

  “Thanks, but it’s not that kind of help. There’s been a murder.”

  Silence spun down the wire.

  “Well, well, Brie. You can run but you can’t hide.”

  “Very funny, Gare. Listen, I’d like to give you a list of names and birth dates to run through NCIC.”

  “No problem. Anything else?”

  “Could you do a little digging—check the police departments in their towns of residence and see if you come up with anything?”

  “It’ll cost you! Should we say dinner and drinks?”

  Brie chuckled. “Well, okay. It’s a deal.”

  “So, when are you coming home, Brie? There just isn’t anyone else around here that can make a decent cup of coffee. We need you.”

  “That sexist humor won’t help your cause, Gare. Anyway, I’m not ready to come home yet.”

  “It’s been six weeks, Brie.”

  “I took a leave, remember? Anyway, do you know how much vacation you pile up when you haven’t taken any time off in eight years? I could stay gone for six months and still be drawing pay.”

  “Well, I wish you’d think about it. There are people around here who really miss you.”

  “Thanks, Gare, that’s nice.” Brie was surprised by this conversation. Garrett was a colleague in the department, but she’d never thought of him as anything more than that. Had she missed something? Because her antenna was picking up more than professional interest here.

  “So, give me the names and I’ll get started, Brie. And I need a number where I can reach you.”

  Brie read off the list of names, addresses, and birth dates. She gave Garrett the phone number to the inn, thanked him for his help, and hung up. She opened the top drawer of the desk, found some blank paper and started jotting down questions that she intended to ask Scott and George. Then she got up and headed out into the hall to locate Scott. She found him in the TV room playing a game of billiards with Tim.

  “Hate to break up your game, Scott, but I’d like to start with you,” she said. Scott set down his cue and followed her into the library. “Why don’t you pull a chair over to the other side of the desk.”

  Scott picked up a high-backed chair and placed it in front of the desk. “Boy, you could get lost in here,” he remarked. “This would be a dangerous room to have in my house. I’d never get anything done.”

  Brie checked and started the recorder. Scott stared at it briefly and then sat back in the chair.

  Brie began. “What do you do in the off season, Scott, when you’re not crewing on the Maine Wind?

  “I work as an independent tutor during the school year and also give music lessons. Five years ago Captain DuLac encouraged me to go back to school. I took a double major in math and music at the University of Maine. I just finished a year ago. It’s fulfilling work, teaching kids—I like it a lot. My kids fall into two distinct groups. The math kids are usually struggling, and the music kids are striving, so I deal with a whole range of attitudes and abilities. It keeps me humble, I’ll tell you that much.”

  “Did you know Pete before he came to work on the Maine Wind?”

  “No. We met in May after the captain hired him. I’d seen him around Camden and Rockport—he crewed on another windjammer last year—but I’d never met him.”

  “When was the last time you saw Pete alive?”

  “When he came on deck last night to relieve me after the first watch.”

  Brie jotted down a few notes before continuing. “After he took over the watch at one o’clock, did you hear anything unusual?”

  “I was dead tired from the day we put in out there. I was asleep before my head hit the pillow. A while later, though, I was awakened by voices. Pete and George were having what sounded like a heated discussion.”

  “Could you hear what they were saying?”

  “No. But I knew it was them—they were out in the galley. They weren’t exactly yelling, but their voices had an edge to them.”

  “Do you know what time that was?”

  “I checked my watch. It was 1:45.”

  “Were you awake when George came back to bed?”

  “I was just starting to drift back off.”

  “Did you ask him what the problem was?”

  “I didn’t think it was any of my business. You know how it is—when you live on a ship nobody has a lot of space. You don’t ask questions that could create tension. Any problems with another crew member have to go to the captain.”

  Brie rocked back in the leather chair. Scott was totally matter-of-fact in his responses. No hesitation here, and it would seem, nothing to hide.

  “You sleep in the same area as George. Have you ever known him to get up at night?”

  “Sometimes he’ll forget to do something out in the galley that’s essential to breakfast. I’ve occasionally heard him get up in the night.”

  “How did he and Pete seem to get along?”

  “Okay, I guess. Although I’ve overheard Pete say a couple of things to George that seemed more like bullying than teasing. George doesn’t have that much contact with Pete, though. He’s below deck a lot, and Pete and I are topside helping the captain. Personally, I thought Pete was a little immature for his age, but I found him easy enough to get along with, and he was a good sailor.”

  Brie had actually thought the same thing, finding Scott to be the more mature even though he was the younger of the two mates.

  “Could George have gotten up again last night without your knowledge?”

  “Normally I’d say no, because our berths are so close together down there. But I suppose it’s possible if I was really sound asleep.”

  “Looking back, is there anything else that seems unusual or in any way significant which could relate to the murder?”

  Scott hesitated.

  “What?”

  “It’s more something I sensed,” he said uncomfortably. “I can’t say why, but it felt like there was an uneasiness between Pete and Tim the first day or two of this cruise. It could be they’re just very different from one another. Pete’s outgoing, and Tim’s quite withdrawn.”

  Brie had noticed Scott’s tendency to refer to Pete as if he were still alive. Not unusual in these situations, she thought. It reflected some level of denial in the mind following a sudden traumatic occurrence.

  “Well, that’s all for now, Scott.”

  “But don’t leave town, right?”

  Brie laughed. “Actually, I’d like to see you pull that off. Could you send George in next? And don’t reveal our conversation, okay?”

  “Okay.” Scott got up and left the library.

  George drifted into the room on a current of uncertainty. This is not the jovial man of a couple days ago, Brie thought.

  “Come sit down, George. Make yourself comfortable.”

  George crossed to the desk, sat down on the edge of the chair, and looked at her with misgiving.

  “This is hard for all of us, George. I just have a few questions for you.”

  “I’m ready,” he replied, with all the ent
husiasm of the patient about to receive a shot.

  “When did you last see Pete alive?”

  “Actually, I ran into him in the galley last night during his watch. I know I indicated otherwise at breakfast—probably because I was nervous about seeing him so close to the time of his death.”

  “Did the two of you talk?”

  “Briefly, but it was more of an argument.” Brie noticed that the tic in the corner of George’s left eye had reactivated.

  “Tell me what happened.”

  “I woke up when Scott came in from his watch. I was having a hard time going back to sleep. I remembered I was low on wood for the stove for morning, so I thought I’d go up on deck and bring some forward from the lazarette. I went out to the galley and was restacking the wood next to the stove when Pete came down and asked what I was doing.” George paused a moment, conjuring the scene. “I told him I couldn’t sleep and I was going to get some wood from the lazarette for morning. He said to forget it because the noise would disturb the captain. That made me angry—after all, I’ve been on the Maine Wind for five years. I said he couldn’t tell me what to do, and that I certainly knew how to get wood out of the hold without waking up the whole ship.” George sat back in the chair, seeming to relax a bit now that he was telling his story. “Pete was standing in front of the ladder blocking the way up, so I told him to move. I couldn’t believe he was acting like that. It almost felt like there was some other reason he didn’t want me up there.”

  This made Brie think about Alyssa’s expression at breakfast when she’d asked if anyone had seen Pete alive during his watch. Maybe Alyssa and Pete had a rendezvous planned, and George was in the way. Or maybe Alyssa was already up on deck and Pete didn’t want George to see her.

  “What did you do next, George?”

  George leaned forward, gathering confidence around his words. “There was nothing I could do without getting into a shoving match with him. And that would have awakened people. It was one of those times where someone had to back down—I decided it would be me.”