Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series)

by Jenifer LeClair

  Brie decided to play her big card first. Opening the top drawer of the desk, she took out the sock containing Pete’s marline spike and laid it on the desk. “Can you explain this? I found it in your bunk this morning.”

  “What the hell gives you the right to go into my cabin!” He tried for indignation but totally lacked the integrity needed to carry it off.

  “There’s been a murder—remember? And I’m the closest thing we’ve got to the law. What’s more, I had the captain’s permission to search the ship. Now answer the question.”

  “I took it to make him look bad.”

  “Why?”

  “Because he was arrogant. I thought it might bring him down a notch.”

  The pot and the kettle, Brie thought.

  “Did you kill him for the same reason?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. He wasn’t worth ruining my life over.”

  “And did you have other plans for making him ‘look bad’?”

  “I guess you’ll never know,” he said, with an unpleasant smirk.

  “Why did you keep the marline spike after Pete was murdered?”

  “Souvenir. Can I have it back?”

  Brie stared in disbelief. “No. It’s not yours—remember?”

  Will got out of his chair and headed toward the door.

  “Come back and sit down,” Brie ordered. She picked up her piece of rope, wrapped the two ends around her hands as they rested in her lap and snapped it tight—just in case she decided to strangle him. “You’ll leave when I’m done questioning you.”

  She expected him to keep right on walking. But Surprisingly, he stopped in his tracks, turned and slunk back to his chair.

  “Why did you bring your dad with you on this cruise instead of a friend?”

  Will’s expression softened momentarily. “I just thought it would be nice for us to do this together. He’s getting older, and… I don’t know. What difference does that make?” he asked sharply, returning to his abrasive self.

  Brie decided to move on. “Did you see or speak to Pete during his watch last night?”

  “I saw him, although he didn’t see me.”

  “Explain that, please.” Her patience was beginning to fray.

  Will took out his most obsequious smile. “I can be of some real help to you in this,” he said, leaning toward her. “I saw Pete and Alyssa going at it up on deck an hour before he was found dead. And you know what else?”

  “What?”

  “It wasn’t the first time they were up there.”

  “And how do you know that?”

  “Let’s just say I’d seen another show in the same series.”

  “You watched them?”

  “Sure, why not—free entertainment.”

  Brie regarded him with distaste. Insectavis maximus, she thought to herself.

  Will pressed on with his sordid facts. “Last night he banged her way up in the bow of the ship. I crept along the side of the galley compartment, where it sticks up above the deck, and hid in the shadows so they couldn’t see me. But I could see everything in the light from the lantern. The whole thing was so hot; they had to be so quiet—I bet that made it twice as hot.” His eyes took on an unpleasant gleam. “She took off her rain slicker and she was wearing this really skimpy black dress with nothing on under it, and it got all wet in the rain. Pete pulled the top of the dress down…”

  Will jabbered on, but Brie was focused on two words—black dress. She hadn’t seen any such garment among Alyssa’s things. She guessed the dress was a figment of Will’s libido-ridden imagination, but remembering the fibers under Pete’s fingernails, she jotted a note to herself. Pete could have gotten those fibers under his fingernails in the heat of passion. As to the whereabouts of the dress, Alyssa could have disposed of it for whatever reason. Or Will could have invented the whole thing, either because he had a penchant for little black dresses or because he knew the killer had worn black.

  Brie tuned back in just in time to catch the climax.

  “…and then he lifted her up against the hull, she wrapped her legs around him and he took her really fast.”

  Will slumped back in the chair, consumed by his squalid tale. For a moment Brie studied him through the microscope of her disgust. She wasn’t sure if he should win the prize for most odious behavior, or if it should go to Alyssa, or, posthumously, to Pete.

  “Turns you on, doesn’t it? Admit it,” he said, with a smirk. “You’re such an ice goddess—I know you’ve never done anything like that.”

  “You’re right, Will. I’m a sucker for meaning in my relationships. But I’ll make sure I let Rob know how much you appreciated the show. Sadly, he already knows about Alyssa, so he may as well know about you too.”

  Will went pale. “I was just kidding about what I said. I don’t really think you’re an ice goddess.”

  “No, Will, you’re right. And, because I am, it’s my duty to let Rob know the cold, hard facts. I’m done with you,” she said, getting up and walking to the door. She held it open and turned to him. “Please leave.”

  Will got up and ducked by her. Brie knew she’d never divulge what he had described, but she secretly relished the image of Rob picking him up and breaking him in half.

  She walked back to the desk, picked up her piece of rope and stepped over to the window. Rain pelted the ground outside, forming a system of miniature lakes. Now she really felt sorry for Howard, even though he might inadvertently have helped create Will’s behavior. She stared out at the gloom, and as she skillfully worked the line in her hands, an elaborate Turk’s head knot began to emerge. Over the past year, she’d noted in herself a diminishing capacity for tolerance. She just didn’t roll with the punches the way she used to. There were more questions she should have asked Will, but she simply couldn’t stand his presence any longer. She’d get back to him later, when her blood pressure had returned to normal.

  Tim was the last passenger she had to interview, and she expected that to be far less eventful than dealing with Will. Tossing the Turk’s head back on the desk, she opened the drawer and put away the marline spike. Stepping away from the desk, she stretched her arms over her head, clasped her hands together, and leaned slowly forward, bringing her hands to the floor. She hung there for a few seconds, folded in half, and drew in several deep breaths. Then she slowly rolled back up to a standing position. Feeling a little calmer, she headed out into the hall to locate Tim.

  Brie found everyone but Tim in the game room. Rob and Alyssa were playing cards, Howard was reading in the corner farthest from the TV, and John, Scott, George, and Will were watching a video with the original Saturday Night Live cast.

  “Where’s Tim?” Brie asked, looking around the room.

  “He went down for a shower,” Scott responded. “I was down there five minutes ago, and he still had the water running. Should I go get him?”

  “If you wouldn’t mind,” Brie said.

  Scott was back in a couple of minutes. “He’s not down there. I checked the rest of the inn. He’s not here.”

  “What! Where is he?” Brie said, her demeanor somewhere between agitated and alarmed.

  Howard got up from his corner and came over. “Remember what he said last night at dinner about the trails on the island? Maybe he went for a walk.”

  “Without telling anyone?” There was concern in Brie’s voice.

  “I’ll go find him, Brie,” John said.

  “No.” Brie reached out and took hold of his forearm. “I’ll go. I really need a change of scene right now. My best guess is he went up the trail behind the inn. Do you know where it leads?” she asked John.

  “Through a spruce forest and over to the other side of the island, where there are some high cliffs overlooking the ocean,” he replied. “I’d feel better if you let me go, though.”

  “I’ll be fine. Stay here with the others and keep the peace.”

  Brie went out into the hall and collected her raincoat and rubber loafers. She walked
back to the kitchen, put them on, and stepped out the back door. The cold air struck her a refreshing blow. She pulled her hood up, lowered her head to avoid the direct force of the wind on her face, and headed up the path toward the woods.

  She was glad to be outside. It always helped her to think, and she needed to process the information she’d gathered in the interviews. She climbed the sloping trail behind the inn, and within a couple hundred yards, she entered a dense spruce forest. The rain had let up temporarily, and she pushed the hood off her head so she’d have better peripheral vision in the woods. The smell of pine enveloped her and calmed her mind.

  She began mulling over the facts of the case as she hiked along. She knew that Rob had gone on deck very close to the time of the murder. In his interview he’d claimed to have found Pete dead. Was that the truth, or did Rob kill him? Had he actually glimpsed someone in the shadows, or had he made that up and staged both the sound Howard had heard and the trying of the door knobs to back up his story and divert suspicion from himself?

  Then there was Will—dear Will. He was creepy, manipulative and a voyeur, but was he a killer? Some of his behavior was definitely beyond the normal range. Brie reviewed the murder scene in her mind. The strangulation and stabbing definitely pointed to someone with intense anger. She thought of George. Gay or not, Pete’s accusations could have infuriated him far more than he’d let on. And finally Tim. What to think of Tim, with his unusual tattoo and his need to get away—to Alaska? Not a bad place to be heading if you’ve committed a murder in Maine.

  She scanned the forest around her and up ahead to see if she could catch any movement that would indicate she was on the right track. Tim either had a good head start or he was moving quickly. Brie pressed on, tired of thinking about the murder, wanting to think about John. Wanting to think about his arms around her in the library, and how his body had felt pressed against hers.

  A sudden rustling in the brush nearby snapped her to attention. Whirling around, she drew her gun. Holding it two-fisted, she turned in a 360-degree circle, scribing an arc in the air with the weapon. She squatted low to the ground, held her breath and listened.

  In spite of the cold her hands felt clammy, and her heart pounded in her ears. A familiar wave of anxiety—the same one that had washed over her so many times since her partner’s death—turned the contents of her stomach over like pebbles on a beach. What had the doctor told her to do when this happened? She tried to remember.

  Snap! Closer this time, but from a slightly different direction. Her training broke through the fog of fear and she reacted, plunging into the thicket beyond the trail and running toward a large tree ten yards away where she could take cover. Gaining the tree, she crouched down, barely breathing. Someone was out there. She could feel the presence. Watching. Waiting.

  12

  BRIE SQUATTED AT THE BASE of the spruce tree. Her nerves were like frayed rope, and each passing second gnawed at what was left of them. She knew she was vulnerable. She scanned the terrain for a better site. Suddenly, from where she had heard the last sound, a deer bounded out of the brush, nearly stopping her heart. She did another 360-degree scan with the pistol. No other presence seemed to have scared the deer. She slowly stood up, drew a deep breath in through her nose and slowly blew it out through her mouth. She looked up at the top of the tall spruce.

  “This is a forest, Brie,” she said to herself. “There are animals here, and there are sounds.” Gun in hand, she took large steps through the wet ground cover and made her way back to the trail, where she headed up toward the bluffs.

  The trail bent to the left and up a short incline. As the wind picked up, the pine swayed and sung around her. Rhythmic booms from the other side of the island grew louder as she approached the cliffs. The deer incident had heightened her awareness, and Brie tuned into the subtler forest sounds existing beneath the rush of wind through trees and the crash of waves against rock. Twice more she whirled around, holding her breath, convinced she’d heard movement close behind her. She took it as a sign that her nerves were in no way ready for her to return to the department.

  A few more minutes up the trail, Brie came in view of the tree line. She increased her pace and soon stepped out of the pine forest onto a granite shelf not far from the edge of the cliff. She scanned the woods to left and right for any sign of movement. The biting wind stung her hands and face. Still holding the gun, she placed her hands in her pockets to warm them up. Just beyond the tree line several gulls hung motionless in the air, riding the strong updrafts off the bluffs. Every now and then one of them would tip its wings, catching the air currents, and go soaring up into the sky.

  Brie walked forward to within a foot of nothingness and looked over the edge at the thundering surf a hundred feet below. Gigantic swells driven before the northeast wind exploded against the base of the granite cliffs, throwing spray fifty feet into the air. She stood there, unswayed by the danger boiling below her, and smiled, remembering how her brother would only approach the edge of a precipice on his belly. She lingered a few moments, poised between sea and sky, at one with the watery, gray realm surrounding her. Another person might have shrunk from the violent forces on display here, but nothing in Mother Nature scared Brie half as much as what she’d seen in human nature.

  She wasn’t sure if it was a sound or just a feeling that registered first on her radar, but as hairs rose up on the back of her neck, her grip tightened on the pistol in her pocket. She wished she hadn’t been drawn so close to the edge by the cannonading sea. The thought of whirling around and placing her back to the hundred-foot drop was paralyzing. Brie took the space of a breath to summon what calm she could and then spun around, drawing the gun. The sight snagged on the corner of her pocket, and the gun came out of her hand, hit the ground a few inches from the edge of the cliff, and slid over.

  Now unarmed, she faced Tim Pelletier, who stood no more than four feet from her. He appeared edgy and distracted. He studied her, a feral distrust in his eyes—eyes that were reddened either from crying or from overexposure to the strong wind.

  “What are you doing here?” His tone was demanding, as if she were a trespasser in his private kingdom.

  “I came looking for you. You left the inn without telling anyone.” As she spoke she edged in an arc to her right, attempting to put some distance between herself and the cliff ’s edge.

  Tim took a step forward, and Brie planted her feet, preparing for whatever might be coming. He’d seen her gun go over the edge, and she was certainly no match for him physically. His Coast Guard training would have given him many of the same self-defense skills she possessed.

  “I went for a hike. Is that a crime?” His tone was aggressive, a surprising counterpoint to the demeanor she’d seen up till now.

  “I shouldn’t have to tell you that, because of the murder, we need to keep everyone together. Also, you’re the last person I have to question, so you need to come back to the inn.” As she spoke she continued her abbreviated side-stepping away from the edge.

  “What I need is to stay up here a little longer. And anyway, there’s nothing I can tell you about last night. I went to bed at eleven o’clock and didn’t wake up until Alyssa screamed.”

  And there’s no way to corroborate that, Brie thought. “Had you ever met Pete before coming on this cruise?”

  “No, what would make you think that?” he said defensively.

  “So, you met Pete for the first time when we boarded the Maine Wind on Friday evening?”

  “That’s right.”

  “What did you think of him?”

  “At first I was pretty sure I wouldn’t like him, but as I got to know him a little over the past few days, I felt differently. I don’t know why, but I always feel like people are making fun of me. I didn’t get that sense from Pete. I thought he was kind.”

  Now safely away from the edge, Brie found it easier to reflect on what Tim was saying. It was interesting—people’s perceptions. She knew that Geor
ge certainly didn’t find Pete kind. Then she remembered Pete coming to Tim’s defense last night at dinner when Will had ridiculed his idea about hiking on the island. Maybe that was where Tim had gotten his impression. Brie hugged herself to ward off the cold as she mentally sized him up. Tim’s obvious insecurity about himself had led to something bordering on a persecution complex.

  Brie shifted gears. “I couldn’t help noticing the unusual tattoo on your chest when I bumped into you below decks this morning. You didn’t mention a girlfriend when we talked at dinner last night.”

  Tim turned to face the ocean. “That tattoo was just a piece of youthful foolishness. The relationship ended several years ago.” Regret leaked from every syllable he uttered.

  “I’m sorry to hear that, Tim.”

  “No big deal.”

  “Why don’t we head back to the inn now?” Brie nodded in the direction of the trail as she spoke. “We can finish talking there —it’ll be a lot warmer.”

  A guarded look returned to Tim’s eyes. “I need to be up here a little longer.”

  “And I need you to return to the group,” Brie said. But short of marching him back at gunpoint—now an impossibility—she could see that she wasn’t going to prevail.

  “I’ll head back in fifteen minutes. Okay?”

  “Fine. Fifteen minutes.” She wasn’t going to win this round, and she didn’t intend to stand any longer in the raw wind trying to face him down. She turned and strode toward the woods, disappearing into the darkness of the forest.

  John had just stepped out of the bathroom when he heard the phone. He headed for the library and caught it on the fourth ring. “Snug Harbor Bed and Breakfast,” he said.

  “This is Garrett Parker calling for Brie Beaumont.”

  “She’s stepped out for a few minutes. Can I take a message? This is John DuLac, captain of the Maine Wind.”

  “Stepped out where? I thought she was on an island in the middle of a gale.”

  “She went after one of the passengers who decided to take a walk.”