“I’ve always been an early riser,” Brie said. “I’d love to come.”
“Great,” said Anna. “Then I’ll pick you up about 6:30.”
“I’m looking forward to it.” Brie walked off the dock and back to where her shipmates were boarding the yawl boat.
They headed across the harbor toward the Maine Wind. The gale had finally blown itself out. Stars were beginning to show through the last remnants of the storm’s cloud deck, and overhead fast-moving ghosts sailed across the moon. Brie looked toward the Maine Wind. One more chapter had just been added to the schooner’s rich history. She thought about all the storms the fine old ship had weathered and felt a sudden affinity for her. Going back to the Maine Wind tonight felt like going home.
After all the passengers were unloaded, Scott and George got the equipment off the yawl boat, brought it down to the storeroom, and carried up four kerosene lanterns. John went below to his cabin with Glenn to get started on the radio repair. Rob, Alyssa, Will and Howard said they were turning in and headed below to their cabins. Brie went to change her muddy jeans, then headed for Tim’s cabin to look for a handwriting sample.
After helping George light and distribute the lanterns, Scott went below to see what the captain had planned for the watch. “I’ll take the first watch,” DuLac said. “You come on deck and relieve me at 0200, and George can take the watch from 0500 to 0700.”
“Sounds good. I’m turning in then, if it’s okay?” Scott said.
“Go ahead,” John nodded. “I’m heading up on deck in a couple minutes. Glenn’s the expert here—he doesn’t need my help making these repairs.”
“See you at 0200 then, Captain.” Scott climbed the companionway ladder and headed for his berth at the other end of the ship.
Brie snapped on the reading light in Tim’s cabin and began going through his belongings. She didn’t remember having seen a journal or notebook when she was in here the first time, but searched through everything anyway. They’d retrieved Tim’s wallet from his pocket after they brought him up, but it was of no help, the contents having been in the salt water long enough to dissolve any writing.
Her search of the cabin came up empty. She was about to leave when she thought about the picture of him and Madie. She opened the back of the frame and extracted the photo. Sure enough, there was handwriting on the back—an almost illegible scrawl that she finally deciphered. It read: Tim and Madie: Camping and climbing weekend in Acadia National Park. If this was Tim’s writing, Brie wasn’t surprised that he’d printed the suicide note. It had obviously been important to him to convey his motivation.
She pulled the note out of her pocket to compare the two writing samples. The note had been carefully printed and seemed to bear no relationship to the writing on the picture. She decided to ask both Will and Scott for samples of their handwriting since they had both been gone from the inn for awhile, and the exact time of Tim’s death was not known.
As she left Tim’s cabin, Will appeared carrying a basin of wash water. He headed up on deck to discard it, and when he came back down, she asked him to step into Tim’s cabin and give her a handwriting sample.
“What do you need that for? You said it was a suicide.” He tried to keep his anger at bay, but it had already infiltrated his voice.
“It’s just part of following procedure until we can obtain a sample of Tim’s handwriting and verify that it matches the suicide note. I’ll be asking Scott for one, too.”
“But what possible motive could I have for killing Tim?” Will pursued, as if he hadn’t heard a word she’d said.
“None that I can think of offhand, so I guess you needn’t worry.” She was tired and his tone irritated her.
“And if I were going to kill him, do you think I’d leave a note in my own handwriting? Do I look stupid?”
“I don’t know, Will. Do you?” she asked, deciding that he actually bore a slight resemblance to a pit bull. She wondered if they were stupid.
Grudgingly, Will provided a sample of both his printing and his handwriting. Brie could see, even without comparing them, that they were distinctly different from the note, but she was glad she’d checked it out.
George had gone down to the galley to stoke up Old Faithful and make coffee for the watch. Brie stuck her head down the companionway. “George, have you seen Scott?” she asked.
“He turned in a little while ago. Do you want me to get him?”
“No. I’ll catch up with him tomorrow.”
“You sure?”
“Yup. Mind if I join you for a while?”
“I’d love some company, Brie. C’mon down. It’ll be warmer in a few minutes once the stove gets going.” He set out coffee beans and a coffee mill with a crank on the top. “Would you like to grind the coffee?”
“Sure,” said Brie. “How much should I do?”
“Why don’t you grind up three quarters of a cup of beans—that’ll make twelve cups of coffee, which should get us through the night.” While Brie ground the beans, George finished feeding the stove and put on the water for the coffee.
“So how did you ever end up cooking on a windjammer?” she asked as she turned the crank on the coffee grinder.
“My family’s from New York City,” George began. “They run a Greek restaurant and deli down there. Have for three generations now.” His olive skin and dark eyes glowed in the yellow light from the lantern. He had pushed up the sleeves of his sweatshirt, and the black curly hair on his arms exactly matched the stuff on top of his head. “I first saw the big ships when I was a boy. We had come up to Maine on a vacation—all eight of us in an old station wagon. We used to fight over the back seat that faced out toward the road. I guess there was something exciting about seeing where you’d been, and from back there you could make faces at the driver behind you, and your dad never knew.”
Brie laughed, remembering the back seat of her family’s Oldsmobile—how she’d vied with her brothers for the seat by the window. Mom and Dad were never conscientious enough about the fair distribution of window-seat time. And being stuck between those two, with that big hump under her feet, had been a terrible fate. Her thoughts slid back to the ride up from the village in Glenn’s truck and the feel of John’s body next to hers.
“How are the beans comin’?”
“They’re comin’.”
George continued. “We rented a house near Rockport and took day trips up and down the coast. We rode ferries out to islands and had picnics in a different spot every day. And everywhere we went there were sailboats, shooshing along silently with their starched, white sails.” His arms gestured gracefully. “Sometimes we were close enough to hear laughter, or orders being shouted; the slap of halyards against the masts, or the creak of rigging when they’d come about. I fell in love with the whole idea. And while my brothers and sisters seemed content enough in the city helping with the family business, I had a different vision. As for cooking, well, I was born to that. In our family, food anchors every occasion. In high school I was good at two things: the shotput and cooking classes.
“So, seven years ago, when I was 23, I came to Maine to see if I could get a job on one of the windjammers. I’d never sailed a day in my life, and Captain DuLac was the only one who seemed interested in me, but he had a cook. He said he’d keep my name, though, and two years later I got a call from him asking me if I was still interested. He said he’d give me a try if I could come to Maine and sail with him and the crew for a couple weeks—see how I took to the ship and how I cooked. That was five years ago, and, well, here I still am. During the off season I go back to the city and help my older brother. He opened a small restaurant in midtown Manhattan two years ago, and I’m always welcome in the kitchen there.” He smiled. “I’ll admit I’m not getting rich, but I’m happy. And I wouldn’t trade my time on the Maine Wind for anything.”
The water was boiling. George took the coffee grounds from Brie and put them in the basket of his big drip pot that sat on the
stove. Then he poured the hot water into the basket, adding more as it dripped through. Once the coffee reached the twelve-cup level, he transferred it into the two carafes to keep it hot.
“So, what’s for breakfast tomorrow, George? I’m going out on a lobsterboat in the morning to have an ‘authentic Maine experience.’ Just wondering what I’ll be missing.”
“Actually, I’m making egg noodles.”
“Reeeally. Trying to tempt me, eh? I don’t know, George, I’m pretty set on going lobstering.”
“Well, in that case I’m making cinnamon French toast with bacon on the side. Is that enough to keep you aboard?”
Brie smiled at him, feeling the responsibilities of the last hours lifting a little. “You sure make it hard on a girl. You know it’s not often a Midwesterner has a chance to help haul lobster traps. So, much as I love French toast, I guess I’ll have to pass.”
“Maybe not. What time are you leaving?”
“Half-past six.”
“That early, eh? Guess I can’t whip anything up for you, then, since I have the watch from 0500 to 0700. Tell you what, though. I always stoke the stove by 0500, so I’ll make some coffee before I go on watch. Why don’t you come down to the galley before you leave and scramble yourself a couple of eggs? You’ll need your strength if you’re going to work stern tomorrow.”
“That’d be great, but I don’t want you getting up early on my account.”
“It’ll only take me ten minutes, Brie. I don’t mind.”
“Well, okay then. I’ll come down to the galley by six.”
He ran a hand through his thick hair. “I’d better turn in now, or I’m gonna regret it tomorrow.”
“See you in the morning, George.”
“Night, Brie.”
18
BRIE CLIMBED UP THE LADDER and started aft. There was a chill in the air, but the sky had totally cleared, and what a sight it was. Thousands of stars of varying magnitudes filled the night sky. She smiled, remembering her college astronomy. To the south, the Milky Way stretched out, creaming its way toward the center of the galaxy some 35,000 light years away. Brie just stood there in awe as she always did at this sight. A few moments later she heard voices, and John and Glenn emerged from the aft companionway. She walked toward them.
“Brie. I thought you’d turned in,” John said.
She thought she detected a note of quiet delight in his voice at her still being up. “I was talking to George down in the galley while he made coffee. How’d it go with the radio, Glenn?”
“Good as new. You should be all set to sail back to the mainland tomorrow. It certainly has been a pleasure getting to know you, Brie.”
“I feel the same way. And Glenn, thank you for letting us use the inn today. It made everyone’s day a lot easier. I’m just sorry about the circumstances.”
“Those were beyond your control, Brie. You’re always welcome at Snug Harbor.” Glenn put a hand on John’s shoulder. “You remember what I told you, son.”
“Yes, sir,” John said, glancing briefly over his shoulder at Brie. He climbed over the stern, took the box that Glenn handed him and made his way down the ladder to the yawl boat. Glenn went next. John helped him into the boat and then called back up to Brie, “I’ll be back in a little while. If you wouldn’t mind waiting up, I’d like to talk to you.”
“No problem,” Brie said.
John gave her a two-finger salute, started up the yawl boat and pulled away.
Brie leaned against the rail and looked across the water toward the horizon line where sea and stars met. There, hung in the southern sky, were Deneb, Altair and Vega, old friends she’d met years ago when she studied astronomy—when she’d discovered where she really stood in the grand scheme of things. Oddly enough, learning about the size of the universe had never made her feel insignificant. Quite the opposite, in fact. She felt at one with something grand and mysterious—a student of arcane knowledge, knowledge that could, at once, let her glimpse the boundaries of the universe or the borderless expanses of the mind. Standing as she was, on the deck of spaceship Earth, she thought about time and infinity and chance encounters between people. Were they chance? Or did the same force that sent the stars, planets, and galaxies reeling in motion about one another draw people into each other’s orbits as well, setting them on intersecting pathways? Was there a profound plan at work weaving together strands of tragedy, love, loss, and hope to form a bridge over unimaginable chasms?
The yawl boat was surprisingly close when Brie finally heard it, so lost was she in her reverie. Moments later, John climbed over the stern of the ship and walked toward her. “Hey,” she said.
“Hey, yourself,” he replied. The amber light from the lantern fell across her face as he approached, and for just a moment, he paused, feeling a strange yet familiar tug, as if something were both far away and very near.
“What is it?” Brie asked, seeing his expression.
“Nothing, just… just a funny feeling; something familiar but fleeting, and you don’t know why. Does that ever happen to you?”
She studied his eyes, remembering the moment they’d met and the silence that had fallen on her heart, like the stopping of time. “Sometimes,” she said, looking back toward the sea.
John leaned against the rail. He couldn’t believe it was just yesterday they’d stood in this same place talking about Lake Superior, not really knowing each other at all. Tonight, he felt like he’d known her forever. “You look like you’re a million miles away again.”
“I’ve been dancing along the Milky Way.”
“Sounds romantic. Can I join you?”
“It’s not for the faint of heart,” she said, looking at him.
“Neither is sailing a windjammer.” He reached out as he spoke, picking up a strand of her long silky hair and sliding it through his fingers. “So, tell me, what is Brie short for?”
“It’s short for Briana,” she said, a slight quaver in her voice.
“Briana Beaumont. That’s a rather lyrical name for a police detective.”
“Actually, it’s a good one,” she said. “Did you know that Briana is from the Celtic, meaning strength and honor?”
“It suits you well, then.” He fell silent for a moment.
“Something the matter, John?”
“I can’t help thinking about Pete. Or Tim, for that matter.”
An errant wave slapped against Maine Wind’s hull.
“I know,” she said. “It’ll take a while before that goes away. Sudden, violent death is shocking and disturbing, so the mind keeps revisiting it.”
“Tim certainly didn’t strike me as a killer.”
“Even the gentlest dog will bite if provoked enough. Without too much effort, we can all picture a situation in which we would kill another. What we call motive or motivation is often nothing more than justification, and in the human mind, that can be a very subjective thing.” She waved a hand. “Sorry, I’m preaching.”
“No, Brie. Go on.”
“Well, in order to kill, the average person would have to be put in a situation where his life or the life of a loved one was threatened. But grief does strange things to the mind—twists it in strange ways.”
Brie scanned the stars overhead. “I was picking out star constellations. Do you know most of them?” she asked, hoping to get his mind off the deaths.
“I used to. Ben taught me to navigate by the stars. He was a career Navy man and a master of celestial navigation.”
Brie had been assembling a mental picture of John’s mentor for the past couple of days, and this was one more interesting bit of information to help flesh out that picture.
John continued. “Ben used to make me pick out the constellations when we were out on the ocean at night.” He extended his arm. “There’s Hercules, directly overhead. And below it, Boötes—The Herdsman.” He stopped and looked down at his hands on the rail. “Ben always took the time to teach me things—to explain things. He wasn’t my dad
, but in certain ways…”
“He was more of a dad than your real one?” Brie looked at him shyly, wondering if she’d overstepped her bounds.
“Yes,” he said quietly. “I’ve never been able to admit that—till now. I guess I wanted to hold onto this glorified image of my dad—maybe because he died when I was so young. But that image has caused me a lot of anger over the years.” John pointed to a very bright star in the west. “Do you know the name of that one?”
“That’s Arcturus. It’s the fourth brightest star in the sky—only 34 light years away. In space that’s like your next-door neighbor.”
“You know something about all this, don’t you?”
Brie smiled. “A little.”
“There’s Scorpius,” John said, pointing out the constellation. “The stars at the end look just like a scorpion’s tail.”
“That bright star just above the middle is Antares. Now that’s a big star,” Brie said. “A red supergiant—it’s huge compared with our sun, and a long way off. I think around 600 light years.”
“It looks red. What causes that?”
“It’s an old star, and it doesn’t burn as hot as the young ones. The light Antares sends out is a longer wavelength, and so it appears red. The hottest stars appear blue—they send out a much shorter wavelength of light.”
John smiled, seeing her passion for this. “So—any young stars out tonight?”
Brie pointed toward the zenith. “See the Northern Cross? The star at the tip of the cross is Deneb—a blue-white super-giant. It’s younger and much hotter than Antares.”
John fixed her with a smoldering gaze. “So are you.”
Brie smiled, but her throat had gone tight, like she might have just lost her ability for speech.
John stepped closer. “Don’t stop. I like hearing about this.” He ran a finger along her jaw. “Tell me about these light years.”
Light years, Brie thought. Who cares about light years? She glanced at him, wondering why he had to be so darn handsome. It was unnerving.
“As I recall, a light year is a whole lot of time,” John prompted.
Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) Page 17