The Body in the Boat

by Ami Diane

  “You owe me! Again!” she threw over her shoulder at the oak tree.

  A couple walking the trail around the lake shot her a furtive glance before quickening their steps.

  Cutting down an alley to Main, Ella burst through the front door of the station. The knob banged into the brick wall making her wince. It took her eyes a moment to adjust to the dim lighting.

  Near his aged desk that probably belonged in a museum, Chapman’s hands buckled his belt and holster over his hips. He didn’t acknowledge her, but she knew by her grand entrance there was no way he had’t heard her come in.

  Will stood from one of the scuffed chairs. “I was worried you wouldn’t make it.”

  “Yeah, sorry. I got detained.”

  His blue-green eyes lingered on the thermos in her hands, causing her to hug it tighter against her chest.

  The sheriff scooped up his derby hat and pressed it over his gray hair, hiding his features in shadow.

  Will took a deep, audible breath and let it out. “That coffee sure smells good.”

  “It does, doesn’t it?” Ella unscrewed the lid, sniffed the steam, then took a ginger sip, instantly killing multitudes of taste buds. Her eyes began to water, but she arranged her face into a smile.

  “You alright, El?”

  “Hm? Yeah, just fine.” The fire had spread to her throat. She coughed and blinked rapidly. “Yep, tastes great.”

  “A little hot?”

  “Like the underworld.”

  She surrendered the thermos to him in favor of the apple in her pocket.

  “Eat on the way.” Chapman held the door open, letting in cool air and actual sunlight into the dusky room.

  On the sidewalk, Ella eyed the appaloosa horse tied to a hitching post. “Are Will and I riding shotgun on that thing? I’m not opposed, but it might get cozy. I call not-the-caboose!”

  Chapman frowned at her. “I’m not bringing a shotgun.”

  “I get that reference,” Will said with pride. The aroma of coffee wafted from the thermos lid in his hands, and she wondered if he had a tongue made of iron.

  Will’s 1948 Chevy crunched over the gravel as he pulled his pickup to the front of a skinny, tall house. Despite the fact that they weren’t on a horse, she’d been right about the “cozy” transportation. Only, it felt less cozy and more sardine-like.

  Ella’s shoulders hunched near her ears, her body crammed between the two large men. All the way there, she had to listen to Chapman grill them about letting him do his job. Since Will’s role was to make the professor feel more comfortable, he was allowed a little leeway, but Ella was to hang back and say nothing.

  When her shoes finally hit the gravel, she worked a kink out of her neck and breathed in the scent of trees and open air. They walked across a yard that was more weeds than dead grass, and up two creaking porch steps.

  Ella leaned into Will, smelling sandalwood and grease. “He’s not really one for yard maintenance, is he? I’m guessing there’s no HOAs here.”

  The sheriff rapped a massive set of knuckles on the door.

  “He’s a little too preoccupied with his work,” Will explained in a low voice.

  Chapman motioned for them to wait at the bottom of the steps. Resisting the urge to roll her eyes, Ella followed Will back to the dead grass.

  After Chapman knocked a third time, there was finally movement deep within the house.

  “What do you want?” came a sharp yell.

  “It’s Sheriff Chapman. I came to check up on ya.”

  “I’m fine.”

  “I’d really like to talk, Professor.”

  “Busy.”

  Ella couldn’t see Chapman’s face, but the back of his neck turned purple and his fingers drummed on his holster. He looked back at Will.

  “You’re up, son.”

  Will jumped the steps and landed softly beside Chapman. He slipped off his fedora, revealing a deep side part and patent leather hair.

  “It’s me, Professor. I came with the sheriff. I thought we could all talk. He doesn’t mean any harm, honest. Just wants to ask a couple of questions.”

  There was a long, tense pause. The wind whistled in Ella’s ears and rolled over the hill. Then, the door inched open. Bulbous eyes below a whirlwind of shockingly white hair stared back from inside a dark house. His clothes were wrinkled, and the buttons on his sweater weren’t lined up with the proper holes.

  “Will?”

  “Right here, Professor.” He stepped in front of the crack, blocking Ella’s view of the older man.

  “Hm. So, I see. Well, what is it you want?” The question seemed directed at Chapman.

  “Just wanted to talk to you about Stan’s death.”

  “Good riddance, is what I say.” The older man’s hands fidgeted with the hem of his sweater.

  “Yes, well. It’s clear he wasn’t well liked, which makes my job harder.” The sheriff slipped off his derby hat. The two men parted, giving Ella an eyeliner to the professor.

  His eyes narrowed. “Who’s that?” His voice rose, and he took a timid step back.

  “My name’s Ella. We met a week ago, I think.”

  “She’s the one from the twenty-first century,” Will added quickly. The storm in the old man’s face cleared.

  “Mind if we come in?” the sheriff asked. “It’ll just be Will and me.”

  Slowly, the door yawned open then clicked shut after the two men had slipped inside. A couple flecks of paint flaked off and floated to the ground.

  Ella scowled at the closed door with the peeling, thinking dark thoughts about Chapman. Her plan to snoop around had gone out the window. Additionally, she’d have to get information secondhand from Will.

  On the other hand, she understood why Chapman hadn’t wanted her inside. The man was skittish enough as it was. His appearance may have reminded her of Doc Brown from one of her favorite movies, but on their second meeting, his personality was much more Howard Hughes.

  After a minute of standing there in the cool air with nothing but her jacket and her thoughts of reclusive billionaires, she gave in to boredom and wandered about the yard. Despite the lackluster landscape, he had an incredible view. She took in the panorama, marveling again at the sharp demarcation line of the border. Green met brown. The evergreen forest abruptly ended.

  Ella’s heel dug into the dry yard as she rotated, following the line until the hill obstructed it from view. She’d noticed the shape of the border her first week in Keystone. Something tugged at the back of her mind, something about the circle was important. Her lip caught between her teeth in thought as she chased down the idea, but it slipped away before she could grasp onto it.

  Ella shook her head and turned back to the house, noting the cellar or basement bulkhead doors at the base of the house. She glanced at the dull, lifeless windows in the house. The ones above the basement doors were dark and void of the trio.

  Dry leaves crunched underfoot as she stole across the yard. The paint on the door was in the same state of disrepair as the rest of the house. However, she noticed the hinges lacked rust and shone with fresh grease. A combination lock held the double doors together, the dials worn and used.

  Both Rose and Wink hoarded large quantities of produce, pickled foods, and dried goods. When the erratic shift in weather caused either bountiful or lean harvests, Ella couldn’t blame people for stockpiling goods. Perhaps the professor did the same?

  She turned to leave when her ears picked up a steady hum. It took her a moment to locate the source. It came from the basement.

  Ella glanced up at the house again before dropping to her knees. Her ear pressed against the cold wood and began to vibrate. The air felt alive. The hair on her arms stood up and the metal fillings in her teeth began to tingle.

  Lifting her head, she reached for the lock. Before her fingers grasped the metal, the front door on the house opened with a creak. Deep muffled voices moved over the porch.

  Ella bolted to her feet and scurried to th
e corner. Her foot caught on a tree root that had broken through earth. She flew headfirst into a holly tree. Pain pricked her cheeks as the leaves scraped her skin like dozens of claws.

  She allowed herself a groan and a moment to curse all vegetation before extricating herself from the plant.

  She rounded the corner of the house as Chapman and Will were shuffling down the porch steps. She swallowed, breathing heavy, and fell into step beside the inventor. All the while, her mind dwelled on the strange noise and electric air coming from the professor’s basement.

  “That went ‘bout how I expected,” Chapman growled, shoving his hat back on his head.

  “Well, he does have an alibi at least,” Will said. “You okay, Ella?”

  “Huh? Fine.”

  A crease formed between his eyebrows as he plucked a holly leaf from her hair. “You’re bleeding,” he muttered, pulling out a handkerchief.

  She eyed the snot rag.

  “It’s clean.”

  She promptly took it and wiped it over her face. Several small crimson streaks covered it when she pulled it away.

  “Who was his alibi?” she asked before Chapman caught on to her appearance.

  “Says Wink came and checked on him before she went to bed, but I’ll have to confirm it with her,” the sheriff said. “‘Course, she’s on the committee too, so can’t put much stock into what she says.”

  “Wink wouldn’t lie,” Ella said. She found his eyes under the brim of his hat and fixated on them.

  Instead of getting angry, his expression softened. “No, you’re right. Wink’s one of the good ones. If she says she saw him the night of the storm, then she saw him.”

  As they walked over the dried blades and leaves, Ella attempted to keep her tone light as she asked, “So, Will. What’s in the Absent-Minded Professor’s basement?

  “His workshop and lab. No one’s allowed inside.”

  “Because he’s making flubber?” She nodded to herself. “Yeah, he’s making flubber. Hey, maybe we’ll have flying cars sooner than you think.”

  He stared blankly at her.

  Ella let out a loud sigh. “Honestly, if anyone ever comes through with a DVD player and a truckload of movies, you’re going to watch them until your eyes fall out.” You’ve never seen it.”

  They’d arrived at the truck, and he held open the door for her. She slid and folded like a ninja into the middle seat. “What is it that he does exactly?”

  “Teaches a class or two at the school.”

  Beneath her, the seat vibrated as the engine roared to life. “There’s a school? I mean, of course, there is, but—never mind. But what’s the professor working on in there?” She jerked her head towards the house now growing smaller in the mirrors.

  He shrugged as he nudged the vehicle down the winding, corkscrew road. “Lots of different things. He studies everything from small particles to electromagnetism. Honestly, some of it goes over my head, but he’s been catching me up on the twenty-five years or so of science from my era to his. Right now, I think he’s working on an EM modulator.”

  She tapped her finger on her chin and nodded sagely. “Yes. An EM moniker would rip a hole in the fabric of the multiverse—”

  “You’re not making sense. All of those things you said are words, but they don’t make sense together.”

  “Or do they?”

  “No, no they don’t.”

  She sniffed and watched the road dip in front of them. “Makes sense where I’m from.”

  They lapsed into a silence that spanned a whole five seconds before Ella blurted out, “Why doesn’t he have a greenhouse?”

  “How’s that?” Will glanced sideways at her. “He doesn’t need much. It’s just him since his rib passed away.”

  “Huh?”

  “His wife. She died. Happened before I got here. Don’t know how; he doesn’t talk about it.”

  Ella twisted her head to look at Chapman, but the man’s deficient conversational skills extended to car rides.

  “Anyway,” Will continued, “he’s got some aquaponics going in his living room. His tomatoes and cucumbers look like they’re taking to it real nice.”

  The vehicle dodged a pothole, throwing the occupants to one side. Chapman’s hands gripped the front of the seat. He was clearly not used to traveling in anything with a motor.

  As the town began to roll past, another thought occurred to her. “Do any of the professor’s experiments require much power?”

  Will didn’t respond immediately. His grip on the steering wheel tightened.

  “Will?” Chapman leaned forward and faced the inventor.

  “Not that much.”

  “You sure?” both Ella and Chapman said at the same time.

  Despite the fact that he didn’t move a muscle, Will seemed to droop. “Fairly certain.”

  Ella tipped her head up, catching the micro expression of concern on Chapman’s face before it hardened.

  The town began to roll past her window, and soon, the Chevy pulled up to the curb outside the station, and the sheriff climbed out, stretching to his full height. He ducked his head back into the cab, narrowly missing knocking his hat off.

  “Stay outta trouble, both of ya.” He stared at Ella. “Don’t think I don’t know you’re poking around. Drop it. I mean it. If there’s something to the professor’s power consumption, I’ll look into it.” With that, the door closed, and he strolled into his office.

  Ella reluctantly scooted over, feeling the loss of heat from Will’s arm. Will eased the car onto the street.

  “How much power does one of those wind turbine thingies put out?”

  “I thought Chapman wanted you to drop it.”

  “I am. I’m asking for a friend.” She unscrewed the thermos and guzzled the last of the coffee.

  He released a long breath of air that told her he didn’t believe a word she said. “It’s not quite that simple. The power’s stored in their batteries then goes through the hub station.”

  The pickup slowed to a stop in front of the inn.

  “Look, I’m not the person to ask. I know I’m going to regret telling you this, but if you’re going to ignore the sheriff’s wish and look into this anyway, then you’d get more information going to the hub station.”

  Ella grinned. “Look at you being all helpful and ignoring the sheriff.”

  “I didn’t—”

  “Thanks, Will.” She hopped out of the cab.

  He looked like he wanted to say more but gave up, waved and drove off. When his pickup disappeared down a side street, she bounded into the manor to quickly change into her diner uniform.

  As she ran her hand up the cherry wood banister, she considered Stan’s death from a different angle. All along, she’d been looking for suspects and thinking of their possible motives. Maybe she should look at the possible motives, then use that to lead her to suspects.

  Walking across the front garden, she could come up with only two motives to kill the man: the expansion of the wind farm and his supposed affair.

  As much as she hated to admit it, Sheriff Chapman was right. The affair was just speculation. She felt there was enough circumstantial evidence to corroborate her theory, but a small part of her wondered if she wasn’t wrong.

  Therefore, the motive with more legs—or at least the one easier to look into—was the expansion of the wind farm. But that presented a myriad of other motives. Was it the proposed site that someone took issue with? Who stood to gain from the expansion? Who lost?

  In the diner, she refilled a customer’s coffee and cleared a table, all the while, the questions swirling over her like a cloud. As far as she knew, there was no monetary gain from the expansion—except for whoever built and installed the new turbines. But wouldn’t that have been Stan?

  Ella tipped her head, absently staring at the pie case. Stan wouldn’t have done it himself, though. He would’ve had help. However, with Stan dead, the project was stalled and whoever he would’ve used certainly wou
ldn’t be paid now. She mentally scratched that avenue off the list.

  The lunch rush picked up, and she had little time to play Nancy Drew. When things had calmed down a little, Ella leaned over the counter, sipping a strawberry milkshake and watching a couple of kids try to feed Chester their fries.

  The squirrel cocked his head, jumped on the towheaded boy, then back to the counter. They laughed, their reaction very different than Ella’s when the rodent had landed on her head.

  What she had thought was a clown outfit that morning looked more like a jester costume upon closer inspection.

  The squirrel grabbed a fry and gnawed on it, his narrow, brown eyes staring at Ella. She frowned and muttered, “I’m on to you.”

  Chunks of fried potato scattered over the floor, and she was just about to shoo both kids and rodent away when the door jingled. Dot floated in and perched herself on a stool, the red cushion barely denting under her feather-weight.

  “Where’s Wink?”

  “Welcome to Grandma’s Kitchen. Can I get you something?”

  “You can get me Wink.”

  Ella noticed Dot’s eyeliner was smudged and her eyes red. Her blonde hair was held in a loose braid that hung limply down her back, strands of straw broken free, like the hairdo was an afterthought.

  “I think she stepped out, but I can check for you.”

  Dot pursed her lips, not saying anything else. Ella peered through the passthrough but only saw Horatio behind the fryer.

  “Hey,” she called to him, “where’s Wink?”

  “Went to the bank then Stewart’s. Should be back in a half-hour.” His voice carried over the sizzle in the kitchen, and she had no doubt that Dot heard it too.

  Ella arched her eyebrow at the woman. “Want to wait?”

  “Fine.” She let out a disgusted noise and brushed Chester’s crumbs away from her, her face scowling.

  Ella’s mind worked overtime. If she wanted to know if Stan was having an affair with Dot, then what better source of information than the ol’ gal herself?

  Ella forced a smile wide enough for a toothpaste commercial. “Is there anything I can help you with?”