by Zara Keane
“If you can hot-wire it, I can operate it.” Sister Pauline laughed at my gaping jaw. “My father and brothers were all fishermen. I grew up around boats.”
I nodded. “It’s a deal, but I gotta be honest here. I don’t have a plan. I have no gun and no authority. Are you sure you want to get involved?”
“I’m already involved. Noreen is my best friend. Besides, Joan is an excellent sailor. If we don’t try to catch up with her now, there’s no guarantee the police or the coast guard will get to her before she reaches the mainland.”
I leaped onto the deck of the boat, and Sister Pauline and Bran followed suit. “I’m hoping the police on the mainland will catch her if we can’t.”
“If they find her in time.” Sister Pauline’s expression was grim. “Joan keeps a private plane at an airport on the mainland. If I were her, that’s where I’d head.”
I took out my Swiss Army knife and I was in the process of hot-wiring the boat when an outraged roar made me leap in my skin.
“What are you doing to my boat?” demanded a very deep and very familiar voice. Oh, heck. I jerked around to see Sergeant Hottie jump into the boat, wearing a thunderous expression.
“Oops,” I said cheerfully. “Is it your boat I’m stealing?”
His eyes narrowed and he folded his arms across his chest. “Yes, Ms. Doyle. This is my boat.”
“Excellent.” I beamed at him. “Start the engine and let’s get moving. We have a murderer to catch.”
To his credit, Sergeant Reynolds didn’t waste time arguing with me. I’d love to say it was my winning smile and credible demeanor that convinced him to play along, but I suspect it was the presence of the nun who backed up my story.
When he’d powered up the boat and we were zooming out to sea, he turned to me. “Run this by me again. Why do you think Joan Sweetman is the killer?”
I gave him the Reader’s Digest condensed version of the mixed-up laptops story and focused on the unpublished blind item featuring the bigamist widow. “So if I’m right,” I finished, “Joan’s marriage to Niall Sweetman was never valid, which means she cheated Niall’s sons out of their rightful inheritance.”
“Wow,” Reynolds said, gripping the wheel. “Your story’s plausible, but I’ll need to have it confirmed before I can make the charges stick.”
“Sure, but the fact that Joan is clearly making a getaway should give you enough circumstantial evidence to haul her in for questioning and buy you some time until you can get the story confirmed.”
“You telling me how to do my job again?” The twinkle in his eye softened Reynolds’s serious expression.
“No… Well,” I conceded, “kinda. I guess old habits die hard.”
“You have a nose for ferreting out the truth. Why’d you leave the San Francisco PD?”
“That’s a story for another day, preferably accompanied by a good bottle of red.”
His laugh sent my pulse racing. “Consider it a date.”
“Gladly. But first, we have to make sure justice is served.”
“Speaking of law enforcement—” Reynolds looked me up and down and frowned, “—you’re not wearing a life vest.”
I gestured to his bare uniform. “Neither are you.”
“You didn’t give me much time to prepare for launch,” he said dryly. “Put on a vest and get me one, too. You’ll find spares under the seats. Sister Pauline had the good sense to dig one out for herself and hook Bran up with a makeshift doggie version.”
“Which he’s currently eating,” I said dryly, eyeing the happy dog who was making a major mess out of his life vest. I went to the side of the boat and lifted a seat. Sure enough, it contained two orange monstrosities. I shrugged into one and handed the other to Reynolds. “I don’t suppose you have a spare firearm for me?”
He threw back his head and laughed. “Ah, you’re an innocent at heart, Maggie Doyle. The majority of police officers in Ireland don’t carry weapons. I don’t have a gun for either of us.”
“Well, that’s just great.” I glared at him in disgust. “I’m chasing a murderer with a gunless cop, a nun, and a dog whose main occupation is eating everything in sight. This is going to end well.”
As if on cue, a bullet bounced off the side of the boat.
“Whoa. That’s not good.”
Reynolds swore. “Hit the deck, all of you.”
I hurled myself on top of Bran, and Sister Pauline dropped to the deck like a pro. An instant later, a hail of bullets assailed the boat. “Well,” I quipped, “sounds like Joan didn’t get the Irish firearms memo.”
“She’s also on a boat with better cover than we are,” Reynolds said grimly. “We’re sitting ducks here. Stay down, Sister Pauline. Maggie, can you crawl over to the seats and check if we have anything we can use as a weapon? I’ll put a call through to the coast guard. Lenny’s probably already reached them, but I want to be sure they know Joan has a gun.”
I crawled over to the seats at the side of the speedboat and lifted them up. I rooted through the contents of the storage boxes beneath, finally striking gold. “Wild,” I said, delighted with my find. “I have a harpoon.”
“Sorry to disappoint you, but that’s a speargun. It functions best underwater. It definitely doesn’t have the power to stop Joan’s yacht.”
“So we’ll improvise. What kind of firearm does she have? She has to run out of bullets at some point.”
“We don’t know how much ammo she brought with her.”
“So far, we know Joan is a lousy shot. All we need to do is persuade her to use up all her bullets.”
Reynolds met my eye and his mouth pressed into a grim line. “Even a lousy shot gets lucky sometimes.”
“That’s a risk we’ll have to take. Zigzag around her yacht and get her to shoot at us.”
“I can’t risk the lives of two civilians engaging in that sort of harebrained action.”
“Fine,” I muttered. “Bring us close enough for me to speargun her right arm. I’ve seen Joan hold her coffee cup with her right hand, so it’s a safe bet to assume she’s right-handed.”
“Sister Pauline, you’re small. Can you fit in one of the boxes under the seats?” Reynolds asked.
“I can try.” The nun crawled to the edge of the boat, and I helped her into a storage box. It was a squeeze, but she fit. Before I closed the seat, she gazed up at me with an anxious expression. “What about Bran?”
I gave her a wobbly smile. “I’ll look after him.” I hoped I could make good on my promise. I sure intended to try.
Once Sister Pauline was in reasonable safety, Reynolds increased our speed and brought us up to the side of the yacht. His worried eyes met mine. “You sure about this, Maggie?”
I clutched the speargun in my fist. “I’m sure. I have good aim.”
He nodded. “Okay. Let’s do this thing.”
A moment later, Joan approached, gun raised. “You shouldn’t have followed me. Why couldn’t you mind your own business?”
I hoisted the speargun and let loose. It hit Joan’s arm, and she let the gun drop with a cry of pain.
Ignoring Reynolds’s shouts of protest, I leaped onto the deck of Joan’s yacht. Had the circumstances been different, I’d have stopped to admire it—sleek wooden boards with a chrome surround. The yacht hadn’t come cheap. Unfortunately, the boat’s psycho owner lessened its appeal as a place to hang out.
I took a step toward the now bleeding Joan. “Hit the deck—literally. I don’t want to hurt you any more than I have to.”
Joan snarled at me and groped for the gun with her left hand. And struck gold. She raised the weapon and took a shot at me before I could duck. A vicious sting spread through my right earlobe, and warm blood trickled down my neck. A surge of white-hot anger burned through me. She’d barely grazed me, but I knew that was only thanks to her being a terrible shot.
Joan pulled the trigger a second time and swore when she realized she needed to reload.
I seized my oppor
tunity. I tackled her crumpled form and kicked the shotgun out of her reach. Despite her fragile appearance, Joan fought like a tiger. She yanked the spear out of her arm and tried to stab me with it. I sidestepped her in the nick of time.
“You interfering cow,” Joan snapped, advancing for a second attempt. “You should have left me alone.”
“You shouldn’t have murdered Sandra Walker and let my aunt take the blame.”
An emotion I couldn’t pinpoint flickered across the other woman’s face before her shutters slammed down. “Using Noreen’s pills wasn’t planned. I intended to kill Sandra with sleeping tablets, but they must have fallen out of my purse.”
That explained the Stilnoct in the movie theater. “So you decided to improvise and steal my aunt’s pills to do the deed?” I glared at her. “Noreen was supposed to be your friend.”
“She was my friend.” Joan compressed her lips. “I’m sorry she’s been blamed.”
“But not sorry enough to confess to the murder.”
Her eyes snapped to attention. “I’m telling you what I did, aren’t I?”
“Only because you have no intention of letting me leave this yacht alive.” Despite my bravado, I was quaking inside. Where the heck was Reynolds? I tasted bile, but I stood my ground. No way was I letting this woman get away with murder.
Joan took another step toward me. I stiffened, my heart pounding against my ribs. When she came just a little closer, I’d take her down with a swift punch. My fingers curled into a fist, but before I could replicate the punch that had ended my marriage and my career, Bran zoomed past me with a delighted bark and hurled himself at Joan. With a screech that was worthy of a banshee, Joan dropped like a stone.
“Bran,” I yelled. “Get off her. She’ll hurt you.”
“I don’t think she will,” said Reynolds’s deep voice from my left. “Looks like Bran’s managed to dislodge the spear from her hand.”
Slack-jawed, I stared at the scene unfolding before me. Bran straddled Joan, interspersing gleeful barks with generous tongue-lashings. “Is he attacking her?”
“Licking,” said Reynolds, his voice shaking with laughter. “He’s licking her into submission.”
“I always liked that dog,” I said as Reynolds shooed Bran away and handcuffed Joan. “He’s getting a steak dinner tonight.”
The morning after Joan’s arrest, I woke to find the fields covered in a blanket of snow. Poly’s kittens were thriving, and content to snuggle with their mother in front of the fireplace. Faced with an empty fridge, Noreen and I bundled up in our warmest winter clothes, and piled Bran and several empty shopping bags into the back of the car. When we reached Smuggler’s Cove, my aunt parked in her usual spot in front of The Movie Theater Café.
“Hang on a sec. You said we were going shopping, and then meeting Philomena and Julie to take Bran for a walk.”
“I lied.” Noreen shoved a scarf into my hands. “Put this over your eyes.”
I stroked the soft wool and blinked in confusion. “You want me blindfolded?”
“Yes.”
“But—”
My aunt clucked in disapproval. “No questions, Maggie. For once, do as you’re told.”
I hesitated for a second, and then wrapped the scarf around my head, grumbling. “All right. We’ll do it your way. This tight enough?”
My aunt narrowed her eyes. “You’re peeking, aren’t you?”
I laughed. “Of course.”
She shook her head and sighed. “Turn around and let me tie the scarf.”
“Ouch,” I said as my aunt pulled the scarf tight around my eyes.
“That’ll do. Hang on a sec.” Noreen’s door slammed. A moment later, she wrenched open the passenger door and hauled me out of the car. “Take my arm. I’ll guide you in.”
I heard Bran’s happy panting beside me. “What’s going on? I don’t like surprises.”
“From one chocaholic to another, trust me when I say you’ll like this one.”
“Ooh, chocolate. Okay, I’m game.” I allowed my aunt to lead me from the car to the café entrance. When we walked into The Movie Theater Café, the familiar jangle over the door was drowned out by applause. “Whoa. What’s going on?”
My aunt whipped off my scarf, and I gasped when I registered the crowd before me. Under a “Well Done, Maggie” banner stood half the population of Whisper Island. Lenny, Julie, Philomena, Sister Pauline, the Two Gerries, the Spinsters, and a sea of faces swam before me. Even Paddy Driscoll had come to congratulate me on clearing Noreen’s name.
“Wow,” I murmured, flustered by the crowd, yet flattered that so many people wanted to show their gratitude. “Thank you all for coming.”
Bran—probably anticipating his next meal—danced around my legs. I bent to stroke his soft fur, grateful for the distraction and the chance to regain my composure.
Paul and Melanie stood grim-faced by the Bette Davis table. Melanie slid a pleading look at her husband, but he gave her a gentle shove between the shoulder blades, urging her forward.
When she stood before me, my erstwhile adversary forced a smile and looked me in the eye. “Of all the people on Whisper Island,” Melanie began in a halting voice, as if feeling her way for the correct tone to use in this situation, “I’d never have guessed that Joan Sweetman was capable of murder.” She took a ragged breath. “But then I had no idea Mummy was blackmailing people. Thank you for getting to the bottom of the mystery, Maggie.”
“Every murder victim deserves justice. I hope Joan’s arrest will help to bring you and your brother closure.” I believed in the sentiment, even if Sandra Walker hadn’t been the world’s nicest inhabitant.
Nick Sweetman stepped forward, a shy smile on his usually dour countenance. He held Jennifer Pearce’s hand. Despite the shadows beneath both their eyes that hinted of little sleep, they’d lost the stiffness I’d noticed the first time I’d met them.
“I also want to thank you,” Nick said. “If it hadn’t been for you, I’d never have known my step—” he broke off, and cleared his throat. “I’d never have known that Joan wasn’t entitled to my father’s money.”
“I’m sorry you had to find out under these circumstances.”
Nick’s smile faded. “Looking back, Joan was always secretive. I don’t think her marriage to my father was a happy one, yet widowhood suited her even less. Perhaps the strain of living a lie took its toll.”
“Maybe.” I turned to Jennifer. “What will happen now? How long will it take for Joan to come to trial?”
“That depends,” the lawyer said. “Joan’s been placed under psychiatric care, temporarily at least. We’re not sure if she’ll be deemed fit to stand trial. Either way, she’s admitted everything. Trial or no trial, she’ll be locked up for a very long time.”
The idea of Joan being locked away afforded me no pleasure, but I was relieved that law and order had been restored to Whisper Island. If I’d helped to make that happen, maybe all the craziness in my life over the last couple of months had had a purpose after all.
“Enough of the sad stuff. Wait until you see what I’ve made for you, Maggie.” Noreen beamed at me and bustled into the kitchen. A moment later, she emerged carrying an enormous chocolate cake, lovingly decorated with a marzipan Irish cottage, complete with a thatched roof and stacked stone wall.
“It’s beautiful,” I gasped. “When did you have time to make this?”
She grinned. “I snuck out during the night.”
“So much for my detective skills,” I said with a laugh. “I slept like a log.”
“Thanks to you, Sandra Walker’s murderer is behind bars. And that means everyone knows I’m innocent.” Noreen placed the cake on James Cagney and squeezed me into a bear hug. “The cake is my small token of appreciation for all that you’ve done for me and the rest of the islanders.”
My throat swelled. I liked to think I’d done good during my time as a San Francisco cop, but unless they were career criminals, I rarely got th
e chance to see how the people I’d interacted with on a case fared after it was solved. Having the opportunity to use my detective skills to assist people I knew and cared about was a novel experience. “I was glad to help.”
“And we’re glad you were here to help.” Noreen’s smile broadened. “Which brings me to your real thank-you present. Philomena?”
Her sister stepped forward and pumped my hand before shoving a gold envelope at me. “On behalf of all of us, we’d like to give you this.”
Curiosity burned through me. I tore open the envelope and pulled out the card within. My eyes widened when I read its contents. “Are you serious? A lease on a cottage until the end of May?”
“You came to Whisper Island for some rest and relaxation,” Philomena said. “Instead, you were faced with a murder to solve. We think you deserve a proper extended holiday, so we all chipped in to pay three months’ rent on one of the holiday cottages next to my land.”
“Sorry you can’t move in sooner,” Noreen added, “but the owners are using the off season to paint the insides of the cottages. You’re welcome to stay with me until it’s ready.”
Hot tears stung my eyes. “That’s incredibly kind of you. The lease, the hospitality, everything.”
“So you’ll stay on the island?” Julie bounced in front of me, her expression eager. “You still have to help me train for the Runathon, remember?”
I laughed. “Yes, I’ll stay.”
The bell over the café entrance jangled, and a cool breeze swept through the room before the new arrival closed the door. “Did I hear you say you’re staying on Whisper Island?” asked a deep voice behind me. “Just promise me you’ll stick to mystery movies and leave the real sleuthing to me.”
I whirled around to face Sergeant Liam Reynolds. He was wearing the biker leathers he’d had on the first time I’d encountered him. Under the snow-covered brim of his hat, his bright blue eyes twinkled with good humor. My treacherous heart skipped a beat.
“I’m staying until the end of May,” I said stiffly, reminding myself that the last thing I needed was to get involved with someone, especially not a sexy Irish cop who’d leave the island now that the case had been wrapped up. “I’m moving into one of the holiday cottages next door to Noreen.”