I held my hands up. “All I know is the exchange I heard between the two of them after you left the casino.”
“Go on.” Scooter had his pen poised over the paper.
“Well, Fletcher told Herbert that he was costing the company millions. Fletcher sounded like he was going to take some sort of action if they didn’t close this deal with their potential investors.”
Scooter considered this. “After that letter I saw last night, I certainly wasn’t planning on investing. And I heard some of the other guys say that they were iffy about the whole thing too. I think they only came along for a free cruise.”
“So Herbert knew that the deal was likely to fall through. Maybe he decided to get rid of Fletcher before Fletcher got rid of him.”
“This pen is out of ink,” Scooter said. After I handed him another one, he scrawled down what I had said. “We’ve got Madison and Herbert on our list. Who else had a motive?”
“What about Anthony?” I suggested. “Sylvia was hoping that he would take over the company when Fletcher retired. Anthony might have decided to push Fletcher’s retirement date up to a more permanent basis.”
“I’ll mark that motive down as greed. We’ll have to look into how the partnership agreement was structured. Who would Fletcher’s shares in the company have gone to in the case of his death?” He tapped the pen on the table. “Okay, who else would have wanted Fletcher dead? I’m drawing a blank.”
“There’s one obvious person you’ve missed.”
“Who’s that?”
“Sylvia.”
Scooter leaned back in his chair. “But she’s his wife.”
“Yeah, so?”
“How could anyone kill their husband?”
I laughed. “It happens all the time.”
“You’re not still upset about the fight we had, are you?” Scooter asked warily.
“Don’t worry,” I said. “I’m not going to kill you. But Mrs. Moto, on the other hand, might want to seek revenge.”
“Revenge for what?”
“Remember how you tried to give her a bath right before we left for the cruise?”
Scooter examined his forearm. “The scratches seem to have healed up. I don’t get it though. She loves swimming. Why was she upset about a bath? She really needed one after knocking over that can of engine oil.”
“She loves swimming when it’s her idea.”
“Great, now I have to worry about my cat wanting to ‘take care of me’ in my sleep,” Scooter said, making air quotes. “But getting back to Sylvia, why would she have wanted to kill her husband?”
“You saw the two of them together. They were constantly bickering. The fact that he was always drinking, gambling, and possibly even chasing after other women, wouldn’t have helped either.”
“Alright, I’ll write her name down.”
As he started to close the notebook, I said, “Hang on, we’re not done yet.”
“There’s someone else?”
“Dominic, maybe?”
After I explained how Dominic gave Fletcher money at the casino the previous night in exchange for his watch and car keys, Scooter shrugged. “I don’t buy it. Dominic would have wanted him alive. You can’t collect from a dead man.”
“Yeah, you’re probably right. Okay, that leaves us with four suspects that we know of—Madison, Anthony, Herbert, and Sylvia.”
“Aren’t we doing this backward?” Scooter scrubbed his jaw. “They may all have had reason to want Fletcher dead, but who had an alibi?”
“That’s our next step, finding out where everyone was when Fletcher was killed.”
The loudspeaker crackled. “Would Dominic Kalchik please come to guest services? You have an urgent message. I repeat, would Dominic Kalchik please come to guest services?”
“Well, that’s interesting,” I said. “I wonder what’s so urgent that requires Dominic’s attention?”
Scooter flipped the notebook open, wrote Dominic’s name down and put a large question mark next to it. Then he rose to his feet. “Race you to guest services?”
* * *
Trying to keep up with Scooter was impossible. His nickname was apt. It had been a long time since his college basketball days, but the man certainly could still ‘scoot.’ By the time I reached the lobby, I was gasping.
I found Scooter crouched behind a potted palm tree. If he was trying to hide, it wasn’t very effective. When I put my hand on his shoulder, he startled, nearly knocking the plant over.
“Where’s Dominic?” I asked, bending down next to him.
Scooter put his finger to his lips to shush me, then pointed toward a seating area opposite the guest services desk. Dominic was sitting next to a frail-looking elderly couple, his bulky frame taking up the majority of the couch. He was staring at a piece of paper with a perplexed look on his face. After a moment, he said something to the couple. The man put on a pair of reading glasses and examined the paper. After a brief exchange, Dominic looked satisfied. Then he proceeded to tear the paper up before shoving the pieces into his mouth.
“Is he eating it?” Scooter whispered.
“I think he’s seen too many spy movies,” I said.
After Dominic finished chewing and swallowing, he nodded at the elderly couple. When he got on the elevator, we rose to our feet.
“Excuse me, sir,” I said to the elderly man. “Can I ask what you and that man were talking about?”
“The big fellow? He wanted to know what ‘extortion’ meant.” Scooter and I exchanged glances. “He didn’t seem like the sharpest knife in the knife drawer.”
“What did the rest of the note say?” I asked.
The elderly man looked suspicious. “Why do you want to know?”
“Like you said, he isn’t the sharpest knife. We’re kind of keeping an eye out for him. Want to make sure he doesn’t get into any trouble, if you know what I mean.”
The man relaxed. “Oh, I see. My wife had a cousin like that.”
“So, what did the note say?” Scooter prompted.
The man scratched his head. “Something about financial records. Sorry, that’s all I remember.”
We thanked the couple for their time, then Scooter told me to get the notebook out.
“It’s not in here,” I said, digging through my purse.
“I gave it back to you at the restaurant,” Scooter said.
“No, you didn’t. If you did, it would be in here.”
“That means it’s on the—” Scooter stopped mid-sentence, then sprinted down the hall.
I almost collapsed when I reached the restaurant. I nearly made a vow to start exercising and swear off sugar, but then I saw a tray of freshly baked chocolate chip cookies. Grabbing a couple, I slowly walked toward the rear of the room. Scooter was leaning against the table we had been sitting at, looking through the notebook.
“Another close call.” I handed him one of the cookies. He munched on it while I jotted down what we had learned about Dominic.
“I see Madison and Anthony sitting by the window,” Scooter said. “Want to go check their alibis out?”
“Okay.” I made a show of closing the notebook and placing it in my purse, then wiped some crumbs off Scooter’s shirt. “Do you want to take the lead in questioning them?”
“Sure.” He grinned. “This is kind of fun.”
“Well, except for the fact that someone died.”
Scooter’s smile faded. He quickly pressed his fingers to the side of his nose and tugged his earlobes, then strode toward Anthony and Madison’s table.
“How’s Sylvia doing?” I asked.
Scooter nudged me, reminding me that he was on point. “Is she feeling better?” he asked.
“She’s resting,” Anthony said, motioning for the two of us to join them. “The doctor says she’ll be fine.”
“That’s good,” Scooter said. “And how are the two of you doing?”
Anthony squeezed Madison’s hand. “We’re coping. It’s been tough,
but—”
“Tough, I can imagine,” Scooter said, cutting Anthony off. Clearly that had been enough chit-chat and now Scooter wanted to get down to business. “Any news on who killed Fletcher? Have they arrested anyone? Do you know who the murderer is? Why was he killed?”
I kicked my husband under the table. The man didn’t seem to realize that he shouldn’t bombard them with questions, subtlety goes a long way.
Scooter pulled his leg away, then apologized. “Sorry, lack of sleep.”
“Understandable,” Anthony said graciously.
That was all he said. No answers to any of Scooter’s questions. Just silence.
The silence was broken when a cheery voice greeted us. “Good morning, folks. We’re handing out complimentary jars of Bahamian mango jelly.” The woman set down two small jars on the table. “They’re handcrafted on Cat Island. It’s our way of saying thank you for being so understanding about the change in itinerary.”
As she bustled off, I heard people complaining at nearby tables.
“Do they really think a jar of jelly is going to make up for canceling our cruise?” one woman asked.
A man examined one of the jars. “Do you think this is what caused that man to have a heart attack?”
“It wasn’t a heart attack,” his wife said. “The ship’s doctor removed his appendix.”
A group of women who looked like they played bingo professionally chatted about one of the latest government conspiracies.
“You shouldn’t eat mangoes. They add chemicals to them to make you crave chocolate,” one woman said.
“Why would the government care if you ate chocolate?” another woman asked.
A third woman tapped the side of her nose. “Exactly,” she said in a conspiratorial tone. The other ladies nodded their heads sagely, probably not sure what they were agreeing with, but also not wanting to seem like they were the only ones who didn’t get it.
Anthony grabbed one of the jars. “Maybe I’ll try some on my toast.” He tried to open it, but was unsuccessful. “They must have used superglue to seal it.”
Madison picked the jar up and twisted the lid off effortlessly. She smiled at her boyfriend. “Easy-peasy.”
“That’s only because I loosened it for you,” Anthony joked as he smeared some jelly on his toast.
Scooter leaned forward. “So, where were you two when Fletcher was killed?”
Anthony choked on a piece of his toast. When Madison slapped him on his back, he scowled at her. He took a sip of water, then said, “I was in the VIP Room.”
“People were pretty intent on their poker games,” I said. “Does anyone remember seeing you?”
“Sure, I have someone who can back up my alibi.” Anthony leaned back in his chair. “That’s what you’re getting at, isn’t it? Whether we have alibis or not?”
“What about you, Madison?” Scooter asked, taking back the reins of the conversation.
While she put the cap back on the jelly jar, she said, “I was at the magic show with Sylvia.”
Scooter looked deflated at the fact that three suspects had alibis. He folded his hands on the table, and said in a quiet voice, “That means Herbert—”
“Don’t mention that man’s name.” Madison stabbed her eggs with her fork.
“Why not?” Scooter asked.
Anthony leaned forward. “Well, isn’t it obvious? Herbert killed my uncle.”
7
Breakfast Salad
The rest of the day aboard the cruise ship was excruciating. After Anthony announced that Herbert had murdered his uncle, both he and Madison clammed up saying they shouldn’t say any more about the subject until they spoke with the appropriate officials. Madison was confident that Herbert was going to be taken into custody the minute the ship docked in the States. In her opinion, the authorities would lock Herbert up, throw away the key, and no one would ever hear from him again.
When some of the potential investors stopped by the table to inquire about the impact of Fletcher’s death on the business, Anthony told them he intended to take over leadership of the company effective immediately. When one of the investors said that they had assumed that Herbert would be in charge going forward, Anthony made some snide comments about Herbert’s financial mismanagement. He told them that Herbert planned to retire in any event. Then he made assurances that their investment would be safe in his hands, even promising to triple their money.
Dominic and Herbert were nowhere to be found. If they were inside their cabins, they never answered when we knocked. Scooter and I complied with the do-not-disturb sign hanging on Sylvia’s door. With nothing else to do, we whiled away the hours playing backgammon in the lounge. I even suggested having a nap, but Scooter was adamant that we needed to stay sharp in case there were any breaks in the case.
Sylvia stayed in her cabin until we arrived at the cruise ship terminal. We watched as the captain ushered her off the ship before the rest of the passengers were allowed to disembark. The large sunglasses and broad-brimmed hat she wore obscured her eyes, and her up-turned coat collar shielded the rest of her face from view. Anthony and Madison trailed behind, stony-faced.
We didn’t see any police come on board to take Herbert away. Despite persistent questioning of the crew, we hadn’t been able to determine if he had in fact been arrested.
After a prolonged wait, we finally cleared immigration and customs, and made the long drive back to Coconut Cove. Mrs. Moto was overjoyed to see us, seemingly to have forgotten that Scooter had given her an unwelcome bath the day prior.
When I woke the next morning, I found a cup of coffee on the nightstand along with a note telling me that Scooter had gone to help some friends remove the mast from their boat. I checked my phone while I sipped my coffee and saw a text from Anabel asking if I wanted to meet her for breakfast at the Sailor’s Corner Cafe.
That was a no-brainer. The only food we had on board was a shriveled up lemon, granola, and a lone can of cream of celery soup. The can of soup had been on board when we first got the boat. We were never going to cook anything with it, and should have thrown it out ages ago. Despite that, for some reason, I had started to consider it as a good-luck charm and couldn’t bear to get rid of it.
When I walked into the cafe, the owner called out to the cook, “Mollie’s here. Better save that last cinnamon roll for her.”
“Thanks, Jim. I can always count on you to look out for me,” I said.
Jim smoothed down his trademark Hawaiian shirt. “We take care of our regulars. Besides, you’re always telling tourists about this place and sending them our way.”
“That’s probably not the smartest move on my part,” I said. “Sometimes, the line stretches down the block and it takes me forever to get a table.”
“Well, I’m not complaining. Business has been great. I had to hire another cook. And look at all those bare spots on the walls. I barely get a piece of artwork hung up before someone buys it.”
As Jim smiled, his rosy cheeks and white beard reminded me that the holidays weren’t too far away. “Are you playing Santa Claus in the Christmas parade again this year?”
“Absolutely.” He let out a cheery ho-ho-ho, then said, “Hey, a friend of yours was in here last week. Mentioned that she and her husband are moving to Coconut Cove. She’s one of the reasons I have gaps on the walls. When she saw Anabel’s painting, she snapped it up.”
“Oh, you must mean Sylvia. She’s not really a friend, more of a . . .” My voice trailed off as I tried to figure out what Sylvia was to me. What was the difference between a friend and someone you saw occasionally? I might not have liked Fletcher, but Sylvia needed friends at a time like this, not acquaintances.
“I’m not sure if my friend will still be moving here,” I said. “She just lost her husband.”
“Oh, no, that’s a shame,” Jim said. “She seemed like a nice lady. What was it? A heart attack?”
I grimaced. “No, he was actually murdered.”
; “You’re kidding.” Jim put a hand to his chest. “We’ve had another murder in Coconut Cove? Ever since you and Scooter moved here, the homicide rate has skyrocketed.”
“You can rest easy,” I said. “Her husband died on a cruise ship, not here in town.”
“Phew. That’s a relief.” Jim pointed over at my favorite booth by the window. “Better grab it while it’s open.”
Anabel came in a few minutes later. “I ran into Nancy on my way here,” she said as she sat down. “She told me that someone had died on the cruise ship. Though I think she was more miffed that I had heard about it on the news this morning.”
I laughed. “She’s probably telling everyone she meets. I was surprised that Jim didn’t know about it already.”
After we placed our order—in addition to the cinnamon roll, I asked the waitress to bring me some pancakes—Anabel leaned forward. “On the news, they only mentioned that a man had fallen overboard. But Nancy said that you thought it might be murder. Why does it not surprise me that you’re involved?”
I raised an eyebrow. “Involved in killing a man?”
She chuckled. “No, you know what I meant.”
“Unfortunately, I was involved in a very up close and personal way. Scooter and I saw the whole thing. We were on the deck below when Fletcher plummeted into the water.”
“Oh, my gosh, how awful. Usually, you just find dead bodies, but this is the first time you’ve seen someone die, right?”
“Actually, it’s not.” I felt my appetite dissipate as I recalled seeing someone die from poisoning by a fishing pier. Then the more recent memories of Fletcher’s screams as he plunged to his death filled my mind.
“Hey, let’s talk about something else,” Anabel suggested.
I gave her a faint smile. “Sure. I had an idea for your bachelorette party.”
“What is it?”
“I thought we could sail to Destiny Key and have a picnic there.”
“That sounds fantastic.”
I cocked my head to one side. “Are you sure? Especially after what happened there—”
Overboard on the Ocean Page 9