Overboard on the Ocean

by Ellen Jacobson

  Anabel held up her hand. “I’m a firm believer in facing your demons head on. In fact, Tiny and I took the ferry to Destiny Key last weekend. We had a long walk on the beach with the dogs. I brought some rocks that I had painted and left them scattered about for other people to find too.”

  “Those will be collector items,” I said. “You’re a world-renowned artist now.”

  “Hardly. Selling a painting to someone in Mongolia doesn’t make you world-renown. Now tell me what you had in mind for the party.”

  While we chatted about plans for Anabel’s bachelorette party, my appetite returned and I cleared my plate in record time. As I crumpled up my napkin, I saw Sylvia walking into the cafe. She pushed her sunglasses onto the top of her head and waved at me.

  When I introduced Anabel to her, Sylvia squealed. “Can I shake your hand?”

  “Sure, why not.” Anabel winced as Sylvia took hold of her hand. When Sylvia finally ended the handshake, Anabel rubbed her fingers. “That’s a powerful grip you have there.”

  “It’s a special exercise regime designed to strengthen your hands and forearms. I play badminton. You know, it would probably be great for you too, holding brushes in your hands all day.” Sylvia beamed at Anabel and squealed again. “Pinch me. I can’t believe I’m meeting a famous artist in person.”

  Anabel looked like she wanted to crawl under the table. “Um, I’m not really famous.”

  “Nonsense,” Sylvia said, scooting into the booth next to Anabel. “When I enter ‘Anabel Dalton unicorn fairy elf Florida painter’ on my computer, your name comes right up.”

  “Imagine that,” Anabel said.

  “I’m surprised to see you here,” I said to Sylvia. “I would have thought you would have gone back home to Cleveland.”

  “This is my home now. I have an appointment with a real estate agent lined up.” Sylvia beamed at Anabel. “I told him that I want a place with a large fireplace so that I can display your painting above it.”

  The waitress handed Sylvia a menu. After a quick glance at it, she ordered a cup of black coffee and a side salad.

  “Salad for breakfast?” I asked.

  “Fletcher never liked salad,” Sylvia said. “Now that he’s gone, I’m going to eat salad morning, noon, and night.”

  Personally, I thought that salad seemed like an odd way to grieve someone. But to each his own.

  “So, what are you gals up to?” Sylvia asked.

  “We’re talking about Anabel’s bachelorette party,” I said.

  Sylvia clapped her hands together. “A wedding, how exciting. Just the thing I need to take my mind off what’s happened. Now, tell me all about it. What’s your theme?”

  Anabel furrowed her brow. “Theme?”

  “You know, the overall look and feel that you want your big day to have. Art Deco is really popular. A black and gold color scheme, glass and mirror details, geometric shapes—it’s all very luxurious.”

  Anabel looked at the peasant blouse and patchwork vest she was wearing. “I’m not sure Art Deco luxury is really my thing.”

  “Don’t worry, there are lots of other themes to choose from. When’s the wedding taking place?”

  “We haven’t set a date yet,” Anabel said. “Maybe early next year.”

  “Did you say ‘maybe’?” Sylvia pursed her lips. “You have to be decisive when it comes to planning a wedding.”

  Anabel’s brow creased. “I do?”

  “Absolutely. There are lots of decisions to make, not to mention all the logistics that need to be dealt with. It’s a good thing I ran into you. I’m a professional. I can help you organize everything.”

  “I’m sorry, you’re a professional what?” Anabel asked.

  “Didn’t I say? I’m a wedding planner.”

  “I thought you worked at a gift shop?” I asked.

  “Not anymore,” Sylvia said. “Now I help brides make their dreams come true.”

  While Sylvia picked at her salad, she peppered Anabel with a million questions. By the end of the discussion, Anabel wasn’t any closer to figuring out what her wedding theme was.

  “Okay, girls, I’ve gotta run.” Sylvia pushed her half-eaten salad to the side. “Now, think about what I said, Anabel. We’ll catch up tomorrow, same time, same place, and go through options for your wedding dress.”

  After she darted out of the cafe, Anabel looked at me with a dazed expression on her face. “What just happened?”

  “I think you just hired yourself a wedding planner.”

  * * *

  As we walked out of the cafe, I told Anabel that she shouldn’t hire a wedding planner if she didn’t want one.

  “But Sylvia seems so passionate about it.” Anabel’s frowned. “And when she told me how planning my wedding would help keep her mind off her husband’s death, my heart broke for her. I feel like I should let the poor woman help.”

  “You’re too nice for your own good,” I said. “Considering you’re the wife . . . I mean ex-wife . . . wait, no, I mean wife-to-be-again of a chief of police—”

  Anabel smiled. “It’s confusing, isn’t it?”

  “It’s sweet, is what it is. After some time apart, the two of you realized that you really do belong together. Anyway, what I was trying to say before I got tongue-tied is that because you know about police work, you’ll be a good sounding board for Sylvia. She’s going to have to deal with a lot while they look into Fletcher’s death.

  “It’s hard for the families,” Anabel agreed. “There’s the investigation, then the trial and sentencing. On top of all that, people treat you differently. And media coverage, don’t even get me started on that circus.”

  “I’m still not sure how the investigation is going to work. Fletcher was killed when the cruise ship was in international waters. But Sylvia’s nephew, Anthony, and his girlfriend were convinced that the murder would be subject to American law.”

  “Tiny might know. He has some buddies in the Coast Guard.”

  While she sent her soon-to-be-again husband a text, I checked my own phone. “Listen, I’ve gotta go. Scooter is at Melvin’s. If I don’t hurry, he might max out our credit card again buying stuff for the boat.”

  Anabel chuckled. “Okay, see you here tomorrow for round two of wedding planning with Sylvia.”

  When I arrived at the marine supply store, Melvin jerked a finger to his right. “Scooter is back there checking out grills.” Then he pointed toward an inflatable dinghy on display by the front windows. “And Mrs. Moto is having a nap in there.”

  I found the calico nestled underneath an oar. She protested when I scooped her out, but once I pulled a cat treat out of my purse, she seemed happy enough to see me.

  When I carried her to the checkout counter, Mrs. Moto squirmed out of my arms. She yowled, then walked across the price scanner toward Melvin. When the machine beeped, Melvin laughed and scratched the cat’s head.

  “It sounds like you and Scooter are almost ready to head to the Bahamas,” he said. “If you make it to Mangrove Cay, you’ll need to say hi to my family.”

  “Shush, don’t jinx it,” I replied. “It seems like every time we cross one thing off our project list, another two appear.”

  “You know that you’ll never get everything done on that list, right? That’s what keeps sailors in port. Perfectionists never leave. Perfect is the enemy of done. All you need to do is make sure Marjorie Jane is safe and seaworthy. Get out there and enjoy life.”

  “You’re right.” I crossed my heart. “I promise we’ll be gone after Christmas.”

  “I hear you almost made it to the Bahamas this weekend,” Melvin said. “Terrible thing, that man going overboard.”

  “Let me guess, Nancy stopped by and told you.”

  Melvin moved a display of floating key chains out of Mrs. Moto’s reach. “No, I actually heard about it last night. One of my nieces works on the cruise ship. She’s staying with me for a while. I have some pictures on my fridge from that party at the yac
ht club. You and Scooter were in one of them, and she recognized the two of you.”

  “Wow, small world. What does she look like? Do you have a picture of her?”

  “I can do better than that,” Melvin said. “You can see her in real life.”

  As a young woman with intricately braided hair walked through the door, I said, “I know her. She’s the poor waitress who had to deal with Fletcher. He treated her terribly.”

  “Velma, come say hi to Mollie.” Melvin waved his niece over, then turned to me. “She was named after my wife, you know. God rest her soul.”

  Velma greeted me shyly. As she stroked Mrs. Moto, Melvin said, “Mollie told me someone treated you badly on the cruise? What happened?”

  “I was telling your uncle about Fletcher,” I said.

  “That’s the poor man who died,” Velma said quietly. “He was a friend of yours, wasn’t he, ma’am?”

  “He was a business acquaintance. We were on the cruise for my husband’s work,” I said, wanting to distance myself from Fletcher’s rude and drunken behavior. “Do you know if they arrested Herbert when the ship docked?”

  “Herbert? Sorry, I don’t typically remember passenger names.”

  “Here, I’ll show you a picture of him.” I scrolled through my photos until I reached a group one which I had taken at dinner. Anthony’s arm was slung around Madison’s shoulders. He had a gloomy expression on his face. She was a natural in front of the camera, angling her body so that her curves were displayed to maximum advantage. Fletcher was standing next to Madison. His smile reminded me of a used car salesman, ready to pounce and sell you an over-priced lemon. Sylvia was gripping her husband’s arm tightly. Herbert was at the far edge of the group. He had a faraway look in his eyes, as though he was contemplating something serious.

  As I pointed Herbert out to Velma, I wondered what he had been thinking about when the photo was taken. Had he been plotting Fletcher’s murder?

  “Take your time.” I enlarged the photo so that she could see Herbert’s face more closely. “Do you know if he was taken into custody?”

  “I’m sorry, I told my manager everything I know.” Velma handed me back my phone, then turned to her uncle. “You’re out of eggs. I’m going to the grocery store. Is there anything else you need?”

  “Hang on a minute, child. You haven’t answered Mollie’s question yet.”

  “But—”

  “No ‘buts,’” Melvin said. “Mollie has been involved in many investigations here in Coconut Cove. If she’s asking you questions, it’s for a good reason. If anyone can get to the bottom of what happened, she can.”

  As Velma’s eyes widened, I reassured her. “It’s okay. All you’ll be doing is repeating what you told your manager.”

  She nodded, then asked to see the photo again. Pointing at Herbert, she said, “This man came into the VIP Room with the man who died.”

  “This man, right?” I indicated Fletcher.

  “Yes ma’am. The two of them exchanged words. It got a little heated, and Herbert suggested that they finish their discussion somewhere else. I saw the two of them leave together.”

  “Do you happen to remember what time that was at?” I asked.

  She shook her head. “No, but it was after you were in the casino with them.”

  “And did you see either of them after that?”

  “No, ma’am. Not during the rest of my shift.”

  I rubbed my temples. While Velma hadn’t seen Herbert kill Fletcher, her eyewitness account of them fighting and then leaving together was pretty compelling.

  “This man was in the VIP Room all night,” Velma said. “I told my supervisor that.”

  Glancing at the phone, I saw that she was pointing at Anthony. “Makes sense,” I said. “He would have been keeping an eye on the guys playing poker and using every opportunity to try to get them to invest in his business deal. Thanks, Velma. You’ve been a really big help.”

  Melvin put his hand on his niece’s shoulder. “See, that wasn’t so hard. Now, about that grocery list.”

  While the two of them discussed how many eggs they needed, I went in search of Scooter. I found him trying to decide between two different grills.

  “This one costs more, but it’s larger,” he said. “I anticipate catching a lot of fish when we get to the Bahamas, so maybe that’s the way to go.”

  “Speaking of the Bahamas, guess who I just met? One of Melvin’s nieces.”

  “He has a lot of nephews and nieces,” Scooter said.

  “Yeah, but this one was the waitress on board the cruise ship. You know the one that Fletcher was such a jerk to.”

  “We should go talk to her.” Scooter’s eyes lit up. “I bet she has the inside scoop on Fletcher’s murder. Maybe she knows if Herbert was arrested.”

  “Sorry, Velma and I already chatted.”

  Scooter’s shoulders slumped. “You mean you questioned her without me?”

  “Sometimes, you have to take advantage of opportunities as they present themselves. She was there, her uncle encouraged her to talk to me, and she told me what she knows.”

  “Which is?”

  “It sounds more and more likely that Herbert killed Fletcher.”

  Scooter chewed on his lip. “Does that mean our investigation is over?”

  “Nope, not by a long shot. There are still a lot of loose threads to pick up. So, pick a grill and let’s get going.”

  8

  Sardine and Jellybean Rashes

  After setting Mrs. Moto on the backseat, I popped the trunk of the car so Scooter could put our new grill inside. He caressed the box, his eyes gleaming with excitement about his new gadget.

  “Can we consider that your Christmas present?” I asked.

  Scooter gave the grill one last look, then snapped the trunk shut. “Wouldn’t it be more like our Christmas present? You’ll enjoy the meals we make on this as much as I will.”

  “I was hoping for something a little less metallic.”

  He ran his fingers down the necklace I was wearing, stopping when he reached the lighthouse pendant. “I seem to remember you liking it when I got you this. It’s made of gold. That’s a metal.”

  I smiled at him. “I should clarify. Metal is good when it’s decorative. Even better if there’s a diamond or two involved.”

  “Duly noted.” He leaned back against the car and rubbed his hands together. “Time to strategize. What are our next steps in the investigation?”

  “Velma’s account of what happened that evening in the VIP Room seems to point the finger at Herbert. I think talking to him is our number one priority.”

  “You’re assuming he hasn’t been arrested.”

  “If he had been, I think it would have made the news. If he did kill Fletcher, he should be behind bars.”

  Scooter rubbed his jaw. “You don’t suppose he’s dangerous, do you?”

  “I don’t think he’s a mass murderer or anything. If we tread lightly and don’t tip our hand, I think it would be okay to ask him some questions and find out more about what happened that night.”

  “Agreed. But first we need to find him. Everyone else seems to have shown up in Coconut Cove. Maybe Herbert is here too.”

  I knocked on the car window and wagged a finger at Mrs. Moto. “No scratching the upholstery.” Then I looked at Scooter. “Herbert was real buddy-buddy with Ned and Nancy.”

  “That’s right. They invited him to go to the yacht club.” He pulled his phone out of his pocket and called Ned. After telling him about the new grill, Scooter asked him if he had seen or heard from Herbert. “Bingo,” he said after hanging up. “Herbert is in town and Ned is meeting him at the yacht club in an hour.”

  “Let’s go.” Before I could open the passenger door, my phone buzzed. “Hang on, it’s a text from Sylvia.”

  “What’s it say?”

  “She’s at the library and asked me to come meet her. Apparently, she has important information to share with me.”

/>   “Okay, let’s split up. I’ll go to the yacht club and you go to the library.”

  “Makes sense,” I said. “Who is going to take Mrs. Moto with them?”

  “That’s easy,” Scooter said. “Do you think she’d rather spend the afternoon at the yacht club or at the library with her buddy, Dr. McCoy?”

  At the mention of the library’s resident cat, Mrs. Moto made her opinion known by standing up on her hind legs and yowling through the gap in the cracked car window.

  “Library it is,” I said.

  * * *

  When I walked into the library, Hudson held up a chocolate bar. “Back in stock.”

  “Okay.” I pulled out my wallet. “It’s for a good cause.”

  “Do you want the whole box again?”

  “I think one bar is probably enough today.” Torn between a milk chocolate bar and one with caramel filling, I closed my eyes. “Surprise me.”

  “I hope you like cereal,” he said.

  When I saw what he had placed in my hand, I breathed a sigh of relief. “Phew. I was worried when you mentioned cereal, I thought you were going to give me a bowl of oatmeal. Corn flakes are so much better.”

  “Especially when they’re covered in dark chocolate. I think you’re going to enjoy it.” As I popped a morsel in my mouth, Hudson smiled at me mischievously. “If I was a betting man, I’d say that you won’t be able to stop with just one.”

  “Oh, go on then. Give me another one,” I said. “It is pretty delicious.”

  “That was too easy. I didn’t even have to do my hardcore sales pitch.”

  “You must have hypnotic powers.”

  “Hypnotizing people isn’t as easy as you think. The hypnotist I go to has had years of training.”

  “Why do you get hypnosis therapy?” When Hudson’s eyes grew cloudy, I instantly regretted my question. What if it had to do with the death of his wife and son?

  “I’m scared of spiders,” he said after a beat.

  I suspected that wasn’t the real reason, but I went along with it. “Me too. Especially tarantulas.”