Overboard on the Ocean

by Ellen Jacobson

  “They’re the worst. Someone was just telling me about a magician who features tarantulas in his act. I think you know her. The lady who was in here last week arguing with her husband.”

  “Sylvia.” I cocked my head to one side. “Did Nancy tell you what happened on the cruise?”

  “No, I haven’t spoken with my aunt for a few days. Although, I am going over to her place for dinner tonight.”

  “Well, Sylvia’s husband was murdered. Someone pushed him overboard.”

  “Oh, wow, that’s awful.” He took a deep breath. “She’s here right now, you know. Over in the periodicals section. Dr. McCoy must have sensed what she’s going through. He’s been sitting quietly in her lap for the past twenty minutes.”

  “It will be interesting to see if Mrs. Moto realizes Sylvia needs consoling too.” I looked around the lobby. “Where did that cat go?”

  “When you walked in, she made a beeline in that direction.” Hudson pointed toward the staff room. “Probably getting herself a snack.”

  “I’m sorry that she keeps eating Dr. McCoy’s food.”

  Hudson waved a hand in the air. “That’s what it’s there for.”

  “For all the cats who wander into the library? How many come in here?”

  “True. Only Mrs. Moto is a regular. But Anabel Dalton brings her Yorkies in here sometimes. They’ve been known to sample the cat food.”

  I chuckled. “Frick and Frack spend so much time with Mrs. Moto that sometimes I think they’ve forgotten that they’re dogs.”

  “Anabel told me that she wants to figure out a way to include Frick and Frack in the wedding, but she’s not sure how.”

  “Maybe her wedding planner can help with that,” I said.

  “Wedding planner?”

  “Sylvia offered her services.”

  “That’s right. She showed me some pictures from weddings she’s worked on.” Hudson furrowed his brow. “But they seemed pretty elaborate, not to mention expensive. I never figured Anabel to be the type to have a wedding planner. She always seems so . . .”

  “Bohemian?” I suggested.

  “Yes, that’s it. I picture her getting married on the beach barefoot with flowers in her hair, not having a fancy wedding and reception.”

  “I need to find a way to get Sylvia to tone down her ideas for Anabel’s wedding. It’s not going to be easy though.” I looked toward the periodicals section, steeling myself for my conversation with Sylvia. “You know what, I’m going to need even more of that chocolate.”

  As Hudson handed me a few more bars, he said, “Do you want the name of my hypnotist? He can help you with your sugar addiction.”

  * * *

  I found Sylvia nodding off in one of the comfy armchairs by the window. Dr. McCoy was curled up on her lap. When he saw me, he lifted his head and meowed softly.

  “You’re a sweet kitty,” I told him.

  As if sensing that I was complimenting another cat, Mrs. Moto raced out of the staff room. She leaped onto the coffee table and yowled. Everyone looked over at the disturbance, but they all had smiles on their faces. Mrs. Moto’s presence in the library was a familiar one, and she was popular with the patrons.

  “Shush, Sylvia is sleeping,” I whispered to the calico.

  Mrs. Moto sniffed Sylvia’s hand and gave it a few licks. Then she laid down on the table and proceeded to give herself a head-to-toe bath.

  I started to tip-toe away when Sylvia’s eyes opened. “There you are Mollie. I must have dozed off.”

  She stretched her arms above her head and yawned. Dr. McCoy mirrored her movements, yawning while he stretched his front paws out in front of him.

  “Sit down,” Sylvia said to me. “There’s something I want to talk with you about.”

  As I set my stash of chocolate down on the table next to Mrs. Moto, Sylvia raised an eyebrow. “Is that all for you?”

  “Oh, sorry, where are my manners? Please take one.”

  Sylvia shook her head. “I can’t eat chocolate anymore. It gives me a rash in my armpits.”

  “That sounds itchy.” I felt a sudden compulsion to scratch my own armpits, but restrained myself.

  “Not as itchy as the rash on my feet I get when I eat jellybeans. But the worst one is the rash I get under my bra strap.”

  “Oh, let me guess, it’s the laundry detergent you use.”

  “No, it’s sardines.”

  “I can live without sardines and jellybeans.” I wrinkled my nose. “But give up chocolate? No way. I’d rather deal with a rash.”

  “Be careful. Eat too much chocolate and you’ll have a rash like me. Fortunately, hypnosis did the trick and I haven’t had a problem with my armpits since.”

  “Wow, Hudson just mentioned hypnosis to get rid of my sugar addiction. I thought he was just kidding.”

  “Oh, no, it really works. You should try it. There’s a fabulous hypnotist I know who lives in Coconut Cove.” She gently moved Dr. McCoy to one side in order to reach her purse. Pulling out a business card, she said, “He’s semi-retired, a former magician. You know I used to be his assistant back in the day. It was such a pleasant surprise to run into him. I hadn’t realized that he had moved to Florida. His stage name is ‘Hypnotist Hank.’ Catchy, huh? Give him a call. He can help.”

  “I’ll think about it,” I said.

  “Look, I know a lot of people don’t believe hypnotism is real and there are a lot of quacks out there, but—”

  I held up my hand. “No, I believe in it. It’s a great technique for helping people remember things like alien abduction. I hear it’s good for quitting smoking too. I’m just not sure if it’s for me.”

  “Well, if you change your mind, give Hank a call.” Sylvia reached into her purse again, then popped a piece of gum out of a foil packet. After putting it in her mouth, she opened a bridal magazine. “We should get down to business. I was thinking about these canapes for Anabel’s reception.”

  “Is this why you asked me to come meet you here?”

  “Of course. Anabel’s wedding is our number one priority, right” She handed me the magazine. “Now, about these canapes.”

  I squinted at the photo. “Is that caviar?”

  “And edible gold leaf. Almost too pretty to eat.”

  “I’m not sure that’s really Anabel’s style,” I said, handing her the magazine back.

  “Of course, it is. The problem with brides is that they’re so excited and overwhelmed about their upcoming nuptials, that it’s hard for them to make decisions.” She patted her chest. “That’s what makes wedding planners so indispensable. We can take that stress away from the young girls by making all the tough decisions for them.”

  There were a couple of major flaws with Sylvia’s argument. First off, Anabel wasn’t a young girl. I’m not saying she’s old. We’re about the same age, and when you’re in your forties, ‘young girl’ is a fond memory, not reality. Second, I’ve known a few bridezillas who are crystal clear about precisely what they want. They don’t need wedding planners to tell them anything. They hire wedding planners so that they have someone to blame when things go wrong.

  Caviar and edible gold leaf—this was so not Anabel. Barefoot on the beach with flowers in her hair, totally her scene. I had to find a way to get Sylvia to focus on something other than Anabel’s wedding.

  “Did you know that Herbert is in Coconut Cove?” I asked.

  That seemed to do the trick. Sylvia closed the magazine. “Herbert? Herbert is here?”

  “Uh-huh. He’s at the yacht club.”

  “Impossible.” Sylvia stood abruptly, causing Dr. McCoy to tumble off her lap. “Come on, let’s go.”

  “Where?”

  “To the police station to go see Anabel’s fiancé. Herbert Miller should be in jail.” As Sylvia scooped up her purse, she added. “Bring that magazine with you. I have some ideas for what the groomsmen should wear that I want to run past the chief.”

  * * *

  Thank goodness the ch
ief was away at an office ergonomics training session. Sylvia tried to leave the bridal magazine with the receptionist, but Charmaine Buttercup wasn’t having any of that.

  “The last time I mentioned the wedding to the chief, he just about bit my head off,” Charmaine said, tucking a lock of her strawberry blonde hair into her elaborate updo.

  “Why’s that?” I asked.

  “I don’t rightly know. All I did was tell him about when Dale and I got married and then, would you believe this, he pretended that his phone rang. The man had the nerve to have an entire fake phone conversation in front of me. Eventually, I gave up and left his office.”

  I bit back a smile. Charmaine was a sweetheart. Only she did have a tendency to ramble on, a trait which I knew drove the chief to distraction.

  “Sylvia’s exhausted,” I said to Charmaine. “I should get her back to the bed-and-breakfast.”

  Sylvia wrung her hands. “I can’t rest until I know that Herbert Miller is in jail.”

  “Mollie is right,” Charmaine said. “You look plum worn out. Go get some rest, and I’ll be sure to tell Chief Dalton all about this Herbert Miller fellow the second he gets back. Don’t worry, the chief will know what to do.”

  Sylvia nodded, then tried again to give Charmaine the magazine.

  Charmaine gently rebuffed the attempt. “Lunch later this week, Mollie?”

  After picking a date, I ushered Sylvia out of the police station.

  “I’m really not that tired,” she said as we walked to the car.

  “You’ve been through a lot,” I said. “You should rest. Your immune system will be weakened from the stress. You don’t want to get sick.”

  On the drive back, Sylvia looked at pictures of Regency era style weddings on her phone. “How about having Anabel ride a white stallion down the aisle?”

  “I think she’s allergic to horses,” I said.

  “This stupid phone,” she said. “It’s turned itself off again. I need Anthony to look at it for me. Sometimes, I wish we still used paper and pencil. I’m not very good with technology.”

  “Must be tricky since you were married to a guy in telecommunications.”

  “Tell me about it,” she muttered.

  After dropping Sylvia off at the Honeysuckle Cottages, I checked my phone. Scooter had sent me a cryptic text, telling me to meet him at our friend Penny Chadwick’s boat, Pretty in Pink.

  I deposited Mrs. Moto at our boat, then headed to D Dock where Penny’s boat was berthed. I was surprised to find Herbert sitting in the cockpit, chatting with Penny about options for relocating his boat from Cleveland to Coconut Cove.

  When Penny saw me, she said, “There’s some lemonade in the galley. Help yourself. Scooter’s already down there.”

  Herbert gave me a quick hello, then turned back to Penny. For a man who might soon end up in jail, he seemed rather focused on how much it would cost to truck his boat to Florida.

  “I see you found our number one suspect,” I said quietly to Scooter as poured me some lemonade. “Did you get any useful intel out of him?”

  “I sure did.” Scooter glanced up into the cockpit to make sure that we wouldn’t be overheard. “Herbert told me that Dominic is a loan shark.”

  “That makes sense,” I said, remembering how Dominic had given Fletcher money in exchange for his car keys and gold watch. “But why was he on the cruise? Who takes their own personal loan shark with them?”

  “That part I don’t know.”

  “Okay, Dominic is a loan shark. But I’m not sure how that’s relevant.”

  “I figure Herbert told me that to throw us off the scent. He’s trying to set Dominic up to be the fall guy.”

  “That fits the facts. If you kill someone, you try to shift the focus to someone else. Sometimes, you might even plant false clues. But trying to pin it on Dominic? No, I don’t see it. Herbert is smarter than that. Sure, Dominic might have loaned Fletcher money, but how could he collect if Fletcher was dead? That’s why we ruled out Dominic as a suspect back on the ship.” I took a sip of the lemonade, then smacked my lips. “That’s tart. I wonder if Penny has any sugar around here.”

  As I peeked in the canisters on the counter, Scooter rubbed his hands together. “I haven’t told you everything yet. Herbert says that he heard Dominic and Fletcher arguing earlier that evening. Dominic told Fletcher that he’d have to come up with the money he owed when they got back to port or else. Fletcher laughed, saying that you can’t collect money from a dead man.”

  “Right, that’s what I just said.”

  “But here’s where it gets interesting.” Scooter paused for dramatic effect. “Dominic’s reply was, ‘But I can collect from your widow.’”

  “That is interesting. Now we have two fights—one between Fletcher and Herbert, and one between Fletcher and Dominic.” I ran my fingers through my hair. “But there was a witness to Fletcher and Herbert’s fight. Did Herbert say if anyone else heard Dominic threaten Fletcher?”

  “No, he didn’t.” Scooter leaned against the counter. “Now that I think about it, it does seem like Herbert is lying. When I asked him if he had told the police about Dominic, he said he hadn’t.”

  “Well, there you go then.”

  “But, on the other hand, Herbert told me that Dominic has some serious connections. Maybe he was afraid to go to the police. In fact, he made me swear that I wouldn’t tell anyone what he told me.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I don’t know, it sounds fishy.”

  Scooter took my glass from me and set it on the counter. “You’re better with this sort of thing than I am. I think you should have a crack at questioning Herbert.”

  As we sat down in the cockpit, I tried to figure out how to tackle bringing up the subject of Fletcher’s death.

  “Are you okay, sugar?” Penny asked me. “You look lost in thought.”

  “Speaking of sugar, do you happen to have any that I could add to my lemonade?”

  She smiled. “A little too tart for you? No problem, I’ll get you fixed up.”

  After she went down below, I turned to Herbert and dived right in. “Scooter told me what you had said about Dominic.”

  “That was supposed to be between us.”

  “I can’t keep secrets from my wife,” Scooter said.

  Herbert sighed. “I couldn’t either.”

  “You have to tell the police what you heard Dominic say to Fletcher,” I said. “If not for any other reason than to make sure no one tries to pin the murder on you.”

  I was proud of myself for this line of questioning. Herbert would relax, thinking we were on his side. Maybe he’d accidentally let something incriminating slip.

  His eyes widened. “Who would do that?”

  “Anthony?” I suggested.

  “That punk has had it in for me from day one.” Herbert clenched his fists. “He thinks I’m some sort of dinosaur. He’s trying to push me to retire so that he can take over the company. You should hear the lies he told Fletcher and Sylvia about me. Wait until I see him—”

  Someone rapped on the hull. “Penny, you there? I’ve got your order.”

  Penny came into the cockpit and leaned over the side of the boat. “Hi Melvin. Here, let me help you with that.”

  As Melvin handed Penny a couple of cartons, I blanched when I saw that Velma was standing next to him. What if Herbert realized who she was? What if he found out that she had witnessed his fight with Fletcher?

  “Come aboard,” Penny said to Melvin and Velma. “I’ve got some cold lemonade. Herbert, scootch over a little so that they can sit down.”

  Velma shot her uncle a nervous glance. Except he seemed oblivious to who the man she was sitting next to was. When Herbert smiled at her, she broke into tears. “I can’t do this.”

  “Do what?” Melvin asked.

  “He paid me to lie,” she said in a shaky voice.

  “Who paid you to lie?” Melvin nodded his head toward Herbert. “This man?”

  “No,
it was the other man. He told me he would give me money if I said that I saw them fighting. But there wasn’t any fight.”

  I leaned forward. “You mean you didn’t see Herbert fighting with Fletcher?”

  Velma’s chest heaved as tears streamed down her face. She was sobbing so hard that I couldn’t make out her response, but from the emphatic shaking of her head, her answer was clear. Someone wanted to pin the murder on Herbert, and they had enlisted Velma’s help to do so.

  9

  Tiny Hamster Sweaters

  “You lied?” Melvin pulled his niece to her feet. “You accepted a bribe? How could you? That’s not how you were raised.”

  “Please, you have to understand.” Velma placed her hand on her uncle’s arm, but he shook it off.

  “Understand what? What is there to understand?” The set of Melvin’s jaw reflected the anger he felt, but his dark brown eyes hinted at something else. Shame, perhaps? Knowing a member of his family had done something that didn’t sit right with his values would sting. “If your parents were still alive, they would be horrified.”

  Penny, Scooter, and I exchanged glances. Melvin had dealt with more than his fair share of family tragedy in the past. Hopefully, this wouldn’t push him over the brink.

  Velma collapsed onto the bench seat, tears streaming down her face. “I did it for Ashley. Her boy is really sick, and she can’t afford the medicine he needs.”

  Worry creased Melvin’s brow. Sitting next to his niece, he took her hand in his. “Why didn’t you tell me about your sister? I would have helped.”

  “She made me swear not to tell you. She knows what you think about her husband.”

  Melvin scowled. “That no-good fool.”

  “You never could stand him,” Velma said.

  “He spends more time in police custody then he does at home,” Melvin said. “But you and Ashley still should have come to me. To take money and lie? I never thought you would have done such a thing.”

  “I was desperate. I spoke with Ashley right before the ship departed. She told me that her boy had taken a turn for the worse. When that man offered me money . . . well, it seemed like the answer.” Velma took a deep breath, then continued, her voice quiet and flat. “I didn’t know someone had been murdered. By the time I found out, I was in too deep.”