Overboard on the Ocean

by Ellen Jacobson

  “It is a small town,” Hudson said. “We find the strangest ways to amuse ourselves.”

  “Is the librarian role you interviewed for in a small town too?” I asked.

  “Uh-huh. It sounds like it has some similarities to Coconut Cove. I think that will make it an easier transition.” He crossed his fingers. “Assuming I get the job.”

  I smiled. “My gut tells me you’re going to get it.”

  Dr. McCoy jumped onto the counter and rubbed his body against Hudson’s face. “Where have you been, buddy?” Hudson asked the cat.

  I tucked my dark chocolate pomegranate bar in my purse, somewhat amazed that I hadn’t eaten any of it yet. Who says I don’t have willpower? Okay, it might have had more to do with the fact that I was going to have to pluck the pomegranate pieces out before the chocolate would be edible, and that was going to take some time.

  “I should get going,” I said. “There are some people I want to track down about this latest murder.”

  Hudson picked up a pen that Dr. McCoy had knocked on the floor, then asked, “So if everyone else thinks it was an accident, why do you think it was murder?”

  “Too many things don’t add up.” I scratched Dr. McCoy’s head, then did a double take when I saw Dominic walk through the entrance. “There’s someone I never expected to see in a library.”

  As the muscular man walked past the display of new releases, he knocked some of the books off the table. Dr. McCoy leaped off the counter and padded over to inspect the mess. Dominic grinned when he saw the cat, crouching down to stroke him. “Pretty kitty, pretty kitty,” he cooed.

  Hudson walked over to help pick up the books. “Dr. McCoy seems to like you,” he said to Dominic.

  “Nice kitty,” Dominic said as he scooped the cat into his arms. He stood, cuddling Dr. McCoy against his chest while Hudson rearranged the new release display.

  “Can I help you with anything?” Hudson asked.

  Dominic gently deposited the cat on the table, then said, “Cookbook.”

  “Sure, what kind of cookbook?”

  “Rutabaga.”

  “Ah, I have just the thing for you.” Hudson grinned as he grabbed a book from the table. “Trixie Tremblay’s newest release.”

  Dominic pointed at the book. “Read.”

  “Are you from Coconut Cove?” When Dominic shook his head, Hudson said, “Unfortunately, I can’t check it out to you, but you’re more than welcome to read it here.”

  “Okay.” Dominic opened the book and began to leaf through it.

  “You might be more comfortable at one of the tables,” Hudson suggested. “Dr. McCoy, why don’t you show him the way?”

  Dr. McCoy meowed, then raced over to a table by the window. Dominic turned to follow, then caught my eye. “Lady Luck.”

  Hudson looked at me quizzically. “It’s a long story,” I told him before greeting Dominic.

  Dominic held up the cookbook, then pointed at me. “You, read.”

  “You want me to look at the book with you?” Dominic nodded, and I followed him over to the table that Dr. McCoy was perched on. Dominic pulled out a chair for me, then sat next to me. As he flipped through the pages, I asked him what he was still doing in Coconut Cove.

  “Take care of Sylvia,” he said.

  “That’s sweet of you,” I said. “She told me that you’re a distant cousin. Where was it that you’re from? She mentioned Bratslavia.”

  “Brat . . . bratwurst?” Dominic shook his head. “No. Bratwurst, bad. Rutabaga, good.”

  “Well, I would beg to differ,” I said. “Have you seen Sylvia since Anthony was killed?”

  Dominic furrowed his brow. “Anthony dead?”

  “Yes, he died yesterday. Didn’t you know?”

  Dr. McCoy rolled over onto his back. Dominic rubbed the cat’s tummy, then looked at me. “Sylvia sad?”

  “Devastated. Madison too.”

  “Pretty kitty,” Dominic cooed before removing a chain from around his neck. “I cheer up.”

  “You’re going to cheer Sylvia and Madison up?”

  “Magic.” He pulled a small metal ring from his jeans pocket. Then he proceeded to hold the chain up and show me that it was clasped. Next, he held the chain in one hand and the ring in his other. Passing the chain through the ring a few times, he said, “No fall.”

  He waited patiently for a few moments when Dr. McCoy started batting at the chain. I pulled the cat into my lap. “Go ahead.”

  Dominic squinted, as though channeling his magical powers, then flicked the ring. He grinned, showing me that the ring was now attached to the chain. “Ta da!”

  “Very impressive,” I said. “I didn’t know you were a magician.”

  “No, no magician.” He pulled out his phone and showed me a picture. “This, magician.”

  “Hey, that’s Ragno, the Master of Illusions, isn’t it? When did you take this?”

  “Cruise ship.”

  “Oh my gosh, you went to the magic show the night Fletcher was killed. I forgot that you told me about that when we were at Trixie Tremblay’s seminar.”

  “Yes. I see magic. I see Ragno. Ragno, good.” He grinned as he swiped through his photos. “See, spiders.”

  I shuddered. “That’s why I didn’t stay for his act. I can’t stand spiders. What did you think of his trick with the snakes?”

  “Snakes?”

  “Yes, Sylvia told me that Ragno does an impressive illusion with boa constrictors.”

  Dominic shook his head. “No snakes.”

  “Oh, you don’t like snakes? I’m not a big fan either.”

  “No, no snakes.” Dominic put the chain back around his neck and tucked the ring into his pocket. He pulled the cookbook toward him, “Rutabagas.”

  “Yeah, I’m not a big fan of rutabagas either. Tell you what, I’ll let you look at the recipes on your own.” As I grabbed my purse, I asked, “Where are you staying, by the way?”

  Dominic looked up at me. “Gold. Gold compass.”

  “Hmm … I think you mean the Golden Astrolabe.” When Dominic didn’t respond, no doubt entranced by the glossy picture of Trixie Tremblay peeling a rutabaga, I shrugged. That was about as much useful information as I was going to get out of the man from Bratslavia. Time to track down my other suspects.

  * * *

  As I walked to the car, my phone rang. “It’s your wonderful husband. Please pick up,” the Bob Newhart soundalike said.

  “Hey, Scooter,” I said. “How was the dentist?”

  “Fine. He put the new crown on. Pretty painless. What happened at the police station?”

  “Sylvia showed up with a parrot.”

  “A parrot?”

  “For the Dalton’s pirate-themed wedding.”

  Scooter chuckled. “Pirates, huh? I never figured Chief Dalton as a swashbuckling kind of guy.”

  “Trust me, it wasn’t his idea.”

  “That was the big emergency? Wedding planning?”

  “Well, the parrot was trying to make a nest in Charmaine’s hair, and the chief was desperate to get rid of Sylvia.”

  “So desperate that he asked you to come to the station? Wow, that is desperate.”

  “I’m pretty sure it was Charmaine’s idea, but it worked out well. I got a chance to talk to the chief about Anthony’s murder.” After I told Scooter about my diagram and filled him in on the finer points of electrocution, I said, “Herbert had motive to kill both Fletcher and Anthony. I just can’t work out how he managed to switch Anthony’s phone charger.”

  “Sounds like we need to question him,” Scooter said. “I have an appointment now, but we could try to track him down later today.”

  “What appointment? You already went to the dentist.”

  “Oh, um, this is something else.”

  “Are you keeping secrets from me?” I joked.

  Scooter sighed. “It isn’t really a secret, it’s more that I’m not sure what you’ll think if I tell you. It’s kind of embarrassi
ng.”

  “Your standard of embarrassment is different from mine,” I said. “Is it as bad as the time when I tried to do a truck and trailer maneuver on the roller derby rink, ended up going head over heels and split the back of my pants? That was not the time to be wearing polka dot underwear.”

  He laughed. “No, nothing like that.”

  “Okay, then, tell me,” I said, opening the car door and slipping onto the seat.

  “I’m seeing a hypnotist. He’s been helping me with my squeamishness.”

  “It’s strange—”

  Scooter interjected, “What, that I’m seeing a hypnotist?”

  “No, that’s not strange. Well, it’s strange for you. Or at least unexpected.”

  “Then what’s strange?”

  “It seems like everyone has been talking about hypnotists these days. Hudson suggested I try it to help with my chocolate addiction. Sylvia is into it too. She recommended a guy named Hank, who lives near Coconut Cove. Maybe the universe is trying to tell me something.”

  “Hank? Hypnotist Hank? That’s who I’ve been seeing. In fact, I’m on my way there right now.” Scooter paused for a moment, then said, “Want to meet me there? You can check it out for yourself.”

  After Scooter gave me the address, I drove to the outskirts of town. Hank’s office was located in a small strip mall next to Pete’s Gator Farm. Pete’s was a popular tourist attraction in the area. I didn’t get it. Why would anyone voluntarily pay good money to get up close and personal with alligators? People even paid extra to get a picture of themselves holding a baby gator. Personally, it seemed crazy to me, but not nearly as crazy as holding a large, hairy spider. Maybe Hank had strategically located his office for just that reason—helping people cope with being face-to-face with scary reptiles through hypnosis.

  When I pulled into the parking lot, I saw Scooter chatting outside with Sylvia. She had dark circles under her eyes that even the best concealer in the world couldn’t disguise. After I gave her a hug, I told her I was surprised to see her out and about. “I thought you weren’t feeling well.”

  “I’m hoping to get an emergency appointment with Hank,” Sylvia said, clutching at her necklace. “The stress is getting to me.”

  “Understandable,” Scooter said. “Losing your husband and your nephew in a week would be too much for anyone to deal with.”

  “How does hypnosis help with stress?” I asked.

  “I’ve been falling back into bad habits as a way of dealing with the stress. A hypnotist plants suggestions when you’re in a trance. The suggestions help you control your behavior better.”

  “I eat chocolate in certain conditions,” Scooter said. “Hank’s techniques are helping me cope when those situations arise.”

  “How does it work?” I asked.

  “He helps me visualize having a more positive reaction when confronted with disturbing situations,” Scooter said. “The suggestions that he plants are things like, ‘When I see a dead body, I feel calm and collected,’ and ‘When someone is bleeding, I administer first aid without fainting.’ He also taught me a ritual to do, which helps ground me in stressful moments.”

  “The one where you do that breathing thing, tug your earlobes, and press your nose?” I asked.

  “That’s the one,” Scooter said. “It really helps.”

  Sylvia pressed her hands together so tightly that I thought she was going to lose feeling in her fingers. “I have a ritual like that myself, but it isn’t working these days.”

  The door to the office opened and a tall man wearing a green cape poked his head out. “I thought I heard someone out here.” When he saw Sylvia, he pulled her into an embrace. “Oh, sweetheart, I heard about what happened.”

  “Is there any chance you could see me, Hank? I’ve been . . .” her voice trailed off as tears streamed down her face.

  Hank put an arm around the distraught woman’s shoulders, then gave Scooter a questioning look. “Do you mind waiting?”

  “No, that’s fine,” Scooter said. “Sylvia needs your help more than I do right now. Mollie and I can go get some coffee and come back later.”

  “So this is the famous Mollie.” Hank drew his cape around himself, then bowed with a flourish. When he drew himself back up, he snapped his fingers and a bouquet of paper flowers suddenly appeared in his hand. As he presented them to me, he said, “It’s a pleasure to finally meet you.”

  “Likewise,” I said, pretending to smell the flowers. “Sylvia told me that she used to work with you back in Cleveland as a magician’s assistant.”

  “I was lucky that she graced me with her presence on stage. She was a marvel. Such a stunning woman.” He winked at Sylvia. “The audience couldn’t take their eyes off you.”

  I cocked my head to one side. “A pretty woman is good for misdirection, huh? That way people don’t notice how you pull off your tricks.”

  Hank put his hands on his hips and said with mock indignation. “Misdirection? Never. I’m a magician, not a con artist.”

  Sylvia tugged at his arm. “Did I tell you I saw Ragno on the cruise ship?”

  “Oh, that would have been a treat,” Hank said. “Did he conjure up boa constrictors?”

  “Of course. Making snakes appear and disappear is his trademark illusion,” she said.

  “What about the volunteers from the audience? Did any of them faint?” Hank turned to Scooter and me. “Did you see Ragno’s act as well? The last time I saw it, one of the ladies collapsed on stage.”

  “Honestly, if I had been there and someone dragged me up on stage, I would have fainted too,” I confessed.

  “We can sign you up for a series of sessions,” Hank suggested. “After you’ve finished, you’ll be able to hold a dozen snakes in your arms without batting an eye.”

  Scooter laughed. “You might want to start with something easier, like Mollie’s chocolate addiction.”

  I furrowed my brow. “I’m not really sure if that would be easier.”

  “Imagine if someone offered you two choices,” Scooter held out his right hand, then his left. “Give up chocolate or hold a snake. Which would you pick?”

  “I’d find someone with better choices.”

  Hank chuckled, then looked at his watch. “I should be finished with Sylvia around noon. Will that work for you?”

  “Sure,” Scooter said.

  I turned to Sylvia. “Did you and Madison want to get together later today? We could go out to dinner. Try to take your mind off things.”

  She shook her head. “We have a plane to catch this evening.”

  “Where are you going?” I asked.

  “Back to Cleveland. I need to organize Fletcher’s memorial service, and I also want to be there for Anthony’s parents. Losing a husband is one thing, but to lose your son, that’s unimaginable.”

  “Did the chief say that it was okay to leave town?” I asked.

  Sylvia looked puzzled. “Why would he care if we left?”

  “Because the investigation is still underway,” I said.

  “You heard Chief Dalton. It’s a routine investigation. If he has any follow-up questions, he can call me.” She shrugged. “Or he can wait until we’re back.”

  “So you are coming back to Coconut Cove?” I asked.

  “Yes, the real estate agent is showing me some more properties on Saturday. You should join me. I’d love to get your opinion.”

  “We have the fundraiser at the yacht club that evening and a million other things to do during the day, so I’m not sure,” I said. “I’ll let you know.”

  After Hank ushered Sylvia into his office, Scooter asked if I was ready to go get some coffee.

  “Sure, want to take your car or mine?” I replied.

  “We’ll take—” Scooter’s phone rang, and he glanced at the screen. “It’s Herbert.”

  “Answer it,” I urged. “And make an excuse for us to get together with him. We need to find out more about Anthony’s murder.”

  I l
eaned against my car while Scooter chatted with Herbert. There was a lot of discussion about telecommunications-related things, so I tuned their conversation out, trying to figure out how Hank did the trick with the paper flowers instead.

  Scooter nudged me. “Uh, can you hang on a minute,” he said to Herbert. Then he turned to me and said, “Herbert wants me to become his partner.”

  “Partner? Partner in what?” I asked.

  “His company,” Scooter said. “He’s decided not to retire after all.”

  15

  Alligator Piñatas

  “What do you mean Herbert wants you to become a partner?” I asked after Scooter ended the call. “What happened to his big retirement plan?”

  “Apparently, Anthony’s death changed things,” Scooter said. “The paperwork hadn’t been finalized so Herbert still owned the company when Anthony died.”

  “Sounds awfully convenient,” I said. “How did Herbert sound? Upbeat?”

  “He seems pretty excited about the direction he’s planning on taking the company in. There’s a multi-million dollar contract which he wants to bid on. If the company gets it, it would be huge. That’s why he wants to bring me on board, initially to help with the bid, then to oversee implementation if it’s successful.”

  “Excited, huh? That doesn’t sound like a man who just days ago was trying to convince everyone that he was looking forward to retirement.” I paced back and forth in front of Hank’s office, thinking through these latest developments. “I had told you that I thought Anthony had somehow coerced Herbert into turning the company over to him. Now that he’s dead, Herbert doesn’t have to. He retains complete control over the business. Sounds like a good motive for murder, don’t you think?”

  Scooter removed his tortoiseshell glasses and rubbed his eyes. “You must have heard me on the phone. I agreed to meet with him for lunch to talk about his offer. Not exactly a bright idea.”

  “Why do you think that? It’s a great idea. It will be the perfect opportunity for us to question Herbert.”