Anchored Inn

by Karen MacInerney

  “What are you doing here, Natalie Barnes?” he asked. The way he said “Barnes” was pure Boston. The hair on the back of my neck stood straight up.

  “Just looking around,” I said.

  “Looking for what?”

  “My friend’s niece is missing,” I said, because it was the first thing that popped into my head. “I was wondering if it had anything to do with what happened to Steve, because of the timing,” I babbled. “I guess I was looking for a lead.”

  He cocked an eyebrow at me. “Find anything?”

  “No, unfortunately,” I said. “What are you doing here?”

  “I had a feeling about you,” he said. He was a big man, I noticed; I could try to slip out, but if he caught me, I could tell it wouldn't go well. “You seemed very curious about what happened to Mandy.”

  “I am,” I said, glancing at the doorway and wondering if I could make a break for it. “My husband used to date her.”

  “She dated everyone on the island, believe me. Why don’t you step out of the closet?” he asked, his eyes scanning everything.

  “Sure,” I said, and almost brushed against him as I stepped out into the bedroom.. His eyes noted the night table, which was askew. “What’s this?” he asked. He opened the drawer and rifled through it, then shut it. I was almost sure I was out of the woods when he noticed the board. As I watched, he dropped to a squat and pulled it up, revealing the envelopes hidden inside. I started sidling toward the door.

  "I wouldn't do that if I were you," he said, glancing at me sidelong. I froze. "I was a track star. I'd catch you before you got to the front door."

  I stopped moving, but started thinking. Was there something I could bean him with? I was too far from the lamp to grab it and hit him with it. I scanned the room for alternative weapons, but came up empty. I had the knife, but could I stick it in someone's back? I wasn't sure I was up to it.

  “Interesting,” he said, removing the stack and standing up. “You found these, didn’t you?”

  “No,” I lied.

  “Right.” I could tell he didn’t believe me. “Let’s see what’s in these.”

  He flipped through the envelopes until he found the one marked “EJ.” Inside was a paper-clipped stack of news clippings and a photograph. I couldn’t see what it was, but his eyes narrowed as he saw it, and he looked at me in a new, speculative way.

  “What are the clippings?” I asked.

  “You already know,” he said. “You knew the moment I slipped up earlier and mentioned the chain.”

  I swallowed. He was right; nobody knew that Mandy had been chained to the killick.. It wasn’t visible on the footage, and only the investigators and John knew that that’s how she had been fastened to it.

  Ed had killed Mandy all those years ago, either accidentally or on purpose, and I was guessing Steve witnessed it and/or helped him get rid of the body. “You can’t sail the Barbara Leigh with just one person, can you?” I asked.

  “You can’t,” he agreed. “And we couldn’t use the skiff. Too dangerous if we got stopped.”

  “What happened, anyway?”

  “She came over to the house, dressed all sexy. We had a few drinks, and she got friendly.”

  “Friendly,” I said.

  “You know what I mean. I assumed she wanted to get busy—she was all over me—but she changed her mind halfway through. We were kind of wrestling, and she accidentally hit her head on the corner of the night stand. I tried to wake her up, but she was gone.”

  Accidentally. For some reason, I found that hard to believe. “And you got Steve to help you?”

  “You pegged it,” he said. “We came to terms. We used bolt cutters to get the killick—it was the only thing we could think of we could attach to her to to get her to sink. He helped me get her out to the boat; we put her in a storage compartment with the killick; and Steve brought some chain from his father’s workshop. It was done in an hour, and he never said a word about it to anyone.”

  “And you made payments all these years. Until recently.”

  “It seemed pointless after a certain amount of time, and he was just asking too much. There was no body, and who was going to believe him, after all these years?”

  “Until Brandon found Mandy’s body.”

  “Crazy, right? I mean, what are the odds? Unless he was looking for her all those years; he carried a torch for her, that’s for sure.”

  “So Steve came to you for more money.”

  “Of course. Steve was ready to cash in. Wanted five thousand a month for life to keep his mouth shut.” He snorted. “Ridiculous.”

  “So you lured him to the inn and killed him with Tom’s kitchen knife,” I said. I’d already guessed that Jameson was responsible for Mandy’s death, or at least mixed up in it, but I was still not sure about Steve… so I was fishing.

  “Nobody locks doors on this island. It was easy.”

  “Why at the inn?” I asked.

  “It was about as far away from me as you could get,” he answered, confirming my suspicions. “Plus, with good old Brendan on the island, it was a good way to deflect suspicion.”

  “Which is why you signed the letter T.L.”

  “I heard about their little dust-up.” He glanced down at the envelopes. “Apparently our selectman was getting a little busy off the clock. I imagine Steve offered to keep quiet about it, in exchange for a little extra green.”

  “Was he blackmailing anyone else?” I asked.

  “The Karstadts,” he said. “He found out Mrs. Karstadt had a nice bit on the side, apparently. He agreed to keep quiet if she kept him busy… with jobs around the house and a little extra on the side. Your mother-in-law’s boyfriend also had him on the payroll.”

  “Murray? Why?” I asked.

  “Didn’t get to that envelope yet?” he asked. “Oh, my good buddy had a bit of a cocaine habit a while back. Steve found out about it and took a few pics of him doing lines on the kitchen counter. Murray didn’t want word getting out, so he gave Steve a regular job and some extra money under the table.”

  “Does he still use it?”

  “The extra money?”

  “The cocaine,” I said.

  “I think he picked it up again not long ago,” he said. “He was off it for a while when he was seeing your hubby’s mom, but since they broke off…”

  “Wonderful,” I groaned.

  “I can see that would be upsetting. But you’ve got bigger issues than that right now.”

  I did. But Ed Jameson was unarmed. And I wasn’t. I reached behind me and pulled my phone from one pocket . Before Ed could say anything, I unlocked the phone with my finger and said, “Call John.”

  “What?” Ed asked.

  Not long after he spoke, the phone said, “Calling John.” Then there was silence.

  “Give me your phone," Ed demanded.

  I brandished the knife and pressed the phone to my ear. It was still ringing.

  As I held my breath, it went to voicemail. Crap.

  “You don’t want to do that,” Ed said, advancing on me.

  “…Please leave a message and I’ll get back to you…” the phone was saying. Finally, it beeped.

  “John, I’m at Steve’s place, and Ed Jameson…” Ed lurched toward me, knocking the phone away and sending it skittering under the bed.

  I jabbed with the knife and he backed up a few steps. “Ed Jameson killed Mandy and Steve and he’s attacking me!” I yelled, hoping the phone was still picking up the message.

  “Shut up!” Ed snarled, lunging again. I spun to the right and jabbed; I caught his forearm, and a line of red appeared. He jerked back and swore.

  “Please come help me!” I yelled. “I’m at Steve’s and Ed is going to kill me! He knew Mandy was chained to the killick… Steve helped him get rid of her body… please come help!”

  Ed hurled himself at me, grabbing the hand with the knife and wrenching it until the knife rattled on the floor.

  “Now I’m
going to have to kill your husband, too,” he said. “Or at least go get his phone. Damn it, woman. Why didn’t you just leave well enough alone?”

  He reached for the lamp on the night stand and raised it above his head. As he did, I kneed him in the crotch and stamped on his foot.

  Ed gasped and let go of my hand. I pushed past him and ran down the hall to the front door, fumbling in my pocket for the van keys; I could already hear Ed pounding down the hall behind me. I pushed through the back door and ran around the house; I didn’t know if the front door was unlocked, and didn’t want to take the time to test it.

  As I rounded the front corner of the house, Ed burst through the front door. I raced to the van, opening the door and slamming it shut. Before I could lock it, though, he grabbed the handle and wrenched the door open.

  “No!” I yelled, jamming the key into the ignition and turning it. I threw the van into reverse and hit the gas as Ed reached in. The door hit him in the shoulder, but he didn’t give up. As he reached for me, I wrenched the steering wheel to the right. He stumbled and fell away as the van’s back bumper cracked into a tree, jerking the van to a stop. Before he had a chance to regroup, I pulled the door shut and threw the van into drive, veering around him as I pulled away from the house. The side view mirror clipped him in the chest as I tore out of the driveway and headed for the inn, my heart pounding in my chest.

  19

  John was already sprinting up the driveway, phone to his ear, when I crested the hill above the inn.

  When he saw me, relief washed across his face, but he didn’t stop running until he got to the van.

  “I just got your message… are you okay?”

  “I’m okay,” I said, “but he wants to kill both of us. Did you call the mainland police?”

  “I did,” he said. “They’re on their way in a launch.”

  “Not the helicopter?”

  “Budget cuts,” he said.

  “We have to get into the inn,” I said. “He’s coming.”

  Sure enough, behind me, I could hear the roar of the Mercedes’ engine.

  John sprinted around the side of the van and vaulted into the passenger seat. “Drive,” he said as I hit the gas, racing down to the inn.

  I pulled up to a stop about ten feet from the inn with Ed’s Mercedes practically on the van’s back bumper; we didn’t have the horsepower to match him.

  “What now?” I asked John.

  “Just stay put,” he said as Ed threw open the door of the Mercedes and strode up to the van. Only now, he had a gun in his hand.

  “He’s armed,” I said in a hoarse whisper. “What do we do?”

  “We’ll stay calm and try to talk reason,” John said. A moment later, a bullet ricocheted off the side mirror, shattering it.

  “Reason?” I asked.

  I hadn’t turned the van off. I glanced out at Ed, who was about to reach the driver’s side door, then threw the van in reverse and gunned it.

  The back bumper smacked into the Mercedes. Ed, who was now in front of the van, stared at me, his mouth an “O” of surprise, then raised the gun. Before he had a chance to shoot, I wrenched the steering wheel to the left, hit the gas again, and ran over him.

  “Oh my God,” I breathed when the van rolled to a stop. The thump of his body hitting the van seemed to echo in my head. “I just ran someone over.”

  “That was quick thinking,” John said.

  “Is he okay?” I asked, shuddering at the thought of what I'd done. I hadn’t felt the tires go over him, but I knew he’d gone down when the front grille hit him.

  “I highly doubt it,” John remarked, “but I’ll check. Stay here.”

  “Right,” I croaked as John opened the passenger door slowly, crouching down as he stepped out of the car. I watched with my heart in my throat as he disappeared around the front of the van.

  “He’s still alive,” John called. “But he’s unconscious; it looks like he hit his head on the pavement when he went down. Call the EMTs; they’re going to want to take him in.”

  “Thank God,” I breathed, saying a small prayer of thanks that I hadn’t killed the man. He might be a murderer, but I didn’t want his—or anyone else’s—blood on my hands.

  Besides, there’d been enough death on the island to last a lifetime already.

  20

  “So after all this time, it was someone local,” Charlene said as we sat in my kitchen later that day. She’d closed the store to come and be with me; John was still talking with the police, and I was shaken. Ed Jameson had gone to the hospital on the mainland with some broken ribs, a broken leg, and a concussion. The wheels had missed him, thankfully, so I didn’t have to spend the rest of my life knowing I’d killed someone.

  “Weird to think about, isn’t it? I still feel bad about running him over.”

  “He was going to shoot you and John,” she said, pushing back a stray lock of hair. Although she was beautiful no matter what, she hadn’t put on make-up since Tania disappeared, and there were still circles around her eyes. “What else were you going to do?”

  “I guess you’re right,” I said. As I took another sip of my coffee, I heard voices upstairs. “I wonder how it’s going up there?”

  “We’ll find out soon, I’m guessing,” Charlene said as footsteps sounded from the top of the stairs.

  I looked up to see Catherine's friend, Doctor Castello, followed by a stunned-looking Adam.

  “Uh oh,” I said, feeling my heart clutch. “What’s wrong?”

  “I’ll let Adam tell you that,” Doctor Castello said, turning to my young nephew-in-law.

  “Gwen’s… well… we’re pregnant,” he said, still looking like he didn’t quite believe it himself.

  “Pregnant?” I said, standing up as a thrill of excitement passed through me. “That’s wonderful! Is she going to be okay?”

  “She needs to drink more,” the physician said. “I gave her some anti-nausea meds. If they don’t work, we’ll have to check her in and give her an IV. I’ll come by tomorrow and see how it’s working; if she’s not better, I’m going to recommend she go to the hospital.”

  “When is she due?” Charlene asked.

  “I’m estimating mid-April,” the doctor said. “We’ll know more when she has a sonogram.”

  “A spring baby,” Charlene said. “I can’t believe it. Natalie, you’re going to be an aunt again!”

  “And you’re going to be a father,” I said to Adam, who was still looking stunned, but with an enormous smile on his face. “This calls for celebration,” I announced, and then saw Charlene’s face. She was still missing Tania.

  “She's in contact with us; we’ll find her,” I encouraged her in a low voice. “Are you up for a bit of bubbly?”

  “I’m always up for bubbly,” Charlene said, but her eyes were haunted.

  I retrieved the bottle of Prosecco I kept in the back of the fridge for celebratory emergencies and distributed glasses. “Wait… I need to get John!” I realized. “Hold that thought.” I hurried to the parlor to retrieve John, who was wrapping things up with the detectives. “We’ve got news,” I told him.

  He stood up, a furrow between his brows. “Is it Gwen? Is she okay?”

  “I’ll let Adam tell you,” I said, grabbing his hand. “I’ll bring him back in a few,” I told the detectives. “Promise.”

  “What’s going on?” he asked as I led him into the kitchen. “Is it serious?” It took him a moment to register the Prosecco and the glasses. “Wait… what is this about?”

  “Adam?” I said.

  “We’re pregnant,” he announced, his face splitting into a smile.

  “You’re… Gwen’s… oh! That’s wonderful!!!” John said, walking over and pulling Adam into a big hug. “You’ll be terrific parents. Is she okay?” he asked as he released the young lobsterman.

  “The good doctor here gave her some anti nausea meds. We’re going to try to get her hydrated… if not, we’ll take her in and get an IV into h
er, but apparently she should be okay.”

  “The baby’s due in April,” I said as I popped the Prosecco bottle.

  “A spring surprise,” John beamed. “I can’t wait to meet her… or him!”

  As he spoke, I glanced at Charlene. She had a smile on, but I could tell she was upset.

  “She'll be back,” I said.

  “I hope you’re right,” she said, taking a small sip of Prosecco and trying to look cheerful.

  21

  We weren’t the only ones celebrating with bubbly that day, as it turned out. Although Brandon Marks went for Dom Perignon instead of ten-dollar Prosecco.

  “Do you have any snacks we can have?” Rebecca asked as I gathered glasses for the celebration. The U-Boat had been positively identified. Evidently it had been sunk by what appeared to have been a destroyer. Several major newspapers were sending up reporters to cover the story—the submersible was going to do more exploratory work— and the German government had been notified of the find.

  “I’ve got some Marcona almonds, some gluten-free crackers and some Gouda. Will that work?”

  “Sounds perfect,” she said. “And bring a glass for yourself Mr. Quinton!”

  I assembled a quick snack board and brought both John and an extra glass into the dining room, joining Brandon, Rebecca, and Antoine, along with much of the crew of the research vessel.

  “First,” Brandon said, “to the success of the expedition. We found a vessel that had been lost for more than 70 years, uncovering a piece of history. Congratulations to Maureen and the team.” Maureen smiled proudly as we all raised our glasses.

  “And to you, Mr. Marks, for funding the research!” she replied before we drank. We all took a sip—the champagne was dry and tangy and zingy all at once—before Brandon spoke again, this time with a more serious tone. “Perhaps more importantly, to the lost men of U-Boat 809, and to the scores of lost lives they caused,” Brandon said solemnly, lifting his glass. “And, more personally… to Mandy Hoyle,” he added, his voice cracking slightly as he pronounced her name. For the first time, I saw pain in his eyes. “My first love,” he said hoarsely. “I’m sorry it ended so tragically.”