“Jaymie! How are you?” he said with a relaxed smile. He introduced her to his wife, Mamie, who smiled but stayed silent. She resumed crocheting a baby blanket, the wool coiling out of the depths of her capacious straw bag at her feet.
They traded tales, what they were up to, and how they had all been, as more cars arrived and the dock became alive with the sounds of laughter and chatter from the people looking forward to cruising. Melody, who wore tan Bermuda shorts and a sleeveless T-shirt, joined them and was introduced, her profession briefly noted by Jaymie, who was proud of her friend’s work. The chief’s wife perked up, eyes wide.
“Something tells me she recognizes the name. She reads a lot,” he said, hitching his thumb at his wife.
“Horace!” she reprimanded. “Pleased to meet you all,” she said, continuing crocheting as she spoke.
Melody eyed her with fascination and sidled over to talk to her. They were soon deep in conversation, but not about books; their chat seemed to be mostly about grandchildren and crocheting.
“How is retirement?” Jaymie asked with a sly smirk. She knew the answer, but it came in an explosion.
“Boring! I’ve taken up lawn bowling,” he said with a cross look at his wife, who smiled and kept crocheting and nodding, and talking to Melody. “Even croquet. Did you know there is a croquet league in Wolverhampton?”
“But I thought you’d buy a boat and fish?”
“I’ve got a boat, but it’s a nuisance hauling it down to the boat launch every time I want to go fishing, and I hate paying to keep it in a slip. We’d like to buy a place on the island, matter of fact. If I had my own dock she’d never see me.”
His wife looked up and smiled again. “I’d love that, too . . . to sit on the dock by the water with a cup of tea in the early morning. Heaven. But places on the island are pricey.” Her voice was soft and velvety, and there was a sparkle in her blue eyes that hinted at a mischievous sense of humor. “When Horace is being a pain in the neck I could tell him to take a long walk off a short dock.”
The chief chuckled.
“What would you think of a fixer-upper?” Val asked. “Not everyone is up for a project, but my brother has one or two Heartbreak Island cottages on his books. Brock Nibley, real estate agent; he handles most of the sales on the island.” She fished out a card and handed it to the chief.
The chief took it and looked at it thoughtfully, nodding. “We had a fellow in Wolverhampton looking around for us, but he’s no good. We’re small potatoes and he’d rather cater to the rich folks. He took us to see one place on the island but they wanted half a million for it!” He handed it to his wife, who dropped it in her crochet bag. He looked up, pale blue eyes narrowed. “Heard there was a little trouble out there two nights ago.”
“I’d call it more than a little trouble,” Jaymie said, frowning. “It’s a tragedy. And I’m not convinced the fellow the police arrested actually did it.”
“Kory Jamison,” the chief said. “I know him. He’s been in and out of trouble a lot.”
“For minor things like theft, though. He’s not violent, is he?”
The chief shook his head. “Not to my knowledge. I’ve known him since he was a kid; friends of his family. He’s been in trouble since he was ten. Mind you, it’s always been petty stuff: breaking into sheds, stealing tools to sell.” He turned to watch as the dinner cruise boat, a two-deck cruiser named the Huronia, motored toward the dock. “S’pose we’d better get ready to board. You got a whole crew of gals, huh?”
“College pals,” Jaymie said. “We’ll see you aboard.”
“Ahoy,” he said with a chuckle.
• • •
The cruise was under way. Jaymie stood on the open upper deck and leaned on the railing, watching the water splash along the hull, white froth lifting and falling as the boat cut through the waves. Seagulls—herring gulls, those squawky, begging, persistent pests that populate Great Lakes–area parking lots looking for French fries or other delicious scraps—screeched and wheeled overhead as the western sky turned a golden pink. The sun was a fireball sinking toward the horizon as the Huronia headed north into the lake. There was another hour or so of sunlight, but it was dwindling.
The air was fresher. A breeze lifted her bangs, drying the perspiration that had gathered on her forehead and under her heavy ponytail. She took a deep breath in, inhaling the clean lake air, then joined her friends. Families and couples strolled around them, everyone in a holiday mood, clearly happy with the weather and the evening.
The college friends sat on deck chairs in a circle with glasses of wine and laughed and talked about the old days: the parties, the guys, the classes . . . the parties. Hanging out at the Ceeps, the downtown London, Ontario, bar notorious among Western students through the decades, and the Spoke, the campus bar. They reminisced about their rented house, a ramshackle two-story barn with poor heating, uncertain lighting that flickered like in a horror movie—especially in the basement laundry room—and an ancient stove on which one burner worked.
And one bathroom for seven or eight girls.
“That was the real horror story,” Brandi stated, leaning back in her chair. “Court, you should have been there! Trying to get ready to get to class in the morning, or to go out on a Saturday evening . . . it was torture! Worse than tonight.”
“Poor privileged princesses,” Tiffany said with a malicious snort. “Doomed to the horrors of a single bathroom.” She took a long drink of her scotch and water, her coiffed and gelled hair not moving in the stiff breeze that fluttered the rest of their tresses. “Logan and me . . . we were raised in hell, with folks who didn’t give a damn about us. We were happy to be together and lucky to have food to eat and a place to rest our weary heads at night, even if we did get beaten for stealing a cookie or asking for a drink of water.”
“Isn’t that a perfect conversation ender?” Melody said, shooting Tiffany a disgusted look.
“Says the woman who can end any conversation by saying, ‘In my last book’ . . .”
Melody turned red and fell into a brooding silence, slurping down a long gulp of wine.
Brandi, glaring at Tiffany, said, “You can never let people be happy, can you? Can’t you for once not be the death of the party? At least Mel doesn’t try to out-misery everyone else.”
Any hope of continuing peaceful communication effectively over, the group moved down the narrow steps, awkward for those in heels, and inside as the dinner bell clanged. The meal was served in a long room toward the prow, lined on all sides with windows. They had a round table to themselves. The chief and his wife were at the table next to them, seated with other couples of a similar age. Mrs. Ledbetter found an immediate friend in the woman next to her, and they began talking crocheting patterns and grandchildren, taking out their phones and comparing pictures. The chief, after eating his fill of all-you-can-eat perch and pickerel, served with lemon wedges, homemade tartar sauce, fresh coleslaw and hand-cut French fries, turned his chair slightly to rest his capacious belly on his lap.
Jaymie had seated herself right behind him, with Valetta on one side of her and Melody on the other. She enjoyed her dinner, which was delicious, though watching Tiffany pick at the fish and complain was annoying. Jaymie pointed out that if she didn’t like fish she should have ordered the chicken but she said no, she liked fish all right, just not this fish. There were no complaints from the others, though Brandi spoke at length about becoming vegan, the pros and cons, how she had tried it and found it too much work, but as her oldest was vegan, maybe she’d go back to it.
Melody said, “You could always be pescatarian today, vegan tomorrow.”
They laughed and ordered more wine, something they could all agree on. As Gabriela and Courtney both dawdled with their food, and Brandi ordered a Bloody Caesar from the bar, Jaymie turned and talked to Chief Ledbetter. Knowing it would go no further, she confessed her worries concerning Brandi’s involvement with Mario Horvat. She explained about Brandi’s je
alous ex, Terry, and the Terry who was apparently Mario’s long-lost son.
“Chief, what should I do? You know I don’t have the best relationship with Detective Vestry. If I bring this up to her, and Brandi gets in trouble, I won’t be able to intercede; she’d never forgive me.” She hadn’t realized how much she was worried about it until she said it out loud.
“I thought you were smarter than that,” he said sharply, his heavy bushy brows slanting down, shadowing his pale eyes.
“What do you mean?” she whispered, leaning toward him, with a quick glance over her shoulder.
“If you’re worried that your friend’s ex is a killer, you’re doing her no favor by not telling the police everything you know. And if it turns out he’s not, you have a clear conscience.”
She nodded and sighed. “Of course, you’re right. I have to tell Detective Vestry my worries, right?”
“Do it, tomorrow morning.”
“Okay.” She sighed. “This week hasn’t been going anything like I thought.”
“What else is worrying you?”
His avuncular style always calmed her. When she first met him he intimidated her, but she saw through the façade now. He could be brusque. He could be curt. But he was a nice, smart man who cared about truth and justice. She related what Mrs. Stubbs had told her about the conversation she overheard between Jaymie’s friend Gabriela and Tiffany, the sister-in-law. “I can’t imagine what went down at home that would force Tiffany, Logan and Fenix to leave. I want to ask, but it’s not easy.”
“Isn’t your friend Brandi from the same town? They must have acquaintances in common; all small-towners do. Mine those!”
“But then I’d have to tell Brandi my suspicions of Tiffany.”
“And? You’re worried about her reaction when she finds out you’ve told the police about Terry. If you ask her to find this out, she’ll realize you’re being snoopy, nothing more.” He smiled and chuckled. “Kiddo, do all that and check back in with me. I’m heading out to the island tomorrow to go fishing with a buddy. I’ll stop by the cottage. I have a hankering to see that cute li’l trailer you’ve posted online.”
“You follow my ‘Vintage Eats’ blog?” Jaymie asked in surprise. She had begun posting some life moments on her food blog in response to her growing readership, who were enthusiastic about everything, it seemed, and pics of the vintage trailer were among them.
“Not me! But the missus does and she makes me look.” He dropped a wink.
“I’m not sure yet if I’m going to leave the trailer at the cottage or take it home and use it as a tea trailer for special events.”
The chief’s attention was claimed by his wife, and a few moments later, Jaymie found her chance to talk to her friend about what was worrying her. Courtney had gotten up to go to the washroom, so Jaymie slipped over into her chair. “Hey, Brandi, you enjoying yourself?”
Brandi saluted with a full Bloody Caesar. “Booze and the open water, what could go wrong?”
“I do hope you’re enjoying your holiday.” She glanced across the table. Gabriela was still picking at her food and ignoring Tiffany, who was glaring out the window. “I have a question: do you know any of Logan and Gabriela’s friends?”
“A couple. Why?”
Jaymie searched her eyes. “Do any know how to keep their mouths shut?”
“If I ask ’em. Why? What’s up?”
“I’m curious.” Jaymie hunched her shoulder so Tiffany couldn’t see her mouth. “Tiffany keeps taunting Gabriela,” she muttered, “hinting about something that happened to their house, like it’s something Gabriela has done, or was at fault for. Can you find out what it was?”
Cocking her head to one side, Brandi eyed her for a long moment. “Maybe. Let me try.” She texted a couple of people the questions, asking them to keep it between them, and that she was just curious. Quick texts pinged back, and the universal answer was, nothing had happened to the Offerman home. Not a thing. One negative response was from the Offermans’ next-door neighbors. They thought it odd that the brother and sister Offerman had taken off to follow his wife to Michigan.
“That is odd,” Jaymie said, frowning and staring off out to the dark sky beyond the deck outside. “Especially if nothing went wrong with the house.”
“You, my friend, see mysteries everywhere,” Brandi said with a slightly woozy giggle. “Even when there is nothing to be seen.”
Was that true? Jaymie wondered. Maybe so. She hoped it was true, and, as bad as it was, she hoped the murder case was simply as it appeared, a drunken quarrel between friends that ended tragically. At least she could tell the chief what she had discovered.
• • •
Dinner was over, drinks had been consumed, and they were on their way back toward Port Huron. The sun was long gone, sunk beneath the western horizon of lakewater, and the fresh breeze lured Jaymie up to the top deck to get away from the Lite Jazz trio. Not her style of music, though they were competent. Val followed and they strolled, feeling the boat movement, the thrum of the motor faint under their feet, the slight heave as the boat cleaved through rolling waves.
They chatted for a few moments about Valetta’s home project. She was still intent on making a bigger catio for Denver, but she had decided to build it herself. “I can learn how to use new power tools. I’ve done a lot of things on my house so I already know how to use a drill. I can do this.”
“Good for you, my friend.”
Around the corner from them, on the other side of a raised partition, they heard the sound of familiar voices raised. Rachel joined Jaymie and Val and frowned. “Who is that talking so loud? Or arguing? Is that Brandi and Gabriela?”
“I’m afraid so,” Jaymie said. Together they walked toward the voices in time to hear an exchange.
“. . . never thought I’d say this, but Brandi, you’re a loose woman. I swear, you’ll sleep with anyone,” Gabriela was saying with a sanctimonious sniff.
“Not anyone,” Brandi shot back. “I wouldn’t touch your precious Logan with a ten-foot pole.”
“That was uncalled for!” Gabriela wailed. “You take that back.”
“Take that back? You want me to say I would sleep with your husband?”
“At least I keep myself for my husband!” Gabriela said.
“Bull crap! You forget, G, I know the truth,” Brandi said, her tone guttural with anger. “You may not realize it, but in our town people have big mouths. No bad deed goes un-gossiped about. Get off your high horse, Gabriela, and shut your effing yap.”
There was shocked silence, then they bickered again, joined by the strident tones of Tiffany, who blurted, “Maybe you both oughta take a look at yourselves. You’re hot messes, both of you.”
As Jaymie, Val and Rachel came around the corner, they could see the shock and something else on Gabriela’s face as she stared at her sister-in-law. But she didn’t respond. Normally she would have snapped back at anyone who argued with her, but not her sister-in-law. Jaymie was reminded of the conversation Mrs. Stubbs had overheard and wondered again . . . what the heck did Tiffany have on Gabriela? She needed to find out.
The argument broke up as the principals stomped away from each other, Gabriela to stand by the railing gripping it tightly, Brandi pursued and comforted by Courtney, and the others in a group to talk. Chief Ledbetter was strolling with his wife, and he joined the women. Jaymie saw Gabriela bumble further away on her own, watched with a snide grin by Tiffany. She followed her friend, who stood alone, leaning over the railing as they came in sight of the harbor mouth.
She didn’t have much time. “Gabriela, sweetie, are you okay? Please, don’t lean over the railing; you’re making me nervous.” She looped her own arm through her friend’s and held fast. “How did that quarrel with Brandi start? I thought you two were such good friends.” She knew better, but she’d discovered over recent years that sometimes the way to elicit the truth was to say something outrageously untrue.
Gabriela whirled, tears
streaming down her cheeks. “Oh, Jaymie, n-no . . . we’re not such good friends anymore. We don’t think alike. At all!”
“Back in college you used to have the same fight, though, about Brandi’s lifestyle,” she said, letting go of her friend’s arm and rubbing Gabriela’s back, in what she hoped were soothing circles. “You were always critical of her choices. But they are her choices, hers alone.”
Gabriela blinked but remained silent.
“Hon, I have to ask,” Jaymie said, putting her arm over her friend’s shoulders. “You seem unhappy. Is everything all right?”
“It’s fine. Why wouldn’t it be?”
Sighing, Jaymie watched her for a moment. “Everything’s not fine. You’ve been on edge since you got to the cottage, more so after Tiffany showed up. You say you get along with her, but . . .” How could she approach the argument Mrs. Stubbs overheard? “But I know for a fact that you’re not getting along with her.”
Gabriela looked out at the water, the glistening lights of a town twinkling along the shore. “You’re married now, Jaymie. How do you find it? I mean . . . how do you get along with his family?”
It seemed an abrupt departure in subject, but Jaymie went along with it. “We get along great.”
“You’re lucky, then. Do they tease you? Do they hate you for not being perfect? Do they pick on every little thing you do that they don’t approve of?”
Jaymie’s heart ached for her friend. She hugged her to her side. “Is it bad? What about Logan? Does he support you against his family?”
Her eyes filling with tears, she said, “No, he does not. But . . . he’s Fenix’s daddy, so I’ll stay, and we’ll work it out.” She held back a sob. “I loved him once. I still do, in my heart of hearts. I love him.”
“Of course you do. I believe you, Gabriela. Truly.” She examined her friend’s face, the misery that welled in her eyes, the pain that was evident. Something was deeply wrong. How could she ask about the conversation Mrs. Stubbs had overheard, and winkle out what Gabriela had done that Tiffany was angry about? The loudspeaker boomed right then, asking passengers to please return inside to allow the crew to work while docking procedures were undertaken. They gathered in a discordant and silent group, any hope for Jaymie of finding answers gone for the moment.
Cast Iron Alibi Page 17