Berried to the Hilt (5 page)

I hurried over to Carl’s partner, Molly. “Are you okay?” I asked

Her curly red hair was mussed, and her face was pale, but she was recovering herself. “Yes. Thank you for getting your friend—Carl was really out of control.” She reached up and raked her hand through her hair. “I’ve never seen him so angry,” she said. “If he’d been armed …” A shiver passed through her.

“But he wasn’t, and it’s over now,” I said, watching John as he led the archaeologist to a chair.

Gerald was still sitting at his table, feeling his chin with his fingers. His two companions sat nearby; while Frank seemed unconcerned, the young woman had fished ice cubes out of Gerald’s water glass and was offering them to him, wrapped in a napkin. He waved the impromptu compress away. “I’ll be fine,” he said. “He barely touched me. Still—it was an assault. If I wanted to, I could press charges.”

Personally, I thought he looked awfully unruffled for a man whose life had been threatened just moments before. I wondered if attacks by university archaeologists were a frequent occurrence in his life.

“Oh, please don’t, Gerald,” said Molly from beside me, addressing Iliad’s owner. “He just has a lot at stake—he didn’t mean to hurt you. I’m so sorry he lost his temper.”

Gerald
? I looked over at Molly, surprised.

A slow, almost rakish smile crossed Gerald’s face, and for a moment I could see the energy and drive—and the passion—that drove the treasure-hunter. “It’s fortunate for Carl that he has such a charming partner,” he said. “The offer of a job is always open, you know, if you’re interested …”

“I’m not,” Molly said, cutting him off. Their eyes met and held for a moment; then she looked away and bent down to pick up shards of the broken plate from the floor.

I hurried to take over for her. “There’s no need to pick this up,” I said.

“No,” she protested. “It’s our fault. I’ll clean it up—and we’ll reimburse you for the dish.”

“There’s no need for that,” I said. They weren’t very expensive, and I had more than I would ever use. Still, Molly insisted on paying, and also insisted on helping me pick up the big pieces, only relenting when I told her I’d sweep up the rest.

As I left to retrieve the broom, I glanced at Cherry, who had put down her book and was now jotting down notes in a small, leather-bound book. What was she doing? Keeping a journal? Or was even she somehow involved in the shipwreck?

_____

Phone calls at three a.m. almost never mean good news, and the one that came that night was no exception. John and I bolted upright. He turned on the bedside lamp as I reached for the phone, adrenaline rushing through me.

“Hello?” I said, dispensing with the usual “Gray Whale Inn” greeting.

“Is John at your place?”

“Eleazer! What’s wrong?”

“I think I’d best save that for John,” he said.

My stomach flipped over as I handed the phone to John. Had another boat failed to come in? The weather was good, but things sometimes happened …

My fiancé was fully alert, and there was no trace of sleep in his voice when he spoke. “Eleazer. What’s going on?” He was silent for a moment, and I could faintly hear Eli’s voice speaking rapidly. I smoothed the comforter nervously. Biscuit opened one eye, then curled up in a tight orange ball and went back to sleep.

“What time did you find him?” John asked, and my stomach did another flip. That didn’t sound good at all. “You’re sure he’s gone?” he continued. Then he let out a short sigh. “I’ll meet you at the town pier.”

“What’s going on?” I asked as he hung up the phone.

“It’s Gerald—the guy who runs Iliad,” he said, getting out of bed and pulling on his jeans.

“What about him?”

“He’s dead,” John said. “Eleazer found him out by the wreck site.”

“Oh, no,” I breathed. I clenched the comforter between my hands. “What happened? Did he drown?”

John shook his head. “Somebody stabbed him in the back.”

Murder. And violent murder, at that. “What was Eleazer doing out there at three in the morning?” I asked, dreading the answer. Eleazer had been so angry yesterday; was it possible he had made good on his threat?

“I don’t know, Natalie,” he said, his face grim. “But I’m sure the investigators will be asking the same question.”

He buttoned his shirt and reached for his sweater. Suddenly, my foggy brain registered where he was going. “You’re not heading out to the site in a skiff, are you?” It was a couple of miles out to the wreck—far for a small boat, particularly at night.

“I’ve got to,” he said. “First I’ll call the Coast Guard, though. I’m going to meet Eli at the main pier, and we’ll go out together.”

“Can’t you just leave it to them?”

He shook his head and pulled on his wool sweater. “I’m worried about Eli, Nat. I’ve got to talk to him—and see the body.”

I understood. He was going to protect our friend. I didn’t like it—Eli was the most skilled boatsman I knew, but that still didn’t make it safe—but John was probably right.

“Let me brew you two a thermos of coffee to take with you,” I offered. “It’ll be cold out on the water, and the caffeine will help.”

“There’s no time,” he said.

“Ten minutes won’t change what happened to Gerald,” I said. “You can call the Coast Guard just as you’re leaving.” As I got up and slipped into my bathrobe, a horrible thought occurred to me. “John—what if the murderer is still out there?”

“The thought occurred to me, too, but I’m guessing whoever did it is long gone,” he said. We looked at each other for a moment, not wanting to say what both of us feared—that John was about to head out to the wreck in the murderer’s boat. “I’m sure it will be fine, Nat. But just in case, I’ll take my gun.”

Together we went downstairs. John ran down to the carriage house to get a heavy jacket and gloves as I started the coffee, my stomach churning with worry. Gerald might have been unscrupulous—and, at times, I suspected, ruthless—but he didn’t deserve to die. I remembered the hatred I’d seen on Eleazer’s face out on the water yesterday—and the way his hand had strayed to the hilt of his cutlass. Gerald had been stabbed in the back. Had Eleazer taken matters into his own hands?

The kitchen was filled with the comforting smell of brewing coffee when John returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. As he picked up the phone and relayed the information to the Coast Guard, I filled a small container with muffins and dug a thermos and a few cups out, packing them into a plastic tub. I watched John as I worked; several times, he raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, and his face was grim.

“What did Eleazer do with the body?” I asked when he finally hung up.

“He turned him over,” John said, sounding weary, “just to see if there was any hope of saving him. Then he tried to haul him into the boat, but he was too heavy, so he just tied him to the nearest lobster buoy.”

“Was the blade still in the wound?”

“No,” John said, and looked away.

“What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he said.

I stared at him for a long moment. “Was it Eli’s cutlass that killed him?”

“I have no idea,” he said. “But I’m praying it wasn’t.”

After John left, I
debated waking Gerald’s colleagues, but decided to wait; a few hours wouldn’t make much difference, and at least they’d be well rested.

Audrey was the first one down. I brought out the coffee carafe, but instead of taking her breakfast order, I sat down across from her.

She was an attractive woman, with brown, blunt-cut hair and large, expressive eyes. She had the physique of an athlete, and wore little makeup—just a bit of mascara and some lip gloss. She exuded an aura of healthiness.

“Could I have a bowl of oatmeal this morning?” she asked.

“Audrey,” I said. “I’ve got some bad news.”

Her brown eyes fixed on me, looking larger than ever. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s Gerald,” I said. “He died last night.”

The color leached from her face. “No,” she said. “No.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A deep, wracking sob shuddered through her.

“I’m sorry,” I said.

After a long, painful moment, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “What happened? Was it a heart attack?” She dashed the table with her palm. “I knew he should have dropped those twenty pounds! I told him again and again …”

“It wasn’t a heart attack,” I said.

She blinked. “What happened, then?”

“I can’t give you the details, but the police believe he was murdered.”

“Murdered?” She rubbed her eyes with her palm; her mascara was smeared. “Oh, God. I can’t believe it. How? Where?”

“They found him near the wreck last night.”

“What was he doing out there?” She looked at the window, toward the wreck site. “The
Lorelei
’s gone. The dinghy’s gone, too.”

I followed her gaze, and realized she was right. The red buoy marking the mooring line bobbed up and down in the waves.

“Why would he go out without me—without us?” she said.

Why would he go out there at all, was the question I wanted to know. And Eleazer had said nothing about the
Lorelei
being out there—at least not that I’d heard. What exactly had gone on last night?

“Oh, God,” she said, lowering her head to her hands. I reached out to comfort her, but at that moment, Frank strode into the room.

He gave me a quizzical look, and Audrey looked up. “You got your wish,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“What do you mean?” he asked, looking puzzled.

“Gerald is dead.”

Frank took a step backward. “What? He can’t be.”

“I’m afraid he is,” I confirmed.

“I don’t understand,” Frank said.

“He’s been murdered,” Audrey spat. “So you don’t have to worry about it any more.”

With that, she stood up and stormed out of the room, leaving Frank and me to look at each other.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” I said. “Can I get you a cup of coffee or something?”

“A whiskey on the rocks might be a better choice, but it’s a bit early,” he said, and sat down at the nearest table. “Have the police been notified?”

“They’re out at the site now,” I said.

“The wreck site?”

“That’s where he was found,” I said.

He looked out the window. “Where’s the
Lorelei
?”

“Gone,” I said.

Frank swore, and I disappeared into the kitchen to retrieve the coffee pot. When I returned a few minutes later, Molly and Carl were there too, looking stunned.

“When did this happen?” Carl asked. “And how?”

“I don’t know,” Frank said, turning to me. “Do you?”

“It happened late last night,” I said. “That’s all I know. The police are investigating.”

“Who found him?” Molly asked.

I swallowed down the lump in my throat. “Eleazer White.”

It could have been my imagination, but all three looked relieved.

_____

I had just finished clearing the last of the breakfast things and was wiping down counters when the phone rang. It was Charlene; I was surprised, frankly, that she had waited so long to get in touch. “How come you didn’t call?” she demanded when I answered.

“I didn’t want to call you at three in the morning, and I’ve been doing breakfast service since seven.”

“I can’t believe you didn’t tell me! I heard from Tania when I got to the store this morning.”

“Next time I’ll call,” I promised, feeling very tired. And it was no wonder; I hadn’t slept since answering the phone at three.

“So, give me the scoop! I heard it was that Iliad bigshot, and that somebody strangled him on his own boat.”

“Not exactly,” I said, and glanced over my shoulder to be sure I was alone. “I’ll tell you, but only if you promise not to say a word to anyone.”

“Scout’s honor,” she said.

“You’re not a scout.”

“You know what I mean, Natalie. I promise, mum’s the word.”

“It was Gerald McIntire—you’re right about that. Eli found him floating out by the wreck,” I said in a low voice. “He was stabbed.”

“With what?”

“I don’t know,” I said.

“And Eli found him at three in the morning, and called John?”

“Apparently so.”

“What was he doing out there in the middle of the night?” she asked. “Unless …”

I bit my lip. If Charlene, John, and I had all come to that conclusion about our dear friend, then what would the police think?

“He says he was just guarding the wreck site,” I said.

“Sounds fishy to me.”

I sighed. “I know.”

“What do the police say?”

“John came back at six; they’re taking the body to the morgue for an autopsy, and they’ve been looking for the boat ever since.”

“What boat?”

“The
Lorelei
. It’s gone missing.” I glanced out the window at the satiny surface of the water. Was the
Lorelei
under those shiny waves somewhere?

“Not a good night for Iliad, was it? I hope they had insurance.”

“I hadn’t thought about that,” I said. “The
Lorelei
must be worth a lot of money. I wonder who would get the payout if that boat went down?”

“Worth asking,” Charlene said. “Assuming it was insured, that is. It’s worth asking anyone who might have a motive, really. I can’t stand the thought of Eli going to jail for the rest of his life …”

“Don’t jump to conclusions,” I said.

“I’m not,” she said. “I’m just being prepared.”

“Like a good scout,” I said, automatically.

“Exactly. Hang on a sec, Nat …” I could hear a murmur of voices in the background, and Charlene telling someone she’d be right there. “Gotta go. Half the island just walked in for a mug-up. I’ll see what the gossip is and call you later.”

“Got it.”

“You know, there’s one good thing about this,” she said.

“What?”

“At least everyone will be talking about something other than the bake-off.”

I groaned. “Thanks for reminding me.”

“Always looking for the silver lining,” she said. “Anyway, gotta run. If you hear anything on your end, let me know—day or night!”

“Aye aye, captain.”

Despite Charlene’s reminder, I finished wiping down the counters in a slightly cheerier mood. I was hoping the police wouldn’t arrest Eli. But if they did, I knew Charlene would have the entire island leaping to his defense.

_____

John was on the phone when I knocked on his door twenty minutes later; he waved me in, and I perched on the edge of his oatmeal-colored couch and listened as he finished the conversation. From the GPS coordinates being batted back and forth, I knew he was getting an update on the search for the
Lorelei
.

“Have they found anything?” I asked when he hung up a moment later.

“Some debris out by Deadman’s Shoal,” he said, “but nothing identifiable—at least not yet.”

“The other crew members could probably ID anything they found,” I said.

“I’m sure they’ll ask them,” he said.

“I’m surprised no one’s been by the inn to question anyone yet.” Unfortunately, I was more than familiar with post-murder procedure on Cranberry Island.

“They’ve been talking with Eli all morning,” John said. “They’re out at his house right now.”

I suddenly realized I hadn’t called Eli’s wife, Claudette. She was strong and stoic, but I was sure she was shaken up—particularly with the police at her house. “I need to swing by their house this morning,” I said. “But I don’t understand; why aren’t they questioning Gerald’s coworkers—or even Carl? He attacked Gerald last night,” I said.

“You need to tell them about it,” he said. “I’ll make sure they interview you.”

“They’ve got to look beyond Eli,” I said. “Charlene brought up another good point; if the boat was insured, who is the beneficiary, now that Gerald is out of the way?”

He gave me a wry smile. “You and Charlene are good at thinking of ulterior motives, aren’t you?”

I sighed. “Unfortunately, I haven’t been overly impressed with law enforcement’s ability to see beyond the easiest solution.”

“Hey,” John protested.

“Present company excluded, of course,” I said, giving him a peck on the cheek. “I think I’ll head over to Claudette’s and Eli’s now—I’ve got some time before lunch.”

“Send my love, will you?”

“Of course,” I said. “If you’re lucky, she’ll send you some pie.”

“Maybe all the excitement will mean she hasn’t had a chance to bake,” he said.

“Let’s hope so,” I said. “Keep me posted, okay?”

“Always,” he said, with a look that made my insides do a delightful little flip.

_____

I pulled my coat tight around me as I walked down the end of the road to Claudette and Eli’s; the wind had freshened since last night, and a flood of gray clouds had extinguished the sun. Muffin and Pudge, the goats Claudette raised for their soft wool, were happily munching on a bed of roses, a block down the road from Claudette’s; they had evidently managed to drag the tire she kept them chained to within range of Ingrid Sorenson’s prize Souvenir de la Malmaisons. I hauled the tire back to the meadow, but by the time I made it to Eli and Claudette’s, they were already tugging it across the road. I made a mental note to stop by Ingrid’s and ask about her son Evan; something told me he might somehow be involved with the disappearing
Lorelei
.

There were no cars outside Claudette and Eli’s house; either the police had arrived on foot, or had already left. Eleazer’s jumble of bleached hulls and burnt-out motors dotted the long grass behind the small, wood house; his workshop had a desolate look to it. I hesitated a moment before knocking.

No one answered. A gust of wind pushed against me and set the two rockers on the porch into motion, and I knocked again. This time, I heard movement behind the door, and a moment later the knob turned, and as the door opened, the familiar faint smell of fried sausage and wet wool wafted out. Claudette’s solid figure stood framed in the doorway, her broad shoulders slumped, her face leached of color. “They took him,” Claudette said.

“What?”

“They found the cutlass that killed that man. It was Eli’s, and his fingerprints were on it.” She recited it as if by memory, with no feeling. She must be in shock.

My stomach dropped. “The antique cutlass?” I already knew the answer, but still dreaded to hear it.

She nodded, confirming my worst fear. “He keeps it over the fireplace. Polishes it every week—convinced it’s Davey Blue’s heirloom.” She glanced over her shoulder. “But it’s not there now. They found it.”

“Where?”

“Near the pier, in a bunch of brambles.”

That didn’t make sense at all. “He wouldn’t just leave that cutlass in a bush!” I said.

“I know,” she said, her voice hollow.

“Did he have it with him all day yesterday?”

“I don’t know,” she said, putting her head in her hands. “I know he had it in the morning, because he was going to talk to the archaeologists about it. I don’t know if he had it all day, though. He was back a couple of times, and he could have put it back. I didn’t think to look. If only I had …” she moaned a little bit, wracked with grief.