Death of a Hot Chick (2 page)

“
You’re talking Smith Harbor?” I ran
water over my arms at the galley sink.

“
Okay, so it’s not Baltimore or
Philadelphia. But there
is
night life in our small town. Think of the fishing boats
coming in from Chesapeake Bay, unloading at Harris Fishery. Think
of those workers, toiling through the night. Think of nightclubs,
of—”

“
Nightclubs? Smith Harbor has
nightclubs?”

Teddy kept talking. “Think of a garage band
with budding musicians practicing to hit the big time.”

Yeah, right.” I threw my towel at her head,
but she ducked.

“
You heard it here,” Teddy said.
“Read
The Orbit
tomorrow to
learn all about the latest midnight news.”

I grabbed my towel off the cabin sole,
folded it once, and laid it on the settee before I sat down on top
of it. “So, you stopped by yesterday. What do you think of
Snapdragon
? Cleaner? Charming little
lobster trawler that I’ll be able to shine up adequately so the
owner can sell her?”

“
You’re asking me?”

“
Pretend you’ve just written a
Nobel-winning best seller and you want a small boat. Now, look
again. With the whole surface a sparkling white, a nifty sky-blue
awning covering the entire open deck in the rear, and all those
metal handrails shimmering, what more do you want?”

“
How about a Pulitzer? I can see it
now. First Pulitzer given for a stunning portrayal of a garage
band!”

Before I could find something else to
throw at her, Grand Central
Snapdragon
had another visitor. A hand with a
fragrant bag came through the hatch, followed by my sister
Kaye.

Teddy jumped up. “An answer to my prayer.
I’m starving and Kaye brings something good to eat. What is
it?”

“
A new recipe. Date filled cookies.
I’m testing likely candidates to include with my Christmas
recipes,” Kaye said. “It’s so good to see you,
Teddy.”

Uh, huh. Like she hadn’t seen Teddy in ages,
or hadn’t arranged an “accidental” meeting to check on my mental
stability. She’s been taking this whole “younger sister is a widow”
thing entirely too personally. As I tore off three paper towels and
poured three cups of water, I knew what the rest of the
conversation would be like. All sweetness and light. Cookies and
absolutely no memories of anything longer than a month ago. No
mention of Al, the deceased skunk. Except, as I turned back, I
discovered I was wrong.

“
Too bad Doug isn’t here,” Teddy said.
“We could have a meeting of our Lime Street Detective Agency.
Remember that?”

“
He insists we call him Officer
Yarnell,” Kaye said. “Can you believe that, after all the years
we’ve known him? I suppose that’s because he just made
detective.”

They’d skipped the last twenty years and
gone back to grade school, which had to be a new low in the
cheer-up-Cyd campaign.

Since they’d decided to go ahead with
ancient history, I chimed in with a zinger. “Our great summer of
sleuthing—back when Teddy had this humongous crush on Doug, and
Kaye was negotiating purchase of a beginner bra. Yeah, I
remember.”

Kaye did the rolled-eye bit.

Teddy said, “Too bad Doug and I grew up to
hate each other.” She winked, which told me either she’d like to
alter that “hate” sentiment, or—I was right. This accidental
meeting was absolutely another of Kaye’s plans to Help Cyd.

I didn’t need it. They pushed
happy
too far. I’d get over it by
myself—with a few murderous fantasies. Being the deserted widow was
not so different from being the deserted wife. I bit into my cookie
and with each move of my jaw, planned another alternative death for
Al—if he hadn’t been dead already.

“
Cyd, that’s right, isn’t
it?”

I looked up in time to catch the glance Kaye
exchanged with Teddy.

So I hadn’t kept up with the conversation.
“Sorry,” I said.

Kaye said, “I’m not surprised Nicole wants
this boat cleaned up. It needs it. She is a bit of a perfectionist,
but she will pay you well.”

“
So she says.”

“
That sounds a bit negative.
Why?”

I didn’t need an argument, so I shrugged it
off. “Nothing, really.”

Maybe Teddy wasn’t completely on board with
Kaye. She said, “I sense a bit of something behind that ‘nothing.’
Cyd, you have to be careful with wealthy people. They got that way
with sharp deals. Nicole could be the same.”

“
There will be no problems,” Kaye
said. “Cyd, you can depend on Nicole.”

I tried to ignore her comment, but, I
couldn’t. “It’s just the cleaning supplies. I got the impression
there were plenty on board. I had to buy them, and I need to be
paid in full.”

“
Don’t worry. Whatever it is, she’ll
handle it. I’ve never seen such a young woman with her grasp of
business. Now, what about my cookies. Up to holiday
standards?”

“
Definitely,” I said and grabbed
another one. Kaye was in no more of a mood for a disagreement than
I was. I took two more cookies. Definitely improve my evening
meal.

~
~

After a satisfying afternoon of mindlessly
cleaning scum, and supper of a PB and J sandwich, I sat on the deck
with my class book waiting for Nicole. Actually, the waiting part
was an excuse to quit work and read. Even better than cleaning
boats, was catching up with requirements for my former livelihood.
I’d been a commercial boat captain before marriage. I should say,
before Al, because he was the one who didn’t want a wife working on
the water. If I’d been a waitress, would he have objected?

Nope, I’m not thinking about Al. But when it
got too dark to read, it was an effort. Think about Nicole and the
thirty dollars she’ll bring.

Okay, thought about that. Think about Kaye.
She did, after all, bring Nicole and her boat into my life. Bossy
when we were little. Older sisters are like that.

Thought about that too. Think about growing
up in Smith Harbor. All the kids I knew then are still here. Or
most of them. Some of them were gone for a while, then came back.
Most never left. The bay draws us all. Inland is a different
world.

After nine, my thoughts drifted back to
Nicole. She’d come soon.

~
~

I heard something. Not the fan that
whirred overhead. I rubbed my eyes and uncoiled from a most
uncomfortable position. I must have dozed off. Nicole hadn’t come
at nine, or ten. I’d left the mosquitoes that nipped my arms and
gone inside the boat. And I’d believed. Oh, yes, I
absolutely
knew
she’d show up
with another thirty bucks to pay for the cleaning
supplies.

Then I heard the voice again.
“Help me.”

“
Nicole?” I opened my hatch, looked
out.

Nothing there. Much too late. I’d had a
dream, a nightmare to be exact. And why dream of Nicole? Because I
expected her to come?

Had to be close to midnight. So Nicole had
stiffed me. Why was I surprised? I wriggled my shoulders, trying to
get the kinks out. Squatted, then stretched up. Did a couple of
jumping jacks. I’d twisted my back slumping on the settee.

Then I heard the voice again.
“Help me.”

“
Nicole?” I opened my hatch, looked
out.

Her voice came from the dark.
“Take it. He killed me. Me!”

I grabbed my flashlight and stepped out on
the deck. “Take what? Who killed you?”

“
Come. I’m
here.”

One tiny bulb glowed further down the dock.
I thought I’d seen a flicker of light but there was no one in
sight.

“
Where? Where are you?” I stopped,
looked behind me, then out into the dark The voice was Nicole’s,
but nothing made sense.

The voice spoke again.
“Find my killer and it’s yours.”

No one. No one in sight, but I felt an
urgency I couldn’t understand. I stepped off the boat. “Nicole, I
can’t see you.”

There was no answer.

I was dreaming. Had to be. Sleep walking,
out of the boat and onto the dock. Only a dream intruding on my
waking thoughts. I expected Nicole, so.... but to dream of her
death? Why? Only in a nightmare.

The cooling breeze had blown the
mosquitos away. I walked down the dock, away from
Snapdragon
. I rolled my shoulders,
trying to work the stiffness out. Water lapped against the boats I
passed, seeming to repeat,
“Now, now,
now.”
I heard a car somewhere in the distance. I saw
only the dim light from the electric connection console on the
dock. But the voice? Nicole’s voice—was she in trouble?

Again I called. “Anyone here?”

Still no answer.

It had been years since I’d heard imaginary
voices. Was this a voice from the past? But those were silly
voices—a turtle on its back needing help sort of thing. I did what
I used to do as a child. I closed my eyes, held my hands to my face
with the fingers spread, pulsing into my hair. I made my mind a
blank. Nothing, at first. Then I saw water, water overhead,
blotting out the dark sky. Heard whispers.

No, I saw nothing, but I definitely heard
something.

I lifted my head and opened my eyes. Voices,
real voices drifted on the still air as a boat neared the dock. A
late return from the Wednesday night races? No, much too late. It
had to be midnight—or later. I left the finger pier and strolled
along the dock.

“
Need help?” I called to the incoming
Catalina.

“
Sure,” someone hollered. He cut the
engine, and the boat drifted nearer. “Could you grab my
line?”

I’d seen the people before—a young
family with their first sailboat.
The tethered,
life-vested girl whimpered. A boy of three or four rubbed his eyes
and yawned. The mother had her hands full, but she said, “How late
is it?”

The father didn’t answer. He threw the line
to me. I looped it around a cleat. He hopped off the boat. “I’ll
get a boat cart to unload all our stuff.”

“
Let me.” I grabbed my flashlight.
They definitely needed help, but had one of them called?
Was that what I’d heard? One of the children? I passed a cart
nearby, stenciled in fading letters, “Property of Smith Harbor
Marina,” and loaded with greasy engine parts. Just beyond, the
marina’s cart corral was empty.

Had a child called out and I’d sensed it
somehow? The killing part, that was pure nightmare. But the call
for help? Or was that only one of those imaginary voices I once
listened to?

Further down the dock I saw a splintered
piling among the solid ones, one out of every three electrical
hook-ups lit, and more loops of raveling line than I cared to
count. No carts. I kept looking and found one with its single wheel
broken. Then I spied one at the far end of the marina, the end that
never seemed to have working light bulbs. It was one of the largest
carts, abandoned just off the property.

“
The killer. Find
him.
” The voice was dim, perhaps not even there.
Nicole’s voice. No, only a senseless voice in my head, a
continuation of a dream not quite finished.

I lifted the handles and yanked them. The
cart was too heavy. “Another one full of something.” In the dark
all I saw was a mound. A workman hadn’t removed his tools. I
flicked on my flashlight.

There were no tools, no heaps of parts, or
coils of line. In the circle of light a slim white hand lay atop
the fabric pile.

My heart pounded, but I whispered, “Hey, are
you sleeping in there?” I shook the wheelbarrow handle. The hand
slid down beside the designer jeans. The head, with its fine,
straight blonde hair, tipped back.

“
Nicole.” I reached out to touch her,
then pulled my hand back from the soaking wet, cold
sweater.

I flashed the light directly in her face.
Nicole...sleeping?

Unconscious? I pressed below her chin,
checked for a pulse. None.

“
Take it...now!”

I’d heard those words before. Had I heard
them again?

Nicole lay curled and crumpled in the boat
cart, her knees nearly meeting her chest. I stepped back. No, I
didn’t hear anything. I had to call the police. My cell
phone...back in the boat. Could I leave her body? I had to.
And....

The waves and the wind
whispered,
“Now, now, now.”

I slid two fingers into her hip pocket and
slowly pulled out the plastic bag.

Chapter 2

Thursday, July 20, 2:11 am

My entire body shook. I pulled my sweater
tightly around my shoulders. A slight breeze blew off the water and
through the marina, but the day’s heat had barely dissipated.

“
I don’t know,” I said. Had one of the
state troopers asked a question?

“
You don’t know the names of the
people in the boat? Yet you went to get a cart for
them?”

Lizzie spoke up. “Oh, for Pete’s sake. Stop
badgering her.”

At least I remembered Lizzie’s name, but I
knew her from way back. She’d always been around boats, drifting
from one marina or anchorage to another. She was a snoopy,
grandmotherly type who lived like a hermit on an old boat at the
edge of the marina.