Huckleberry Finished (12 page)

She said that like a woman who was used to her husband running the risk of getting into trouble anytime he was out on his own. Given Eddie Kramer's volatile temper, I could understand why.

That thought brought me right back to Ben Webster. I didn't know anything about him, but I didn't see how there could be any connection between him and Hannah Kramer's murder. If there
was
a connection, though, and Eddie somehow found out about it…well, I could see him breaking Ben's neck. I didn't have any trouble visualizing that at all.

“If you need any help, here I am,” I told her as I stood up, too. “You just let me know.”

“Thanks. I think you have the makings of a good friend, Delilah.”

“I hope so.”

She smiled and left the dining room. I picked up my coffee, finished it off, then decided I'd go look up Mark. We needed to have a talk and get some things out in the open between us.

As I stepped out onto the deck, I noticed a big, dark blue car pulling into the parking area adjacent to the dock. It stopped in one of the handicapped spaces—and didn't have a handicapped sticker or hanger, I noticed—and a man in a uniform of some sort got out from behind the wheel. He was a chauffeur, not a cop, I realized as he opened the car's rear door to let a man in what looked like an extremely expensive charcoal gray suit climb out.

The man didn't acknowledge the chauffeur, just started toward the gangway leading to the riverboat's main deck. He was in his fifties, I guessed, stocky and broad shouldered, like he'd been an athlete in his younger years and was still fairly fit for his age. Brown hair starting to turn gray topped a beefy face.

Captain Williams appeared on deck just as the newcomer reached the bottom of the gangway. The captain waited there, a worried frown on his face, as the man strode on board in a no-nonsense manner. He certainly didn't ask Williams for permission to come aboard, either, although I didn't know if that was customary on a riverboat.

There was a good reason for that omission, too. Captain Williams said, “Mr. Gallister. I didn't know you were coming up to Hannibal.”

“Someone's got to straighten out this mess, Captain,” the newcomer said, “and as the owner of this boat, I hereby appoint myself.”

So that was Charles Gallister, I thought, real estate mogul and owner of the
Southern Belle.

G
allister looked like the successful businessman he was. Up close I could tell that his suit probably cost even more than I had thought at first, and I didn't want to think about what the Italian shoes on his feet or the silk tie knotted around his throat must have set him back. Chances were, Gallister himself didn't know how much they cost and wouldn't care if he did know. Men such as him didn't worry about the price of things. They just bought what they needed—or wanted.

Don't get the idea that I disliked him on sight just because he was rich. That's not really true. I'm like everybody else. I'd like to be rich myself one of these days. The reason I didn't care for Charles Gallister was that he struck me as arrogant, and I guess as successful as he was, he had every reason to be.

Gallister and Captain Williams started toward the nearest set of stairs. Williams said, “We'll go up to the pilothouse and talk, sir. I can fill you in on the situation.”

Gallister just nodded curtly. They went up the stairs.

I headed for the salon. I didn't know where I would find Mark, but that seemed as good a place to start looking as any.

He wasn't in the salon. I checked the dining room again, although I didn't think he would have returned there so soon, and sure enough, he wasn't there, either.

That left his cabin. I went there, unhooking the chain and venturing past the warning sign, but he didn't answer my knock and didn't respond when I called his name through the door. I figured he must still be on the boat, but I didn't know where else to look.

“Ms. Dickinson?” a man's voice said. “You need some help?”

I turned to see Vince Mallory at the bottom of the stairs leading to the third deck. I shook my head and said, “No, I was just looking for Mr. Lansing.”

Vince probably wondered why I'd gone into an area that was off limits to passengers, but if he did, he didn't say anything about it. Instead he pointed a thumb toward the third deck and said, “I'm afraid I haven't seen Mr. Lansing, but I was about to go up to the observation area. Would you like to join me?”

“Might as well,” I said, since I couldn't find Mark. Then I realized how that might sound to Vince and added hurriedly, “I didn't mean to seem unenthusiastic—”

“Hey, that's all right,” he broke in with a grin. “No offense taken. I'll be glad for the company.”

I went around the chain, rehooked it, and joined Vince at the stairs. We went up side by side, and when we reached the landing on the third deck, we turned right toward the observation area at the bow. Built-in benches with storage areas for purses and things like that underneath them followed along the curving railing.

Each deck was set back from the deck below it, so from up here we could see part of the second deck and the main deck, as well as the dock and most of Hannibal with the gently rolling green hills behind it to the west. It was a beautiful scene, pure Americana. With the people in period costume, including the faux Tom Sawyer and Becky Thatcher, strolling along the streets of Hannibal, I could almost believe the town had gone back in time.

Vince and I sat down on one of the benches. He had a camera bag slung over one shoulder. He reached into the bag, brought out a digital camera, and started taking shots of the riverboat and Hannibal. In between pressing the shutter, he said, “I can see why people like to come here. You can look at the world the way it used to be and forget about all the bad things, at least for a little while.”

I heard a touch of sadness in his voice I hadn't noticed there any of the other times I'd talked to him. “You said you'd been in Iraq, didn't you?”

“That's right.”

“I reckon you must've seen some pretty rotten stuff over there.”

He nodded. “That's true. Even now you run across reminders of how brutal people can be to each other. But that's not just true overseas. People hurt each other all the time, everywhere. Sometimes it's intentional, sometimes it's not. And all you can do is try to embrace the good times and hang on to them for as long as you can.”

“That's pretty profound….”

“For a kid, you mean?” he asked with a laugh.

“No, I didn't mean it that way,” I said.

“Oh, don't worry, Ms. Dickinson. It doesn't bother me when people point out how young I am. The thing is, when you consider a person's years, you have no way of knowing how old their soul is.”

“That's true,” I agreed. “I like to think I have a young soul.”

He looked over at me, and after a moment he nodded. “I believe you do. I think you have a lot of vitality and compassion and humor in you.”

The depth of emotion in his voice surprised me. I said, “Wait a minute. You're not flirtin' with me, are you? Because young soul or not, I'm still old enough to be your…aunt.”

Vince grinned. “No, not at all. But I do enjoy your company, Ms. Dickinson. You remind me a little of my mom.”

Well, that took most of the wind out of my sails, let me tell you. At the same time, I was glad Vince wasn't flirting with me. My feelings were confused enough about Mark. Not to mention I was still upset about Ben Webster's murder. I didn't need anything else on my plate right now.

“I'll take that as a compliment,” I told him.

“That's the way I meant it. I'm just sorry…”

“What?” I said when his voice trailed off. “What are you sorry about?”

He grinned and shook his head. “Nothing. Just that I started to get all maudlin on you. Look around us.” He waved an arm at our surroundings. “Despite all the trouble in the world, it's a beautiful day. I think I'm just going to sit here and enjoy it for a while.”

“All right.” I took that as my cue to leave.

As I stood up, he asked, “Have you heard anything about when we'll be able to start downriver?”

I shook my head. “Not a word.” Movement on the dock caught my eye. I saw Detective Travis step out of a car that had just pulled up and parked. “Maybe I can find out, though.”

I lifted a hand to wave good-bye and headed back down the stairs. By the time I reached the main deck, Detective Travis had come on board. I intercepted her.

“Good mornin', Detective.”

She nodded. “Ms. Dickinson.”

“Any progress on the case?”

“I can't really talk about that,” she said.

“Well, do you know when the riverboat can start back to St. Louis?”

“That's not something I can discuss, either.”

“Well, what
can
you tell me?”

I saw a flash of irritation in her eyes. “That you're interfering with a police officer.”

I held my hands up, palms out, and backed away. “Sorry. I didn't mean to cause a problem. It's just that some of my clients have asked me about it this morning and it's my job to make their trip as pleasant as I can.”

“Then you failed with Ben Webster, didn't you?”

I thought that was a cheap shot, and even though I don't like people talking about how I must have a hot temper because of my red hair, sometimes it's more true than I'd like to admit. I said, “I can see why you'd be worried. You don't want a second unsolved murder on this boat, do you?”

Sometimes my mouth runs ahead of my brain, too. I saw the look of surprise that came over Detective Travis's face for a second. Then she asked in a sharp voice, “What do you know about another murder?”

What had happened to Hannah Kramer was no secret. Melissa had found out about it through a simple Internet search, even before Louise had spilled her guts to me. But if I'd been thinking, I wouldn't have brought up the subject with Travis. With a murder investigation going on, nobody wants to draw any more attention from the cops than he or she absolutely has to.

I didn't have to answer Travis's question just then, however, because a man's voice behind me said, “Detective, I want to speak to you.”

I looked back over my shoulder and saw Charles Gallister coming along the deck toward us, trailed by a concerned-looking Captain Williams.

Travis said, “Excuse me? Who are you?”

“Charles Gallister. I own this boat.”

He said it with a note of pride in his voice that didn't quite come across as pompous. Almost, though.

“Then I'm sure Captain Williams has informed you of the crime that took place on board yesterday,” Travis said.

“He certainly has. He also tells me that you refuse to let the
Southern Belle
proceed back to St. Louis on schedule.”

“This boat is a crime scene, Mr. Gallister. The police like to keep crime scenes as secure as possible until the initial investigation is complete.” Travis took me by surprise by smiling. “We're funny that way.”

Gallister made an encompassing gesture. “You can't just declare that the entire boat is the crime scene. That's absurd.”

“Not really,” Travis insisted. “We don't know where Mr. Webster was murdered, but we know that he had been dead for several hours when he was found. That means he was killed while the
Southern Belle
was still cruising upriver. The crime has to have taken place
somewhere
on this boat…unless you expect us to believe that Webster was taken off the boat, killed somewhere else, and then returned to the
Southern Belle,
where his body was stuffed in that storage locker.”

Gallister frowned. “That's ridiculous.”

“Yes, sir. We think so, too.”

Gallister wasn't going to give up. “Nevertheless, I'm sure that your crime scene people have been all over the place where the body was found. You've documented everything there is to document. There's no reason to hold the boat here.”

“Other than the fact that all of the suspects in the case are on board.” Travis inclined her head toward the uniformed cops who were standing beside the gangway. “My men have been here all night. No one has gotten off the boat, and the only ones who have gotten on are passengers returning from Hannibal…and you.”

“Me?” Gallister's eyes widened. “Surely you don't consider
me
a suspect in this horrible crime, Detective.”

“No, sir.” Travis smiled faintly again. “I've already checked on your whereabouts yesterday. Your presence in St. Louis is well accounted for.”

Gallister snorted. “I should hope so. Why, I never even heard of that young man who was killed.”

“Ben Webster. That was his name.”

“Well, I'm sorry about what happened to him, of course. But I have a boat full of passengers who want to get on with their lives.” Gallister smiled. His brimming self-confidence made the expression a little smarmy. “Surely we can come to some sort of an agreement, Detective Travis. I mean, you're a beautiful young woman. I've always been able to make beautiful young women see that I have only their best interests at heart.”

“My best interest is in solving this case,” Travis said.

Gallister's smile slipped and then disappeared. “No, your best interest is in avoiding the sort of trouble that's going to come raining down on your head if you don't listen to reason,” he snapped. “You have no right to hold this boat and its passengers. I have the largest legal practice in St. Louis on retainer, you know. I'll call my lawyers—”

“If you feel you need to do that, Mr. Gallister, you go right ahead.”

“I won't be held hostage by some small-town police department! Just what do you think you're going to accomplish by these high-handed tactics?”

“I plan to question everyone on this boat,” Travis said. “I'm also in the process of getting a search warrant so that it can be searched from top to bottom. If there's anything here relating to Ben Webster's murder, we're going to find it.”

“Very thorough, I'm sure,” Gallister said with a sneer. Charm hadn't worked, and neither had bluster. Now he was trying disdain. “We'll just see what my attorneys have to say about this.”

He turned and stomped away like a little kid who had threatened to take his ball and go home only to be told that he couldn't. He could leave if he wanted to, but the ball—or in this case, the riverboat—had to stay where it was.

Williams tried to mend fences with Travis. “I'm sorry, Detective,” he said. “I'm sure Mr. Gallister meant no disrespect—”

“Of course not,” Travis said dryly. “He's just used to getting his way.”

Williams shrugged. “For the record, I think you should allow us to return to St. Louis, too. You know it's inevitable. Mr. Gallister's lawyers will be able to find a judge willing to sign a court order releasing the
Southern Belle
and everyone on it from police custody.”

“I'll deal with that when it happens,” Travis said. “Now, if you'll excuse me, Captain, I'm going to ask to borrow your salon so that I can question the passengers there. I'll need a copy of your manifest, too. Oh, and I'm shutting down the casino.”

Williams looked like he wanted to yelp in protest. His bushy white eyebrows went up as he said, “You can't shut down the casino. Gambling is legal in Missouri, and we're in Missouri waters.”

“I consider it a hindrance to a police investigation, so I'm within my rights to close it temporarily. That's something
else
Mr. Gallister's attorneys can take up with their tame judge, I suppose.”

Now she was just being spiteful, I thought. But maybe I couldn't blame her. She had a murder investigation to conduct, and she had to be aware of the size of the obstacles a man like Charles Gallister could—and would—throw into her path.

Travis went on, “Will you give the orders, Captain, or shall I?”

Williams sighed. “I'll tell the crew members working in the casino to clear out the passengers and close down. You're going to have a lot of unhappy people on your hands, though.”