Ghost Ship: A Port Chatham Mystery (21 page)

Chapter 13

A particularly deafening crash brought Jordan out of 1893 and back to the present. Loud swearing ensued, followed by more crashes. Dust floated down from the porch ceiling, and a film of brown stuff settled on the surface of her tea.

Sighing, she got up and took her documents to the kitchen so she could make herself another cup of Earl Grey. While it brewed, she stood next to the counter, reading the sheaf of pages she held in her hand.

Payment in Kind

Port Chatham waterfront
July 23, 1893

U
NSETTLED
by Yardley’s accusations, Michael took a few minutes to stroll along the waterfront. If Garrett was responsible for the deaths of two Customs agents, then he’d become an unacceptable liability and must be dealt with accordingly. This, in turn, meant that Michael must be ready to take over the regular shipments of opium so his customers experienced no fluctuations in their supply.

He stopped to watch the activity out on the bay while he considered his options. All was in place and would be ready, his people had just assured him, for the launching of his new enterprise, which would combine luxurious accommodations aboard the
Henrietta Dale
with passage to and from Victoria. All that remained was that he notify his Canadian suppliers that his man Remy would be replacing Garrett.

Passengers aboard the clipper ship could sail in complete comfort, take in a day of sightseeing in the charming town of Victoria if they wished, then return. His cruises would become the talk of the town, a sought-after social event. They would also provide him with the contraband he needed to ensure a steady supply of profits from the distribution and sale of the heavenly demon.

He smiled to himself. Yes, indeed, his plans should provide a lucrative revenue stream. Perhaps he would even enjoy the occasional outing himself. And truly, he no longer needed Sam Garrett.

From the corner of his eye, he noticed Jesse Canby hovering nearby. Turning, he nodded a greeting to him.

The young man was ill-kempt indeed, his expensive clothes falling limply about his emaciated frame, his complexion sallow, his eyes sunken. It appeared that Canby’s addiction had progressed even further than Michael had realized. There was good reason for the observation among opium-smoking circles that its addicts resembled melancholy ghosts.

“Canby,” he said. “A nice morning, is it not?”

Jesse approached, reaching out a shaking hand to clutch at Michael’s jacket sleeve. Several days’ growth roughened Canby’s cheeks. Michael took a careful step back, breaking the contact.

“I need more opium,” Jesse pleaded in a low voice, his eyes taking on a look of desperation. “Do you have any?”

“You know I don’t handle the sale of the stuff directly,” Michael replied in a lowered voice.

“Then tell me where your man is—I need it as soon as possible.”

“This would be for your personal use?”

“Yes.”

Michael considered him, silently debating. “You might want to lay off the stuff, Canby. I suspect it’s doing you a great deal of harm.”

Canby shook his head bleakly. “What does it matter, one way or the other?”

“It matters a great deal to your family. And frankly, having one’s customers die off is bad for business.”

The young man’s eyes blazed. “Do you want to sell me the drug or not? I can always go to one of the Chinese instead.”

Michael studied him for a moment longer, then he shrugged. “You’ll find Remy on Union Wharf, I believe. Tell him I sent you.”

“Thank you.” With an unsteady bow, the young man left, walking rapidly in the direction of the wharf. Michael sighed, turning to continue his walk, only to find himself face-to-face with Eleanor Canby.

She stood rigidly, fists clenched at her sides, her face flushed with anger. “My son buys his drugs from you?”

Michael raised an eyebrow. “I don’t know what you believe you just overheard, Eleanor, but I can assure you I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t lie to me!” she yelled.

Michael quickly took her arm and drew her to a less-crowded portion of the sidewalk, near the entrance to an alley. “Kindly keep your voice down, Eleanor. You are attracting notice.”

“I don’t care!” she spit. “
You
are the reason my son’s health deteriorates daily! Dr. Willoughby and I have him on a strict regimen of prescribed laudanum, hoping to withdraw him from your beastly contraband. And yet amoral purveyors like you continue to supply him!”

“I thought you had washed your hands of Jesse.”

“He is my
son
, Seavey.”

“Indeed, he is,” Michael agreed soothingly. “Nonetheless, since you persist in trying to rid Jesse of an addiction by supplying him with the very drug you are withdrawing, I don’t see the reason for concern.”

“We are cutting back the dosage slowly and carefully,” Eleanor explained impatiently. “Not that it’s any business of yours.”

“You’d do well to have someone counsel Jesse for his mental condition, if you want to solve his addiction to opium,” Michael observed. “The opium is merely a symptom of underlying problems that have been present since adolescence, I suspect.”

“How
dare
you suggest that my son is unbalanced,” Eleanor hissed, glancing around to ensure that no one could hear her. “My family does
not
suffer from such afflictions. You are merely attempting to absolve yourself from any blame in this matter. I demand that you have no further contact with Jesse, and that you refrain from selling him any drugs.”

“My dear Eleanor,” Michael sighed. “As to the first, your son is an adult and may socialize with whomever he pleases. Though I don’t seek out Jesse’s company, I have no control over where he spends his time. And as to the second, I believe we’ve already established that I have no business dealings in the area we’re discussing.”

Eleanor’s shoulders shook with rage. “Cease to supply my son with drugs, Seavey, or my next editorial will name names. And you and your wretched business partner, Garrett, will have places of honor at the top of my list.”

“Such threats could cause the loss of your paper and your coveted position as its editor-in-chief, Eleanor. I advise you to proceed cautiously.”

“Do not threaten what you cannot accomplish.” Her coarse features were flushed, her eyes burning with fanaticism. “My position as owner and editor of the
Port Chatham Weekly Gazette
is inviolable. Now I bid you a good day, Mr. Seavey.”

Frowning, Michael watched her sweep away. The publication of his and Garrett’s names was a threat he could no longer ignore. And unfortunately, given Eleanor’s level of desperation with regard to her son’s health, Michael could no longer count on her exercising any sense of caution.

Perhaps it was time to contact several businessmen with whom he was acquainted and offer to purchase their interest in the newspaper for a sum far greater than current market value.

*   *   *

M
ICHAEL
had returned to his hotel suite and was sealing with wax on the last of the purchase offers to local businessmen when Remy and Max arrived. Tossing Sam Garrett into the room, they positioned themselves as sentries just inside the door.

Garrett picked himself up from the floor, brushing his clothes. “Really, Seavey, all you had to do was request a meeting—I would’ve been happy to oblige,” he said in a show of unconvincing bravado. “Sending your thugs was a misjudgment on your part.”

“The misjudgment is yours, if you had any role in the disappearance of the Customs agents last night,” Michael replied. “I warned you to cease such reckless and ill-conceived actions, or there would be consequences.”

Garrett swaggered over to sit in the chair across the writing desk from Michael. “And I made it clear you aren’t the arbiter of the decisions I make with regard to my side of the business.”

“I did not give you leave to sit,” Michael said. “You will stand where my men indicated.
Now
.”

Cold rage flared in Garrett’s eyes, quickly banked. After a tense moment, he rose to casually move about the room. “The Customs agents were becoming a nuisance, and it was necessary to get rid of them.”

Michael slowly drew a breath. For the first time in years, he was deeply worried. The wrath of the authorities over such an incident would not be easily controlled. “You fool. We could both hang for this.”

“Not if they don’t find the evidence linking us to the crime.”

Michael caught the slight smile on Garrett’s face, stunned to realize that the emotion behind it was pride. The idiot was pleased with his accomplishments. Perhaps he had even experienced a thrill in the killing of the two officers.

He’d seen the attitude before, of course. Some men, once having killed, actually felt a need to continue. He suspected Garrett was one such beast, and that it hadn’t been a difficult decision to take two lives. Further, it was clear he failed to be plagued by any remorse over the murders. Which made him a very dangerous business associate indeed. Michael had no stomach for men of his ilk.

Garrett moved over to study a watercolor that Michael had purchased on a recent trip to the Seattle waterfront, then turned back to give him a sardonic look. “I’d assumed you wouldn’t be baring your soul to the authorities regarding this matter. But perhaps I underestimated the depth of your current failures and the effect they’ve had on your ability to run your businesses.”

Michael refused to respond, waiting him out.

Garrett grinned. “I admit, Seavey, I assumed you wouldn’t tolerate any interruption in the flow of goods. But I can see now that your newfound—shall we say, hesitancy? Or shall we just name it what it is, cowardice—holds more sway over your business decisions than I had previously thought.”

Remy uncrossed his arms and took a step forward, but Michael waved him off. “Enough, Garrett. You may taunt me all you wish, but it is a waste of your breath. We both know you’ve made a grave error in judgment, from which you have little hope of evading the consequences. However, I have no intention of paying the price of your mistakes. As of this moment, our business association is henceforth dissolved. I have no knowledge of your activities, in the past or present. I will immediately notify our suppliers that you are no longer my representative. Indeed, I will suggest that they will find it far too risky to conduct business with you at all. I suspect they will heed my advice.”

“You won’t do that,” Garrett scoffed. “You have no current method of transporting the drug. And we both know your customers will exhibit no loyalty in the face of the numerous alternatives available to them here in town.”

Though Michael had no intention of informing Garrett of the imminent launch of the
Henrietta Dale
, he replied, “On the contrary, my customers find my willingness to provide adequate camouflage for their illicit activities to be quite beneficial. Indeed, they would be relieved to hear I have eliminated what could potentially have become an embarrassment and risk to them, that being even the most tenuous connection with your recent activities.”

“We have an arrangement, Seavey.” Garrett’s tone had turned cool. “Break it, and no one along the waterfront will work with you in the future.”

“Oh, I doubt it will be my reputation that suffers,” Michael retorted, refusing to acknowledge that there was some truth in Garrett’s statement. This business would certainly feed into the rumors already circulating, of that Michael had no doubt. It would be necessary to control the damage. However, he had no choice in the matter—any further association with Garrett was far more dangerous than the nuisance of rebuilding a bit of trust among his business associates. “Regardless,” he continued calmly, “you won’t be around to hear of any rumors in that regard. I expect you to leave town within the hour and not to return.”

Garrett barked out a laugh. “You can’t be serious!”

“I assure you, I’m deadly serious,” Michael replied. “Leave town within the hour, or my men will assist you. And I guarantee you’ll find their ‘assistance’ less than pleasurable.”

“You son of a bitch! I have no intention of leaving town. Honor our arrangement, or I swear to you, you’ll be sorry.”

“Get out,” Michael said. “You disgust me.”

This time, he didn’t intervene as Remy and Max took hold of Garrett’s arms.

“We had a deal, Seavey!” Garrett shouted as he was dragged from the suite. “Mark my words, you’ll pay!”

Chapter 14

J
UST
because the money wasn’t in the safe, doesn’t mean the burglar wasn’t after it,” Darcy argued while Jordan pulled beers. “You still have a problem.”

Tonight’s entertainment was a local jazz band that never failed to draw a large crowd. Jordan hadn’t stopped mixing drinks since she’d stepped behind the bar. Fortunately, with Bill taking the drink orders, she didn’t have to worry about ghosts ordering drinks they wouldn’t consume, because he couldn’t see them to ask. That kept the orders down to a manageable level.

“I’m not too worried about someone trying again.” She shrugged. “I can always put two notes on the front door tonight: one that says I don’t have the money, and the other that says I don’t have the papers.”

Jase reached around her to snag a bottle of Scotch. “You want me to sleep on your front porch again tonight?”

“Not necessary,” Jordan replied. “Try to beat back those chivalrous inclinations.”

“You’re no fun at all.” He gave her a wink, then took a tray of drinks from her and handed them across the bar to Bill.

Darcy raised a brow, refraining from making a comment.

“So spill,” Jordan told Darcy.

Darcy merely snorted. “I talked to eight of Holt’s past girlfriends today. All of them have ironclad alibis, and they all were supremely unconcerned about admitting to an officer of the law that they were thrilled someone else had done the job for them. Somewhere in Port Chatham tonight, there’s a hell of a party. Several mentioned calling Holt’s other old flames and getting together to celebrate his demise.”

“So the murderer probably isn’t an old flame.”

“It’s looking less likely,” Darcy agreed morosely.

Jordan asked Jase for mixing instructions for a whiskey sour.

“You’re kidding, right?” Darcy asked in disbelief.

“I’ve led a sheltered life. What about Sally’s alibi? The sister of the girl Holt dated who committed suicide?” Belatedly, Jordan glanced down the bar and saw Sally looking straight at her. Jordan winced. “Sorry,” she told her in a raised voice.

Sally slid off her barstool and walked over. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt, the woman wore a baseball cap stenciled with the name of the local mill where she worked. “Might as well ask me to my face,” she told Darcy, her tone belligerent, “because I certainly wanted the son of a bitch dead. I’ve been positively giddy ever since I heard someone popped him.”

“So where were you the night Holt died?” Darcy asked.

“At home, alone, watching television.” Sally drank the rest of the shot of tequila she was carrying, then set it on the bar for a refill. “And no, I didn’t call anyone, and I didn’t go out to buy anything, so no one can vouch for me.” She paused. “I suppose you could check with my Internet provider, since I was on email at some point.”

Darcy sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who ransacked Holt’s place yesterday?”

Sally shook her head. “I was out there, but the place was in its usual shape—filthy, not ransacked.”

“When were you out there?” Jordan asked.

“Around midafternoon. I went inside long enough to retrieve something of mine. Why?”

“You really shouldn’t tell me that you entered Holt’s house without permission,” Darcy grumbled. “Why is it that everyone in this town thinks they can commit felonies at will? And that I’ll look the other way when they do?”

“Hey.” Sally glared. “That asshole wouldn’t give back a locket Melissa left there last year. It’s a family heirloom, and one of the few items of Melissa’s that I have left. I wanted it back, and I was damn well going to get it.”

“Did you see anyone else when you were there?” Jordan asked, handing her the tequila shot. “Someone driving a dark, midsize sedan?”

Sally knocked it back, then shook her head. “Nope. The place was deserted. Look, all I wanted was the locket, okay? And yeah, I didn’t have any qualms about breaking and entering to get it, but the front door was unlocked in any case.” She looked at Darcy. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“I should, just to make a point,” Darcy said. “Otherwise, at the rate I’m going, the town will be completely lawless within a year or two.”

“So you weren’t the person who shoved me down the stairs?” Jordan asked Sally as she pulled two microbrews for the crowd at the closest table.

“Of course not.” The surprise on Sally’s face looked genuine. “Why on earth would I do that? Those stairs are cement—you could’ve been hurt.”

“Probably accounts for one of the set of fingerprints you lifted, anyway,” Jordan told Darcy. “I still think the person who pushed me was a sumo wrestler.”

Sally smirked. “Slammed you back real good, did he?” She turned to Darcy. “Are you any closer to finding Holt’s killer?”

“The investigation is still in its initial stages, so no, no suspects as of yet.”

“Good.” Sally looked satisfied.

“You willing to come down to the station to be fingerprinted? Just so I can rule you out?” Darcy asked sardonically.

“Bite me,” the other woman replied, then left to go chat with some folks who were seated at the far end of the bar.

Darcy watched until she sat down, then pulled a Baggie out of her jacket pocket, picking up the shot glass by its rim and dropping it inside.

“Sneaky,” Jordan said.

Darcy shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”

Kathleen delivered burgers to them without a word. The beef was grilled to perfection, served on what appeared to be homemade whole-grain buns, and garnished with fresh tomato slices and homemade coleslaw. The potatoes were roasted organic fingerlings that Kathleen grew in her garden, and they gave off a heady aroma of garlic and Parmesan.

Jordan paused from mixing drinks long enough to take a huge bite of the burger, closing her eyes in ecstasy. “Holy God. I need to make this a permanent job. Screw the tips, as long as the meals are free.”

Darcy nodded, her mouth full. “Easy come, easy go on the money in the safe. But withdrawal of Kathleen’s cooking?
Not
an option.”

Jase, who was passing by, leaned across the bar to murmur in Jordan’s ear, “The perks are
very
good.” He winked, then headed over to deliver drinks to the band.

“I’ll just bet they are,” Darcy replied drily.

“So we know Sally’s visit probably accounts for one of the sets of fingerprints. That leaves two,” Jordan mused, ignoring them both.

“And one of the three matches the prints we got off your front door,” Darcy informed her.

Jordan raised both eyebrows. “Really? So that means whoever broke into Holt’s house is the same person who was in my library.”

“Yes, which I consider
not
to be a good sign,” the police chief replied. “You could be in real danger from someone, and that someone really could be the murderer. I can’t compel people like Sally to give me their prints, unless I want to start acting like a jerk. She did admit to entering Holt’s house. If the door really was unlocked, then I would be on thin ice except that she left the shot glass in plain sight.”

“Does that mean I need to carry my empty beer mug out of here and throw it away where you can’t find it?” They both turned to see Bob wedge his lanky body between Darcy and the patron on the next barstool. He towered over them, grinning affably, and held out his hands. “Cuff me, Chief. I confess, I dropped by Holt’s yesterday to pick up a roll of marine charts he’d borrowed from me.”

Darcy shot him a dirty look. “So you
also
admit to going into Holt’s house without permission?”

“Hey!” he protested. “The door was unlocked. And we both know that everything in Holt’s house will go through state-level probate, unless you turn up a distant relative, and it will take
forever
to get anything back. Major hassle. I just wanted to retrieve the charts; I use them all the time.”

Darcy swiveled on her barstool and addressed the room at large. “If there’s anyone here who
didn’t
trespass and break into Holt’s house after the murder, please raise your hands.”

The ghosts looked confused by the question; only a few human hands went up.

“Jesus Christ,” Darcy said. “I might as well call in a paddy wagon.”

“Well hell, Chief,” a man at a nearby table spoke up, “Holt had my compressor and paint sprayer. Those are expensive items. And the door
was
unlocked.”

“Yeah,” someone else agreed. “And he had my nail gun.”

“He was strapped for cash and borrowing stuff all over town,” a third explained.

“I’m amazed you didn’t find dozens of unidentified prints,” Jordan observed.

“Nah. Most of our stuff was in his toolshed,” the third man replied.

“I walked right in and grabbed the sprayer out of the living room,” the first said. “I don’t remember touching anything except the doorknob, and I was wearing my work gloves.”

Jordan remained confused regarding one issue. “I thought you said you didn’t talk to Holt about what he was up to,” she said to Bob. “He had your marine charts?”

“I didn’t talk to him,” Bob replied. He pointed to a tap, and she drew a beer for him, sliding it across the bar, which he made a show of handling with only his fingertips. “He dropped by a couple of weeks ago and asked if he could borrow some marine charts. People around here borrow my charts all the time, just to look at them, or to pinpoint a location based on reading some mystery novel set in this area.”

“Okay,” Darcy told Jordan, turning around, “so that’s two out of three sets of prints. Maybe. Barring that they might belong to any one of the several
hundred
lawbreakers in this town, that leaves us with one other person.”

“With respect to the fingerprints showing up in both locations, I can’t think of any reason for Sally to break into my house,” Jordan mused. “So I vote for door number three, whoever is behind it.”

“Any ideas?” Darcy asked Bob.

“Nope. I didn’t see a soul.”

“Whoever it was, they attacked Jordan.”

He looked concerned. “Hey, I’m real sorry. That had to have been, what? Right after you left the marina?”

“Yes,” Jordan replied.

“Are you all right?” he asked her.

“Sore but fine.”

“So you’re up to talking to that historian on the phone tomorrow? He’d like to set up a conference call for around nine in the morning, if that’s okay.” He set down his beer mug to reach into his jacket pocket and pull out a folded sheet of paper. “This is the schedule of events for the Wooden Boat Festival. I’ve penciled in your talk at the society headquarters for end of the second afternoon, if that’s okay.”

Jordan took the paper from him, frowning. “Actually, I’ve given it more thought, and I’m still not sure I’d feel comfortable talking to anyone about seeing the ghost ship, much less a crowd of people.”

Darcy raised her brows at Jordan.

“But I’ve already publicized your seminar; you can’t back out now,” Bob protested. “The Wooden Boat Festival is the biggest event Port Chatham puts on; folks will be really disappointed if you don’t show.”

“
Seminar?
Bob, I never committed to do the talk; I just said I’d think about it.” Jordan was irritated. She’d been very clear that she’d get back to him with a decision one way or the other.

“Let’s start with the telephone interview tomorrow,” he said in a placating tone that only served to irritate her further. “If you’re okay with how that goes, then you can give the seminar. Deal?”

“I’ll do the interview, then decide,” she said firmly. “So you have no clue who else might have wanted something inside Holt’s house? How well do you know Clive Walters?”

“That guy who owns the Cosmopolitan? I’ve had a few dealings with him. He wants to advertise in some of my mailings, to pick up bookings during the festival. Tried to get me to let him advertise for free. Said that unless people could find hotel rooms, they wouldn’t attend the festival, so I owed him some free space.”

“Cheeky,” Darcy observed, “but that’s Clive for you.”

Bob rolled his eyes. “Like I would fall for his bullshit reasoning. The society is always strapped for cash—we don’t give away
anything
for free. And we’re a major source of revenue for the town’s merchants. If anything, I should
raise
my ad rates.” He cocked his head at Jordan. “Why are you asking about Walters?”

“I just wondered if you knew whether he owned a .22,” she replied. “We got into a scuffle. He thinks I stole historical documents from his hotel. I wondered if he’d fought with Holt, possibly.”

“Not a clue,” Bob replied.

“He appears to have an alibi for the time of Holt’s death, anyway,” Darcy put in. “He claims he was hosting a winetasting at the hotel that evening. If so, there’s no way he could have hosted the event, then taken a boat ride all the way out to the spit to dump a body. Not according to the official time of death from the ME’s report, that is.”

“Well, damn.” Jordan stared at Darcy in dismay. “There goes your best suspect.”

“Maybe.” Darcy looked unconvinced. “I’m digging deeper, trying to verify his story with the guests at the winetasting. But his motive is weak. Why kill over a small remodel job? Still, he says he owns a boat that he moors at the marina. Correct?” she asked Bob.

He shrugged. “I don’t have anything to do with renting out the slips, but I’ve seen him around. It’s possible he let someone else take the boat out.”

“Maybe,” Darcy said again.

Kathleen appeared silently at Jordan’s side for a second time that night. Jordan picked up her empty plate to hand it to her, thinking she’d come to retrieve their dishes, but got a glare for her effort.

“I don’t bus the dishes, for Christ’s sake,” the chef growled. “Come with me.
Right now
.”

“Me?” Jordan asked.

“You see me talking to anyone else?” she snapped.

“If I’m not back in fifteen minutes,” Jordan told Darcy, “come find me.”

“I’ll send out a search party,” Darcy responded cheerfully.

“
Not
funny,” Kathleen said.

Curious, Jordan followed the cook down the back hallway, stopping at the doorway to her kitchen. Kathleen kept walking, turning when she realized Jordan wasn’t behind her.