Janine Marie - Rigging a Murder 01 - The Single Shoe Mystery (4 page)

“Thomas, uh, Thomas asked me to come down and see how Lorenzo was,” I stammered.

“He is deceased. I would say from his current state that he succumbed to the stabbing wound late last night. This is a matter for the police now.” Greg took me by the arm and gently directed me out the doorway. “Go tell Thomas so he can alert the authorities.”

“What are you going to do?” I asked. Greg’s matter-of-fact, professional voice had cleared my head.

“I found the door key in Lorenzo’s hand so I’m going to lock the door. We can’t have anyone tampering with the evidence,” he replied.

It was with a heavy heart that I returned to tell Thomas that Lorenzo was dead. At this news the Coast Guard transferred Thomas to the RCMP.

“RCMP?” I mouthed in a question.

“The Royal Canadian Mounted Police,” he replied as he waited for them to come on the radio.

“Mounted Police???”

He shrugged, looking as bewildered as I felt. Shouldn’t we be talking to the provincial police? Mounted—did they plan on riding horses to come to our aid? I know we are way out in the forest and the weather is getting worse fast, but really…horses?

Just then a wave of rain and wind slammed into the boat. Looking around, I realized that during the time I had been in the lowest level of this huge yacht, what had been a foggy but still and peaceful morning had turned into a storm with high winds and fierce sideways-blowing rain and… a murdered man!!!

I looked away from the window and the growing storm outside and met Thomas’s eyes. “KATIE!” I turned and ran off the boat with Thomas close behind. Reaching our boat, I saw that the wind and waves were so strong it was actually heeling over at the dock. Calling Katie’s name even before we boarded, I rushed below and collapsed, soaked from the rain and in tears of relief as Katie looked up at us with a confused look on her face.

“What’s wrong?” she inquired looking from one of us to the other. We were a sight to see, having run down the dock through the pelting rain.  Thomas, relieved to find his daughter safe and apparently oblivious to the storm, turned to go back outside.

“Where are you going?

“To check the lines again, then get back on the radio.”

“At least change into dry clothes and put your foul weather gear on first.”

Looking down at his wet jeans as if noticing them for the first time, he shivered and moved past us to our cabin to change. Soon he handed me a bundle of soaking clothes to hang in the head (bathroom) to dry.

“Lock this door behind me and don’t leave the boat,” Thomas said, with a meaningful look in my direction.

I shivered, both from the cold and wet and from the realization that there was a murderer in our midst. Then I changed my clothes, cranked the heat up on the boat, and sat down at the table with a steaming cup of tea. Watching the steam rise from the cup, I tried to console myself that the murderer would have left this morning at slack tide. How long ago was that, I wondered as I consulted my watch. It was only 10:45 am! All this had happened in only one hour!

Chapter Five

Council of War

K
nock, knock, knock. “It’s me, let me in,” came Thomas’s voice from outside the companionway hatch. I stood up to let him in and received a full face of wind and rain as a thank you.

“Get your coat, Janeva; we’re going over to the Writemans’ boat to talk about what’s happened.”

“What about the body? Shouldn’t you stay with it, in case someone tampers with the evidence?” I asked.

“You watch to many TV shows,” Thomas replied with a eye roll, but then conceded, “I checked the door and it’s locked and solid. I asked Nancy and she said that Lorenzo had the only key, but as a precaution I broke into the key box and took all the keys off the boat, then I locked all the outside doors. I don’t want those two missing crew members or anyone else on that boat until the RCMP arrive,” he added, lifting a small duffel bag. “Nancy is sitting with Catherine, and she is to call me on the walkie talkie if anyone tries to get on that yacht or anything else happens.”

“Oh God, what will you do if the murdering crew members DO show up?” I asked, alarmed.

“First of all I’m sure they are long gone—left with the morning slack tide. If not, I will deal with them when and if it they show up. Now, come on!”

“I’m coming too!” announced Katie. She had finished her movie and was bored, plus she had no intention of missing out on what was clearly an unusual and interesting situation.

Thomas immediately said “No.”

Katie held her ground and glared back at him defiantly.

Being the peacemaker of the family, I rationally pointed out that “I would rather have her with us, and I think she should know what’s going on.”

Thomas turned his glare to me; I glared back.

It was one of those special family moments, with everyone glaring at each other. As Katie and I turned from Thomas to glare at each other, the corners of my mouth started to twitch, then smile. It was contagious and soon we were both laughing, with Thomas looking at us, mystified.

“Are you guys coming?” came the cry from Steph and Greg’s cabin cruiser tied up in front of us on the dock.

“On our way!” replied Thomas and gestured for us all to get out of the boat, Katie included.

The Writemans’ salon had two white-leather settees or sofas at arranged in an L shape, with a coffee table in front of the “L” on the port (left) side. The floor was a dark wood and the large windows were covered with white blinds. The whole effect was of a very elegant and calm space, very much like the calm and collected Writemans.

Katie and I took our seats on the long settee across from Stephanie and Greg, who were already seated drinking coffee. Thomas who came in last smiled and headed directly for the corner of the “L” and put up his feet. We had all taken our shoes off at the door, as is our custom when boating in the rain. Looking especially pleased and relaxed in his favorite position, with his arms on the back of the couch, Thomas grinned. Then, as he looked around, his expression changed.

“Well, we have landed ourselves in quite the mess…. We can’t leave now until the police—pardon me, the RCMP—arrive, so we might as well piece together what we know, while we wait.”

“What happened? Why can’t we leave? What was the lady screaming about?” demanded Katie.

We all looked at her, startled, and realized that she had no idea of the past hour’s events. We quickly filled her in, leaving out any graphic details.

“Oh, goody,” she exclaimed. “I’ve always wanted to have a council of war.” Again we all looked at her, surprised. This was not the response we expected from an 11-year old-girl upon hearing that a man she had met, though briefly, the night before had just been murdered less than 50 feet away.

Taking charge, Thomas said, “Let’s start this, um… council of war, then,” winking at Katie, “in a logical manner. First we should compare what we know.”

“Is the murderer still here?” asked Katie with some alarm, as the import of what she had just learned registered.

“No, sweetie, it looks like everyone but us, Mrs. Moretti, and that girl left this morning to catch the slack tide. So we are safe, I’m sure; the murderer is long gone.”

“Oh… good—but we are going to try and figure out who it was for the police?”

We all smiled back at her indulgently. The Writemans hadn’t been able to have children and absolutely adored Katie, having known her since she was born and having spent many holidays with us. I stood up and went to the counter.

“Steph, do you have a notepad and a pen?… No, on second thought a pencil, if you have one, would be better. We have lots on our boat for Katie’s homework, but it’s so miserable outside.”

At that we all turned to look outside. It appeared that the wind and rain were building.

“Here you go.” Steph handed me the requested notebook and pencil.

“Ok, let’s start with a timeline. What time did that girl come screaming for help?” said Thomas, looking at us as if we were his board members.

“It was before the 9:54 am slack tide…hmmm,” Greg hesitated, lost in recollection. “Yes, about 9:10 am,” he finally pronounced.

“Good, then we followed the girl to—” Thomas continued.

“Nancy, Nancy Fair… no, Farie…. Fern! That’s it,” I interrupted Thomas.

“That’s what?” growled Thomas, looking annoyed.

“Her name, the girl, it’s Nancy Fern,” I replied, smiling and writing it down, not the least bit perturbed by Thomas’s glare.

I relayed what Nancy had told me, making notes as I went. Next it was Steph’s turn to give us Catherine’s story.

“Believe it or not she was asleep when I found her,” she shuddered. “I was surprised that anyone could sleep through all the commotion, but she had taken sleeping pills and had ear plugs in, plus I gather she is used to the staff and other guests walking around and usually sleeps late.”

“So she knew nothing of her husband’s death?” I asked.

“No” was the quiet answer.

“Did you tell her?” I finally had the courage to ask after a long pause.

“Well, sort of.” She paused again. “I told her that there had been an accident and that Lorenzo, her husband, had been badly hurt.” An even longer pause followed.

“And, well, it didn’t seem to phase her!” Steph looked around at all of us with a very perplexed look, and then continued with her story. It went as follows:

“Believe it or not, she asked—no, asked isn’t the right word—she demanded to see John.”

“John? John Blackwood?” I clarified.

“Yes, John Blackwood,” continued Stephanie. “Then, when I said I didn’t know, she, Catherine, yelled at me, ‘Where is he? I need him!’” Steph shook her head as she relived the conversation. “‘Okay, okay,’ I answered Catherine, ‘I will go and look for him.’ So I left her and went in search of the Blackwoods’ cabin. It wasn’t hard to find as they were the only guests on the yacht, but it was empty! I looked in the closets, drawers, head—everything was gone, and they had left! Believe me, I wasn’t keen on going back to Catherine with that news. So I went down to find one of you to help me, but Janeva was in deep conversation with the young cook, Greg was still with Lorenzo and he told me about his death, Thomas, I didn’t know where you were, and as I went back up to the main deck to start looking for you, I heard Catherine calling for John over and over again, so I took a deep breath and went into her cabin. She was propped up on the pillows in her bed, using all of them, including Lorenzo’s. I realized then that I had to tell her, so taking a deep breath I just straight out told her that her husband was dead and John and Stella had left and that I didn’t know where or when but all their stuff was missing.

“Catherine started to cry, a quiet, sad cry, and grabbed her legs and rolled up into a ball. I didn’t know what to do and was about to go for Greg, knowing he would know, when she quietly asked me for a glass of water. I went to the galley and found a bottle of water. It was only after I had handed it to her and she had spun the top off and taken a big drink that I realized she had taken more sleeping pills. Fortunately for me, Greg arrived at Catherine’s doorway a minute later,” she continued with a faint smile. “He checked her pulse and other vitals, concluding that she had only taken two and was just going to have to sleep it off.” Steph then took a deep breath herself and looked much better, as if getting her story out of the way had taken a load off her.

Thomas told us about the calls with the Canadian Coast Guard and police. Then it was Greg’s turn. His account was rather graphic though fortunately very medical; the technical terminology made it difficult for me to follow, much less Katie. I really didn’t want her visualizing the gruesome murder. After several attempts to spell complicated medical words I handed the notepad over to Steph.

“Can you take over? I’m a terrible speller even with normal words, plus doctor-speak is way out of my league,” I said, smiling apologetically. “Plus, you are the writer here, so why am I doing this anyway?” I teased, as I handed the pad and pencil to Steph.

“And I’m hungry,” announced Katie, who was always hungry these days and growing like a weed. She was already only a few inches shorter than me.

“No need to go back to your boat, there is plenty of food in ours. We could all use a snack,” Steph replied with a smile.

As Katie and I stood to walk the few feet to the galley I happen to look out in time to see Trent’s boat pass us, going back to the dock.

“What’s he doing back? I guess we better go and grab some lines; we know his wife isn’t one for jumping off the boat.”

“Especially in the rain,” Greg added, laughing.

“We got it; you girls stay here and work on lunch,” Thomas said as he and Greg grabbed their rain gear and headed out to help the returning boats dock.

After some rummaging around in the fridge, Steph, Katie, and I were able to pull together a great lunch of cheese quesadillas, veggies and dip, and some potato chips that Katie found in the snack cupboard and used her considerable talent to convince us were exactly what we needed to cheer us up.

Thomas and Greg returned.

“Finally you’re back; what took you so long?” Katie demanded of her father and Greg. Of course the only reason that she cared was because I, her mother, wouldn’t let her have any of the potato chips until they returned, knowing full well that once we started to eat them we couldn’t stop.

“You won’t believe it,” Thomas hesitated, waiting to get our attention. Once he had it, he continued, “Well, we found out where John and Stella Blackwood disappeared to—” he paused here, making sure he had all our attention.

When I finally gave in and cried “Where?” Thomas happily continued on : “They were on Trent’s boat. And it wasn’t just Trent’s boat that came in! All the boats are back! Apparently a tree fell in the wind storm and has blocked the Malibu Rapids.”

“What… we’re trapped here?!” I exclaimed.

Greg, ever the calm voice of reason, chimed in: “Well, they think that the tree would probably get washed out with the current at high tide later today, so we should be able to leave this afternoon at slack tide.”

“BUT UNTIL THEN WE ARE STUCK HERE WITH A MURDERER!” I cried. This accurate statement had the effect of a full stop as the reality of it registered with everyone, and we all stared at each other in horror.

“We didn’t tell them about Lorenzo!” Thomas exclaimed, breaking the silence.

We all looked at each other, grim-faced.

“Oh God,” I groaned. “I was kind of okay staying here with a corpse until the police or Coast Guard arrived because I was 100 percent sure the killer had fled BUT not so much now that everyone is back and we are stuck here with them.”

“You’re getting yourself all worked up,” scolded Thomas, who was always in control.

“Of course I am, and for good reason. What about Katie? We can’t just sit here! We have to do something!” I retorted.

“Okay, what do you suggest we do?”

“For starters, we need to find out what’s happening on that boat, now that all the suspects are back.”

“What makes you think the murderer is a Yacht Club member? What about the missing crew? Or the other boats that were anchored out or at the dock last night?”

“Oh, I hate it when you are right!” I snarled. “Well, I don’t think it was a random act, do you?”