Murder Walks the Plank (6 page)

Cole Crandall stiffened. He looked like a truant summoned to the principal's office, wild-eyed and nervous. “Yeah?”

Billy waved his hand again. “You were closest to the spot where she went over.”

Cole Crandall moved slowly across the saloon. He stopped a few feet away from Billy. “Yeah?” He hunched his thin shoulders, jammed his hands deep in the pockets of baggy black shorts. He averted his face from the table and its still burden.

“Okay, son.” Billy was reassuring. “Tell us what you saw.”

Cole licked his lips. “I didn't see
her.
” He emphasized the pronoun, but he wouldn't look at the table. His face wrinkled in a puzzled frown. “Most people had gone in to get food. There wasn't anything going on where I was. I was between those two lifeboats. I kept walking up and down the deck, but there wasn't anybody out there. Anyway, it was real hot and I decided to go get a Pepsi. I must have been inside when she went overboard. I'd just stepped back on the deck when everybody started yelling.” He rubbed his cheek with his knuckles. “I looked and she was in the air.” He ducked his head toward the floor.

Annie had a sudden, hideous picture: Pamela head down, plummeting toward the water. Annie reached out a hand. “How did she fall?” Her words came fast. “Was it a jump? Like somebody leaping from a div
ing board? You know, hands up in the air, feet first toward the water? Or was it a real dive? Was she screaming?”

The teenager took a step back, shaking his head. “She was turning over and her arms and legs kind of flopped. She wasn't making any noise. There were screams, but they were coming”—he waved his hand—“from the front of the boat.”

Annie swung toward Billy. “That means she was already unconscious.” Annie struggled for understanding. If Pamela didn't jump—and she didn't—and if Pamela didn't fall—and why should she?—and if Pamela was unconscious when she went over the rail, then Pamela was pushed.

But Billy's face was placid. “Looks like she bumped her head as she went down.” His eyes squeezed in thought. “Yeah. Say she took a leap and her feet went out from under her so her head came down on the rail. That knocked her out and she fell like a dummy.” His nod at Cole was approving. “Anyway, you didn't see anybody near the spot where she went over. Right?”

Cole rocked back and forth on his sneakered feet. “You mean, somebody could have caught her?”

Before Billy could answer, Annie clapped her hands together. “Caught her? If there was anybody close to her, they pushed her!”

Cole took another step back. One eyelid jerked in a tic. “Why would anybody do that?” His voice shook.

The question hung in the air.

Annie looked at their startled faces. Max's gaze was puzzled. Emma yanked on a silver curl as if an answer might pop forth. Ben was an incredulous gnome. Mavis
pressed one hand to her lips. Billy frowned, his good humor gone.

Annie lifted her chin, looked at each in turn. “I don't know why. But nothing else makes sense. If Pamela was unconscious when she went over the railing, how did she get over the railing?”

“Oh, Annie.” Billy heaved a sigh. “Come on. You got too many mysteries in your head. For starters, maybe she was conscious when she went over and then banged her head. If it was an accident, maybe she felt seasick—”

Annie wanted to point out that the Sound was mirror smooth.

“—or maybe somebody spilled something on the deck and she slipped and got knocked out, and the way she went down, she flopped through the rails. Accidents can be weird. We may never know what happened. Or maybe she'll wake up and tell us. But people”—his look at Annie was patient—“do the damndest things. Maybe she was down in the dumps and didn't tell anybody. Maybe that's why she came tonight, thinking she'd jump off and no one would even notice.”

Annie clenched her hands into fists. To suggest that Pamela came on board with the idea—Annie stood still, her thoughts whirling. “Wait a minute. Wait a
minute
. Billy, that's not why she came.” Annie spread out the words as if she were dropping diamonds on a velvet cloth, each one distinct and separate, hard and shiny and inescapable. “She…came…because…she…got…a…free…ticket.”

Emma's piercing blue eyes narrowed. Max glanced toward the still form on the table. Ben fingered his
bristly chin, pursed his mouth. Mavis nodded, murmured, “Just like us.” Billy shrugged, unimpressed.

The excursion boat's whistle shrieked.

Ben clapped his hands together. “Coming in. I'll go see to the gangway—”

Billy was abruptly official. “I'll hold back the crowd till we get her off.”

Annie reached out, caught his sleeve. “Billy, don't you see?” Her words tumbled faster and faster. “Pamela didn't plan on coming. There's no way she could have planned to be here tonight. She got a free ticket”—Annie tried hard to remember Ingrid's report of her telephone conversation—“and she just got it today. She thought it was from me, but it wasn't. That means somebody wanted Pamela to be on board tonight.” Annie could almost accept Billy's insistence that somehow in a freak accident Pamela had fallen overboard and was unconscious because she banged her head as she fell. Yes, but that didn't explain the free ticket. And if Pamela was enticed onto the boat and came close to dying, might yet die, the possibility of an accident seemed remote. Annie discounted it absolutely. “Somebody deliberately—”

Billy shook off her hand. “—did a good deed. Just like you, Annie, giving tickets to me and Mavis. Sure she thought the ticket came from you. Anybody would think that.”

He was moving toward the port doorway.

Annie was on his heels. “Billy, before you go down to do crowd control, tell me one thing.”

“Sure.” He was patient, even though he obviously thought her deductions out of line. “What?”

She met his gaze, held it. “If somebody pushed Pamela over, that person is still on board. Right?”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah.” He grinned. “In the event we got a maniac running around, he's still on board, because we didn't hear another splash. Now I got to get outside—”

The boat was slowing, wallowing a little as it neared the dock.

“While you're holding everybody back to give the medics a chance to move Pamela, wouldn't it make sense to have all of us fan out”—her hand sweep included Max and Emma and Mavis and Ben—“and get the names of everybody on board?” She saw him consider it, took heart. After all, why not? Quickly, she added, “That way we can ask if anybody saw anything. Maybe we can find an eyewitness. I'll bet Ben would appreciate a list of possible witnesses. In case of liability.”

“Liability?” Ben sounded like a frog with a golf ball in his throat. “Now wait a damn minute. People go where they ain't supposed to go, there's no blame can be—”

Max clapped Ben on the shoulder. “Looks like Annie's got a good idea. That would be your best bet, Ben, in the event a lawsuit ever gets filed.”

Ben's eyes were wild. “Yeah, let's get the names.” He started for the door, called over his shoulder, “I'll round up paper and pens. Everybody meet me up by the gangway.”

Billy clapped his hands together. “Sure. Get the names. Who knows? Like you said, we may find an eyewitness, settle everything.”

Eyewitness.

Annie turned, strode toward Cole Crandall, who had returned to his post on the starboard side of the saloon.

He looked at her warily, hands still deep in his pockets.

“Listen, Cole, it's important to know everything that
happened on the deck where you were. If you think of anything”—Annie plunged a hand into her pocket, pulled out a card—“be sure and call me. Okay?”

“Yeah, well, sure. But I didn't see anything.” He moved from one foot to the other.

The boat shuddered to a stop.

She waited until a sticky hand took the card, jammed it into a pocket. He mumbled, “I never did see her come up there.”

Annie whirled and hurried to Max. “Come on, let's get started.”

Emma called out, “You have enough without me.” Her gruff voice was determined.

Annie looked back in surprise.

Emma nodded toward the still figure on the table. “I'll stay with Pamela.” She picked up her purse from the floor, opened it, pulled out car keys. “You can bring my car to the hospital. I'll go in the ambulance with Pamela.” Emma tossed the keys to Annie. “I won't leave her.”

Annie carried fear with her as she climbed the steps to the second deck, fear for Pamela, fear and a burning anger. Pamela was good and decent and kind, sustaining as oatmeal and just about as exciting. She never caused harm. She tried to do good. Somebody had lured her aboard a boat bound for fun, intending that Pamela would never return. As Annie took down names, she saw Max and Mavis and Ben moving alongside the lines waiting patiently to disembark, slowly filling up their sheets. Names and names and more names.

One belonged to Pamela's would-be murderer.

T
HE AMBULANCE SIREN
faded as its flashing red lights disappeared behind a stand of pines.

An offshore breeze, pungent with the scent of salt water and creosote, ruffled Annie's hair, lifted seabirds on rising currents. The dock echoed with the footsteps of disembarked passengers walking toward the parking lot. Headlights stabbed into the darkness as the long line of cars began a slow exit.

The excursion boat had a feeling of emptiness, the slap of water against the hull the only sound except for the cackle of gulls. On the upper deck, Annie moved her hand back and forth, the sharp white beam from the borrowed flashlight exposing the scuffed deck, dropped candy wrappers, and crumpled cups.

Ben Parotti glowered at the refuse. “People is pigs.” He held a twin of Annie's big flashlight. “Okay”—his tone was demanding—“here we are. I don't see nothin' that isn't what it should be. The chains are up, the rails in place.”

Annie swung her light toward the tarp-covered lifeboat beyond a chain. “Billy should be up here. Taking pictures. Looking for fingerprints. Figuring out what happened.”

Max leaned against the railing, hands in his pockets. “Annie…”

She jerked toward him, hearing a world of comment in the sound of her name: caution, concern, and—most disturbing—patience. His gaze was kind, his dark blue eyes filled with understanding. And resistance.

“Max”—her voice was strained—“surely you don't believe Pamela jumped.” Before he could answer, she pointed at the lifeboat. “That kid—Cole Crandall—was up here on pickpocket patrol for Billy, but Cole said he didn't see Pamela. Yet this is the spot where she must have gone overboard for him to turn around and spot her in midair. Where was she right before she fell?”

Max frowned at the projection of deck that curved over the water and was roped off by a chain. His gaze was measuring. “She must have climbed over the chain—or ducked under it—and squeezed past the lifeboat. She could have crouched behind the lifeboat and he wouldn't have seen her. If she did, that means she was trying not to be noticed. If she hid behind the lifeboat, she meant to jump. Why else would she go out there?”

Ben's grizzled head nodded emphatically. “Clear as clear. Annie—”

She bridled at Ben's patronizing tone, gave him glare for glare.

“—you got murder on the brain. The poor lady decided to jump. Some people can't get out on dark water at night without feeling lonesome and blue.” His raspy voice was mournful. “You know she ain't got nobody at home. Her ma went and died last year, and maybe she got tired of always being an outsider—”

Annie bit her lip, a sudden vision of Pamela walk
ing alone into church, smiling, nodding, but yes, she was always alone, doing good works but coming and going by herself. Annie stopped the beam of light on the small sign that dangled from the chain:

OFF-LIMITS

The bright red letters glistened against a white background.

“No.” Annie spoke with certainty. “Pamela wouldn't go past the chain. Look at that sign! It means ‘Don't go there.' Pamela followed the rules. All the rules. All the time. She would not go past that chain.”

Max's glance was still kindly. “Okay, let's say she didn't jump. You say there's no way she would commit suicide. Maybe it was an accident. Maybe her hat blew off. Maybe she was trying to catch it.”

When Pamela lay unmoving on the table, wrapped in the blanket, her wet head was bare. The hat might have come loose as she fell or when she went into the water. No matter. Annie was adamant. “She wouldn't go past the chain. Not for her hat. Not for her purse.” As Annie spoke, she moved to the chain, swung her leg over it. She ignored the calls from behind her—

“Careful now, missy.” Ben's shoes clumped on the deck.

“Annie, watch out!” Max's tone was sharp.

—and pointed the sharp white beam at the painted surface. Ben and Max were right to warn her. The metal was damp and slippery as a slick skillet from the night air and sea mist. She leaned against the lifeboat, edged forward. Okay, the critical point was that Pamela wouldn't step over the chain. The men, including Max, dismissed Annie's claim that she knew what Pamela
would and wouldn't do. Fine. But Annie knew she was right. The sun came up in the east, Max loved her, and Pamela Potts followed the rules. So if Pamela didn't step over the chain, how did she get out on this ledge?

Annie pictured Pamela being held at gunpoint, smooth countenance wrinkled in puzzlement, wide blue eyes questioning, pleasant voice perplexed: “Excuse me, please, that gun is pointed toward me. I believe it is improper to carry a firearm aboard a public conveyance. If you will be so kind…”

The whole prospect was absurd. That's why no one—with the possible exception of Emma Clyde, and Emma might have chosen to remain with Pamela simply because she was unconscious, not because Emma feared for Pamela's safety—was willing to believe Annie's insistence that murder had been attempted. Who would try to kill Pamela Potts? It was as ridiculous as imagining a plot against Raggedy Ann.

Annie pushed away that thought and focused on the lifeboat and the curve of metal overhanging the sea.

If Pamela had fallen on the other side of the lashed boat, she would not have been visible to Cole Crandall. Therefore she tumbled over right here, within inches of where Annie stood. Cole said there had been no one about and then he heard screams and he turned toward the bow. But Pamela wasn't screaming. Pamela was already unconscious.

Annie glanced toward the deck that ran between the railing and the housing for the upper saloon. The windows were now dark. When the boat was in the Sound, the cabin was lighted, but those inside would not be able to see out into the night.

There were occasional lights strung along the deck, but this portion was shadowy.

Someone—including Pamela—could have stepped out through the doorway as Cole sauntered aft.

Annie eased back to the chain, slipped beneath it. She walked to the cabin door. “Max”—she waved toward the stern—“pretend you are Cole. Go toward the stern. Take your time.”

Max did as she asked. At a slow amble, he moved into the darkness.

Annie was quick. She darted from the doorway and ducked under the chain. There was even time to pause and watch Max's slow progress. Definitely there was time enough for someone to come out of the cabin and hurry across the corridor. Max was just now turning to look toward her.

But every time she came back to her bedrock conviction: Pamela followed the rules, all the rules, from a prohibition to remain behind a chain to the church's admonition to finish the course. Pamela wouldn't step over the chain, and most emphatically Pamela would never commit suicide. Pamela would have abhorred being a public spectacle, bringing the boat to a shuddering stop, becoming the subject of a dramatic rescue effort.

So, if there was time for Pamela to cross the deck, there was time for someone else to do so. But where was Pamela when this person crossed? Surely there wasn't enough time for an altercation. What could have happened?

The puzzle pieces slotted in her mind. Pamela didn't scream. The scream came from an onlooker who spotted Pamela in the air. She tumbled, arms and legs lax, because she was unconscious.

Annie moved out to the lifeboat, once again ignoring the cautioning calls. She ran the flashlight along the rim of the boat. A piece of the covering tarp sagged. It was
loose. She tugged and the canvas yielded in her hand. She pulled it back, swung the flashlight over the interior of the wooden boat. The boat was old, the wood discolored. She squinted, bent nearer, held the beam steady. Careful not to touch anything, she craned to look between the seats, studied every inch of the flooring.

A scrap of black plastic was snagged on the bottom.

Annie felt a surge of triumph. “Come here, Ben. I need you to be a witness.”

He approached slowly, his eyes suspicious. He stepped over the chain, held to the side of the boat, looked inside.

Annie pointed the light straight at her discovery. “Do you see that piece of plastic? It looks like it came from a big black trash bag.”

“Maybe.” His shrug was casual, disinterested.

“Yeah, that's what it looks like.”

“How did it get there?” She kept her tone reasonable, simply an inquiry.

Ben scratched his bristly cheek. “Maybe it blew there. Maybe it was stuck on a crewman's shoe the last time somebody checked the boat.” He tilted his head. “Didn't you find the cover loose?”

“Yes.” Annie knew why. There hadn't been time to fasten the tarp.

Ben tapped his flashlight on the boat. “A loose cover means that plastic could of got there a bunch of ways. The wind. Or maybe it was a crow. They carry things and put them the damndest places. One time on the
Miss Jolene,
I kept seeing a crow duck under a port lifeboat. I took a look and found a stash of shiny beads. That little scrap of plastic don't mean a thing. Thing is, you're trying to make something out of nothing.”

Annie carefully replaced the tarp, her face grim.
Ben dismissed the importance of the snagged plastic. One glance at Max told her his attitude was the same. Billy would agree with them. Not with her.

Yet she knew what had happened as clearly as though she'd stood and watched. The murderer came aboard with a plastic trash bag folded as small as possible, tucked in a back pocket or a purse. At some point, the tarp on the lifeboat was loosened, the plastic bag spread between the seats, Pamela was knocked out, dragged to the lifeboat, and tumbled inside it. Later, when the coast was clear, the deck empty except for Cole Crandall walking aft, the murderer darted from the saloon, stepped over the chain, lifted Pamela from the lifeboat, and dumped her over the edge. Her attacker grabbed the trash bag, pulled the tarp over the boat, and ducked around the far side of the lifeboat to hurry along the deck to the stairs. By this time everyone's attention was focused on Pamela's fall. The bag was quickly folded and put in a pocket or purse.

Annie felt certain she knew what had happened. No one would believe her. No one, not Max or Ben or Billy. But the murderer knew that Pamela had survived and was now at the hospital.

Who was looking out for Pamela right this minute?

 

The taillights of the Maserati glowed.

Annie pulled even with the car, fumbled to find the window controls, lowered the pane on the passenger side of Emma's Rolls-Royce.

Max's window was down, too. “Annie, I'll meet you at the hospital.”

She shook her head. “There's no need. You're still wet. Go home and take a hot shower. If I leave the hospital, Emma can bring me.”

In the glow from the dash, his face was concerned. “
If
you leave?”

“Pamela's in danger. If somebody pushed her off the boat—and I know that's what happened—the objective was to kill her. Well, everybody on that boat knows she's going to be in the hospital.” She wasn't angry, but she was determined. “I'll stay the night if there's no one who will be with her.”

It took him a moment to answer. But he wasn't grudging when he spoke. “I understand. I don't believe she's in danger, but you could be right. Call me when you know what you'll be doing.”

“I will. Give Dorothy L. a hug.” Their plump white cat adored Max and most likely would never notice Annie's absence.

Max's car pulled ahead. Once on Sand Dollar Road in a long line of cars, Annie drummed her fingers impatiently on the steering wheel. She wished Max agreed with her conviction that Pamela was in danger. However, she understood his attitude and Billy's as well. They didn't really know Pamela. They saw her as a single woman who might have succumbed to depression. But she was grateful that Max understood her decision to go to the hospital to protect her friend. She saw his taillights receding as she turned right, taking the road to the hospital.

Traffic thinned and the big Rolls zoomed forward. Annie wondered if the captain of the
QEII
felt nearly as empowered. What a car, the engine a low throaty purr, the massive body rolling noiseless and unstoppable. No wonder Emma had such presence. Of course, Emma would see it the other way about, supremely confident that the magnificent driving machine merely reflected her persona.

At any other time, Annie would have been thrilled to drive the Rolls. She'd once bested Emma in a contest, winning the right to drive the Rolls as a prize, but at the last minute Emma had held tight to the keys.

Annie turned the car smoothly into the hospital parking lot, the occasional golden pool of light from the lampposts emphasizing the black shadows of the hedges, throwing long streaks of darkness from the tall pines. She wished the jaunt in the car was the reason for her outing, not the frightening prospect of a helpless Pamela at risk from an unknown attacker. The thought seemed absurd. Who would attack Pamela? Why Pamela?

She parked at the far end of the lot, leaving a free space on either side. Far be it from her to leave Emma's Rolls vulnerable to scratches. Walking fast, she headed for the emergency room, carrying with her, an odd accompaniment on a journey into fear, the ripe banana smell of a huge pittosporum bush. When she stepped inside, the sweet scent was overwhelmed by hospital odors, medicines and food and disinfectants and sickness.

Emma Clyde lounged, sandaled feet crossed, on a green vinyl sofa right next to the automatic door that led to the cubicles for emergency room patients. She held a cell phone pressed to one ear.

As Annie's shoes clicked on the faux marble floor, Emma looked up, lifted a stubby hand in greeting. Her silver nails matched the silver streaks in her georgette caftan. “We'll change shifts at two
A.M
…. No word yet…. I'll let you know.” She clicked off the phone, patted the cushion next to her.

Annie didn't sit down. She laced her fingers together and stared at the closed door. “How is she?”