Suspense with a twist...of lemon and a side of tartar sauce!
Filet Of Soul
The storm had deposited tons of detritus before it finally departed, and
mostly black things now stood out upon the wet sand Sean had given up trying
to run on. Twenty eight, with longish sandy blond hair and light brown eyes,
he was in fantastic shape already, but doing his best to avoid a fate of belts
buckled under an overhanging belly, a favorite old chair with the impression
of his ass permanently inscribed on it, and the sort of lack of muscle tone that had allowed the sea to claim his older brother five years before. Sean
had always loved being on the open ocean with his waterman grandfather and
brother, William. Now that Will was gone, however, he looked upon the water
with a fear others usually mistook for respect or reverence.
It was chilly with intermittent gusts of wind which carried cool spray in off
the whitecaps. A miserable day for outdoor exercise, but Sean had become
fanatical about fitness after watching his brother die. Their father had died
at the age of thirty-eight from a heart attack and a fondness for deep fried
onion rings. Their mother was perpetually plump from a steady diet of
carb-free salads, diet colas, and her hidden stash of chocolate Kisses.
William had been the pride of the family: Wrestling team, soccer captain, then later marathon bicycling enthusiast. He’d traveled six times across the entire country by bike before he met Mistle Fullan. Sure, Will had dated before and even been known as a bit of a player, but Mistle tamed him like a folkloric Indian maiden with a wild stallion, and before anyone knew it, they were talking marriage plans and Will was forty pounds heavier from dating instead of exercising and Mistle’s mystic ways with pasta.
He wasn’t anywhere near the site of the accident, but whenever Sean gazed out
upon the water on a strange and gloomy day like this, he remembered the splash
of Will diving overboard. They’d known a storm was coming, but Mistle couldn’t
stay another day upon the island and it would be their only chance to show her
the local sights. The sky had darkened prematurely and as they’d cleared the
channel from the narrow, almost hidden harbor, the sea had become a maze of
high swells and deep troughs, though no white caps had been present. Mistle had panicked quickly. She’d claimed she couldn’t swim. As Will had started to
swing the little FirstStar to port, his fiancee had leaned over the rail to
catch a better glimpse of what she’d thought was a dolphin circling them, and
as the boat had tilted sharply and at a bad angle when a swell emerged beneath
them, the stupid girl had fallen overboard. She’d had a lifejacket on and all they really would have had to do was throw her a line, but Will had abandoned his post at the helm and flung himself from the side rail to play hero for his hapless maiden.
Sean bent and picked up a smooth bit of frosted glass, wiping the moist sand
away with his rough fingertips. The beach stank of all the living things which had been cast ashore unfairly and died during the night. He meandered down to the water’s edge and chucked the glass back into the ocean. It vanished swiftly and suddenly like it had never even existed at all.
Will never reached Mistle. Sean had grabbed the wheel and piloted the boat
back around the swell as it was dropping, coming right up alongside her so that he practically handed her the vivid yellow rope they kept for
emergencies. “Where’s Willie?” she’d asked as soon as she was safely on deck
with him.
She had never even seen him dive in after her. They’d stayed out until her
cries of despair had driven him to turn the small motorboat back into the
relative calm of the harbor. The sea had turned ugly swiftly and buckets of
rain had begun to sweep across the boat at intervals, making visibility nil as
the craft bobbed dangerously with sudden waves trying to wash and drown her. They’d almost lost the boat trying to bring it in, nearly colliding with one of the larger fishing boats heading out to try and assist after receiving
Sean’s plea for help over the radio. Slamming against the concrete sea wall,
the FirstStar had been damaged badly, but managed to make it all the way to
the local constable’s dock before listing to starboard too much to bring them safely home again.
The next morning had been like this one, blackened strands of seaweed and the remains of crab-picked fish littering the shore along with strands of dense pinkish foam and the occasional buoyant bit of nautical debris. He hadn’t been the one to find William’s body, but his nightmares filled in what he hadn’t actually seen. Face down. Hair waving slightly around his head like sea grass in a mild current. Still in the process of returning to the land one small,
whitecapped wave at a time.
Shuddering with the memory, Sean turned abruptly and tripped over a body. This
one lay on its back, half buried in the sand, skin the same pale color as the
sand itself, long shimmering hair looking silvery in the strange half-light. He froze in place, crouching on one knee and fingertips, ready to sprint away as soon as a starter’s pistol was fired. She reacted slowly, pulling one leg from the wetness that held her form, drawing one hand up toward her chest. Her brow furrowed and she inhaled wetly then coughed, and coughed, and struggled to sit up while coughing up gallons of seawater.
“Hey, hey!” said Sean, crawling over to her on his knees to help her roll onto
her side and get the fluid up and out of her lungs. He noticed she seemed
youthfully trim despite the lack of color in her hair, with surprisingly
strong limbs and a very toned, lithe shape. Basically, she was beautiful in an I’ve-never-seen-an-albino-this-close-before sort of way. The woman tried to
withdraw from him weakly, but he could tell she was in a bad way, and so he
scooped her up in his arms and cradled her against his bare chest as he strolled the rest of the way back to his cottage, not a full hundred feet from where she’d lain.
He considered depositing her outside on the hammock, but it was so wet that it
still held a small pond in its rainbow striped folds. He hadn’t locked the
door, so he kicked it wide and carried her inside, wondering what to do with
her next. Her coughing had subsided considerably and she gasped for air like a landed fish, but she seemed to trust him enough to put her arms around his neck and nuzzle her head beneath his jaw. She was sandy, so he figured he’d get her in the shower first. He was still dressed in a pair of old blue jeans, but he held her to him and drew the curtain and felt the temperature of the water before he turned it full blast from the nozzle above. She jumped when the liquid hit her, and he thought she’d passed out. She was still breathing as she hung there limply in his arms, so he only kept her in there long enough to rinse her well, then pulled her out and draped her across the top of his king sized futon.
The phone lines had gone out during the night along with the cable, but he
still had electricity and could call for help on his Dad’s old radio. Sean
stood before the device for some time, noting how dusty it was, thinking about
the beautiful naked young woman resting in the next room on his bed. He had
decided it was better to remain a player than get hitched long ago, so he
really wasn’t sure how to handle the situation. He knew better than to take
advantage of unconscious young women, but generally they just woke up later,
grabbed an English muffin, then left with a kiss on his forehead. He was
practically stranded this time with a girl who probably needed medical
attention, and a missing rowboat. He needed the rowboat to take him from his
island to the main one which almost encompassed it, and upon which his Jeep
was still parked if the storm hadn’t buried it halfway in sand and debris.
When he’d noticed it missing that morning, he’d figured he could always hunt for it later and just swim to the Jeep if he really, really needed anything. Now he really, really needed something and wasn’t sure how to go about getting it.
“Sean?” the radio squawked suddenly, startling him. He paused with a hand on
the back of the sofa while waiting for his heart to start beating again.
“Sean? You there, Sean? This is-”
“Gwenie,” he said into the microphone, adjusting the volume so she wouldn’t
keep screeching at him unintentionally. “Sean here. What’s up, Guinevere?”
“Got some bad news for you up on the northeast side of the island, dearie. Two people dead. Six people stranded.”
“Boat wreck?” he asked her, thinking about his strange visitor though he lived on the southwest side of the isle.
“Murder, darlin’. Two murdered and the rest got the yacht in and beached it in
the night.”
Murder on Driftwood Island? Nobody had ever been murdered there since the
first European settlers had discovered the place three hundred years ago, the
entire island covered with the dead and dying bodies of some mysterious tribe
of natives. Something had butchered them en masse, then fled. It was how the
place had received the nickname from the local fisherman of Deadwood Island.
With a total year round population of twelve and a seasonal one of about
thirty four, Driftwood didn’t have an actual police force. Constable Quinlan
had retired to the mainland years before, but so long as Sean returned every summer for a week or three, the natives had decided they didn’t really require an official peacekeeper aside from dry goods shop and bar owner Guinevere Yamaguchi.
“Be there in half an hour,” he told the radio before switching it off. He pulled
off his jeans and went hunting for a waterproof sack to store fresh clothes,
his badge wallet and .35 within.
***
A thick-bodied aging athlete type was shouting at Gwen across the bar. “Why
the hell should we be made to pay you for anything, you stupid chink? You
think we came here to play tourist for you?”
“She’s Japanese,” Sean said clearly from the open door.
“You know this dumb bitch?” the guy asked him.
“She’s the only source of drinkable water, fresh produce, and meat that
doesn’t swim on the whole island. I suggest you work your problems out with
her in a respectful tone of voice.”
“And who the hell are you?” the guy asked, squinting from a mass of premature crow’s feet, permanently overbaked by the sun.
“Juice for you, Sean?” Gwen asked politely.
“Orange. And wrap me up half a pound of beef jerky to go.”
The petite, black-haired beauty nodded, still staring at the asshole with her
vibrant green eyes. “I’ll put it on your tab.”
“Lieutenant Rankin,” Sean introduced himself, extending a large, strong tanned hand.
The asshole ignored it. “Stone Albrecht. I owned the boat that sank last night. This little nobody here wants to charge us for our breakfast this morning.”
“You could have caught fish,” Sean mentioned casually. “Dug for clams
yourself.”
“Is this Asshole Island?”
Sean walked past the man over toward the big picture windows which silhouetted the rest of his crew. “Hello. You’re on Deadwood
Island-” he caught himself and winced, then decided to let it go. “I’m the local police force here,” he flipped back the flap which covered the badge pinned in his wallet and showed it briefly, not wishing them to realize he was out of his jurisdiction. “Is
anybody hurt?”
There was an explosion of complaints and versions of the same basic story all
being told at once by the small crowd of strangers he immediately took for
wealthy, but stupid. Stone approached him from behind and put a hand on his
shoulder so he could murmur in his ear, “How ‘bout a crisp twenty to pretend we were never here?”
“Fifty?” asked Sean.
The man’s molars ground, but he withdrew a single bill from his wet, but thick stingray skin wallet. Sean turned and slapped it on the pitted wooden counter beside the juice Gwenie had left for him. “This cover their tab?”
Gwen smiled and nodded, quickly stuffing the bill down the front of her tight red T-shirt.
Outside, the remains of the storm had tinged the sky a strange autumn rust,
and while the chill had dissipated for the most part, strong gusts still
brought mists of wetness flying visibly across the landscape in patches. Sean
shrugged into his light cotton windbreaker as he followed the remains of jumbled footprints across the damp and clumpy sand. Stone caught up to him,
panting from his effort, grumbling, “What the hell do you wanna take a look at the ship for?”
“Shits and giggles,” he replied calmly, maintaining his swift stride.
The man grabbed his right arm and he halted, shrugging him off viciously. “I
didn’t get a good look at your badge, kid.”
“Maybe you weren’t meant to.”
“I don’t like your tone much.”
“Maybe I don’t give a shit.”
“I’m a lawyer, so you’d better watch yourself around me and pay attention to
what I say.”
“I’m the only cop for miles, phone lines are out, so maybe you’d better just back the hell off and let me do my job.” Sean grinned, but he squinted at the older man and remained stock still in a threatening posture with his thick,
broad chest thrown forward. “Besides, if you were a real lawyer, you’d know
not to grab me like that.”
“If you were a real cop...” the man started, but Sean had started walking
again, having now caught sight of the handsome small sailing vessel.
She was painted black with red and brass trim like somebody’s idea of a modern pirate ship, with pale lime colored sails still fighting against their rigging. Dirty Mae Black proclaimed an ornately carved plaque with the letters highlighted in worn gold paint. On the bow reposed a fiberglass figurehead of a green tailed mermaid with greatly oversized bare breasts. “Well, shiver me timbers,” Sean muttered with amusement, then asked the prick, “Your dead still
aboard?”
“Yes,” he grunted. “That bitch at the restaurant told us we shouldn’t disturb
the crime scene.”
“You mean, they’re still laying where they fell?”
“Yeah. So?”
“Can you tell me what happened?”
“No.”
That was interesting. “What do you mean, no? You don’t know or you won’t tell me?”
“It would be hearsay,” he said smarmily. “Hearsay isn’t evidence in court.”
“Hearsay is what I base my fuckin’ job on, asshole. I obviously wasn’t there
to see it happen, so all I can do is listen to goddamn hearsay.”
“You’re not a cop,” Stone Albrecht decided. “Maybe all you are is a
Wal-Mart security guard.”
“Maybe all you are is a-”
“Excuse me,” interrupted a female voice, cutting Sean off in mid-sentence. A hand was thrust between the two men for the younger one to take if he wanted, but the woman attached to it ignored them otherwise, steadily taking in every detail of the grounded vessel like she might need to draw it later for a mail-order art school. She was not as tall as Sean, but lean with sharp pale features and straight black hair like Gwen’s. She wore glasses in a retro style with thick black frames and was still dressed in a rather conservative charcoal skirt with bolero jacket over a cream colored blouse.
Now, she could be a lawyer, Sean thought. “And you are...?”
“Yes, I am,” she replied absently, or curtly, neither man was sure. “I found
Paddy’s body, so I’d be happy to show him to you.”
“I don’t even know you,” Albrecht growled. “Who the hell do you think you are trying to lead people aboard my boat?”
“Paying customer,” she returned, and started marching across the sand in her
ruined stockings. “Did the tide go out? I thought we jumped overboard into
water.”
Sean caught up with her. The vessel lay tilted to starboard in several feet of
soft sand, but was upright enough that navigating her decks wouldn’t be
treacherous. “Your name, ma’am?”
“I don’t like to be called that. It’s a shortened form of mammary, referring
to the fact I have breasts.”
“I thought it was short for...mademoiselle.”
“You’re guessing,” she accused. “My name is Claudia Moloney. My companion and I boarded last night for what was supposed to be a moonlight cruise and
breakfast. Looks like someone was serving steak knives instead of candlelit dinners, though.”
“You read a lot of detective fiction?” Sean wanted to know.
She reached toward the lowest portion of rail. “Help me up.”
He obliged by lifting her from around the waist, sinking slightly into the
sand with her added weight. She was actually lighter than he would have
guessed, and as he watched her haul herself up and over the top rail, he saw
there were no panties beneath her crotchless hosiery. “So...you’re a paying customer of Albrecht’s and your companion was a customer of yours?”
She stared coldly into his eyes as she reached down to help him up. “And
you’re the mayor of Asshole Island?”
He leaped and grabbed the rail with one hand, then drew himself up, impressing
her with his strength and agility. “This boat is used for commercial purposes, then?”
“I don’t know shit about this boat or that jackass down there. We were
strolling along the boardwalk village on that barrier island...you know, the
one with all the hotels and cheesy seafood restaurants, and this guy’s drunk as a lizard shouting, ‘Moonlight cruise and breakfast, fifty a couple’, and I was joking with Paddy and asked him if he’d take me and he said sure, so he pulls a fifty from his belt and hands it over as we come aboard. Twenty
minutes and two martinis later, Jackass hands us keys with a laminated tag on
‘em and says, ‘This’ll be your quarters’, but doesn’t even show us where it is. We figured it was part of the adventure, go without luggage, find your own bed. It was just starting to get a little choppy and Paddy I guess is seasick, so I leave him to come up here and get some fresh air. When I tried to return to the room maybe an hour or two later, he’s dead and there’s blood just everywhere.”
“How well did you know Paddy?” Sean asked, following her belowdecks.
“We just met. Our first night out.”
“How did you meet?”
“Internet.”
“And he didn’t know Albrecht, either?”
“No.” They walked down a short passageway and she rested one palm against the door. “It’s pretty bad.”
“Did anyone see you when you left him to get fresh air?”
She shrugged and pushed her glasses farther up her nose with an index finger. “Probably. Most everyone was topside, drinking and dancing and having a good time. I said I was gone for like an hour or two. I didn’t talk to anyone, but I had a few drinks and mostly stayed near the bow, just watching the water go by.”
“Do you need to stay here?” he asked, thinking she might not be able to view
the body a second time.
Claudia shrugged again and turned away as he tried the door, hugging herself.
The inside of the cabin was very small, filled with only a Murphy-style bed, a
bolted down end table, and two cheap armchairs that looked like they’d been
picked up from a hotel surplus auction. A plump man who might’ve been in his
forties lay on his right side more or less, draped across the rumpled bed,
right arm extended over his head toward the far wall, left arm draped loosely
across his chest. There were deep slash marks along his left lower arm, the
fabric of an inexpensive corduroy jacket dark with drying blood. There were more slashes visible across his left side and chest, and what looked like a particularly nasty hole dug out of the left side of his neck, close to his ear, where a weapon had been plunged and possibly ground around a bit, undoubtedly killing the guy as it severed his carotid artery and windpipe. It was a brutal way to go. The man had attempted to defend himself, but fallen. Sean could imagine the attack came swiftly and unexpectedly so that the guy probably barely had time to whimper let alone struggle or shout for help. He’d
been facing his attacker. There were rather obvious bloody fingerprints along
his neck, shoulder, and face, but they were smeared and he had no way to
analyze them under their very unfortunate circumstances. The room stank like a deli mixed with piss. After briefly searching the small space, Sean determined the murder weapon was not present, but the guy’s wallet was, then thoughtfully
pulled up the bloodstained sheets and tried to cover him up some. He wasn’t
worried about contaminated crime scenes at the moment. There was a killer loose on his island retreat and the few citizens of Driftwood were in terrible
danger.
As he exited, the woman asked him, “Are you really a cop?”
“Yes, why?”
She shrugged and blew smoke from between her lips. “You seem kinda outta place here.”
“We just met,” he pointed out and moved past her toward the steps up. “How
many times have you been told you shouldn’t smoke?”
“I also take candy from strangers.”
He ignored her. She was a person who obviously enjoyed pretending to be
mysterious when she wasn’t in control of things. “What did you do when you
discovered the body?”
“Damn near shit myself,” she replied from behind him.
“Thank God for crotchless panties.”
“You’re observant enough to be a cop, I’ll give you that.”
He stepped aside to allow her to join him on deck, then asked, “Where’s the
second body?”
“I don’t know. I only heard there was another victim this morning.”
“There was an awful lot of blood in there.”
She hugged herself as she took another drag and exhaled. “I didn’t notice
anyone with bloodstains on their clothes this morning, but then again, we did sort of take a swim getting here. I think it was just after one when that guy, Stone--if that’s his real name--realized we weren’t gonna make it back and started trying to make it to this piece of shit little place.”
“How lucky for you.” Sean waved smoke out of his face. Funny how no matter
where you stood in relation to a smoker, the wind always seemed to carry the dry, acrid stench your way. “What do you put down on your tax forms where it asks what your job title is?”
She smiled and sucked down a fresh lungful of blue smoke. “I don’t file.”
“Did Albrecht assign you another cabin after you showed him your friend’s
body?”
“No. The storm was getting worse. I was hungry, so I went down to the galley
and hung out for awhile.”
“Yeah, crime scenes give me the munchies, too.”
Claudia actually slapped his arm lightly. “What are you trying to compensate for with all the trumped-up machismo?”
“You enjoy being in control of things, or at least pretending to be, that’s
why you’re trying to ask me as many questions as I’ve been asking you.”
“Oh, really?” she smiled again, amused.
“That, or you're trying to mislead me ‘cause you’re hiding something.”
She watched him move off and decided to wait by the starboard rail and finish
her cigarette alone.
He went straight for the galley next, because, after all, that was a common
place to find knives. It was a small room with nearly everything secured
behind latched cabinets or hanging in netting from screwhooks. In a
glass-fronted cooler he found most of the components for any well stocked
small bar, some bricks of cheese, cartons of liquefied eggs, thick hard
processed meat sausages, and condiments in plastic squeeze bottles. A latched
drawer yielded a cheese knife, a paring knife, an oversized butter knife, and
a very small cleaver. None of the knives looked like the sort the murderer
might’ve used, though he suspected that if the killer didn’t still have the
weapon with him or her, then it had most likely been tossed overboard. There
was a cabinet of plastic tumblers in candy colors, a plastic bag of cheap
champagne flutes with snap-on bases, boxes of toothpicks and cocktail
stirrers, tins of assorted crackers, canned meats, fresh fruits, salsas in
jars, bags of salted fried things, and a hotplate with a frayed cord. The sink
was piled with a few discarded cups still reeking of alcohol and fruit pulp,
and a handful of Styrofoam plates and plastic utensils, all used. The trash
can was beneath the sink, but apparently anyone who had ventured into the galley since the boat originally departed had not bothered to seek it out.
Sean was about to mount a set of steps which would bring him to the bridge
when Stone grabbed his arm again. “You don’t learn, do you?”
The man looked pale. “You don’t want to go up there.”
“Ah. Who’s the second corpse?”
“Cecilia Heart. My skipper.”
“I thought you were captain of this vessel.”
“I just own it. She steered it.”
“An employee.”
Stone nodded. “She came with the boat when I bought it.”
“When was that?”
“About four months ago. I didn’t have to pay her. She lived on board.”
That didn’t mesh. “She was an alcoholic who only ate hors de oeuvres?”
“What?”
Sean mounted the stairs. He noticed blood oozing from under a closed door and beginning to run down the top step. He swallowed involuntarily, then tried to mentally brace himself for what might lay inside.
The place had been totally trashed. Equipment had been smashed and entire
components ripped brutally from their housings. Someone had thrown a temper
tantrum, he thought, awed. The woman was blonde and lay more or less face down in blood that was beginning to clump darkly here and there. He squatted as close as he dared and reached to nudge her shoulder, hoping for a glimpse of her face. This corpse’s head had nearly been severed and her features were gory with three deep slash marks which appeared to have cut all the way to her skull. She was topless, dressed only in jaunty blue cutoffs with what he guessed was supposed to be nautical looking lacing up the sides. Her cliché white cotton captain’s hat sat soaking in a pool of blood behind her opposite shoulder. Her tan canvas Keds were stained, though the white rubber soles looked almost pristine. Blood was spattered wildly over everything, and yet again there were prints on the body--including two considerable hand prints. The radio had been smashed, the navigation system, even an integrated CD player had been struck by something hard and blunt. That suggested either a total blind rage, or the work of someone unfamiliar with yachts. Someone who needed the boat to go off course...and possibly sink or run aground in the storm.
Sean stepped back out and saw the partial shoeprints he was leaving in his
wake. Somebody physically strong, emotionally screwed, and violent as hell had been aboard the Dirty Mae Black and rode her onto Driftwood Island. Since there were only six survivors, it would seem likely that the killer would soon identify himself either by attempting escape or by striking again. Lieutenant Rankin was working on a deadline, then. He hoped to keep himself the killer’s next main target and not let anyone else from the island get in harm’s way. His only hope was that whomever it was preferred knives to guns. Bullets were something he’d have trouble blocking or dodging.
On his way downstairs, he passed Albrecht and asked him, “Any other crew than you and Miss Heart?”
“I sometimes have a boy named Patrick aboard to hand out drinks and things.”
“Not last night?”
“He has the flu.”
“Eight people total aboard last night?”
Stone nodded as they emerged into a brief hit of sunshine that smoky roiling
clouds were already beginning to obscure. “Only eight including me.”
“It doesn’t take much manpower to operate the ship?”
“State of the art.”
“You filthy rich?”
“I bought it at auction. Seized from some drug guy.”
Sean winced. “Do you have any other enemies besides the possible pissed off
drug guy?”
Stone smiled through clenched teeth. “No one aboard the boat.”
“Who are the other passengers?”
“I don’t know. There’s a cute blonde named Crissie or something, I think. And
then there was a brunette called...Pam?”
“So everyone on board was a stranger to you?”
“Pretty much. Before you ask, I’ve been considering setting up moonlight cruises as a legitimate business, so I’ve been taking on drunk couples and fun lovers for fifty bucks a shot just to see what kind of response I’d be
getting.”
“What do you need the extra money for?”
“Excuse me?”
Claudia was facing into the breeze, smoking a fresh cigarette, pretending not to overhear the conversation, but Sean could see from the way she’d tilt her body occasionally that she was trying to listen intently over the soft roar of wind across her ears. “Why are you trying to go into a moonlight cruise
business?”
“I just got divorced recently. Third wife. I haven’t fully recovered yet. I
wouldn’t mind branching out into something new.”
“She was the breadwinner,” Sean guessed.
“Real estate. High-end condos and estates. She desired a particular lifestyle well beyond our means. She was so fake about everything. Her friends were fake, her smile was fake, her tits were fake...”
“So you found out you could get the boat cheap and decided to try and forget
about her through a little pirate-themed escapism.”
“Hey,” Stone said, nudging the younger man with his elbow, “it’s a great way
to meet chicks, too.”
“Like Miss Heart?”
He scowled. “Lesbian.”
“Did she usually do her job topless?”
“Actually, yes. She seldom came downstairs during trips like these, and she felt if men could walk around shirtless, then why couldn’t she?”
“She looked like a Vargas pin-up.”
“You know it,” Stone agreed. “Drove me absolutely bonkers.”
“Did you ever try to hit on her?”
“Nah. She clued me in the day I met her.”
“The day you bought the Black?”
“Nuh-uh. She didn’t actually come with the boat...she sort of showed up a week
later. Tracked it down. I came aboard one morning to see if I could take her
out for a little test-run and there she was, topless, trying to get a tan
topside. Told me she was Mae’s original skipper, and of course I thought she
was full of shit. Then she showed me where she kept a journal stashed behind
some equipment on the bridge, and I had to believe her-”
“She could have planted it before you came aboard.”
The man looked a little wilted. “I never thought of that. But she could handle the yacht like a dream, knew where everything was and-”
“She worked for a drug lord.”
Now the man was starting to grow a little sheepish. “I know, but...I really
don’t know shit about boats this big, and she was willing to work for free-”
“And she was cuter than hell.”
“Too young for me,” Stone grunted, though it was obvious he’d entertained the notion.
Sean shook his head. Idiots and wealth so often seemed to go hand in hand. “So
what was your role last night? You took over Patrick’s job?”
“A little bit. I mainly just chat up the customers, try and find out what they expect, what they’d like to do or see while on board. I don’t have a license or paperwork or anything, yet...I just started trying this cruise stuff out about two months ago, every Saturday night.”
“Which is why you’re hoping I’ll just make this quick and simple and get you
back to the mainland before anyone’s the wiser.”
“If anyone wants to sue me, I know I can get a loan from my wife. My ex-wife.
I can settle out of court. That would be best.”
“You need time to think this through,” Sean told him. “Did Cecilia have a
girlfriend?”
“Yeah. Sometimes this real hot Latino chick would come aboard and share her
cabin with her. I think she was bi. She kept to herself mainly when she wasn’t
hanging around with Cici.”
“When’s the last time you saw her?”
He shrugged. “Maybe three weeks ago? I don’t know. She didn’t speak English. I
really don’t know much about her.”
“And you saw nothing strange happen on board last night?”
“No. Nothing. Everyone seemed to be having a pretty good time and then Goth
girl over there shows me what’s in her cabin, so I went upstairs to get Cici
to radio it in and turn us around, but she’s already dead.”
“How long between the time Miss Moloney reported her companion was dead and
the time you went upstairs to say something to Cecilia?”
“Maybe ten minutes...twenty. I’m not sure. I think I went into shock.”
“How did Miss Moloney seem when she found you?”
“Agitated. Wild. She couldn’t even hold her cigarette.”
The woman in question blew a stream of smoke that vanished as it sailed around
past her ear and was whipped to tatters by her windswept dark hair.
“When did you eventually think to try and take the wheel yourself?”
“I don’t know for sure. I was afraid to stay up there in case the killer
returned. I kept looking for the flare guns in case he came back, so I could
shoot him if I had to.”
“Your flare guns are missing?”
He admitted, “I’m really not sure where they’re kept.”
Sean glanced up at the rigging. “Why did you still have your sails up?”
“The customers like it. Makes ’em feel like we’re sailing and not on a big
powerboat.”
“How bad was the storm when you found Miss Heart?”
Stone said, “I don’t remember. It was already pretty rough and I’d been
thinking of asking her to just anchor us somewhere calm for the night. I only
saw her alive right before we set sail. After that I was cutting up cheese and
limes and serving drinks and stuff.”
“She never mentioned the storm to you? She never thought you shouldn’t be out
in such rough oncoming weather?”
“She was tough,” the man said, plunging his hands in his pants pockets and
gazing down at his feet as he shifted uneasily from side to side. “I trusted
her. Maybe she thought she needed to prove herself on the water. Maybe it was
some kind of a rush for her.”
That just didn’t make sense. The dark-haired woman glanced meaningfully toward
the men and hugged herself tighter against the cool wind. “Let’s get indoors, then. I think it’s gonna start raining again soon. Do me a favor and stay off your boat. I may need to come back and search it later. You don’t want to catch me by surprise.”
Stone Albrecht nodded solemnly and moved reluctantly toward the rail.
Sean was the last one to descend, and as he released the rail and dropped to
his feet, a stranger came running along the sand, barefoot, smiling. “Hey, you
guys! This real nice couple told us we could all go over to their place for
showers and stuff!”
“No!” Sean blurted, horrified. He was hoping to keep the newcomers corralled
at Gwen’s tavern until he’d figured out which one to handcuff to something
heavy.
The girl ignored him and excitedly turned to Albrecht, “It’s like a bed and
breakfast on the island! They’ll let us stay there for free!”
Olivia and Erik McGlynn owned Island Nest Bed & Breakfast. They were a retired couple from Connecticut who treated everyone like family. Liv was an artist and had decorated the bedrooms in their restored mansion, each with its own cutesy theme. Erik had been a world-class chef and once owned his own restaurant in Manhattan. They must’ve come up for supplies, Sean thought miserably. He’d have to have a talk with them before things went too far.
Jogging ahead, he was dismayed to find a number of the island’s residents on
the deck or sand outside Gwen’s place, chatting animatedly with the newcomers.
It was far too late to contain the situation now, he realized grimly. With any luck, the killer would just bide his time or concentrate on escape. The
problem being, virtually everyone who lived on Driftwood Island had a boat of
some kind, so escape was just a matter of access. Of course, if the killer
didn’t know the area, he might not get too far.
Erik was inside, conversing with Gwen. His smile faltered when he recognized
Sean. “Oh, hey, kid. How’s it going? Survived the storm all right?”
He pulled the older red-haired man away behind the counter and past the
swinging kitchen doors. “Do you have any idea how those people got here on the island?”
Erik withdrew his arm gently. “Sure, sure, they were shipwrecked in the
night.”
“With two dead bodies aboard! One of them is a murderer!”
The man looked thoughtful. “Oh, you don’t say, huh?”
“I really don’t think you and Liv want any of them at your place. I’d like to
try and keep them all here.”
“Which one is the murderer?”
“Huh?” Sean asked.
“Can you point him out to me?”
“I don’t know yet! I’m trying to conduct an investigation here!”
“So, how do you the murderer didn’t just jump overboard? How do you know he’s even here at all?”
Sean groaned and rolled his eyes. “Erik, don’t you think I care about your safety?”
“Well, I suppose so, why?”
“And don’t you think I’m trying to keep everyone’s best interest at heart when
I tell you I need to keep these strangers isolated from the rest of the
island?”
The older man patted Sean’s arm reassuringly. “It should be all right. That young photographer guy just drove two of them back over to his place.”
“What!”
“What’s his name again? Funny fellow...Jimmy, is it?”
“Jimmy Murphy,” Sean said, “Shit!”
“Now don’t go getting overly riled about nothing now, Sean.”
“Nothing?” he retorted hotly, storming back out into the dining area. Now
we’re on the Island Of The Damned, he thought, bursting out from the back and
nearly striking Gwen with the door.
“Watchit, whitey!”
“Gwen, how many people have left already?”
“You mean, the visitors?”
“They’re not tourists--they’re suspects!”
She shrugged, but avoided his gaze. “Three of them I think.”
“Oh, God.” He started making his way toward the exit.
“Two girls left with Jimmy Murphy and another one went with Maria Cahill.”
“Maria? What the hell would anyone want with Maria?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t hear the conversation. He was a young kid. Long hair. They left together right after you went out to see the boat.”
“This is insane,” he said, peering through the glass doors at the natives and newcomers mingling outside. “Can we radio the mainland yet?”
“No. And cellphone towers must be down. I’m thinking someone with the Coast
Guard will be out here soon just to check on us, though.” Gwen’s husband
worked with the local Coast Guard, so he knew they ought to be dropping by any
time.
“Have your husband stay here and use your radio to find me. I’ll need to brief him on the situation. Keep your shotgun handy and don’t serve anyone anything with a steak knife.”
The exotic young woman gazed up at him worriedly. ”Are you gonna be okay,
Sean?”
He withdrew from her and hurried out the door.
Olivia was herding people toward her battered old Land Cruiser.
“I’m not done with them yet!”
She turned and blinked at Sean, squinting in the wind. “They said you were done with them. They said you needed time alone to search their boat.”
“They can’t go,” he insisted, yanking open a door and gesturing at the
strangers huddled within. “Somebody here is a killer, and I need them all in
one place, got it?”
“Oh, dear!” Liv said, turning toward her approaching husband. “Mr. Rankin here says one of our guests is a killer!”
“He doesn’t know for sure. He doesn’t know anything yet.” Erik waved at her
dismissively and she smiled at Sean before reaching for the driver’s door.
He slammed it shut with the flat of one hand. “Liv-”
“Oh, Erik! I think he’s getting cross!”
“I’m not cross!” the young man growled. “This is a crime scene! No one can leave the area-”
“We live on a God-damn eight mile by three mile island forty miles from the
nearest piece of mainland marsh! Where the hell could anyone leave to?”
“Your blood pressure,” Liv reminded her husband.
“Get in and drive, Liv. I think I need to go home and rest up.”
The elder woman waggled her fingers playfully at Sean, then entered her
vehicle and started it up. Stone, Claudia, and a girl he hadn’t spoken to yet watched him as they pulled away.
“Gonna drive me to drink,” he muttered dismally.
Gwen came up behind him and put an arm around him. “These people aren’t like
you, Sean. Even Erik’s not cityfolk, and he had that place in New York for
years. Hid in the kitchen almost the entire time. Thought half the population
was neurotic.”
“I’m neurotic compared to him.”
“You’re neurotic compared to most of us. I’m sorry everyone keeps throwing
your temper problem back in your face. It can’t help you feel any better when
everyone keeps pointing out your flaws.”
“I’m not flawed,” he told her, caressing the soft hand on his chest. “I’m a cop. I do what cops are supposed to do.”
“The only cop they ever knew here was old Everett, and you usually had to find
where he was fishing day to day if you needed him to intervene in anything.”
Sean lifted her hand and kissed the back of it. While her husband was busy
with work, Sean had occasionally filled in for him a couple of years back. It
had happened right after he had lost his brother and started returning to the
island alone. Guinevere was an amazing comfort. While he’d refused to let
himself grow too attached to her, she was still the closest thing he had to a
good friend on Driftwood. He’d secretly slept with her, but could still go
fishing with her husband or share an occasional dinner, just the three of
them. He’d seen so much corruption and treachery on the force that little
things like extra-marital affairs didn’t seem so bad by half anymore.
Continued
in the humorous horror collection
from Publish America entitled: Lighthearted Darkness
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Reviewed by Judy Lloyd
2/22/2005
A very interesting story here and then there is the question about what really happened to William. But you do write a good mystery story here. By the way it is nice to have another Virginia writer on the den. I do crime stories too.
Fast Track is a Mystery/Suspense novel about a young, strong-minded woman's quest to find purpose in life as she unravels the mystery of her parents' deaths 25 years earlier when she was an infant. The setting is Southern Wisconsin; the backdrop is j
