A Crabby Killer (11 page)

I
t was
the last day of the Crab Festival and everyone knew that most of the vendors would have big sales, so the pier was packed to the gills.

Dom and Claire elbowed their way through the crowd. The clamor of conversation, the squeal of children and the smell of popcorn and fried dough filled the air, setting a festive mood. But Claire didn’t feel festive. She was on the hunt to find a killer who quite possibly could be one of her longtime friends.

Claire saw Marj Hancock from the General Store duck into a booth. She grabbed Dom’s arm. “Marj just went into that tent. Let’s go talk to her about the twine.”

Dom’s brows tugged together. “You don’t think she’ll remember who bought twine, do you? I mean, she must sell hundreds of items in the store.”

“Oh, yes, she will. She has a mind like a steel trap.” Claire picked up the pace, propelling him along, her eyes glued to the spot where Marj had disappeared from view. They passed the
Harbor Fudge Shop
tent, but Claire didn’t stop. She didn’t want Marj to get away, and they could come back to the Fudge shop later.

When they got closer, she realized Marj had gone into Sally Kimmel’s florist tent.

Claire turned into Sally’s and was immediately enveloped by the perfume of flowers. The multi-tiered displays overflowing with every type and color of flower imaginable made the tent look like a garden oasis. Sticking out from behind a large pot of a tall, spiked cactus Claire recognized the furry striped tail of Porch Cat flicking lazily. Claire envied the cat, who she figured was spending a leisurely day napping among the jungle-like display, but she didn’t have time to stop even for a quick scratch behind the ears.

She pulled Dom around a three-tiered stand that boasted white daisies, pink carnations and yellow black-eyed Susans.

Once they cleared the display, Claire pulled up short. In between a giant fern and a topiary, Marj was being accosted by ninety-two-year-old Esther Baines, who made Norma look like an amateur in the crotchety old lady department.

Esther was waving her finger in Marj’s face, causing Marj to lean backward precariously. “Now I know I counted out seventy-three pennies at the register and your girl short-changed me.”

“I’m sorry, Esther. I’ll look into it. I’m sure it was an honest mistake.” Marj gave Claire a knowing look.

“I’m out twenty-seven cents!”

Marj dug in the pocket of her jeans. She pulled out a quarter and a nickel. “Here, take these. Keep the change for your inconvenience.”

Ester scowled at the money for a minute before plucking it out of Marj’s hand. “That sets it right, but ‘taint right for your girl to try to swindle an old lady.”

Marj did her best to paste a contrite look on her face. “I’m sorry, Esther. You can be sure I’ll give her a talking to.”

Esther pursed her lips, turned around and started inspecting a display of white roses, lily of the valley and peonies without another word.

Marj rolled her eyes at Claire and shook her head, then the two of them chuckled.

“Esther never changes, does she?” Claire whispered.

Esther whipped her head around. “I heard that.”

“Mew!”
Porch Cat, apparently disturbed by the argument, thrust out his front legs in a languid stretch. He looked at Marj, Claire and Dom disapprovingly, flicked his tail at Esther and trotted off toward the front of the tent, presumably to find a more suitable place to nap.

Claire watched him trot off, then turned to Marj. “Marj, we have a question.”

“Oh?” Marj looked from Dom to Claire. She leaned in and whispered, “Is this about the murder?”

“Well, it might be something that could help.” Claire tried to downplay the importance. She didn’t want Marj making any assumptions about the twine.

“We were just wondering if you remembered who bought twine recently,” Dom said.

Marj’s brows rose. Claire didn’t know if the police had released the fact that Blunt had been strangled with the twine, but anyone who was on the pier that morning would have seen it and word had probably gotten around.

“The only two that have ordered twine recently are Bob and Donovan. For their boat lines.”

Claire didn’t know what she’d been expecting for an answer, but this one wasn’t very enlightening.

“Did they both buy the brown twine?” Dom persisted.

“No. Just Bob buys brown now. Donovan’s been getting the blue ever since he changed his colors at the beginning of the season.”

Squeak. Squeak-ity. Squeak.

Sally’s son, Jonathan, rode into the tent, miraculously avoiding ramming into the plants as he skidded to a stop in front of them.

“I see your chain is squeaking again.” Dom tilted his head to look down at the side of the bike.

“People should really make sure their kids’ bikes don’t cause such a disturbing racket,” Esther said loudly. And just in case her first comment wasn’t loud enough for everyone in the tent to hear, she raised her voice another octave and added, “And they shouldn’t let their kids out riding them at all hours of the night, either.”

Sally came rushing around the corner. She glared at Esther, then addressed Jonathan. “I thought I told you not to ride your bike in here.”

Jonathan’s face crumbled into a guilty mask and he hopped off the bike. “Sorry, Mom. I forgot.”

But Sally had already turned to Esther. “And I don’t let Jonathan ride his bike at all hours of the night.”

“Are you calling me a liar?” Esther asked.

“No,” Sally said. “But I don’t like how you insinuated that I don’t watch my son. Jonathan puts his bike away every night after supper and he’s in bed by nine.”

“Harrumph. I happen to know he was out two nights ago in the wee hours of the morning.”

Sally scowled at Esther. “What in the world are you talking about?”

“I know what I heard and it was that bike. It was the night before the Crab Fest opened. I had eaten some crab legs with a little too much butter and it didn’t sit well. I woke up at two a.m. with heartburn and when I was drinking down my Maalox, I heard that bike’s noxious squeaking sound going right by my house over there.” Esther pointed in the direction of her house which was the same street as the pier, just a block away.

“You must be hearing things.” Sally put a protective hand on Jonathan’s shoulder. “I certainly don’t let Johnny wander around at two in the morning.”

Claire shifted her weight from one foot to the other. Listening to the argument made her uncomfortable. Beside her, she could see Dom nervously smoothing his eyebrows. He must have been uncomfortable, too.

Claire’s attention drifted to a high shelf which held dozens of awards. Plaques and trophies were lined up and right smack in the middle sat Porch Cat, slowly licking his paw and rubbing it behind his ear, his eyes narrowed into small slits. Claire felt glad that he’d found a spot where he had a bird’s-eye-view of the area and no one would bother him.

Claire’s attention returned to the group of people in front of her in time to see Esther stomp off.

“I’m sorry you guys had to see that.” Sally, who was obviously flustered, waved a piece of paper in her hand. “I’m a little peeved today. A credit card payment for peat moss got declined and when I looked up my account online, some strange charges appeared. My card is on hold and I can’t buy things I need for the shop.”

The flap lifted on the back of the tent and Donovan backed in, a small, white bag in his hand. A surprised look crossed his face when he turned to see them all standing there.

“Oh, hi. What are you guys doing?” Donovan’s brows dipped as he looked at Jonathan’s bike and then from one person to another.

“Just keeping the economy going by coming down to spend our money,” Dom said.

“Uncle Donny, Ester yelled at Mommy,” Jonathan cut in.

Donavan’s lips quirked in a smile and he ruffled Jonathan’s hair, then looked up at Sally. “Really? What about?”

The smile quickly disappeared from his face as Sally thrust the piece of paper out toward him. “Who cares about Esther. I want to know about this bill. You need to take it to Duffy’s and get these charges straightened out because they must be a mistake.”

Donovan’s face turned red. His eyes darted around the tent. The look on his face told Claire he’d rather be anywhere else but here.

Sally kept after him. “Unless you bought a couple of rounds for the house? You did, didn’t you? I knew I shouldn’t have let you use my credit card.”

Claire felt even more uncomfortable than she had when Esther and Sally were arguing. She wanted to leave, but she couldn’t ignore the niggle that was starting right under her ribs. Something was odd about the way Donovan was reacting to the bill.

Dom spoke up. “I remember you did say you drank a lot the night before the Crab Fest opening.”

Sally looked down at the paper. “That’s when these charges are from. But there must be a mistake. It says you bought nineteen drinks! No one person can drink that many drinks!”

Donovan switched the white bag into his left hand and slowly reached his right out toward the paper. “I’ll see what I can do.”

Sally reached under a white, cloth-covered table and dragged out a navy blue duffel bag. She struggled with its weight as she shoved it toward Donovan. “And take this bag, someone already tripped over it. What do you have in here anyway? It weighs a ton.”

Claire’s eyes flicked up to the spot where Porch Cat was still sitting in between all of Sally’s awards. The cat looked right at her and Claire could have sworn he winked. Then her eyes flicked to the bike that Jonathan was standing beside.

Dom must have been following the same line of thinking because he pointed to Porch Cat and asked, “What usually goes in that spot where the cat is sitting?”

Sally turned, a look of disgust spreading across her fine features. “That’s where my
Crabby
goes. It turned up missing the first day of the Fest. Can you believe that? Someone came into the tent and stole my award.” She flapped her hands against her sides. “Who would do that?”

Everything clicked into place. Claire locked eyes with Donovan. His white candy bag gaped open … inside nestled a group of caramel root beer acorns.

Things must have clicked for Dom, too. Claire saw him lunge toward Donovan, but the younger man had seen it coming. He threw the heavy duffel bag at Dom, who managed to catch it with a loud grunt as Donovan ran out of the tent.

“What the heck?” Sally’s brows mashed together as she stared after Donovan.

Dom dropped the duffel bag and it landed with a thud, then he grabbed Jonathan’s bike. “Check the duffel bag. I think you’ll find a
Crabby
in there!”

Dom flung his leg over the side of the bike with a burst of agility that belied his age and started off after Donovan amidst the protests of both Claire and Sally. “We can’t let him get away—he’s the killer!”

D
om’s heart
pounded against his rib cage as his thighs pumped the pedals faster and faster. Up ahead, Donovan was running toward the end of the dock where Dom could see he had one of his small Boston Whaler’s at the ready.

Had he been planning to make his get-away even before Claire and Dom figured out the truth?

Donovan glanced back, caught sight of Dom on the bike and picked up speed, heading straight for the Whaler. Dom could see the boat was only secured with one rope. Donovan could quickly slip the rope off the cleat, hop on the boat and escape.

Dom willed his thigh muscles to work faster and the bike’s squeaks raised in tempo, the tires thap-thaping on the boards of the dock. His fingers, wrapped tightly around the handles bars, tingled from the vibration of the bumpy ride. His legs burned—he hadn’t used those muscles in years and he was going to be sore tomorrow, but that didn’t matter now. He
had
catch up before Donovan got to the boat.

But what would he do when he reached him? How would he stop the killer? There was only one way. Dom stood on the pedals and gave it his all.

His efforts paid off. He was gaining speed, the gap between him and Donovan rapidly closing.

And then, in one final burst of effort, he aimed right for Donovan. The bike smashed into him at full speed, sending both Donovan, Dom and the bike plunging into the ocean.

The instant chill of the water took Dom’s breath away. He’d lost his grip on the handlebars during the collision, which was probably just as well. The bike raced twenty-five feet to the bottom and Dom kicked to the top, his head breaking the water just as Donovan’s did the same.

Donovan splashed water into Dom's face, turned and started swimming toward his boat.

“Stop right there!” Dom yelled even as he started after the other man. Of course, Donovan didn’t stop, but he was a weak swimmer and Dom caught him easily, grabbing on to the back of Donovan's shirt and trying to haul him back to the dock.

“Let me go, old man!” Donovan writhed and twisted.

“Old man? I’ll show you who’s old!” Dom tried to grab him in a headlock.

Donovan twisted away, pushing down on Dom’s shoulders.

Dom went under, swallowed a mouthful of water and came up coughing. His lungs burned. Through watery eyes, he saw Donovan trying to swim away again but he’d be damned if he’d let some young whippersnapper call him an old man!

Dom pushed after Donovan, grabbing him by the ankle and pulled him back through the water, face down.

Donovan choked and sputtered. He kicked out weakly at Dom and then was still. A jolt of panic shot through Dom. Had he killed Donovan? He let go of the ankle and turned the man over.

Donovan sprang into action as soon as Dom turned him over. It was just a ruse! The younger man punched out, connecting with Dom’s face. If they were on dry land, the punch might have hurt more, but the water lessened the force and Dom barely felt a thing. He punched back.

The two men grappled for power in the water. Dom landed a few good blows and managed to dunk Donovan under. Donovan kicked out underwater, grinding a foot in Dom’s belly which knocked some steam out of him.

Dom was getting winded, but he could see that Donovan was, too. Now if the police would just come, Dom could probably get Donovan to the dock and hand him over. At the very least, they would block his access to the boat and Donovan would have no choice but to give up.

Footsteps pounding on the dock caught Dom’s attention and he made the mistake of turning to look. Donovan seized the opportunity to push him under and this time, he did not let go of Dom’s shoulders. The man intended to hold him under water and kill him!

Dom fought the panic that rose in his chest. Remembering a self-defense move he’d learned when he was with the police, he shot his arms up and out, breaking Donovan’s hold on his shoulder. His head shot up out of the water and he gulped fresh air.

Why weren’t the police, or whoever it was running down the dock, doing something to capture Donovan?

Dom didn’t have time to turn around and see what was going on at the dock because Donovan was coming for him again. Dom gulped in a deep breath of air before the other man pushed him under. He lashed out underwater, kicking at Donovan’s legs.

Donovan released his grip and Dom shot up again. He managed to land a blow on Donovan’s neck that startled the younger man and caused him to pause. Dom took advantage by pushing Donovan’s head under, but he could only hold him for a second before it popped up again.

All this fighting and being pushed under the water was tiring Dom out. His movements were getting slower. Weakness washed over him. His muscles were giving out. Over the splashing of the water and the rush of his own blood in his ears, Dom could hear the police sirens. It wouldn’t be long now, if only he could hold Donovan back a little longer.

Donovan’s face was red with anger—the kind of anger that gives you superhuman strength. He knew he only had a few precious seconds to finish Dom off and get away. Donovan leveraged his feet against a pylon and pushed with all his might knocking his head into Dom’s with incredible force.

The blow made Dom dizzy. He tried to tread water, but his arms and legs weren’t responding to the signals his brain was sending. Somehow, his fist still managed to clutch part of Donovan’s shirt, holding him there for capture.

He turned and glanced over at the pier, relief flooding over him as he saw the blue flashing lights. They were coming … all he had to do was hold on for a few seconds more.

But it was too late. Like an animal sensing the weakening of his prey, Donovan moved in for the kill and pushed Dom under for the last time.

C
laire ran down the dock
, frantically searching for some kind of weapon she could use to break up the fight between Dom and Donovan, who thrashed in the water beside the dock.

She could see Dom was holding his own, but Donovan was much younger—how long could Dom hold out?

The turbulent sound of splashing water heightened her anxiety as she cast a panicked glance into one of the boats, looking for something she could use to help Dom.

Where were the police? She’d placed the call after Dom had taken off on the bike. As usual, she’d had to hunt for a spot with enough bars for her phone to connect and make the call. That had impacted her ability to rush to Dom’s aid. She hoped she’d done the right thing. Dom was her partner and she would never forgive herself if something happened to him, but Sally had been too upset to make a call and Claire knew they needed the police right away, so she'd taken the time to do it herself.

She glanced at the two figures in the water, her heart squeezing as she saw Dom go under. She held her breath until he popped up again. Her eyes fell on a large-handled net in one of the boats. She lunged for it, grabbed the aluminum end in her right hand and ran to the side of the dock.

The police sirens and tires squealing at the end of the dock barely registered as she watched Dom go under again. This time he didn’t pop back up.

“Dom!” she yelled. But then, Donovan was swimming toward his boat which Claire had already noticed was set up for a quick get-away.

She planted her toes on the edge of the dock, leaned forward as far as she could and grabbed the pylon with her left hand to keep from falling in the water. With her right hand, she slapped the net over Donovan’s head, her eyes frantically scanning the water for Dom.

Donovan’s hands flailed at the net. “Hey, let me out!”

Claire stood her ground. Donovan’s struggle nearly pulled her into the water, but she couldn’t let him get away. Thankfully, he was tangled up in the net, unable to simply duck underwater to escape. He struggled to swim forward, though, but the resistance of the water made his movements ineffectual against the force of the net.

“Auntie Claire!” Robby was at her side and grabbing the net from her hands. She’d been using the pylon to balance the forward pressure of Donovan pulling on the net and when Robby took it, Claire fell backwards, landing her butt on the hard wooden dock with a thud

“Ooomph!”

“Sorry. Are you okay?” Robby turned concerned eyes on her.

“Never mind about me,” Claire said as Zambuco joined them. “He pushed Dom under and he hasn’t come back up!”

“Where?” Zambuco asked, a surprising amount of concern in his dark eyes.

“Right about here.” Claire pointed to the spot she’d seen Dom go under. She peered over the side of the dock into the water looking for him. But the water was murky, all stirred up from the altercation.

Was Dom down there somewhere? Should she jump in?

“Over there!” Zambuco pointed a stubby finger to the other side of the dock where Dom bobbed in the water. Dom shook his head. Droplets of water flew off his gray hair. He made a wheezing choking sound and coughed up some water.

Relief washed over Claire. She rushed to the other side of the dock and knelt down, extending her hand. “Grab my hand. I’ll help you get up on the dock.”

Dom paddled closer. “What happened to Donovan?”

Claire glanced behind her. “Zambuco and Robby have him on the other side of the dock. We got him.”

Dom reached out for her hand, then bracing himself against the pylon, he let her help him up onto the dock where he collapsed. Behind them, Zambuco and Robby had wrestled Donovan onto the dock where he lay face-down with his hands behind his back.

Donovan glared over at Claire and Dom. “If it wasn’t for you old farts meddling, I would’ve gotten away.”

“Old farts?” Claire frowned at Donovan. “I guess us old farts got the best of you, didn’t we. And I hope they throw the book at you.”

Donovan scoffed. “No. I don’t think the way you captured me was legal. I’ll sue. I’ll fight this. I’ll have
you
put in jail.”

“Now, now, don’t be so crabby.” Zambuco jerked the cuffs and Donovan winced. “Dom and Claire did us a big favor.”

Claire looked at Zambuco incredulously. Did he just admit that she and Dom had helped him out?

Dom’s eyes fell on the net now laying on the dock in a pool of water. “How exactly
did
you capture him, anyway?”

Claire laughed. “When I got here, I saw the two of you fighting. I grabbed the first thing I thought could help which happened to be this net. He had pushed you under the water and I did the only thing I could think of. I slipped the net over his head. You must have tired him out and he got trapped in the net and couldn’t maneuver out of it, so I held him there until Robby came and fished him out.”

“You caught the killer with a net?”

Claire laughed. “I guess it seems appropriate, eh?” She turned concerned eyes on Dom. “What happened to you? How did you end up on the other side of the dock?”

Dom’s brows tugged together. “I’m not sure. I remember I was feeling very weak from fighting. He kept dunking me under and that one last time, I must have passed out for a while. I guess I must have floated under the dock. Then I came to on the other side.” Dom shrugged. “I’m bummed out that I missed the capture.”

“You did the important part,” Claire assured him. “You stopped him from getting on the boat and held him at bay. I just finished the job. It was teamwork.”

“And a fine piece of teamwork it was, too. The whole investigation was, actually.” Dom smiled proudly, then held out his knuckles.

Claire met them with her own. “I concur.”

Behind them, Robby and Zambuco were pulling Donovan, who was still mumbling about how he was going to ‘get back at’ Claire and Dom, to his feet.

Robby said, “We’re going to take him in. Are you two okay?”

Dom and Claire looked at each other. They’d caught another killer and that was more than okay with Claire. She figured it was more than okay with Dom, too. They both nodded at Robby.

“All right, then,” Zambuco said. “We’ll take this one off to jail where he belongs, but don’t either of you leave the island. I’ll need statements.”

Donovan issued another string of complaints and Robby jerked him along. “Stop being so grumpy. They caught you fair and square.”

“That’s right.” Dom glared at Donovan. “We know you killed Blunt and I think once the police look inside your duffel bag, they'll know that you're also the one who broke into Bob Cleary’s house to steal his
Crabby
.”

They watched Zambuco and Robby lead the struggling Donovan down the length of the dock. Even from behind, they could see Donovan was mouthing off the whole way.

“I don’t think prosecuting Donovan is going to be an easy task despite all the evidence against him,” Claire said.

“Nope, he’s going to fight it as much as he can.”

Claire stood, brushed off her jeans and offered her hand to Dom to help him up. “I bet he makes them miserable down at the police station. You know, the type that complains about everything and makes a lot of demands.”

“Oh, yes, I know the type.” Dom watched a stream of water pour out onto the dock as he wrung out the bottom of his shirt. “We’ve seen plenty of those, but with Donovan we don’t have to listen to it.”

“That’s right,” Claire said brightly. “He’s Robby and Zambuco’s problem now. One big benefit to not being officially on the case is that we don’t have to deal with the paperwork or any of the technicalities. We just get to do the fun part—catch the killer.”

“That’s a definite bonus,” Dom agreed. “And we don’t have to deal with the killers pleading, whining and lying after they're arrested, which in this case is a very good thing because it looks like we netted ourselves one crabby killer.”