Irregardless of Murder (Miss Prentice Cozy Mysteries) (10 page)

“Oh, really. I see.” Lily gave Vern her fingertips. “He probably wants to talk about another newspaper subscription.” She pointedly arched a carefully plucked eyebrow at me.

Since the cat was already beginning to struggle its way out of the bag, I decided to go ahead and satisfy my curiosity. “Where is Gil? I called him three times this morning.”

Vern shook his head, and his straight blond hair flopped into his eyes. “Don’t know. He was up and gone before me. I think he was going to see—um—” He paused and looked over at Lily.

“You mean the PHS all-time champion center?” I asked, taking a chance that Vern might have heard of Dennis O’Brien’s stellar basketball career. Lily couldn’t tell a basketball from a cantaloupe.

Vern’s faced lit up with admiration. “Hey, yeah, that’s right!”

“Well, good. I’m glad to hear it. Tell him I’ll need forty-five subscriptions,” I added.

“Huh?”

“Um, student subscriptions. He’s arranging it for me. Didn’t he tell you?” I said urgently, trying to communicate with facial expressions and hoping the story was plausible enough to Lily’s ears.

“Well, yes,” Vern agreed tentatively. Abruptly, the gears in his head engaged. His eyes widened and his eyebrows assumed a knowing angle. “Oh, yes! Just let me make a note of that. Forty-five, was it? Where’s my pencil—”

The end of his sentence was drowned out by a deafening blast from the ferryboat horn.

“Excuse us.” Lily punctuated her interruption by turning on the ignition. She pointed to the line of cars ahead of us. “We’re going to have to move now.”

“Oh, sure. Well, see you later, Amelia. Maybe in the coffee shop.” Without Lily, his expression said.

“Maybe—” was all I had time to answer. The car jerked forward unceremoniously, then crept down the graveled incline toward the ferry.

Wearing white windbreakers emblazoned with the company initials in dark blue, a team of young men guided the cars as they rolled over the metal grid onto the deck of the two-story ferryboat. With the elaborate boredom of long experience, they directed each car into tight formation, enabling approximately two dozen vehicles to be crammed aboard before they indifferently gestured to the next car to stop and pulled a huge chain across the open end of the boat.

I watched with interest as a tall, broad-shouldered crewman passed between the rows, ramming a wooden wedge under a rear wheel of each car. That dark, shaggy head looked familiar, but I was never able to get a good look at his face. If he was avoiding eye contact, it wouldn’t have been the first time. Occasionally a student would try to steer clear of me because of some imagined slight or even out of simple shyness.

The boarding portion of the ferryboat ride always turned Lily into a white-knuckled nervous wreck, so I kept my own counsel during the process. It wasn’t until after a good deal of heavy clanking, another ear-splitting blast from the horn, and a slight shudder indicated that we were under way that she heaved a deep sigh, turned toward me, and said, “Now what was that all about?”

“What was what all about?”

“Don’t you play dumb with me, Amelia Prentice! That business with that boy just now.”

I pulled my scarf from my shoulder and tied it around my head. “You heard. I’m getting some newspaper subscriptions for—”

“For your students. I know, I know. At least that’s the party line. Come on, ’fess up to Aunt Lily. Doesn’t that heart of yours still go pitty-pat for Gilbert Dickensen?”

“Really, Lily, you’re being revolting!” I opened the car door and set one foot out. “Are you coming?”

“Not unless you’re going directly upstairs.” She patted her coiffure. “I have no intention of getting wind-blown and soggy,” she opened her own door, “just so you can get all sentimental over the salt spray—”

“It’s an inland lake, Lily, fresh water, not salt.”

“Whatever.”

She slid out and slammed the door. Without another word, she turned and wound her way briskly between the parked cars to the narrow metal staircase that led to the ferry’s observation level. The wind blew her stiff blonde hairdo to one side and it was obvious that her narrow high heels gave her a little trouble as she climbed the grated steps, but she made it, head high and dignity more or less intact. With one last disdainful glance down at me, she disappeared into the shelter of the enclosed observation deck.

I sighed. I had irritated her, maybe even hurt her feelings. Well, I told myself as I made my way to the bow, I couldn’t help it. Lily didn’t play fair.

“She can dish it out, but she can’t take it,” I quoted aloud, remembering an expression from my childhood.

Lily Burns could wait, for the moment. It was my time to commune with the lake. I strolled to the bow.

The ferryboat was open at both ends, and during its many daily excursions only a heavy chain, each link the size of a man’s fist, separated the cars on the deck from the cold, blue-black depths of the lake.

It’s no wonder they put wedges under the wheels.
I leaned against the sturdy chain and watched the water slip away under the boat. Though we were moving at a relatively slow speed, there was a brisk breeze blowing against my face. I noticed, to my relief, that my head wasn’t hurting. I inhaled deeply.

Those of us raised in what we call the North Country have lived along Lake Champlain, ridden upon it, splashed in it, and gazed across it, often without realizing our good fortune. It was not until I traveled away from home and lived for a short while in a lakeless area that I realized how much I could miss the healing, exhilarating qualities of the water and its nerve-soothing rhythm.

I stood there for a time with my feet planted wide apart while my scarf whipped sharply in the wind, relishing the rocking of the boat against the growing waves, soaking up the thin, cloud-veiled sunshine. It was curious, the pleasure I took in the lake in all its moods.

If I believed in reincarnation—and I don’t—I might have been a sea captain in another life. No, I amended, not on the sea. Boundless stretches of water extending to the horizon are a little disconcerting. Besides, I wasn’t much of a swimmer. Perhaps a bargeman on a canal or a riverboat pilot. I smiled. The thought appealed to me. Amelia Twain.

The first raindrop hit me on the nose. The next plopped in my eye as I looked up. I turned quickly and collided with one of the taller crewmen, who wore his hood. He grunted, spun around, and hurried about his business while I headed for the stairs, walking carefully in my higher-than-usual heels. A crowd of other passengers had gotten there first, so it was several damp minutes before I burst through the door of the observation deck, stamping and shaking off rainwater.

“Amelia!” said a familiar voice.

“Hello, Sally.” I took off my scarf and shook it. “Are you going to the sales too?” I hoped she wouldn’t bring up the subject of real estate again.

“The sales? Oh, no. I’m here on business.” She pulled a cigarette from her pocketbook and indicated a short, dark, well-dressed man at the counter buying coffee. “As a matter of fact, there’s someone I’d like you to—”

“Uh, Sally, excuse me. Lily’s calling.” It was true. Lily was waving frantically from a small booth across the room. I also noticed that she was about to be joined by the ubiquitous Professor, carrying two steaming Styrofoam cups.

“Talk with you later,” I promised, not wanting to be out-and-out rude.

Sally nodded and turned her attention to her companion, who joined her just in time to light her cigarette.

I’d been riding on this ferryboat for years, and this coffee shop always made me think of the little car favored by circus clowns, capable of holding large numbers of people. Today roughly three dozen passengers were milling around, buying souvenirs from a counter at one end of the enclosed deck and ordering snacks at the other.

Huge raindrops slammed against the large plate glass windows. The weather was denying us one of the ferry’s chief attractions—an unobstructed view of the fabled Green Mountains of Vermont—but people were finding other ways to pass the time.

Lily, for instance, was glaring into her cup. As was her habit on these trips, she had snatched one of the much-coveted booths and set up camp there for the duration, formerly fortified with cigarettes. But it was clear from her body language that she was considering the merits of making a run for it.

“Here I am, Lily.” I slid in beside her. “Alec, I’m glad you could join us.”

The Professor sighed and shook his head. “I shouldn’t, you know. I should be out there. Shouldn’t let a little rain deter me, but when I saw what charming company was inside, well . . . ” He trailed off, allowing us to form our own images of his struggle with temptation. He removed the teabag from his cup, added a generous stream of sugar from a glass dispenser and stirred. “So I decided I could spare a wee moment.” He winked.

I could feel Lily stiffen beside me.

He began to stand. “But you must let me fetch you a cup—”

Abruptly, Lily pulled her purse on her shoulder and slid towards me. Clearly, she wanted out of the booth. I stood.

“Amelia,” she said, buttoning her coat, “may I borrow that scarf of yours? I left something in the car.”

“Of course.” I pulled the balled-up wad from my pocket. “It’s kind of wrinkled,” I admitted. “Are you sure you need to go down there? It’s awfully wet outside.”

Alec nodded agreement.

“I’m sure.” She tied a knot under her chin. “Real sure. And please drink that coffee for me, will you? I haven’t touched a drop. Mustn’t let it get cold. Bye.”

For about sixty uncomfortable seconds, I stared at the table and Alex whistled “Stand Up, Stand Up for Jesus” under his breath.

“She has to take some medicine, I think,” I said.

Alec smiled gently. “She isn’t the first person to think me a humbug, you know.”

“But you’re not—I mean—nobody—” I trailed off.

He ran a large, badly-chapped hand over his head. His hair was cut in a strange variety of crew cut, with various tufts of salt-and-pepper hair sticking out at odd angles. His eyebrows matched, looking thick and wild, as though stray bits of hair had slid down from above. His scraggy, broad beard completed the ensemble perfectly.

“It’s all right. I’m accustomed to skeptics by now. Better be.” He took another speculative sip. “Actually, I welcome them. Keeps me fresh, on my mettle. Especially a fine woman like Miss Lily.” He tapped his forehead. “She’s shrewd. Won’t buy a pig in a poke, as they say. I admire that.”

I smiled back and sipped my coffee. Here was another thing I liked about Alec. He was generous to his detractors. Lily had an admirer, albeit an eccentric one. She could do worse, I thought, watching him wave greeting to a couple of passing crewmen.

“I like those new lads,” he remarked as two crew members passed through the Crew Only door. “They’re so young and eager even though they’ve only just come on. Reminds me, though—” He pulled his yellow slicker hood over his head. “Duty calls, dear lady,” he said, taking my hand and bowing slightly over it.

So courtly was his manner that for a moment I actually feared he was going to kiss it.

“Good hunting, Alec,” I said.

He smiled, rearranged his binoculars, squared his shoulders, and charged through the crowd after his fellow sailors. I thought I heard him whistling “Nearer My God to Thee,” but with the noise of the engine, it was hard to be sure.

I tasted my coffee again. Pretty bad. I poured a touch of sugar in it and wondered where to find some creamer.

“You’ll rot your teeth with that stuff,” said Vern, sliding in across from me.

“How do you know I don’t have false ones?” I shot back.

He leaned forward. “Your left canine is just the slightest bit crooked. Never happens in the fake ones. Yee?” he said, demonstrating in his own mouth. “Open up, I’ll show you.”

“Don’t be disgusting.”

“Sorry. You asked, though. Where’s your friend?”

“In the car. Alec gets on her nerves.”

“Too bad. He’s kind of a neat guy.” He pushed back his hood and shoved a damp blond lock of hair off his forehead. “I heard him lecture at the college. He was fascinating.”

“So you don’t think he’s wasting his time looking for this monster?”

Vern wiped spilled sugar onto the floor. “Well, lots of people around here claim they’ve seen the thing. The Professor said there’ve been more than 240 sightings. I know a guy who swears the monster nearly sank his fishing boat.”

“Did he say—”

I was interrupted by a loud blast of the ferryboat horn. Vern and I looked at one another.

“We can’t be there yet,” said Vern. “Can we?”

Just then, the Crew Only door slammed open, and Alec came barreling through, roaring, “Man overboard!” He disappeared out the exit and down the stairs to the lower deck.

A kind of polite pandemonium broke out as confused passengers shouldered one another in an effort to descend the stairs to their cars.

“C’mon,” said Vern under his breath. He grabbed my elbow and steered me toward the Crew Only door.

“But—but—” I sputtered.

“Shut up, Amelia,” he growled. “This tub could be sinking or something. Can’t you feel it? The engine has stopped.”

He was right. There was no longer that rhythmic bass thumping that had dominated all other sounds on the ferry. I would have stood longer, testing for vibrations, but Vern yanked my arm.

“C’mon,” he repeated urgently.

I obeyed.

The Crew Only door led out onto the walkway that circled the observation deck. A thick rope, draped across the railing rather like the genteel barricades one finds in banks, was the only indication that we were in a restricted area. Behind us, a ladder bolted to the wall led upward to the tiny bridge.

For the moment the rain had stopped. I looked around. I could see why Alec had chosen this place as his vantage point. The beautiful, rolling Green Mountains lay dark and impassive in the distance, while the inky waters of Lake Champlain lapped into high, foamy waves in the foreground. It seemed unlikely that the Professor’s chronically shy monster would choose to make an appearance in this busy stretch of water, but if he did, Alec would surely spot him.