Murder in the Boonies: A Sleuth Sisters Mystery (The Sleuth Sisters Book 3) (25 page)

“She lost her hat,” Barb said, pointing toward the water where the hat bobbed peacefully.

“Oh, that’s too bad,” the wife said. “Maybe someone with a boat will go out and get it.”

“Yes,” Barb said. “We’ll ask.” The couple moved off, and I looked at the crowds of people. How had no one seen Pansy being kidnapped in broad daylight? The man on the boat had caught her off-guard. I recognized the name on the gunwale:
Mr. A.I.

If it weren’t for me, Pansy would be safe at Retta’s house this very minute. I was near hysteria, but I told myself that wouldn’t help anything. I had to be calm like Barb, who studied the harbor as if the key to all knowledge was out there.

Retta joined us, holding Daisy’s hand. “She says that’s Floyd Stone in the smaller boat.”

“Pansy came face to face with them. They had to grab her or give up on the whole idea.”

“What idea?”

“Today’s the day they’ve been planning for all along.” Barb lowered her voice so no one around us heard. “It was Farrell who called. Farrell and Stone are going through with the attack.”

That started Daisy crying again, and Retta took her hand. They walked down the shore, Retta speaking softly to calm her down. Grateful as I was to Baby Sister for giving Barb and me time to think, all three of us needed to work on this together.

“Can you help with Daisy?” I asked Iris. Giving us a look that said she knew she was being left out of things, she went.

“They’re operating on the fly now,” Barb said when she was gone. “Whatever they have planned requires two boats, and it’s going to happen soon.”

I checked my watch. “Remember? Gabe heard Farrell say they’d meet on the dock at 1:00.”

Barb glared after them. “They’ll speed things up now. Farrell will know we’ll call for help eventually, no matter what he said.”

“Because we know they won’t really let Pansy go free.”

“Right. We’ve messed up their plans again. They probably have a way to escape worked out, but Pansy isn’t part of it.” Barb licked her lips. “I wish we knew where they’re headed.”

I stared out at the water, trying to think. “What’s WALL?”

She chewed on her lip. “I was invited to join them when I first moved back to Michigan. I’m not much for—” She stopped, her eyes wide. “It’s something about women in leadership, Women As—something that starts with L—Leaders.”

“Floyd Stone told the postmistress about a conference for prominent women and female community leaders. She was surprised because he hated that she got promoted over him.”

“And Gabe said Mindy was coming to a conference at the Grand Hotel.” Retta had come up behind us. “Iris took Daisy to get cleaned up. I figured we needed time to make a plan.”

Barb nodded. “Faye’s going to tell Rory what’s happening.”

“There isn’t time for that,” Retta began, but a look from Barb stopped her.

“You will convince the local police we need a rescue boat as soon as possible. Men in two different boats are going to attack the women’s conference at the Grand Hotel any minute now. Rory will back your story in case they doubt you.”

“What about Pansy?”

“She has one chance of living through this,” Barb said, “and that’s if we stop Farrell before he blows up the Grand Hotel.”

There were a dozen boats moored close by, and Barb pointed to a beat-up Starcraft with an engine that looked like someone had taken a hammer to it. “Is a boat like that easy to operate?”

Retta shrugged. “You start the engine, give it gas, and turn the tiller opposite the way you want to go.”

“Okay.” She frowned. “Don’t just stand there! Go get the police!”

“What about the girls?”

“Faye will see to them.”

I objected to being relegated to baby-sitter, but someone had to do it. Retta was the obvious choice to deal with policemen, men being the operative term. Barb had something in mind. I guessed I wouldn’t approve, but I had to trust her. Time was ticking away.

Retta left to find the island police, moving quickly through the crowd. I followed Barb to where the owner of the Starcraft was loading fishing tackle into it. “How much for your boat?”

He glanced at us then turned away, clearly disbelieving.

“I’m serious,” Barb said. “How much?”

“Four hundred dollars.” It might have been worth half that. The guy’s expression said he was going along with the joke.

“Will you take two hundred in cash and a check for the rest?”

He looked to me as if to ask if Barb was insane. “She means it,” I said. Making a quick assessment of the man’s character I added, “We’re private detectives, and we need to follow some guys.”

Only a short time later, Barb was climbing into the boat. The guy started the engine for her, gave a quick demonstration of how it operated, and stood back. Barb looked at me, fear and determination in her eyes.

“Maybe we should wait for—”

“We can’t be sure they’ll get there in time,” she said. “Just make that call to Rory.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-EIGHT

Retta

When I reached the island police station, a little out of breath, I told the succinct story I’d rehearsed in my mind along the way. “My name is Margaretta Stilson, and I work for the Smart Detective Agency. We’ve uncovered a plot to attack the Grand Hotel and disrupt the women’s conference that’s going on there.”

The guy at the desk looked at me, clearly confused. I went on, “You must have gotten word recently of a possible plan to use a stolen grenade launcher.”

He glanced at a bulletin board beside the desk. “Yeah, but—”

“We just saw two of the men involved in the plot down on the dock. They each have a boat. I don’t know which one has the weapon, but they took a little girl hostage.”

To his credit, the young officer tried to take it all in, but he wavered between belief and disbelief. The phone rang beside him, and he glanced from me to it. “Take the call,” I said. “It might speed things up.”

He answered, listened, and said, “Yes, Chief.” Glancing at me he said, “Yes, she’s here.” More listening. “We have a boat that’s always ready to go. … All right. … I will.” He was halfway out of his chair as he hung up the phone. “Ma’am, you can wait right here.”

“No, I can’t,” I told him in no uncertain terms. “My sister’s out there trying to stop those men, and you’re not leaving me behind.”

CHAPTER FIFTY-NINE

Faye

Once I called Rory and told him the situation, Iris, Daisy, and I were at loose ends. Barb had steered the boat, clumsily at first but with growing confidence, out of the harbor and down the shore. Soon she was out of sight. My anxiety level rose.

Iris went to the end of the pier and watched until Barb was no longer visible. “If we walk along the road,” she said, pointing west, “we can at least see her. Maybe we can do something to help.”

It was probably a bad idea, but it satisfied my anxious heart and nervous feet. “We’ll stay in the trees,” I said. “If they start lobbing grenades, we’ll take cover.”

If I sounded like a John Wayne movie, it’s because I’ve seen every one. Seven times, minimum.

We hurried through the crowded downtown, Iris pulling Daisy along. People turned to stare after us, and no doubt we appeared to be fleeing the zombie apocalypse. Gradually the crowds cleared. The road changed from Main Street to Lake Shore Drive. We could see the water again. The Mr. A.I. lay at anchor some distance out, pulling gently against the rope that held it in place. Closer to shore, in the smaller boat, Stone stood with his feet wide apart. He was bent over, working at something with focused intent. Barb and her ancient Starcraft were nowhere to be seen.

“What’s he doing?” Iris whispered.

“I’m not sure.”

I could see now that Stone wore a wetsuit. When I saw a hatchet in his hand, I realized he was knocking a hole in the bottom of his boat. I imagined the next few minutes. As the smaller craft filled with water, Stone would fire the grenades, one after the other. At the hotel, chaos would result, and it would be some time before anyone realized where the attack was coming from. While everyone was looking toward the explosions, Stone would drop the weapon into the sinking boat, abandon it, and swim to Farrell’s boat, where he’d change into dry clothes. In a matter of minutes they’d be headed away from the disaster they created, appearing to be fishermen in search of a likely spot.

Movement on the larger boat caught my eye. As Farrell watched Stone scuttle his craft, Pansy had opened the window at the front of the cabin. Her head emerged first, then her shoulders, torso, and finally her legs.

“Look!” Daisy said. “It’s Pansy!”

Iris shushed her, fearing she’d attract the attention of Farrell or Stone. “Ms. Evans will get her back, Daisy. We just have to be quiet a little while longer.”

I hoped she was telling the truth.

Pansy crouched on the hull of the boat, unsure what to do next. If she jumped overboard, Farrell would simply haul her back in. If she stayed where she was, he’d eventually notice her and return her to the cabin.

A final blow from Stone brought a spurt of water. The boat wavered briefly and began to sink. Widening his stance even more, Stone bent and picked up the weapon I’d last seen in Ben McAdams’ bunker. Taking it from its plastic sleeve, he set it to his shoulder, flipped up the sight, and raised the muzzle, aiming over our heads and a little to one side. I didn’t have to turn and look to see his target: the entrance doors of the Grand Hotel.

On the fishing boat, Farrell began raising anchor. It whirred upward, but he watched Stone, fascinated as their moment of triumph neared. I watched too, but in horror. Stone would get his shots off, and up at the Grand Hotel, people would die. Even if they didn’t get away, no one could prevent the damage they were about to inflict.

Except for Barbara.

Over the putt-putt of the fishing boat’s idling motor, I heard a second engine and turned to where the prow of a boat appeared from a slight indentation in the shoreline. The noise began low but growled to full after a clunky little choke. Our recent purchase bore down on Stone’s boat, with a grim-faced Barb at the back. Though she had some distance to cover, surprise was on her side.

Farrell shouted something to Stone, who turned, his mouth open. The gun’s muzzle lowered. At the same moment Farrell saw Pansy kneeling on the hull a few feet away from him and made a lunge for her. She scrambled back, though she didn’t have far to go.

“Jump, Pansy! Water side!” Barb called.

Without hesitation, Pansy launched herself over the side away from us. I lost sight of her as Barb closed in on Stone’s boat, aiming directly at its center with deadly concentration. Farrell looked from her to Stone, frozen with indecision.

Stone made a final attempt to complete his mission. Setting the grenade launcher to his shoulder again, he took aim, but Barb’s craft smashed into the already foundering boat just as he pulled the trigger. The impact shook him, and the barrel rose sharply. The grenade went straight up, paused for a second, and fell back to the water. It exploded when it hit the surface, and the Boom! it made reverberated, hurting my ears.

As the water roiled around it, Barb’s boat drove into Stone’s boat, turning it onto its side. Hands waving frantically, Stone fell backward, hitting the water with a splash that matched his size. The weapon flew from his hand, hit the water a few feet away, and sank.

On the fishing boat, Farrell made his decision. Rushing to the cabin, he turned the boat south and gunned the engine.

At that moment I didn’t care about Farrell. Searching the water near the two boats, I caught sight of Pansy’s head bobbing on the far side, but I couldn’t see Barb. My lungs stopped pumping; at least that’s how it felt. Where was she?

I ran to the shore, calling her name. Part of me was aware that Farrell was getting away, speeding toward Mackinaw City. Another part registered Stone, flailing helplessly in the water. It didn’t matter. I searched the water, trying to see through patches of reflected light. Where was my sister?

When I spotted her, it was some distance back from where she’d last been. She’d aimed the boat at Stone then jumped, probably at the same time she told Pansy to do so. The little Starcraft had done its job, but now it floated upside down, its hull crumpled like scrap paper. Never in my life have I blown four hundred dollars with less regret.

CHAPTER SIXTY

Barb

The waters of the Straits of Mackinac are seldom warm, and certainly not in May. The shock to my aging body was terrible; the thought of being immersed for even a few minutes was worse. It was a great relief, therefore, to hear an engine running close by and turn to see a police patrol boat coming toward me. Retta peered over the side, and for once I was glad she’s bossy. If it makes people do as you say in an emergency, bossy is good.

Some yards away, Stone was calling Farrell’s name to no avail. The boat was already far away, moving at top speed. Stone’s cries turned to curses. I hoped Rory had gotten the word out along the lakeshores. If he had, there was nowhere for Farrell to go. The Coast Guard would find him.

I was pulled from the water and wrapped in a blanket. Pansy was next, and when she was rescued and wrapped, she came and sat beside me. We shivered together, and I put an arm around her shoulders, pulling my blanket over both of us.

“Thanks for coming after me,” she chattered.

“Thanks for jumping the right way,” I answered. “I really didn’t want to squash you between the boats.”

She managed a smile. “I didn’t want to be squashed either.”

The officers hauled Stone out of the water and flopped him onto the deck like a record-breaking trout. One of the men removed his handcuffs from his belt with a metallic click. “Stay where you are, sir,” he ordered, “and place your hands behind your back.”

CHAPTER SIXTY-ONE

Retta

Rory had told Faye he’d meet us at the docks in Mackinaw City. By that time I’d called to let him know everyone was okay, Faye had already gone to the Trading Post and bought dry clothes for Pansy and Barbara. My sister looked cute in light blue sweats and fake-Indian moccasins, a nice change from her usual black or navy. Her hair looked cute too. Having some natural curl, it fell softly around her face after the dunk in the lake. I wondered if I could talk her into giving up the severe blow-dry she always does.