Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) (15 page)

B
RIE’S MOOD WAS BEING sucked toward a black hole when a knock on the door reeled her back. John stuck his head in. “George says you’re eating lunch in here. Would you like some company?”

“Sure!” She took so much comfort in his face at that moment that it startled her. “And, if you don’t mind detective talk while you eat, maybe I can bounce a few thoughts off you.”

“Hang on. I’ll go see if George can put some starch in my shirt.”

Brie laughed. “That should be an interesting look on flannel.” She reveled for a moment in John’s humor and smile, relaxing into them as she would a warm sweater. Something about him had a resuscitating effect on her. He was the salt air straight off the Atlantic, and she liked the feel of him on her tattered psyche. Oddly enough he felt like home—like Mom and Dad—like nights around the Monopoly board, and breezy vacations on blue Minnesota lakes.

George appeared in the doorway carrying a large wooden tray. A savory aroma ushered him into the room, and he set the lunch down on a circular table between two chairs. On the tray were two miniature cast-iron kettles filled with thick, creamy corn chowder, and two rose-colored plates with toasted tuna melts, served open face on thick slices of home-made bread. There were also two compotes of fresh fruit, two bowls of Betty’s blueberry cobbler, and a carafe of coffee. “Enjoy, folks,” George said as he headed for the door.

“Thanks, George,” Brie called after him.

“So, should we sit by the window or the fire?” John asked.

“Now, that’s a difficult choice. I’ve seen an awful lot of rain in the past two days, and the fire just attacked me.”

“Let’s try the fire. I’ll make sure you’re safe,” John said, giving her a look that could have liquefied granite.

“Okay.” It came out as a strangled squeak.
Boy
, Brie thought,
Detective Beaumont, victimized by her hormones, becomes a tongue-tied idiot.
She took it as a sign that she might be losing control here. Lately, her feelings had been about as controllable as a roller coaster going over the big drop.

“Do you think it’s safe for both of us to be in here?” Brie asked.

“I’m not sure I want it to be safe.” John smiled a devilish smile.

“What I mean is...”

“I know what you mean, Brie. There’s a murderer in our midst, but hopefully he’s taking a lunch break right now.”

“This is no joke, you know,” Brie said, a hint of irritation now.

“You’re right. I don’t know why I said that.” John held his hands in a stick-em-up position. “Everyone’s in the kitchen eating, and I told Scott to keep an eye on things. I won’t be in here long. Okay?”

“I guess so,” Brie said hesitantly.

John pulled a low coffee table over in front of the fire-place. Then he grabbed two of the seat cushions from the sofa and placed them on either side of the table. Brie unclipped her gun and put it in the desk. She carried the tray over and distributed the contents into two place settings, and she and John sat down, cross-legged, in front of the fire to enjoy the lunch.

“So, I guess I’m not at the top of your suspect list since you just took off your gun.”

Brie raised an eyebrow, but instead of responding, tried her corn chowder.

“Are you good with it—the gun, I mean?”

Brie wondered why men were so enthralled with guns. “I used to think so,” she said. “But when it mattered most…” Her voice trailed off.

“Sorry, Brie.” John lowered his head, appalled at his lack of forethought.

Guns were an unavoidable part of her profession, but they held no fascination for Brie. She changed the subject. “Do you know anything about the history of the inn?” Brie asked, spooning her soup.

“A little bit. It was originally the home of a wealthy sea captain, Josiah Campbell, who retired to the island with his wife, Hannah, in the late 1880s. He wanted to create the loveliest place possible for her to make up for all the years he’d been away at sea. He hired the best craftsmen and spared no expense importing exotic materials and furnishings. Unfortunately, Hannah died only two years after their home was finished.” John picked up his spoon and sampled the chowder. “After her death Josiah became quite a recluse. He had his library and his view of the sea, and that’s all that seemed to matter to him. When he died the place was purchased as a private summer home by a wealthy family from New York, and ultimately by several other families. About ten years ago Glenn and Betty bought it and turned it into a bed and breakfast.”

“A place like this could really grow on you,” Brie said, biting into her tuna melt. George, in usual fashion, had served up a large dose of comfort cleverly disguised as lunch.

“So how’s the questioning going?”

“As usual, it’s raising as many questions as it’s answering. What do you know about George’s private life?”

“Well, not that much, I guess. George usually goes back to New York during the off season, which is six months of the year. Why do you ask?”

“Apparently Alyssa overheard him arguing with Pete last night during his watch. She said Pete accused George of being gay.”

“What! I don’t believe that. When George moved up here the first summer, he brought his girlfriend with him—nothing very gay about that. And that doesn’t sound like Pete, either. I don’t pry into the lives of my crew, but none of that seems to ring true.”

Brie shrugged. “Either way, it could give George a motive. Scott also heard him arguing with Pete at 1:45. On another front, Rob came on deck at 2:55 in the morning and found Pete dead.” She put her sandwich down.

“He didn’t call anyone? You’re joking.”

“Said he was afraid of looking guilty. Apparently he knew Alyssa had been up on deck with Pete, and he’d gone up there planning to, quote, ‘beat the shit out of him.’ ”

“Was I the only one actually sleeping last night?” John asked, playing with his soup.

“I know. It’s pretty amazing. And I haven’t interviewed Will, Howard or Tim yet. Who knows what kind of nocturnal activities they had going on? I hope I’m not spoiling your lunch,” she said, looking at his still half-full plate.

“You’re not. I’m fine.”

“It’s also possible that Rob got a glimpse of the killer, if I can believe what he says.”

“Oh?” John paused with his spoon halfway to his mouth.

“He said he saw someone in the shadows up near the bow, just as he was heading back below decks. He went forward to check it out but found no one.”

“Do you believe him?” John asked.

“I don’t know. I’m slightly inclined to, but only slightly.”

“So, where does that leave us?”

“I think I’ll have a better feel for things after I’ve interviewed Tim and Will. Rob said that whoever he saw could have ducked down the forward companionway. Will and Tim both have their cabins down there.”

“Did he go down and look around?” John asked, finishing his tuna melt.

“He says he checked the storeroom and also tried the cabin doors, but found nothing.”

“That took some guts. Maybe he’s not totally about bravado.”

“Maybe not. He said he was a Marine. I have a call in to a friend of mine at the department. He’s running the names I gave him to see what he comes up with.” Brie polished off the rest of her tuna melt. She felt comforted by the warm food.

“So, what can I do?” John asked.

“You’re doing it—just keep an eye on everyone while I’m in here doing the questioning.”

“So far they’ve just been hanging out in the game room and taking turns getting showers. Howard, Scott and George have been down for showers, and the others are planning to go after lunch. You make sure you take some time for yourself today, Brie. Enjoy a hot shower, and stop in the game room so I can beat you at a round of pool.”

Brie smiled. “We’ll see who beats whom. I’m planning to grab a shower right after lunch and then finish the rest of the questioning.” She poured coffee into the two mugs George had provided and offered John one of the bowls of cobbler that had been sitting off to the side. “You up for this?”

“I try to lose ten pounds every spring before the sailing season begins,” John said. “The way George cooks, I know I’ll gain at least that much by fall.”

“I have a feeling that, with him around, I wouldn’t need egg noodles.”

“Come again?”

“Nothing. Just one of my comfort tactics.”

“I wouldn’t mind being one of your comfort tactics,” he said softly.

Brie felt heat in her belly, and it wasn’t from the soup. “Boy, it’s getting warm by this fire; I think I’ll stretch my legs.” She spun around on the cushion, stood up and walked over toward the window. She heard John pad up behind her.

“I meant what I said about the comfort thing, you know. It wouldn’t be imposing at all.” He wrapped his hands gently around her shoulders and rested his chin on top of her head.

Brie leaned back into him—a tired traveler resting against a sturdy oak. John slipped his arms around her waist and drew her closer, nuzzling his nose against the hair just above her ear. Brie’s wave of desire was just reaching tsunami proportions when a bolt of lightning, accompanied by earsplitting thunder, made them both jump. The lights flickered and went out.

“I’ve been waiting for the power to go out, but why now?”

John’s exasperated tone would have made Brie smile, but she was busy trying to get control of her own emotions. She remembered the spark leaping out of the fireplace.
Best not to get too close
, she thought. She stepped away from John and walked to the desk to retrieve her gun.

“I have to go start the generator, Brie.”

“You go. I’ll bring the dishes out and let everyone know what’s going on.”

John headed through the kitchen and out the back door of the inn, telling everyone he was going to start the generator. Brie gathered up the dishes and carried the big tray back out to the kitchen. The passengers and crew were seated around the wooden tables finishing their lunches or sipping coffee.

“I’m surprised the electricity didn’t go out before this, the way the wind’s been blowing the last twenty-four hours,” Scott said. They heard the generator roar to life and the lights came back on.

George walked over to where Brie stood looking out the back window toward a sloping wooded hill rising up behind the inn. “As soon as the captain comes back in I’m going to grab a quick shower,” she said. “Then I need to ask you a couple more questions, George.”

“Sure, I’ll be out here cleaning up for a while, so just call me when you’re ready.”

The lack of nervousness in his voice registered with Brie—obviously he wasn’t too concerned about her calling him in a second time. A good sign.

“Do you know how to get down to the showers, George?”

“That door right over there.” He pointed to the wall behind the tables. “Everything you need is down there—shampoo, towels, hair dryers.”

Just then the captain stepped back into the kitchen. “I’m heading down for a quick shower,” she said to him. “I’ll be back up in a half hour or so.”

“Take your time, Brie. I’ll keep an eye on things here.”

The shower facilities downstairs were spartan compared to the rest of the inn. But the tile floor was spotless, and there was plenty of light, thanks to several overhead fixtures. A large electric heater pumped out warmth, and with the moisture from the previous showers, it felt like the tropics. Brie drew a deep breath of the warm humid air. As she took a pair of soft white towels from the cabinet next to the sinks, she could feel her shoulders already beginning to relax.

She stepped into one of the small dressing cubicles that adjoined each shower, removed her gun and folded it in one of the towels. She placed it on the end of the bench just beyond the shower curtain where she could reach it quickly if need be. She hoped she wouldn’t have to respond to any emergencies in her bath towel. As she stepped naked into the shower, a brief fantasy unfolded involving John and the towel. She put her head directly under the spray to dissolve the thought.

I
N THIRTY-FIVE MINUTES BRIE HEADED back upstairs feeling fresh and relaxed. The hot water had melted away some of the tension that was turning her neck and shoulder muscles into tight cords. She had left her freshly washed and dried hair loose rather than returning it to the ponytail. Brie had always considered her hair to be her best feminine asset, and she may have been right, because several heads turned as she came into the kitchen.