Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) (26 page)

B
RIE WOKE TO A CRYSTALLINE DAWN whose clarity was equaled only by that in her own mind. Like the ball on a roulette wheel, her decision, at least for the near future, had dropped into a specific slot, and she hoped it held her lucky number. She resisted questioning the decision, knowing that when you wake with that kind of certainty, it’s a gift.

She hopped up and, grabbing her towel, soap, and shampoo, headed for what qualified as a shower at the end of the passageway. She was back in her cabin in ten minutes and slicked her damp hair back into a ponytail. She pulled on a pair of washed-out jeans, a heavy cotton sweater, and her canvas deck shoes. She grabbed her camera and her rain slicker, deciding it was the best option for keeping her clothes dry while they hauled traps. She realized she was excited about going out with Anna today, and noted that it was the first time in quite a while she’d felt that way. Maybe her lucky number had come up.

Brie headed up on deck, planning to hit the galley and scramble a couple of eggs, as George had encouraged. Emerging from the companionway, she saw him sitting on the forward cabin top, drinking a mug of coffee. She hailed him.

“Hey, George, what a morning!”

“Sure is. Maybe this trip will at least end on a good note.”

“Let’s hope so,” she said, stopping in front of him. “That stove going?”

“I kept my word. The eggs are waiting, and there’s hot coffee.”

“George, you’re the best.”

“There’s a skillet down there with the butter already in it—all you have to do is scramble the eggs.”

“Can I make a couple for you while I’m at it?”

“No thanks. I can never face food this early in the morning. I can cook it, just can’t eat it.”

Brie headed below and set the skillet on the burner. Within a minute the butter started to sizzle, and she cracked in the eggs, stirring them around. She sliced off a thick piece of bread from the loaf George had set out and spread it with apricot preserves. Scrambling the eggs around a little more, she slid them onto a plate. Then, filling her mug with coffee, she climbed back up on deck to eat her breakfast with him. They sat together, silently enjoying the peace of the early morning light on the sea. Brie noticed the wind had shifted into the west, promising good sailing back to the mainland.

At 6:25 the quiet was interrupted by the sound of a motor starting up in the harbor. “That must be your ride,” George said.

Brie hurried below and washed off the plate, mug and skillet she’d used. When she came back up, a lobsterboat was cutting slowly across the harbor toward the
Maine Wind
. Just then Brie saw John emerge from the aft companionway and head forward.

“Hey Skipper,” George called. “You’re supposed to be asleep for another half hour.”

“I know, but I wanted to see Brie off.”

George noted the look that passed between the captain and Brie and wondered just what had gone on last night after he’d hit the sack.

Anna idled her motor as she approached the stern of the
Maine Wind
and drifted slowly up to the ship. Brie and John walked aft, and George noted the captain’s arm around her waist.
Something’s developing
, he thought,
and it couldn’t happen to two nicer people.
George knew that he, Scott and the captain all shared a common thread of independence, but he was also aware that the captain had seemed less settled the last couple of seasons. George had decided he needed something, and it wasn’t too hard to figure out what that was. He thought Brie fit the bill nicely.

John caught Brie’s arm as she started to climb over the stern. “Remember what I said last night, Brie. Be careful.”

“I’m a sailor, John. We’re careful by nature. See you in a few hours,” she said, climbing down the ladder.

When she jumped onto the deck of the
Just Jake
, Anna turned and hailed her. “Hi, Brie. Welcome aboard.”

“Anna, meet Captain DuLac.” She raised a hand toward John, who was looking over the stern of the
Maine Wind
. “John, this is Anna Stevens.”

“Hi, Anna. Great morning, isn’t it?”

“Sure is,” she yelled over the steady rumble of her boat’s engine. “You weighing anchor today?”

“We’re hoping to,” John called back. He left it at that, not knowing what Brie had told her about the Coast Guard’s arrival.

“C’mon forward, Brie,” Anna said. “I’ll let you drive.”

Brie waved to John before stepping into the wheelhouse. After a few instructions from Anna, she took the wheel and motored clear of the
Maine Wind
. Then, as John watched, they took off out of the cove and headed north, up the western side of the island.

The wind was kicking up a little.
Just Jake
cut smoothly across the water, sending out a large enough wake to counteract a rather laid-back incoming surf. Gulls were circling and calling, excited about the fishing possibilities this sun-washed morning presented.

“I thought we’d head up this way—give you a chance to see the top of the island. I’ve got one group of traps up here, but most of mine are on the other side of the island.” As she spoke Anna poured out a cup of coffee and handed it to Brie.

“Thanks. I could use a little more coffee. Hope this is the same stuff you had the other day.”

“The very same,” Anna said, smiling.

Brie handed the wheel over to Anna so she could drink her coffee and enjoy the view of the island. They were starting to see lots of brightly colored buoys now as the water near the island became shallower.

“How deep are these traps set?” Brie asked.

“This time of year most are set in 10 to 15 fathoms.”

Brie did the math in her head—60 to 90 feet deep. “Who decides on the buoy colors?” she asked.

“They’re assigned by the state and printed on your Maine State Lobster License. My colors are green, red, yellow.”

“So you work alone?” Brie asked.

“At this time of year it’s pretty slow. When school gets out, I’ll have a sixteen-year-old kid working stern for the summer.” Anna switched topics. “Say, a couple of people noticed the goings-on at Fred’s store last night. What’s this about another body?”

Brie wished she didn’t have to talk about bodies on this beautiful morning, but didn’t want to appear rude, either. “The case is shaping up to look like a murder-suicide. Apparently Tim—one of the passengers—killed Pete and then jumped to his death over on the east side of the island. Before it becomes official, though, I need to get another sample of his handwriting to compare to the suicide note we found. That will have to wait till we get back to the mainland.”

“So you’re just waiting for the Coast Guard?”

“That’s right. As soon as they get here to collect the bodies, we’re weighing anchor.”

“Well, I hope it goes smoothly,” Anna said with sincerity. She pointed off to starboard. “There’s my first bunch of buoys.”

While they’d been talking, Brie had seen by the compass that they were veering east, traveling along the northern shore of the island. Slowing the boat to a crawl, Anna started weaving through dozens of brightly colored buoys toward the ones she’d pointed out. They had glo-green tops with stripes of crimson red and a screaming shade of yellow.

“Now we go to work,” Anna said. “I’m going to circle up next to a buoy, Brie. You take the gaff that’s over on the starboard rail and hook the buoy. I’ll be right there.”

Brie followed directions, and as Anna slowly circled the boat in, moving barely above an idle, Brie hooked the first buoy. Anna was at her side in a moment. She reached over the gunwale and grabbed the line attached to the bottom of the buoy. “This line is called pot warp, Brie. There are two traps on each line.” She fed it through a block and into a hydraulic hauler which, when activated, pulled the traps up. Slowly the line accumulated on the deck, and eventually the first trap broke the surface of the water. Anna reached over and brought it up on the rail. She told Brie to pull the second trap on the line—called the trailer—which broke the surface a few moments later. The traps each contained three bricks to hold them in place on the ocean floor, and they were surprisingly heavy, even empty. Brie suddenly realized the strength and endurance this job would require and had to admire the ease with which Anna pulled the three-foot-long traps up onto the gunwale of the boat, time and again.

“How many of these do you haul in a day?” Brie asked.

“Usually about two hundred if I have a sternman—fewer if I’m working alone.”

“Wow!”

“You earn your money the hard way in this job.”

“Hopefully you catch more than we are today.” They had been working their way along the shore for quite a while and had pulled several dozen traps. So far they had gleaned only nine keepers, which Anna had banded and tossed into a box on the deck.

“This is usually the slow part of the season. It’ll pick up as summer wears on,” she said with surprising confidence. Brie decided she’d never be able to gamble her income on the comings and goings of a bunch of creepy crawlers captured through backbreaking labor. She felt renewed gratitude for the education her parents had provided for her.

“Break time,” Anna announced after they’d finished the next five buoys.

Brie checked her watch and was surprised to find they’d already been gone for almost two and a half hours. Stepping back to the wheel, Anna maneuvered the boat clear of the forest of buoys, motored out a ways from shore, and cut the engine. She slipped the wide suspenders off her shoulders and stepped out of her oilskins that she wore when working. Then she grabbed the thermos of coffee, a jug of water, and a brown paper bag that contained an assortment of candy bars. “Let’s go aft,” she said. “We can sit on the storage locker.” It was a near perfect morning—the breeze was cool but the sun warmed them.

“I make myself take a break every couple hours, or I’d never get through the day,” Anna said.

“I can believe that,” Brie said. She took off her raincoat and laid it on the deck.

They were about to sit down when Anna noticed something was sticking out of the locker. She lifted the lid to tuck it back in. Brie saw a couple of spare buoys and floats, as well as some scuba and snorkel gear. “Are you a diver?” she asked, seeing yet another side to Anna.

“Yup,” Anna said, closing the locker without further comment and sitting down on top of it. She stretched her long, denim-clad legs out in front of her, pulled her arms above her head and arched backwards over the gunwale. “I call this the reverse curl,” she said lightly. “It makes up for all the bending over. Give it a try, Brie.”

Brie took in Anna’s long, lean body. She’d noticed that Anna was tall when she’d interviewed her yesterday, but somehow, she was more aware of her height today. Maybe because she wasn’t wearing baggy rain gear, or maybe because her height coupled with her athletic strength was impressive.

“My dad taught me to dive,” she said, returning to Brie’s question. As she spoke, she dumped the contents of the paper bag out on the storage locker and told Brie to help herself. Anna picked up a nut roll and tore open the wrapper. “Dad was in the Navy—that’s where he learned to dive. Living out here, he used it mostly for going under and checking out the boat or looking for lost fishing gear. I used to beg him to teach me, and finally, when I was fourteen, he did. After I learned, we used to go out and dive just for fun. Since he died, I haven’t done much. There’s a rule—you’re never supposed to dive alone. But I break it sometimes.”

Brie munched a little more of the Snickers bar she’d selected, but her stomach was starting to feel slightly unsettled. So she wrapped up the remainder and, leaning over, tucked it into the pocket of her rain slicker that sat at her feet. Then she flipped the coat over and pulled out a wad of Kleenex from the other pocket. The suicide note that she’d placed in her coat up on the bluffs yesterday fell out of the pocket, its message in plain view of Anna.

“Is that the suicide note?” Anna asked, fascinated.

“Yes,” said Brie. Feeling uncomfortable, she quickly tucked it back in her pocket. She was agitated with herself.
How could I have forgotten to put it with the other evidence
? The answer, of course, was obvious. The fact was that in the past year since the shooting, she had done a number of things that were out of character for her. She had learned to forgive herself for most of them, but she felt particularly uneasy about having this key piece of evidence with her.

“Well, ready for more hard work?” Anna asked, standing up.

“I’m game,” Brie said. “This is a great experience—thanks for inviting me, Anna.”

“Hey, you’re coming in mighty handy today. Nothing wimpy about you, girl,” she said, laughing. “The rest of my traps are down the other side of the island. It’ll take about ten minutes to get over there.” Anna started to walk back toward the wheel.

“I’m just gonna hang out back here till we get there,” Brie said. “My stomach’s feeling a little off—probably not used to chocolate this early in the morning.”

“Could be the motion of the boat, too,” Anna said. “You just sit tight—I’ll go a little slower.”