Hooked on Ewe (24 page)

The first thing I did was dig out my cell phone to call the inspector. No signal. The boat had picked up speed, and thanks to a zillion-horsepower engine, I’d already lost cell coverage.

The next thing I did was look for a weapon. My pepper spray! I’d forgotten about it. It was my go-to protection but I wanted a backup in case the spray failed me.

There were knives in the galley kitchen. My first impulse was to choose the biggest and sharpest, but stealth might be more important to my future than showmanship, so I tucked a medium-size knife inside my waistband, hoping the blade was sharp enough to do damage. I tried not to imagine having to use it, or whether I could if the time came.

Next, I rummaged around searching for life jackets and finally found them in a berth. I put one on. It had a whistle dangling from a cord that would come in handy, if I managed to keep the vest on when I went overboard.

I was pretty sure I was going to end up in the water. And I really hoped that this life preserver lived up to its name.
And
that the sea was teeming with available boaters just waiting to rescue a damsel in distress.

Unless . . .

Unless, Oliver intended to strangle me and then dump my body.

Next my rogue mind stopped and dwelled on a shark attack. Dead or alive, the thought of being eaten scared me silly.

I considered the likelihood of a timely rescue. Since I’d lied to Sean about meeting Leith, I couldn’t expect any help there.

So I had my pepper spray, a life preserver, and a knife tucked into the band of my underwear. What else could a girl possibly wish for?

To wake up from this nightmare, for starters.

Now that I was as prepared as I could be, I staved off paralyzing fear by considering Oliver and the reason I was about to feed the fishes. Of course it involved Isla Lindsey—either her murder, the missing money, or both. Even in death the woman was causing trouble for those of us left behind. If there was another life after this one, I was going to find her and get my payback.

Eventually the engine died. Or idled. Or something. Whatever the case, it wasn’t as loud as before, so I assumed we’d reached our final destination. I thought I might be sick. My stomach was roiling, and I was pretty sure it wasn’t due to seasickness. I talked myself out of crumpling into a helpless mess, focusing on survival instead.

The hatch above me opened up, and my heart flew into
my throat. Blue sky shone through, until it was blocked by Oliver coming into view. Would he come down to finish me off? I white-knuckled the pepper spray canister. The knife tucked away gave me a small bit of reassurance.

“Up with ye, nice and easy,” he said, giving me a few moments of reprieve.

A new dilemma arose. Do as ordered? Or take my chances here below? Make him come and get me? I still had choices, as few as they were.

“I don’t think so,” I told him.

He crouched and peered down, and I noticed that he wore a life vest, too. He was framed in the hatchway, though too far away for me to hit him with the pepper spray. “Be a lamb,” he practically cooed.

As in lamb to the slaughter? I didn’t think so.

“I’ll consider coming up,” I bargained, stalling for time, “if you tell me why I’m down here in the first place.”

“Because,” he answered easily, “I dinnae invite ye on board.”

True enough, but not the real reason.

“Were you having an affair with Isla Lindsey?” I demanded.

“What?” Oliver began to laugh. “With that stupid biddy? That cow Lily Young saw us going out together on this fine cruiser and jumped tae the wrong conclusion. That one’s fond o’ me, ye know.”

So Lily hadn’t been mistaken about one thing—she’d seen them together on this boat.

“You stole money from the hospice,” I guessed next. I took a step closer to the hatchway, nervously calculating my chances with the pepper spray.

He watched me with intensity and distrust as he said, “It wasn’t me. Isla was the thief. I caught her back in the spring, writing checks tae herself, so I watched and found out she was skimming cash from the events as well.”

“Why would she do that? She didn’t have a financial problem, did she?”

“Isla was a nasty woman, thinkin’ she was entitled, sayin’ she was underpaid fer the responsibility she undertook. She did it tae get even.”

“What about her husband? Did he know?”

“Bryan? There’s a bloke with his head in the sand. Besides, the money was safely stowed away where his prying eyes couldn’t find it.”

Another few steps, while I tried to remember how far the pepper spray would shoot. When I’d used it on Kirstine, I hadn’t had to worry about distance. She was right in my face at the time.

“You knew, yet you didn’t turn her in. You wanted a cut.” I tried to sound impressed, hoping to feed his ego and keep him talking.

“She wasn’t a bit happy aboot that, and tried tae get out o’ it, but I held her feet tae the fire.” Oliver smirked and went on, “Last week she overheard her boss on the phone, talking with an auditor. That put a bit of fear intae her. By Saturday morning she was sayin’ if they caught her she wasn’t going down alone. Her mistake. ‘Meet me at two o’clock,’ she said, like she was the big boss. ‘I’m not in this alone, and I’ll say as much. We have tae figure this out together.’” Oliver shook his head as if in disbelief. “She was nervy, all right. I can say that much fer her.”

My delusional mind wanted to believe that I was safer
if I didn’t mention the murder. The rational side knew it was way too late to walk away alive. I didn’t have anything to lose that Oliver didn’t plan on taking away regardless.

“So you stole Harry’s yarn kit and used the yarn to strangle her,” I finally blurted out. “What about Lily’s part? What about the cupcake? Were you two in it together?”

Oliver looked confused. “What cupcake? Ye’re blathering, woman.”

So Lily had acted on her own. I took another step closer. “The one that contained sleeping pills. The one Isla ate.”

Oliver, still wary, looked thoughtful then enlightened. “So that’s why she was such a wet rag, just lying aboot when I got in the van tae take care o’ that business.”

I was close enough, but I was shaking and not sure I could aim properly. But I had to. And I also had to make sure I didn’t get so near that he could grab me.

“So wha’ about coming up, love?” he asked, his voice silky.

“I don’t think so.”

His face reddened then. “Ye’re about tae go fer a swim whether ye like it or not.”

I chose that moment to lunge forward, whipping my hand out, nearly hitting the button on the spray can. But Oliver had anticipated some kind of action on my part and he ducked out of sight.

Without considering the consequences of my actions, I hurried up the steps onto the deck. He was forward of the cockpit now. I swung the spray can toward him but hesitated. Not only was he too far away, the blowback from the spray might affect me as much or worse.

Oliver seemed to be enjoying himself. “Ye are feisty,”
he said, laughing, “but that silly little can o’ spray won’t save ye.”

I backed up closer to the wheel, not taking my eyes from Oliver. Behind him, the shoreline was barely visible in the distance.

I wedged in behind the steering wheel, realizing with something close to despair that I didn’t know how to operate a boat. But I had to try. I glanced down at the instruments and gadgets, and my spirit dove into that deep blue sea I’d been avoiding. I could hardly manage a manual car—how was I going to hold off Oliver
and
learn to drive his boat at the same time?

While I worried, he stayed where he was, as alert as a wolf about to attack a helpless sheep.

“Stay where you are!” I shouted, holding the canister at the ready.

“And how long do ye expect this little standoff tae last?” he asked.

That was a good question. Eventually Oliver would rush me. I might have time to use my spray, but that might only slow him down. He had a lot of weight on me. And his arms under the sport shirt he wore were buff. I hadn’t noticed that before. He’d overpower me, and nobody would ever find my body.

I chanced another glance down at the instruments, at the key dangling in the ignition, and gave my chances of pulling this off a moment of discouraging consideration. The odds were against me.

Suddenly I heard static and spotted a marine radio lying right in front of me. Voices over the waves, someone
talking about docking at the harbor. I’d seen marine radios before, but I’d never used one. Could I figure out how to operate it?

When I picked it up, Oliver made his move. He came in low, guarding his head like a bull charging. He was too fast, too close to risk taking me down with the spray.

I didn’t know what to do.

So, radio in hand, I jumped overboard.

I had everything I needed—a radio to call for help, a life jacket to keep me afloat, and most dear to me, my life. I braced myself. The water was colder than I had imagined it could be.

I didn’t even know if the radio was waterproof. But it had to be, right? Sure enough, as the life jacket deflected the force of my landing, the radio crackled to life. I fiddled with the dials, one eye on Oliver’s position. Even if this were the States, I wouldn’t know what channel to use.

I kicked off my shoes as the boat roared to life.

Swimming came naturally to me. I’d been on a competitive team in high school, had worked as a lifeguard in the summers, and generally swam like a fish. Although I’d never been chased by a mega-horsepower cruiser before. Not to mention that the vest would slow me down significantly. I wanted to keep it as a flotation device, but it was a serious handicap, one I couldn’t afford.

I struggled out of the vest, reluctantly let go of it, and began swimming for the distant speck of a shoreline. I didn’t get far before Oliver brought the boat around. He headed directly for me.

As the boat approached, I took a deep breath of precious
air and dove under. The underbelly of the cruiser flew past, shockingly near. I resurfaced and treaded water while fumbling with the radio.

Oliver was coming around again. I pressed the buttons and started calling into it for help. I didn’t know if anyone could hear me, but I kept going, giving my name, and Oliver’s name, shouting into it that I was overboard a good distance from Glenkillen—and then switched to straight out yelling into it, “Help! Help! Oliver Wallace is trying to kill me!”

The boat rushed at me again, and again I prepared to dive. But I could feel myself tiring. I now regretted ditching the life vest, but I hadn’t had a choice.

I dove again, staying under until my lungs were about to burst, watching
Slip Away
finish another pass. Then I popped up and continued swimming toward shore. To my increasing horror, it wasn’t any closer.

I readied to take another dive on the next run, refusing to acknowledge my weary limbs. But instead of throttling up, Oliver cut the power and came up slowly drifting alongside me. The boat bobbed on the waves.

“I can do this all day,” I told him, even though we both knew it was a lie. “I used the radio to call in. Someone will be looking for me soon. They know you’re trying to kill me.”

I treaded water, holding the radio up where Oliver had a good view of it, while really hoping I wasn’t bluffing. But if anyone had heard, how long would it take them to find me?

Oliver didn’t know what to do. I could tell he was torn.

Should he do me in? Or not? Had my distress call gone
through? Or hadn’t it? Would I be able to continue to evade him? A dilemma.

“Come around the back,” he said, evil lurking in his eyes. “Come on, then. I’ll help ye back on board and we can talk this out.”

I paddled around to the back of the boat where there was a ladder to make climbing on board easier. He was there to meet me, extending an arm, offering a hand. I gave him my right hand and felt the strength contained in his grasp as he pulled and my body popped out of the chilly sea.

And as I swung up, I rounded with as much force as I could, swinging my dominant left hand. And I stabbed him directly in the thigh.

He stumbled back, his face registering shock as I pulled the knife clear, feeling it rip through his flesh. Attacking him like that was one of the most difficult things I’d ever done.

My original idea had been to target his torso, but the life jacket he wore was an obstacle, and I couldn’t risk failing on my first attempt. It would have been my last.

And if it was to be my life or Oliver’s, I planned to fight until the bitter end.

He fell then, grabbing his thigh, tucking it against his body and screaming. I scrambled on board and ran past his prone body to take control of the steering wheel. The engine was idling and miracle of miracles, I figured out how to get it into forward gear. I kept one eye on Oliver only a few yards away and gave a firm command to stay where he was if he didn’t want more of the same.

With the knife in my hand still dripping with his blood, I turned toward shore.

Where I ended up ramming right into the end of one of the piers.

That drew plenty of attention. Several experienced boaters came hurrying down what was left of the dock.