Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) (6 page)

Suddenly Rob lunged across the table. “Keep your eyes off Alyssa, you sonofabitch!” An index finger jabbed threateningly at Pete.

Pete stared at him defiantly. “Hey, man, get a grip!”

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” Rob growled. The finger jabbed again. “Don’t mess with my wife.”

The captain brought the flat of his hand down on the table. “That will do, gentlemen! McAllister! Topside, now. Check out the lanterns and the anchor.”

Pete almost trampled George getting past him and up the companionway.

“There will be no threats or animosity on this cruise. Is that clear?”

Rob glared at the captain but said nothing.

DuLac continued. “The rest of the passengers have a right to the atmosphere they paid for. I’ll not tolerate a troublemaker on my ship.” The captain’s eyes held Rob in a steely gaze.

“Then you’d damn well better keep your crew in line, Captain.” Rob nodded to Alyssa. “Let’s go. Time to turn in.” They slid out from behind the table, and Rob pawed through the rain slickers until he found his.

“Rob, could I borrow your raincoat? I’m a little cold.”

“Oh, Alyssa, for Christ’s sake.” Rob peeled off his slicker and handed it to her. “Give me that thing,” he said, grabbing the umbrella. “Here, George, make this disappear before it embarrasses me to death. Maybe you can chop it up and use it as a garnish.” He stormed up the companionway ladder with Alyssa following behind.

The remaining passengers and crew surveyed one another in stunned silence. “And here, all along, I thought the guitar was a calming instrument,” Scott said, dispelling some of the tension.

“We need to set the watch,” DuLac said, eager to wrap things up. “You take the first watch from 2200 to 0100 hours. Pete already asked about his watch and knows he’s on from 0100 to 0400, when I’ll come on deck to relieve him.”

“Sounds good, Captain. I’ll go topside and tell Pete to hit the sack.”

Scott disappeared into the crew’s sleeping area, where he stowed his guitar. He pulled on the pants to his foul-weather suit, hiked the suspenders up over his shoulders, and headed back out to the galley to grab his rain jacket.

“There’ll be a fresh carafe of coffee down here, as usual,” George said.

Brie spoke up. “Thanks for the concert, Scott; it was great.”

Howard seconded her enthusiastically.

“My pleasure, folks,” Scott said, heading up the ladder.

“I think everyone can safely sleep in tomorrow,” John said. “This rain and wind is likely to hang around for a day or two. George, you may as well plan breakfast for an hour later than usual.”

“No arguments from me on that, Captain.”

“I’ll pass the word to Rob and Alyssa when I go down,” Brie said.

“You’re a brave woman, Brie,” Howard said, patting her arm in a fatherly manner.

On that note, everyone slid out from behind the table, donned their rain slickers and said a hasty goodnight to the captain before climbing the companionway ladder. Up on deck, cold wind and rain assaulted them. Their hunched forms shone eerily in the yellow light cast by the hurricane lanterns that swung from the rigging. They made their way along the rain-soaked deck and descended into the belly of the ship, heading for their cabins and warm sleeping bags.

At the foot of the ladder Brie stepped over and knocked on the cabin door directly across from hers. Alyssa’s voice came through the louvers. “Who is it?”

“It’s Brie. Just wanted to let you know that breakfast will be an hour later than usual. So you can sleep in.”

“Thanks, Brie; we’ll see you in the morning. Sleep tight.”

“Good night,” said Brie.

Inside her cabin, Brie wasted no time in her nightly routine. She drew off a basin of water from the wooden cask that sat up on a small shelf in the corner of the cabin. Grabbing her soap, she washed her face. Then, leaning over the bowl with cupped hands, she shivered as the cold water splashed the soap away. She held the soft hand towel against her skin for an extra moment, warming her face, then filled her small cup with water from the cask and brushed her teeth. The cold water felt better in her mouth than it had on her face, and she swished it around a few extra times before spitting into the wash basin. The basin would sit there until morning, when she’d go up on deck and throw its contents overboard.

Brie sat down on the berth, pulled her weather radio out of the duffel and switched it on. She was hoping to hear a report on the storm, but got only crackly static. Suddenly her vision blurred. Nausea dampened the back of her neck, and she felt the familiar grip of panic as she spun back to
that night
.

“All units—460 in progress, 3147 Upton Avenue North.”

Brie grabbed the receiver. “Unit 14 responding.” Her arm pressed hard against the door as Phil spun the car around and headed back the opposite direction.

“Code 2,” the dispatcher’s voice crackled, advising no lights, no siren.

“Ten-four.” Brie glanced over at Phil as she replaced the receiver. She knew he was eager to get home. His son was sick and his wife would be tired. “Sorry, Phil.”

“Hey, when it rains, it pours.”

They’d just left the scene of a homicide less than a mile away and had joked about making it home before the witching hour. It wasn’t likely to happen now.

The bronze Crown Victoria made its stealth approach, drawing silently up to the curb in front of a two-story duplex. The warm breeze that ushered them up to the gaping door carried a promise of spring. Guns drawn, they paused to make eye contact before slipping into the darkness beyond.

Just inside the door a rank smell of body sweat and stale cigarettes assaulted them. They stood for a moment, barely breathing, letting their eyes adjust to the dark. Phil motioned his gun toward the doorway on the opposite wall, signaling her to check it out, and turned his attention to the door on his left. Too late, she glimpsed movement. Deafening sound and searing pain struck her in the same instant. Then slow motion. Phil falling, screaming from somewhere, the floor rising toward her and darkness.

A flash of lightning filled the cabin. Brie looked around, disoriented, trembling. For a moment she thought she was back in the hospital. Her hands shook as she squatted down and dug into her duffel. She brought out her off-duty pistol—a Glock 9mm—and clip-on holster. Before the cruise, when she’d told the captain she was a police officer, she had asked his permission to bring the gun aboard. Having it with her, even on vacation, was one of the ways Brie tried to convince herself that she felt safe. In reality, she hadn’t felt safe for a long time.

She checked the clip and chamber and sat down on her berth. She turned the gun over in her hands, debating. Finally, she slipped it into the holster and placed it under her pillow. Still shaking, she crawled, fully clothed, into her sleeping bag and zipped it all the way up. The rain drummed steadily on the deck overhead. After a while its rhythm began to calm her. She thought back on the scene after dinner and, as she drifted toward a restless sleep, wondered how they were going to survive peacefully here until this gale blew out.

I
N THE MIDDLE OF THE NIGHT Brie jolted awake, shaken by a scream deep within her. The echo of it clung to her as she sat up. Sweat sheened her body, and the cold hand of death wrapped itself around her heart, squeezing. Her fingers went unconsciously to her side, to the spot where the bullet had entered. She drew in a deep breath of the cold salt air, trying to slow her racing heart. As she listened to the rain pummeling the deck, she heard footsteps overhead.

“Pete! What’s going on?” DuLac shouted.

Alyssa’s frightened voice shot through the darkness. “Up here.”

Brie jumped off her berth, realizing the scream was no invention of her unwelcome dreams. She clipped her gun onto her jeans and grabbed her raincoat off its peg as she headed out the door. She nearly collided with Rob as he rushed into the narrow passageway from the cabin opposite hers.

“That was Alyssa!” He bolted up the ladder with Brie right behind him. As they hurried toward the bow, lightning strobed, illuminating a grisly scene. Pete McAllister lay on the deck, arms and legs splayed, a marline spike protruding from his chest.

Alyssa Lindstrom was sobbing in the captain’s arms. Hiccups of emotion racked her as she forced out her story. “I couldn’t sleep… I came on deck to have a cigarette… and found him like this… I know we’re not allowed to smoke on board, Captain… I’m sorry.” Her confession sounded desperate, as if taking back that cigarette might somehow reverse the course of events.

Brie squatted down next to Pete to check for a pulse, but the coldness her fingers touched immediately told her there’d be none. In the next flash of lightning she found DuLac’s eyes.

“He’s dead,” she said, against the wind.

As Brie bent over Pete’s lifeless form, lightning split the sky, glinting coldly off the marline spike lodged in his chest. A syrupy stream of blood ran from the weapon down the side of his yellow raincoat to pool unseen beneath his body.

The screams that had awakened the captain, Brie and Rob soon brought Scott, George and Tim up on deck.

“Jesus Christ! What the hell happened here?” Scott’s voice jumped up a range.

“Is he… dead?” George forced out the last word.

Tim looked on in stunned silence.

Will and Howard Thackeray arrived last. “What’s going on?” Will demanded, pushing past everyone. The others pressed closer to the body.

“Pete’s dead.”

“Pete’s been murdered.”

“Murdered! Who says he was murdered?” George’s voice broke.

“What do you think, he committed suicide by stabbing himself in the chest? Get real, Dupopolis,” Will jeered. “And there’s a rope around his neck. Do you think he strangled himself and when it wasn’t working, he went for the marline spike?”

“Stuff a sock in it, Will,” Brie snapped. “And everybody step back, right now.”

“Why’s she giving the orders?” Rob scoffed.

DuLac began moving the group back from the body. “This isn’t the time or place for your antagonism, Rob,” he said. “It just so happens Brie is a homicide detective on leave from the Minneapolis Police Department. We’re extremely lucky to have her with us, and whatever she requests, you
will
do. Now, step back.”

Another buzz of surprise ran through the group as they craned their necks to see what Brie was doing. Although they’d been sailing together for four days, Brie had not mentioned her exact line of work to anyone but the captain, making it clear to him that she preferred not to share that fact with the others. When asked, she had simply said that she was employed by the city of Minneapolis in what she referred to as a public relations job.

She stood up now and came over to the passengers. “I know this is a shocking situation, but it’s 3:30 in the morning, and there’s not much we can do until daylight. It would be best if you all went back to your cabins and tried to get some sleep. The captain and I will be up here for awhile; I need to take some pictures and make notes on the crime scene before we can cover the body.”

“Crime scene!” George blurted out. “So, he was murdered.”

“I think that’s a safe assumption,” Brie said, studying George and wondering if this was an act. She knew the shock of seeing someone murdered did odd things to people, denial being just one form the oddness took. But she’d also dealt with murderers who could have won an Academy Award for their performances.

“We’ll talk to you at breakfast about what will be happening tomorrow,” she said. “I’m sorry, but that’s all I can tell you right now, except that I would like you all to lock your cabin doors.”

This last comment created a murmur.

“Great, not only are we not sailing, but now there’s a crazed maniac among us.” Will’s tone had shifted from snide to angry. “I think it’s time to call the Coast Guard and get us off of this floating nightmare, Captain.”

“I’m afraid that won’t be possible, Will. I’ll call them, but the Coast Guard will have their hands full with distress calls until the gale blows out.”

“And this isn’t distressing?” Will said, gesturing toward the body.