The Beastly Island Murder. Carol W. Hazelwood
“I have a short wave radio, and of course, a cell phone. The coverage is good.” Jennifer felt a breeze wash over her face. “The fog’s lifting just like the weatherman reported this morning.”
“Touché.” He leaned against the rail next to her. “Guess I sounded a little condescending.”
“A tad.”
He shook his head and grinned. You don’t give an inch do you?” He held up his hand. “Don’t answer that. You’re up on the weather conditions. Fog’s lifting sooner than I thought. Guess I’ll head out to sea after I’ve had a hearty lunch.” He nudged her arm. “Come on. You have to accept my invitation.”
“Thanks, but no.”
“High living doesn’t entice you, does it? I admit this island is lovely, but I don’t think I’d like to live here for long. Too primitive. I had enough of that growing up.”
“Tough childhood?”
“Let’s just say my dad believed in roughing up his son while my mom stood by and watched.” His voice grew gruff. “She wasn’t much of a woman.”
“I’m sorry.”
He shrugged. “I left that behind long ago and eventually got a taste of the good life. I enjoy the bright lights and the atmosphere of the big city.”
“But you live on your boat, hardly a palace, even though it’s trim.”
He finished off his lemonade. “I’ve got a condo, but with my sloop I can visit any port and find almost any lifestyle.”
“Like the name of your boat, The High Life.”
“Exactly!” He placed his glass on the porch rail and studied her. “I’ve never met a woman with your sense of duty to a piece of land. Most of the women I’ve met want money, malls, and a mansion.”
“I have a manor.” She laughed, then added, “I enjoy nice things and good food, but my island is more precious to me. I could sell it, but what would I have then? This island is my treasure. It’s a no-brainer for me.”
“It’s good to like what you have, but I figure there’s always more excitement at the next port. Life’s too short to be dull and stuck in a rut.”
His lifestyle reminded her of Carla’s view of the world. Carla had partied hard and lived fast. Is that why she came to such a terrible end?
He held out his hand. “Nice to meet you, Jennifer Frost. Perhaps we’ll meet again, maybe in Brandon or another port.”
She shook his hand and was surprised when he held hers longer than was warranted. His palm was smooth, his fingernails well-manicured, not like a sailor’s at all. He released her hand, reached down to give Lydia a pat, then went down the stairs and through the gate, whistling. The cowbell’s bass voice echoed through the forest.
His departure was as abrupt as his arrival. She had an odd sense of foreboding. She watched as he rowed back to his sloop, then sat in the rocker and waited. After an hour, he weighed anchor. As he departed the cove, he turned and waved. He must have known she was watching, and this made her feel small and embarrassed. He’d been pleasant and helpful. Yet…why had he come to the island? She’d learned very little about him.
Some might believe his arrival on the island was happenstance. Jennifer wasn’t so sure.
Chapter 4
When the day arrived to leave the island, Clarence, an old salt who ran a ferry and fishing guide service, picked up Jennifer in his sturdy trawler, the Bertie Blue. As usual he dropped anchor beyond the buoy marker. Although his hull had a shallow draft, he didn’t take chances. Sudden wind storms at low tide had grounded many boats around Beastly.
Clarence’s gray-whiskered face was always a welcome sight. He was a bear of a man, with a belly that protruded over his belt. His wife, Bertie, a jolly woman and a long time friend of Jennifer’s family, was as wide and as tall as Clarence. It had been Clarence and Bertie who had convinced Jennifer’s grandmother that, despite the breed’s size, a Newfoundland would suit a sea kayaker.
“How’s the cabin?” Clarence asked after she and Lydia were on board with her kayak, duffle bag, and other gear.
“I think I need a new roof on the water tower, maybe the cabin too,” Jennifer said. “Know anyone?”
“I’ll ask around.” He chucked Lydia under the chin. “She looks like she had a good time.”
“Are you referring to her tangled fur?”
“Yep.” He grinned, then motioned to the open water beyond the cove. “Ocean’s stirred up. Coming over was rough and it’s getting worse. Going to make for a nasty crossing back to the mainland. I’ll winch up the anchor while you secure your kayak,” he said over his shoulder as he walked to the bow.
Lydia stayed out on deck sniffing the sea air, while Jennifer joined Clarence inside the wheelhouse and stood next to him, swaying with the trawler’s motion as it cut through the cold sea. “I had a visitor. A guy named Rick Carlson. Do you know him?”
Clarence scratched the bristle on his cheek. “Nope.”
“He owns a 36 foot Morris sloop called The High Life.”
“There was an old Morris docked up in Grotto Place a long while back. Wood, old, a real relic.”
She shook her head. “This one was pristine, totally refurbished.”
“The one I’m talking about would have cost a pretty penny to overhaul. I think it was sold for salvage.” He motioned to a tin on a shelf behind him. “Help yourself to some of Bertie’s chocolate chip cookies.”
“Thanks.” Jennifer pried open the lid and handed a cookie to Clarence before taking one herself. They munched as they watched the spray wash over the prow of the boat.
After a while, Clarence said, “Now tell me how you’re really doing. I’ve been thinking of you out on the island all alone.”
“I wasn’t alone; I had Lydia and the unannounced visitor.”
“Damn it, Jennifer. You know what I mean. Bertie and I have been getting calls all week from your mom and dad. Said you weren’t answering your cell phone.”
“Sorry they pestered you. I go to the island for peace, not to keep in touch.”
“They blame me for taking you out there.”
“They want me to sell the island and I’m not going to.”
He nodded. “I know that.” He kept his eyes on his course. “You never talk about Alex. He wasn’t a bad sort. Where is he?”
“He got married about a year ago.”
“Oh. I guess the gossip was too much for him.”
“I don’t blame him. He said the suspicion thrown on him would ruin our relationship.” She shrugged. “He was right.”
“Well, he sure passed up the best gal around here. That’s for sure.”
“You’re prejudiced because you’ve known me forever.”
“True.” The boat shuddered as a big wave hit, forcing him to spin the helm to take on the next one. “You used to be a lot more chipper. Have you thought of being an outdoor guide again? Seems that made you happy.”
She shrugged. “It did, but they fired me. Didn’t want the kind of publicity an accused murderer would bring.”
He shook his head. “Daft to let you go.” He turned the wheel. “What about selling the bookstore, go back to Seattle and take up with your friends there?”
“The store’s important to the town, to Emma Mae and to me.”
“Emma says you