Rum and Razors (26 page)

“All right, Jacob,” Calid said. “Let’s go over this one more time.”

Jacob, wrapped in a heavy blanket provided by Calid and still in a mild case of shock from his ordeal, said, “I already told you what happened.”

“Tell me again,” Calid said. “Sometimes I’m a slow learner.”

“Okay,” said Jacob. “It was a plan, a scheme. When you arrested me for killing Marschalk, I knew I wouldn’t be convicted because I didn’t do it. I never killed nobody.”

“I already understand that part,” Calid said. “But what happened later? After you were arrested?”

“That’s when I got the note from Mr. Dobson.”

“Diamond Reefs general manager,” I said.

“Yeah. Right. Butch, the guard gave it to me.”

“This note.” Calid held up a wet piece of paper that Jacob had been carrying in his clothing.

“Yeah,” Jacob said. “That note.”

Calid had read the note to us:
“I can get you out of jail, and you’ll make lots of money.”

“So, what did you do?” Calid asked.

“I talked to Butch and said I’d be interested in finding out what Mr. Dobson meant. Butch arranged for me to use a telephone to call him.”

“Dobson.”

“Yeah, Dobson. He told me that if I would go along with having people think I died, I’d be set up in the States with fifty thousand dollars, and my family would be moved there.”

“And you decided to go along with it,” I said.

“Sure. Once I heard that Doc Silber wasn’t going to provide an alibi for me, I figured I probably would be convicted—even though I didn’t do it. So I agreed. Dobson sent me another note—I lost that one—and told me I’d be taken from the jail at night, hid someplace, and then taken to the States. Everybody would think I committed suicide.”

I reached across the short gap between us, placed my hand on Jacob’s shoulder, and said, “And that’s where you thought you were going today.”

“Yeah. I really trusted them.”

I looked at Calid. “You say this guard, Butch, is now in custody?”

Calid nodded. “You were here,” he said, “when I called over to the jail. He was on duty, but he’s in a cell now. The warden says he’s blabbering away about how all he did was deliver a note to Austin, and take him out of the jail that night.”

“He’s verifying what Jacob has been saying so far?”

“That’s right. Go on, Jacob,” Calid said. “What happened next?”

The young man shrugged. “They put me in a basement room over at Diamond Reef. Like a storage room. They put a bed in there and brought me food. I was supposed to stay there until today when I was going to the States.”

“Did your wife, Vera, know any of this?” I asked.

He shook his head.

“She knew about the fifty thousand dollars,” I said.

“She did?”

“I visited Vera at your house this morning. You have a lovely family, Jacob. Vera said Mrs. Marschalk had called her about a life insurance policy Mr. Marschalk had bought for you.”

“There was no life insurance,” he said angrily.

“I know,” I said. “Walter Marschalk had told me the first day I was on St. Thomas that he wasn’t about to provide such benefits to his employees. I’d forgotten that when Vera told me about the money. But then I remembered it later this afternoon. I saw your face for a fleeting instant through the window of the boat you were on. That’s when I realized there was a grander scheme at foot.”

“And good thing you did,” Seth chimed in. “If you hadn’t, Mr. Austin here would be a very dead young man.”

“I know it must be painful to have to tell it again,” I said, “but what happened on the boat this afternoon?”

“They threw me overboard.”

“They?” Calid asked.

“Mr. Dobson and that Fred guy.”

“Fred Capehart?” I said.

“Yeah. Both of them. Capehart was the one who showed me the razor.”

We sat up a little straighter. He hadn’t mentioned any razor the first time around.

“What razor?” Calid asked.

“Mine. The one I bought as a present for my grandfather.”

“Fred Capehart had it?” I said incredulously.

“That’s what convinced me to go through with the plan. Once I was in that basement room at Diamond Reef, I decided not to do it. I didn’t want people to think I’d killed myself, or that I was a murderer. So I told Dobson I wouldn’t. That’s when Capehart arrived. He had the razor and said my fingerprints, and Marschalk’s blood were on it. If I don’t go along, he’d turn it over to the police.”

Calid and I looked at each other.

“Looks like you’ve got your murderer,” Seth said to the detective.

I asked Jacob, “Did Fred Capehart indicate he was the one who’d killed Walter Marschalk?”

“He was the one,” Jacob said coldly.

“How do you know?” Calid asked.

“I heard him tell that girl, Jennifer. They argued a lot. She was real mad that he killed Marschalk. I thought he was going to kill her on the boat today, he was so mad.”

“I certainly hope not,” I said. “What about the others? Mr. Webb, the Marschalks’ partner, Senator Jensen, Mrs. Marschalk?”

Jacob shrugged. “I heard them talking together once about some deal. I didn’t understand any of it.”

“Did any of them know that Fred Capehart had murdered Walter Marschalk?” I asked.

Another shrug.

Seth asked, “Any idea where they went on that boat after they tossed you over to the sharks?”

“No. Oh, wait a minute. They had a map out in the cabin. Somebody had drawn lines on it.”

“Lines to where?” I asked.

“Puerto Rico, I think.”

“That’s about it,” Calid said. “You’ll have to give an official statement to a stenographer,” he told Jacob.

“Not again,” Jacob said. “I’d like to see my wife and kids.”

“You’ll see them soon enough,” Calid said. “Wait here.”

The detective walked us to the lobby. “I suppose I owe you an apology,” he said.

“An apology for what?” I asked.

“For not listening to you more closely. Because of you and your friend here, we don’t have another murder on our hands today.”

“But we
do
have a few unanswered questions,” I said.

“We’ll get Capehart. I’ll send an all-points to Puerto Rico and the States as soon as you leave. With this storm, they may not make it anyway.”

“At least Jennifer Fletcher might not make it,” I said. “Detective, do you have any idea why a group of such distinguished people—a former senator, a businessman like Webb, and my good friend, Laurie Marschalk, would have gone along with this? No, I take that back. They evidently were in on the planning from the beginning. Why?”

“That’s a question I intend to ask when I interrogate them, Mrs. Fletcher. In the meantime, I suggest you just forget about the whole affair, relax, read—or write a book—and leave the rest to me.”

“An excellent suggestion,” said Seth, shaking Calid’s hand.

“A pleasure meeting you, Doctor,” he said.

“Likewise. Comin’, Jessica?”

“Yes. Good-bye Detective Calid. And thank you for everything you’ve done.”

“Give a call before you head home,” he said.

“I’ll do that,” I said.

A taxi dropped us in front of my villa at Lover’s Lagoon Inn. “Hungry?” Seth asked.

“No. You?”

“Famished.”

“Then why don’t you go next door and have something to eat. Don’t overdo it,” I added. “We’ll have dinner together tonight.”

“At Diamond Reef?”

“Any place but.” I fished my St. Thomas guidebook from my bag and handed it to him. “Pick a good restaurant, and make a reservation for seven. Okay?”

“Ayah. I’ll do that. What are you about to do?”

“Relax, think a little. And there’s someone I really need to talk to.”

L
aurie Marschalk was in the inn’s kitchen when I sought her out. I quietly stood in the doorway and watched as she carefully cut thin strips of meat with a large carving knife, tossing them in with other ingredients already in a large, round stainless-steel bowl. So engrossed was she in her task that she was oblivious to my presence.

“Laurie,” I said.

She stopped cutting but didn’t turn, just stood like a statue, the knife’s motion frozen in midair.

I stepped into the kitchen. “Whipping up something special?” I asked.

She allowed the knife to fall onto the table, faced me, wiped her hands on her Lover’s Lagoon Inn apron, and said, “I thought you were going home.”

“Oh, I am. Perhaps tomorrow. But before I do, there’s something we should talk about.”

“No there isn’t.”

“I saw you at the dock at Pettyklip Point today,” I said.

My statement impacted her. Her eyes opened wider, and her mouth became a severe slash across her pretty face.

“I saw you there with Mr. Webb, Senator Jensen, and Mark Dobson from Diamond Reef.”

“So what? I can’t believe this, Jess. What are you, hell-bent on destroying me? I’ve lost my husband to a crazed murderer. Isn’t that enough?” I started to answer but she raised her voice and demanded, “What is it you want from me?”

“The truth.”

“The truth about what?”

“About Walter’s murder. You knew all along it was Fred Capehart who’d killed him.”

Her forced laugh was ineffective.

“You know, Laurie. Why you didn’t turn him in is one thing. But more important is why you allowed that innocent young man, Jacob Austin, to be accused and jailed for a murder he didn’t commit?”

She said nothing.

“Did you know that Capehart and Mark Dobson intended to kill Jacob this afternoon, discard him into the sea?”

“No, I didn’t,” she said in almost a whisper. “Is he—?”

“Dead? No. Seth and I rescued him.”

It was as if someone had suddenly pulled a plug from an air-filled pool float. All the air came out of her, and she sagged against the stainless-steel table.

I stepped closer, said, “No matter what you’ve done, Laurie, no matter what trouble it might bring, I am your friend. I didn’t set out to make such accusations. I came to St. Thomas because dear friends had invited me. I came here to rest, laugh, share good moments with those friends. But life happens, as someone once said, while you’re making other plans.”

“It isn’t like it seems, Jess.”

“I’m sure it isn’t,” I said. “I know you had nothing to do with Walter’s murder, or with the plans to throw Jacob Austin off the boat today. But why did Fred Capehart kill Walter? Because of the money owed him for having ghostwritten his books?”

“He didn’t intend to—” She stiffened. “I don’t have to explain anything to you, Jess. It happened. It’s over. Life goes on. Life
must
go on.”

“And life must not be taken. At least not by us here on earth.”

A door at the other end of the kitchen opened, and Chris Webb and Bobby Jensen came through it. “Laurie, we just heard that—” They saw me and stopped.

“Jess is just leaving,” Laurie said.

I faced the men. “What did you hear?” I asked. “That Jacob Austin didn’t die at sea?”

“What have you been telling her, Laurie?” Jensen asked in more of a snarl than a voice.

“Nothing.”

“The boat went down,” Webb said.

“The boat? Went down?” Laurie said.

“No survivors. The Coast Guard just reported it.”

“The boat with Jennifer on it?” I asked.

“And Fred—and Mark.” Laurie reached behind her and picked up the carving knife she’d been using when I arrived. I involuntarily stiffened as she held it out in front of her, the blade pointed at me. Then, holding it in both hands, she raised it above her head. I didn’t know whether she intended to lunge at me, or to drive the knife into her own chest. No one said anything. We were transfixed, three people waiting to see what would happen next.

“I’m so sorry, Jess,” she said. Her body began to convulse as the sobbing commenced. The knife fell noisily to the tile floor as Laurie Marschalk, my friend for so many years, slowly sunk to her knees where she remained, body heaving, primordial sounds coming from her lips.

I knelt down and wrapped my arms around her. Webb and Jensen stood over us. “She’ll be all right,” I said. “Why don’t you just leave us alone.”

“
H
ope you like this place, Jessica,” Seth said after we’d been seated at Fiddle Leaf, a striking restaurant decorated in the colors of sea and sky, and situated on a canopied pavilion overlooking Charlotte Amalie.

The norte had passed, leaving behind a starstudded black heaven that created its own sparkling canopy.

“It’s lovely,” I said.

“I would have opted for a good steak house, but didn’t find one to my likin’ in the book.”

“Just as well,” I said. “You eat too much red meat as it is.”

“Nonsense. One ’a these days they’ll be sellin’ —”

“Cholesterol pills,” we said in unison.

I’d told Seth little of the hour I’d spent with Laurie Marschalk after Webb and Jensen had left. We’d sat in the living room of her home within Lover’s Lagoon Inn, drank tea—and talked.

“So, what’d she have to say for herself?” Seth asked as our Caesar salads were served. According to the guidebook, the Fiddle Leaf was known for its Caesar salads.

“A lot,” I replied, breaking off a piece of crunchy French bread. “She’s devastated by what’s happened. And she knows she’s facing legal trouble.”

“For what?”

“For withholding evidence, for one thing. For conspiracy, for another. Obstruction of justice. At least murder won’t be one of the charges. She had no idea about the plan to throw Jacob overboard. She’d been told exactly what Jacob had been told—that he was to be moved to the States, given money, and that his family would join him.”

“Sounds like she got herself caught up with a den ’a thieves,” he said, tasting his salad. “Real good,” he proclaimed.