Ransom at Sea (29 page)

Ransom raised an eyebrow at his elderly partner, and she responded with a cautionary glance.

“I didn't!” Claudia exclaimed, looking up at her. “But I've been so afraid!”

“Afraid because you saw something?”

Claudia looked down at the floor and shook her head.

“Because you thought someone might've seen you?”

There was a long pause before Claudia responded. She pulled herself together somewhat, raised her head and wiped the tears away. “Does anyone have a tissue?”

Emily reached into her pocket and withdrew a small pack of tissues, which she handed to her.

Claudia took them without a thank-you, dabbed at her eyes and then blew her nose. She seemed to regain some of her old manner. “Excuse me. I realize I've been idiotic. I thought—” She broke off and turned to Ransom. “There really isn't anything about my coming back. I didn't say anything because I was … frightened to. That was foolish, I know. And … and cowardly. But in my whole life I've never been mixed up in anything like this. Can you understand that?”

She said this last part with an earnestness that surprised her audience.

“I suppose I can,” said Emily. “In the past few years I've become rather inured to murder.”

Claudia gave her a curious glance, then turned back to Ransom. “As I told you, I wanted to be on my own. Away from anyone on the tour. I picked up one of the brochures and then started out … and then … then I realized I'd forgotten my glasses, and I went back to get them.”

Emily said gently, “Claudia, I seem to remember you wearing those large sunglasses of yours.”

The sudden, unmistakable tinge of fear returned to the other woman's eyes, then slacked after a moment. “Those weren't prescription. I needed my regular glasses if … if I was going to read anything.”

“I see,” said Ransom. “When you came back, you didn't run into anyone? A member of the crew?”

She shook her head sadly. “No, but I heard them cleaning the cabins, so I … I just got my glasses and left.”

“After getting your glasses.”

“Yes … of course.”

“And how long were you onboard?”

“Just a … not more than a couple of minutes.”

*   *   *

“That was a very unsatisfying interview,” Ransom said quietly once he and Emily had gone back to Emily's cabin. He was seated on the chair that matched the one in Claudia's room, and Emily was seated on the edge of the bed.

“It is very perplexing. I suppose its possible that she simply came back for her glasses, but…” She shook her head slowly. “There is clearly something wrong. I can't get past the idea that her distress exceeds what one would expect, even under these circumstances. If it was a very sensitive person, or someone who was very timid, I could understand it, but Claudia is neither of those things. She is quite strong. It seems most out of character for her to fall apart because of the death of someone she hardly knew, even if it did happen nearby, or that she would be that upset at the idea of having been seen coming back to the boat.”

“Yes,” said Ransom. “Her choice of words was very interesting. I mean, when she said ‘I've never been mixed up in something like this.'”

“Yes … it's as if her reserve is cracking, and bits of truth were seeping out. It isn't surprising given that she hasn't been sleeping.”

“Hmm. And when you offered the possibility that she was afraid that someone might've seen her return to the boat—”

Emily was nodding. “She snatched at it … or at least, she seemed relieved.…” Her thin brows knit together. “That's the word for it. Relieved. The puzzling thing is that she seemed more relieved to explain her fear than she was to explain her return to the boat.”

Ransom sighed. “But I'm damned if I know what that woman could have to do with the murder!”

*   *   *

Ransom had left the boat long before Lynn returned, dropped off by one of the deputies at the request of Sheriff Barnes, who himself had gone home after showing Ransom the photos. Lynn's footsteps rang hollow on the wooden path alongside the general store. She rounded the corner onto the dock and came to a stop, struck by the grim picturesqueness of the scene. The
Genessee
was moored in place, its patriotic stripes blackened in the darkness. A dim light in the wheelhouse revealed the captain and his wife sitting side by side, her head resting against his shoulder. Diffused light from the portholes on the starboard bow of the red deck indicated that someone might be in the bar, and on the blue deck light shone from only one porthole.

The
Genessee
was set against an inky blue overcast night sky with a thin streak of magenta that formed a false horizon. To Lynn the scene looked like a romanticized painting of a harbor in decay. She shook her head and made her way down the dock.

The weariness didn't hit her until she set foot on the gangplank. As she ascended, she felt as if the skin was sagging from her body, pulled by an irresistibly strengthened force of gravity. She would, she thought, be very glad to get to bed.

But before going to her cabin she went to Marcella Hemsley's. She switched on the overhead light and the room sprang into relief. Lynn gave an involuntary shudder. Viewing the room from the doorway brought vividly back to her the sight of the elderly woman sprawled hideously across the bed, as she was when she and Emily had found her. The bed now empty, the memory somehow seemed unreal, as if it was something she'd imagined or dreamed.

I must be losing my mind,
she thought.
It didn't bother me at all to be in here alone this afternoon.

She marshaled herself and went into the room. Getting down on her hands and knees, she lowered her face near the floor and peered under the bed, but there was nothing there.

“What are you doing?” asked a voice out of the blue.

“Jesus!” Lynn exclaimed, instantly righting herself.

David Douglas was standing in the doorway, his hands resting on either side of it. “Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you.”

“It's all right,” she replied, her manner becoming rigid when she saw who it was. “I didn't realize until you spoke how quiet it was.”

“Yeah.” There was a hint of a smile. Lynn suspected he was pleased that he'd startled her. “Um … what are you doing?”

“I was asked to pack up Rebecca's things, and her aunt's,” she said.

“Yeah, I heard. You already did that, didn't you?”

“Yes, I did,” she said as she started to get up from the floor. Perhaps it was a reaction to his overt curiosity, but somehow she didn't like the idea of giving him specific information.

Douglas came into the room and placed a firm hand on her elbow to help her up. She jerked it free and rose with no effort.

“So if you already did it, what are you doing here now?”

“Being thorough,” she replied with a hard smile. “I just wanted to double-check and make sure I got everything.”

“Oh. Do you want some help?”

“Thank you, no.”

He shrugged easily. “Okey-doke.”

Douglas went away, then Lynn closed the door. She turned around and looked at the room, absently running the fingers of her right hand through her hair. Her hand came to rest on the nape of her neck, which she rubbed for a moment. Then with a sigh, she went to work searching the room. It didn't take long to cover the small confines of the cabin, and Lynn was left even more puzzled when she found nothing. She sat down on the bed and pondered where an addled elderly woman might hide a parcel, and after a while decided that the prospects might not be limited to her own room. Someone on the outskirts of Alzheimer's disease might very well have taken it into her head to hide it in the boat's pantry, or a storage cupboard somewhere, or under someone else's bed.

Lynn sighed again, got up, and crossed to the door. She switched off the light and went to her own cabin. She didn't undress but rather lay on the bed, her hands cupped behind her head, staring up at the faint rippling circle on the ceiling, reflecting off the water though the porthole.

Something about the package was nagging at her mind—not the fact that she couldn't find it but something else: only she couldn't remember what it was.

9

Ransom was just about to leave his motel room the next morning when a call came on his cell phone from his partner, Gerald White. After the customary greetings, Ransom said, “Did you get anything?”

“None of the names you gave me has a record attached to it,” he said, “except for David Douglas.”

“You surprise me.”

“For possession. Two years ago. It was a first offense. He got probation.”

“I see. Nothing else?”

“Nope—”

“Good. I want you to do one other thing for me. Stuart Holmes was a lawyer. I want you to find out exactly what kind of law he practiced, if you can.”

“Sure thing. Uh, Jer, I may have a complication for you.”

“What?”

“I had to tell Newman what I was doing—”

Ransom raised his right eyebrow. “Am I in danger of being called up in front of the principal?”

Unseen by his partner, Gerald smirked into the receiver at area headquarters in Chicago. “No. I told him about it because a case came in very early this morning that may be connected.”

“To this?” Ransom said with genuine surprise.

“Yeah. A murder. Jackson and Franklin are on it, and told me a little about it when I checked in this morning. It's a young man, about twenty-five, shot twice in the head after being beaten up. The thing is, according to his driver's license, the kid's last name was the same as someone on your list. Turns out, apparently it's his next of kin.”

“Yes?”

“His grandmother is Claudia Trenton.”

“Aha,” Ransom said slowly.

“His name is Johnny Trenton.”

“Can you get me a picture?”

“I can when they get up here. We need her to identify him. Does your friend the sheriff have a fax machine?”

Ransom smiled. “This is only a geographical backwater, Gerald. They do have the proper equipment. I'm supposed to meet him soon over at the boat. I'll give you his number. Call him and get the fax number, and send the photo as soon as you can.”

He gave Gerald the number, then hung up and stuck the phone back in his pocket. It was, he thought, an interesting new wrinkle, and for the sake of his own investigation he hoped it would not turn out to be another simple coincidence.

*   *   *

Emily was just finishing doing up the tiny light blue buttons of her favorite navy dress when she heard a tapping at her door.

“Emily? Are you up?” Lynn's voice asked quietly.

“Yes, dear, come in.”

The door opened and the young woman entered, closing it behind her. Her face was noticeably drawn, and her tawny hair wasn't quite brushed properly.

“Lynn!” Emily exclaimed, “What's the matter?”

“I haven't slept. I couldn't get to sleep. I was trying to remember something, but I couldn't. I didn't fall asleep until about four o'clock this morning, and then when I woke up, suddenly there it was.”

She explained herself to Emily, whose expression grew very grave. When she'd finished, Emily said, “This may be very significant … but then again, it may not. The events of that night may appear exactly as they seem, and as you say, with Marcella's mind deteriorating, she may have hidden the package anywhere at all. I have known others with Alzheimer's disease, and they are capable of the most extraordinary things. But I think we'd do well to tell Jeremy about this right away.”

“I'll phone him from the general store.”

When the two ladies left the blue deck they found the rest of the passengers assembling for breakfast. At the bottom of the steps leading up to the top deck, Lynn happened to glance down the dock.

“Wait! There he is,” she said to Emily, who was just about to enter the dining room.

The old woman came over to the railing and looked. Ransom was nearing the gangplank, accompanied by Sheriff Barnes.

“I'll go up with you,” Emily said.

Ransom had arrived in the parking lot at the same time as the sheriff. Unfortunately, Barnes had left the station before receiving Gerald's call about the fax. When he heard the news of the death in Chicago, he radioed back to the station to make sure one of his deputies would be watching for the photo.

“It might not have anything to do with what's going on here, you know,” Barnes said to Ransom. “People get killed in Chicago all the time, so I'm told.”

The detective smiled. “Yes, I know. But if it's a coincidence, it's a very poorly timed one.”

“I was planning to tell the captain they could leave this morning,” Barnes said as they walked out onto the dock, “but it looks like they may be here a while longer. Should we tell your friends, Miss Charters and Miss Francis?”

“Not yet,” said Ransom. “We should wait until we are absolutely sure we have a positive ID.”

Emily and Lynn reached the top deck just slightly ahead of the two representatives of the law. They came together by the railing halfway across the deck.

“I've discovered something,” said Lynn. “I mean … I think…”

“It's something that may be important.” said Emily. “Something is missing.”

“What?” asked Barnes

“It's a small package,” Lynn explained. “Well, smallish, I think.”

“You think?”

“I've never seen it.”

“As you know,” said Emily, “Rebecca asked Lynn to pack up their things, which you kindly allowed.”

“Uh-huh?”

“And I did,” said Lynn. “But there was one thing missing: a package. From what Rebecca told me, it's a little smaller than a shoe box, wrapped in brown paper—soiled brown paper—and tied with twine. It's missing.”