Flying Purple People Seater

By R.J. Minnick

It’s no big deal for Dorsey Wegman to agree to fetch one of Mackenzie Wilder’s new boats. She takes on lots of small jobs for her friends, especially if they can pay well like the Doc. But this one has gone loopy. The boat that was supposed to be ready for the water, isn’t. The boatwright that was supposed to work on the boat is missing. And ... “...Doc? There’s a dead woman on board your boat. The police have impounded it, and I can’t leave until they have a handle on what’s going on. They’ll be calling you in about a half hour, they said. Doc, what should I do?” Mackenzie hotfoots it to New York’s North Country and finds herself and Dorsey required to stay and help investigate. Mackenzie’s professionalism soon outweighs the aggravation to local law enforcement as they work together to learn who would bother to kill the lady minister of a tiny church on one of the Thousand Islands. In fact, her skills and attitude reap an instant mutual attraction with sharp, charismatic CGIS Agent Aidan Ghee. And now Mackenzie has three problems. Who killed the woman aboard her boat? What does the Governor asking her to stay and figure this out have to do with the subsequent bodies that turn up – or with Lt. Bryan Jamison’s sudden lack of communication? And is she ready to commit herself for life to Bryan ?

• Language: English
• Publisher: R.J. Minnick
• Release date: Apr 3, 2019
• ISBN: 9780463365410

R.J. Minnick

R.J. MINNICK has spent a lifetime working at various jobs (she even sold Fuller Brush!) and another lifetime raising six terrific offspring with her husband. During both those lifetimes she kept writing - poetry, reviews, short stories, nonfiction, mysteries, mainstream novels, and Christmas epics. She has credentials in national and local magazines and community news publications.Where the Bodies Lie Buried is her first mystery, and the first in her Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery series.She grew up the youngest of five girls in upstate New York, then lived in Maryland and Vermont before settling in Nashville, Tennessee where her family spent 24 years before moving to North Carolina. With her children now adults, she has moved from being a full-time mom to being the family's on-call consulting guru. She is also a part-time Parish Administrator and occasional web designer.For 16 of the years they lived in Nashville, RJ coached writing in their children’s schools. She now continues working with people who love to write by being part of a writer's group and by helping with local writing workshops.She writes for a local magazine, ARRAY, but her fiction work is currently focused on novels.R.J. Minnick lives in Fayetteville, North Carolina with her husband, two dogs, five cats and - from time to time - a child or two.

Book preview

Flying Purple People Seater

by

R. J. Minnick

a Mackenzie Wilder/Classic Boat mystery

copyright 2018 R.J. Minnick

Wingspan Dreamweaver Books

Smashwords Edition

Smashwords Edition, License Notes

This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you're reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please return to your favorite book retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

TABLE OF CONTENTS

about this book

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

about the series

acknowledgements

about the author

about this book

Flying Purple People Seater is a work of fiction. Any resemblance to real people or incidents, other than historical, is purely coincidental. Kings Hill is a geographic and topographic counterpart to an actual town, but not identical to the original. Any perceived similarities or dissimilarities is the result of the author’s active imagination. Bateauville is a complete fiction.

References to real places have been made with an attempt at respect due the places and their real-life inhabitants. Characters throughout the book, even those with historical reference, are fictional.

~~~

Pop and me was never ones for religion. We went to Mass sometimes when Al insisted all the boys show up. But all that Hell and Purgatory stuff? I never believed in that. Irony? Now that I believe in.

~~~

Chapter 1

"It hurt when I woke up. It hurt all over. I gotta stop samplin’ the goods. Some of these guys don’t know how to mix up a birthday cake, let alone a batch of rum."

"Blast! That is going to be sore!" I rubbed my ankle where it had twisted. I was looking at a broken heel, too. The one day I wear dress shoes instead of running shoes! I hate when that happens!

No time to go back. I had spare shoes at the office. I limped down the rest of the metal stairs to where the River Road ran between my hillside house and my office.

The sign over the door of the low riverside building read ‘Dr. Mackenzie Wilder, Family Medicine’. I pushed open the door, reluctantly leaving the burgeoning spring day for the dim brown interior of my waiting room. We still hadn’t gotten it painted.

My receptionist looked up from her phone call, her newly trimmed hair shiny and bouncy with its product-induced halo. She narrowed her eyes at my limp.

Doc, what did you do?

I sat down on the nearest waiting room couch to rub at my ankle. I’d have to get an Ace bandage for it at this rate.

I twisted my ankle coming down the stairs. I hate when I do things like that.

Well, you’re going to hate this, too, said Andrea, eyeing the broken shoe in my hands as she hung up the phone. That was Sara Townsend, cancelling her appointment for today.

Again? What is going on with that woman?

She wants you to make a house call.

I wrinkled my nose. I did make occasional calls to my patients when they couldn’t make it in to my office. Lately, however, Sara had been asking me more and more to come to her. It was starting to sound like a problem.

The kind of problem I was the worst at. People quietly and matter-of-factly taking advantage of me. I never believed in making artificial roadblocks, and I did believe that being a physician was a calling. I was here to serve. Way too many doctors had given up on house calls. Personally, I felt the rewards were far greater than the inconvenience. But Sara, with her gripes about driving and her busy schedule and her poor eyesight, was pushing me past my limit. I’d have to figure a way out of trekking out there at her every whim.

I stood gingerly; the pain had eased. It should go away, provided I didn’t twist it all over again. Still in my stocking feet, I hobbled past Andrea’s doubtful gaze to check my office calendar.

I ran an informal office. We always took walk-ins. Especially on days like today when, with Sara’s cancellation, I had an extra hour to spare. Not all my patients had that much time set aside for them, but Sara’s problems were many and her sense of brevity non-existent.

Goodness, do I really think her that terrible?

Reaching for my calendar, I smiled. I had two more appointments set for the morning, and six physicals for the afternoon - all members of Kings Hill’s very healthy swim team. Then I’d be off to the first outdoor concert of the year in Kings Island’s new park. Bryan and I were joining our friends Jason and Tory Fields at the concert shell the band was christening. Bryan’s daughter Rachel would be coming with us, and that made things just about perfect.

Bryan and I had come a long way since I moved back to Kings Hill last year; from a rekindled friendship to a steady relationship by way of a couple murders. We’d hit a new height when he proposed to me at Hallowe’en.

Today was June fifth.

I still hadn’t given him an answer.

That didn’t stop us from dating as he tried to prove to me that a permanent commitment was a good idea. I smiled again. I should say, as he and Rachel tried to convince me. At any rate, tonight, the five of us were packing a picnic dinner, firing up the Emma D, and heading upriver for the concert. Which should be enough to make anyone smile, I thought.

I picked up the files Andrea had left on my desk and began my day.

With only five minutes to go before my first appointment, my phone rang.

Don’t get mad at me, Bryan said as soon as I picked up. But you’re not going to like this.

So far I’m not liking anything about this morning, I grumbled.

I have to ditch our date tonight.

Work?

Yep.

I sighed. I don’t suppose there’s any way you can get out of it.

Not unless you want to explain to my superiors that the opening of our new concert shell trumps a triple drowning with serious mob overtones. I’ve a feeling Freddie would take issue with that.

I thought your captain liked me.

He does. He likes jailed murderers better, that’s all. Especially the professionals. I’m sorry, Mackenzie. You know I’m taking every opportunity I can to show you how great our life can be together.

Not working too well for you this week, is it? I teased. It will be okay, Bryan. I’ll have stuff to keep me busy at home tonight. Should we stick to our plan and have Rachel spend the night at my house?

Rachel. Well, Rachel went and made plans of her own, which I only heard about yesterday. She’ll be at Shelby’s doing something called DDR. I was going to drop her off after the concert, but now she’ll just go home with Shelby after school today. So, if it’s okay with you, I’ll come over after I get done at work.

I don’t think so. I said slowly. I have to make arrangements for the boathouse expansion. Bret’s coming by tomorrow to give me an estimate.

Can’t I still come over? Bryan wheedled.

Bret wants to stop by before seven on his way out of town in the morning. He’s going to be away for a week, and we need to order the materials so that he can start as soon as he gets back.

Mackenzie, you never stop. If it’s not your boats, it’s your job, if it’s not that, it’s your renovating, and if it’s not that, it’s your murders. We need some time together.

Hey, you’re the one who can’t make it tonight.

Like I said, I have work.

Well, I have work, all kinds of work to do. I don’t think throwing that in my face is fair. My own voice was rising. Did he really think his job was more important than mine? Or was it because he was a guy and therefore his job was de facto more important?

This isn’t getting us anywhere, he muttered. I have to go.

I knew that was true. His work was important, and it could not be regulated or denied. I might be annoyed, but I knew it.

That’s what you get for dating a cop, said the little voice in my head.

This was a lousy way to finish a week. Three strikes already. Based on the Order of Three, though, we should be done with it.

Doc, your first appointment is here.

At least now my day was getting going. I pulled out a folder and greeted my patient at my office door.

I was on the phone again after my lunch.

Doc, I’m really hating this, my housekeeper Jean began.

Well, at least this time it’s you and not me.

What are you talking about?

Bad day here at Black Rock. What’s happened, Jean? I’ve got six patients due in ten minutes.

You know that young guy you hired to take care of the horses? I think he’s getting in the house and using the kitchen. Some food’s missing, and I found the stove on.

Oh. Well, I don’t like that about the stove. Did he leave a mess?

Not really, although none of that crew understands wiping off a counter properly. Jean had high, high standards of clean. I was pretty sure I didn’t measure up to them. "And as generous as you are, you do not need to be feeding an entire construction crew out there. You pay them well enough to buy themselves a lunch."

You’re sure you’re not over-reacting?

I know what I saw, she answered. Gloom reached through the phone at me.

I’ll talk to Bret. He’ll speak to the crew.

Mhmm.

I sighed and hung up. Before the noisy swim team - who, I discovered, had been practicing their diving board technique from my new waiting room couch - could transition from said waiting room to my office, the phone rang again. My cell phone this time.

I checked the number. Aha! I had been waiting for this call.

I’d sent Dorsey Wegman up to Lake George to pick up the Chris Craft cruiser I’d purchased from old Charlie Osterhout last year. About the same time as Bryan’s proposal.

Of course, new is a relative term. It was new to me, the latest in my growing collection of antique boats. The cruiser, along with a second boat Charlie had sold me, would make four classic boats I owned. Renovating houses might be a hobby of mine, but collecting, restoring, and showing classic boats was my passion.

Charlie’d had this boat in dry-dock at Lake George for repairs. Dorsey - who was doing this for me for both friendship and a commission - had gotten there only to discover the boatworks had unaccountably transferred the Sonny to their Thousand Islands shop and put it into the water over there. So she’d had to get back in her purple pickup truck and head over to fetch it. This was her checking in, no doubt.

Doc?

Dorsey! Good to hear your voice. Did you get the boat okay?

Dorsey was both competent and cheerful. Her voice was sunshine on this gloomy, bad-luck-ridden day.

I got up here okay. This Bateauville place is small. Didn’t help that somebody sent me to Clayton first.

I thought the Thousand Island Boatworks was in Clayton.

It may be, but I had to go to one called George Boatworks. They’re connected to Lake George. This one is in Bateauville. Did you know that means Boat Town? And it’s spelled B-A-T-E-A-U-V-I-L-L-E, even though they say it ‘buh-TOE-vill.’ Anyway, I got here. Oh, and I saw some of those runabouts at the marina. I can see why you like them so much, Doc.

"Dorsey, how’s my boat? How does the Sonny look?"

Doc? You’re not going to like this.

Those words again. What is it?

Well, the police won’t let me take it.

The police! Why?

When I got here, the boat shop guy gave me the receipt and the starter key, like you said. And he told me where to go to pick it up. Someplace called North Bayou Marina.

Okay, what happened?

I got here, and the marina guy said there was back rental and fees, and he wouldn’t let it go ’til they were paid. I argued with him and showed him the receipt and everything. Finally, he called the police on me.

Oh, no! Dorsey, I didn’t mean for you to get in trouble with the police! You should have called me!

Well, that part actually worked out okay. The officer is friends with Charlie Osterhout, and he vouched for you and being able to get it all straightened out. He was mad as hell at the boatwright.

I don’t blame him. I’ll have a few words for that boatwright myself.

Um, yeah.

There was an uncomfortable silence. Dorsey Wegman is never silent.

Dorsey? What’s going on? Why won’t the police let you take the boat?

She sighed a long sigh. Well, it went like this. The policeman and the marina guy went down the dock with me. When we got there, the boat was all messed up.

Messed up? How? They were supposed to be fixing it! Wait’ til Charlie and I get ahold of him!

That may take a while, Doc. He’s gone missing. The police couldn’t reach him.

I put my elbow on the desk and caught my forehead in my hand. You’re right. I don’t like this. At. All.

You’re really going to hate this next part.

What? I asked, my voice dropping down beside my heart.

"Because the boat looked so messed up - it had scuff marks and stains on it, and the door was banged off its hinges - because it looked like that, I let the cop and the marina guy go on board first.

And - um, Doc? There was a dead woman on your boat. The police have impounded it, and I can’t leave until they have a handle on what’s going on. They’ll be calling you in about a half hour, they said. Doc, what should I do?

I held my head in my hands. I might have been still, but my mind was racing faster than 1924 Gold Cup race winner Baby Bootlegger.

Jeremy Greene can take my patients. I’m starting vacation next Wednesday anyway. Andrea can set that up later for me.

Drive or fly? Drive. I might need the car. And flying wasn’t as quick as it should be.

Call Lloyd Kerns in case I needed to reach him while I’m up there. Let him know he might have some North Country lawyering to do. With my track record, at least one cop is going to get mad at me.

Speaking of, should I call Ted Matheson for his State Trooper connections?

Lucky Rachel made those other plans. Now I wouldn’t have to ask Brooklynne to take her. Although Rachel would have loved the chance to help with Brooklyn and Lloyd’s daughter, her new cousin, Larinda.

And I’ll have to cancel with Bret, too.

Charlie. Should I call Charlie? The boat’s mine, now, but I know he’ll want to know what’s going on.

What is going on? What the hell is some strange woman doing dead on my boat?

Um, Dr. Wilder? Dorsey enunciated her words with care and spoke a little louder, as if she thought we had a bad connection. What do you want me to do?

I jumped. Dorsey, I’m sorry. Look, there’s not a lot you can do. Stay there. Pay close attention to whatever they tell you. I’m sorry I got you stuck in the middle of this. Ask whoever’s in charge if you can step out and get something to eat. I’ll close things up here and head up there right away.

Look, you don’t have to do that. I can follow your instructions. If you can tell me what I need to do. Dorsey sounded doubtful. Clearly she was thinking this was way more complicated than what she’d signed up for.

No, really. I’ll be there. But you’re my representative until I am. I’ll still need your help.

I started packing mentally as I reassured her. It was still early June, and weather was unpredictable off the St. Lawrence River. It can get down into the forties, and river dampness always makes it feel colder.

Jean could handle things at the farm, even if it meant catching her food thief herself; she’d probably relish that. Andrea, on the other hand, was never going to let me forget this, going off and leaving her in charge. Maybe she’d get the waiting room painted while I’m gone.

Dorsey was saying something.

Doc? They’re saying I can go get food. But they say they can’t get hold of you. There’s no answer? I could just see Dorsey’s round face in concerned confusion over - wait, no answer?

Belatedly I realized that my cell phone was whispering its sugary call waiting signal. Damn!

I’ll call you back, Dorsey…hello? Yes, this is she. Yes, I just heard. I’ve been talking with my - my driver, Ms. Wegman. …. No, she only told me she was there with the boat with a dead body and that you won’t let her leave. No, I understand. My hand clenched my phone, my forearm growing taut as I listened to the officer explain.

Mrs. Wilder, … what? Oh. Dr. Wilder, we have a situation here that frankly we are not used to. In my entire lifetime there has never been a murder here in Bateauville. It’s been a long time since there’s even been one in the county. This is new territory for us, and it is further complicated - Hiya, Aidan, yeah, over here. I’m talking to her now. Ma’am, it’s further complicated by the fact that while the boat was at the Marina, it is in the water, docked, not dry-docked. We don’t even know for sure whose jurisdiction this case is. Until we know that and how the boat got here with a body aboard, well it’s just going to be a big mess.

What?

Well, you see, depending on where a crime occurs, different agencies have jurisdiction over the investigation.

I am aware of that. I’m afraid I’ve been through a jurisdictional squabble before.

The officer - whoever he was - tried to be patient. Well, then, ma’am, I ask you to remember how difficult and crazy these things can be.

Is someone working on the case at least? Do we know anything about the dead woman? Oops.

I could almost feel the man thinking through the silence. Actually, it turned out he handed me off to someone else.

Ma’am? This is Special Agent Aidan Ghee, Coast Guard Investigative Service. I’m coordinating with Officer Farelli here until we get a clarification over jurisdiction. It may turn out to be a joint investigation. Ma’am? What can you tell us about this boat of yours? Did you have any reason to expect there to be a passenger on board?

I sighed. No, I did not. The boat is one I’ve just purchased from a gentleman down here near Albany. It was in Lake George to be overhauled. For reasons we do not yet know, it was conveyed to the Thousand Islands. My driver, Ms. Wegman, is picking it up for me. She informs me that you won’t release the boat, or her, until you have satisfied your questions, is that a fair assessment?

Yes, ma’am, it is. Now, about this woman -

Agent Ghee, I do not know anything about this woman or anyone else connected with that boat except the previous owner, Charles Osterhout. I thought I understood Dorsey to say that someone there already knew Charlie and could vouch for him.

"Ma’am, I really need you to answer my questions. You seem sort of -"

Bossy?

Well, yes, ma’am, although I was going to say business-like about all this. Are you in law enforcement?

No, but, I hesitated. I’d almost said ‘my fiancé is’. I didn’t want to do that. Bryan wasn’t my fiancé - yet, and I didn’t want to abuse his position like that anyway. If it would even do me any good. I’d learned from previous experience that dating a homicide lieutenant can be as much of a liability as an asset when these situations arose. At two such experiences already in my life, the numbers were adding up.

No, Agent Ghee, but I have worked with police a little, and I’m somewhat familiar with certain procedures and arrangements. Speaking of which, I am coming up there directly. It will be easier on us both to deal in person. I don’t want Dorsey to feel I’ve dumped her into a strange situation.

Murder is strange; but not so for you?

This was not going at all well. I had to cut it off. I had to get up there to deal with this in person.

Let’s just say I’m more familiar with it than I want to be. Before I go, is there really nothing you can tell me about the dead woman? I know I don’t know anything about her. Does anyone yet? How did she die?

There was a stiff silence. I’d offended him, or I’d made him suspicious, I wasn’t sure which. I don’t think I cared.

Finally he said, There hasn’t been much time for a thorough exam. The medical examiner is working on it. We do know this, she was pretty well battered. She’s older, mid-fifties, Caucasian.

Could she have been some kind of stowaway, or squatter? Someone who had snuck aboard?

We don’t know. Frankly, we were hoping there would be some sort of answer you could give us.

I understand. Look, Charlie can give you more history on this boat than I can. I haven’t even seen it in person yet. I’ll be up there in about three hours.

Three, ma’am?

Okay, three-and-a-half. But I will get there. Please be nice to Ms. Wegman. You should be able to tell even now that she’s not involved in anything here. I mean, I’m not either, but I expect I’ll have to prove that to you. My mind had still been working overtime. Um, by any chance, will there be State Trooper involvement in this case?

That remains to be seen. Why?

Um, well, I - in the past - never mind. I was just curious. Agent Ghee, I will see you tomorrow? Or tonight?

I will still be here, even in four hours, Dr. Wilder. I look forward to meeting you.

Now what did that mean? I wondered, as I hung up. Had I done it again? Tread on somebody’s toes? That was how Trooper Matheson and I had started out. Not that we were exactly buddy-buddy now, even if he was engaged to my nurse Andrea.

Engaged. Bryan. What was he going to say to all this?

What can he say? A dead body was found. You’re going to take care of matters and bring Dorsey and the boat home. You’re just taking care of business.

I argued back to my inner voice. Well, he could think I’m running away from him. Ducking out on responding to his proposal.

Are you?

No! I don’t think.

Hmmm, said the little voice inside my head. And it kept hounding me the whole time I was packing, making arrangements, and heading out to hit I-90. It hounded me so much, I forgot to call Bryan and tell him what was going on.

Not ’til I reached Syracuse and cut northward on I-81 did I realize I hadn’t called him. He would think I was avoiding him. And I couldn’t honestly say I wasn’t.

But I had to get my boat. He’d understand that, right?

Chapter 2

"First time I ever run booze, it was by car. Blind run from Peoria to one of Capone’s warehouses in Chicago. It was a cinch, even for a 14-year-old punk like me. Twisty back roads I’d been on all my life. Had a coupl’a tense minutes while we was unloadin’ and a couple flatfoots strolled by. But, turns out they was as much on the payroll as I was!"

"Now, here’s where it gets tricky…" Dorsey ’s head was bent over close to that of a duty officer.

I was tired. I’d done the three-and-a-half-hour drive straight, and in something a little under three hours. I’d worried the whole time, vacillating between puzzlement and anxiety over the poor woman aboard my boat and whatever the repercussions were going to be and whether or not I truly was avoiding Bryan. So my first reaction on spotting Dorsey sitting in tight proximity to a cop was surprise.

What was she doing?

See, here, you have to be careful to stab through just so…

Stab?

Oh, hi, Dr. Wilder. I am so glad to see you! This is Bobby LaPointe. He’s the desk officer at night. She stood up, pausing her sentence to bend down and drop knitting needles and yarn into a tote bag she’d had at her feet.

I’m teaching Bobby how to knit. Bobby? Do you think you could let Agent Ghee know Dr. Wilder is here? I’m pretty sure he wants to talk with her.

Gone were the confusion and bewilderment evident on the phone. The real Dorsey had taken over.

I wasn’t the least bit surprised. Dorsey was a totally competent woman. A farmer’s wife with three kids, she lived out of her Flying Purple People Seater, as she called her tricked-out purple pickup truck. From that she delivered Welcome Wagon baskets and sold Avon and Tupperware, as well as fresh produce, Christmas trees, and cookies and candy for the myriad fundraisers her youngsters involved her in. As a farmer’s wife who wanted to be home for her kids, she had to earn money any way she could, and no one I knew was better at it than her.

Dr. Wilder? I’m CGIS Special Agent Ghee. Aidan Ghee, Coast Guard Investigative Service.

Now, I’m only five-foot-three. Some people say anyone looks tall compared to me. But Agent Ghee was more than a foot taller, with straight broad shoulders, close-trimmed black hair, and skin that bore the color and sheen of Brazilian cherry wood. His eyes were a surprising hazel color, startling against his skin, and a substantial but neat mustache decorated his upper lip.

I started to smile up at him, his self-introduction sounded so friendly, but he wasn’t smiling back. I dropped my gaze to the bulletin board on the wall behind him. He turned and lead me past that board and adjacent doorway, through unremarkable hallways to a seven-by-nine-foot room, drew up chairs to the table, closed the door behind me, and pulled out a recorder. It was the beginning of a way-too-familiar scene. I sighed and braced myself to answer questions.

He began in standard fashion, identification, home address, why ‘my representative’ (he emphasized his curiosity with his eyebrows) was in the Thousand Islands. He followed these up with requests for more detail.

How recently had I purchased the boat Sonny?

From whom did I purchase it and how did I know him?

Why had I not taken possession of it sooner?

I was tired, but I understood the need for the questions. I tried to keep the whine of annoyance out of my voice. We slogged along fitfully, but I was holding up my end. Until he started getting personal, intrusive, and insulting.

What more can you tell me about the previous owner, Charlie Osterhout? Ghee asked.

Charlie Oster - Charlie? Charlie is an old friend and one of my patients. He’s about eighty years old, has leg trouble, and is the sweetest, most respectable, upright citizen you could ask for. If you recall, one of your own people is a friend of his.

What is his name?

What?

You said one of my people is a friend of his. What’s his name?

I don’t know. I just got here. Dorsey told me that one of the officers knew Charlie. He’s the one who helped straighten things out at the pier so she could take the boat. Then he and the marina owner were the ones who went aboard when it looked so suspicious.

She said it looked suspicious? he asked, still writing notes from his last question.

I waited for him to finish.

I waited for him to look back up at me.

Dr. Wilder?

I took a long breath to keep my voice even. "Agent Ghee. Dorsey didn’t use the word suspicious. I did. What else would you call it when the cabin door is off its hinges, smears of blood are on the wood, and the boat looks generally - ‘messed up’ was the exact phrase I think she used? Especially