Death Afloat

By Lucy Lloyd

Set amongst the heat and beauty of a Greek sailing holiday, Death Afloat is an escapist whodunnit. Introducing sleuth Cici, she's watchful as the current band of holidaymakers board their yachts. Particularly Suzanne and Tony, the odd couple. He's pushy and excited. She's obviously nervous. Hopefully she'll learn to love the art of sailing as she's trained this week. But Tony just seems to be creating enemies at every harbour they moor in.
When he's found dead towards the end of the week, Cici tries to determine who might not have killed him: it seems Tony has build up a network of enemies.
Under the hot Greek sun, and amongst the brilliant blue seas, we discover our next great amateur detective.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lucy Lloyd
• Release date: Apr 24, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215424377

Lucy Lloyd

A keen sportswoman, I love running, skiing, field hockey and generally being outdoors. I'm ex BBC, and studied biochemistry at both St Andrews and Cambridge Universities. I live in Scotland and juggle writing while raising two young girls.

Book preview

Death Afloat

By Lucy Lloyd

Published by Lucy Lloyd at Smashwords.

Copyright 2023 Lucy Lloyd

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 ebook retailer and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author

Table of Contents

Start of Death Afloat

About Lucy Lloyd

Other books by Lucy Lloyd

Chapter 1: DAY 6

‘Permission to come aboard!’ Cici called out. There was no sign of any movement on the boat. She gave the deck a knock. ‘Permission to come aboard,’ but she heard her voice weaken, afraid to wake the…but she had to let him know they were needing access.

The boats were rafted tight together, maybe he thought it was another crew being contacted. Cici took the liberty to step over on to the edge of the seating area in the cockpit.

‘Tony?’ she said, louder.

James watched her from the deck of Lovejoy, coiling a rope in his arms. He tilted his head towards the cabin. Wake him he implied. Lovejoy would have to move off the harbour wall soon.

Cici stepped into the cockpit and towards the towel draped over the entrance to the interior. She rapped three times on the tinted plexiglass there. ‘Tony?’ she called. ‘We need to relocate the boat if you don’t mind.’

The towel shifted with the knocking, giving her a look into the dim cabin. There was a pale shape on the floor. Something dropped on the ground. Cici pulled the edge of the towel aside, her curiosity risen.

It was a fender, lying in the middle of the floor, its rope coiling away from the cockpit, further into the boat. Cici frowned. Why was the fender there? She tilted her head and pulled the towel further aside, getting a better view of the boat’s interior.

The fender, lying askew on the ground. The rope slithering away towards the bow cabin. And there, slumped Tony, his back facing Cici, his chest spread close to the ground, his head awkwardly pressing against the edge of the saloon seats.

‘James,’ called Cici, keeping her voice calm, hoping it suggested a call for a hand with something heavy, not an emergency. She looked up at her boss and pointed towards the interior, noting the tremble of her finger, the sudden thump of her heart. James raised an eyebrow, then swung a leg over onto Bateau Royale. He moved onto the top deck and looked through the cabin hatch, still coiling a rope on autopilot, slowly digesting what he was seeing. He looked up at Cici and strode towards her, ushering her in.

‘Check pulse,’ he muttered, his pace turning urgent.

Cici, in the cabin, surveyed the scene. Her legs had refused to take those extra steps forward, she had to steady herself against the table.

‘Tony?’ she tried again, but all her senses told her it was pointless.

There was a tang present in the warm, still air. The fender, the rope. James brushed past her but stopped in the saloon, staring at Tony’s face.

Cici forced herself closer and saw why. Tony’s eyes were still open- wide, surprised, his mouth in a grimace. It confirmed what her instincts had been screaming at her. She made herself do the check. Two shaking fingers against his neck, a red and purple ribbed mark ringing it like a necklace. But he was cold. Like Mum had been. Long gone. A rush of anguish passed over her, then regret, a touch of raw pain, flared up from when she’d last suffered being close to this. She made herself stand and steadied herself. This wasn’t her loss.

James was studying the body, an ambiguous look on his face. He’d been in the army, so maybe he’d also seen death.

‘We need to call the police,’ Cici said, her voice hoarse. It stirred James. He moved heavily; his normal sprightliness removed, and pulled out his phone.

‘Yes. Yes we do.’ He looked around. ‘Shouldn’t touch anything,’ he said, ‘I can’t believe it. What a thing to happen.’

Cici retraced her steps and clambered back out into the fresh air, taking a deep breath, settling on a seat to steady herself. She closed her eyes for a moment, fighting the urge to run away.

They would have to tell his wife, Suzanne. Cici would have step over onto the neighbouring boat, and tell Tony’s estranged wife her husband had been murdered.

Chapter 2: DAY 1

The boats' entrails, spread out over the pontoon, were being refreshed and stuffed back in. Bed linen dazzled in the Greek sun, bin liners flapped, detergent was stacked, water and fuel were tapped. The changeover was completed just as the minibus emerged through the heat glaze with this week's sailors. Cici took a big breath as it started all over again.

The guests disembarked by the pontoons. Some joking and jostling. A couple appeared more serious, in matching pastel colours, shorts and polo shirts.

A family took their time getting out, headphones in for the two heavy-eyed younger guests, the older man tripping and getting teased for it as he exited with the sun blinding him. Cici guessed this was the family due to be sailing on Lady Shallot this week. Then, last out, a late middle-aged man, sliding on sunglasses as he stepped off, his wife in his wake, looking uneasy as she peered around.

Cici thought they must be the couple come to learn to crew on Bateau Royale, with Sam, Horizon’s resident instructor. People didn’t usually turn up anxious. Usually they were raring to go, even if they were exhausted from the journey. Curious.

Cici watched the husband seeking his luggage at the back of the minibus, making jerky dashes in his attempt to get past people. He lifted one big bag in each hand despite them having wheels, swinging them over other luggage. His actions had the veneer of a man who took charge, and his wife was the counterbalance, pressed into the shade of the bus, her chin tilted down, taking little breaths as if to calm herself.

When he joined her, she stood patiently, in contrast to his wide-legged, arms-crossed power pose as he sized up the other flotilla members, as if they were competition instead of travelling companions.

Cici wondered if they normally spent much time together. She felt uneasy watching them, him in particular, something about the power façade that looked ready to crumble.

Thankfully, James, her boss, started addressing them and she switched her attention, digging out her hospitality smile. Cici was introduced as their ‘engineer’ for the week. She saw some raised eyebrows, a few shared glances, but Cici knew her youth provoked that reaction. She had her engine mechanics training just the same as anyone else older.

Her dad had pushed her to get something ‘useful’ in lieu of a degree she didn’t yet want, and then encouraged her to travel, to escape the beige and boring. Greece seemed like an exotic opportunity, full of colour and warmth. Although just now, she seemed stuck with a tableau of character types she might expect to see in a British high street supermarket on a Saturday morning. Mostly middle classed, middle aged, and not exotic at all.

‘This is Sam,’ James continued, ‘she’s our highly experienced skipper. She’s going to be with you, Tony and Suzanne, this week.’

James gave a nod to the couple. Suzanne produced an endearing smile. It was Tony’s reaction that Cici noted in particular. He recoiled, not so much that anyone around him would notice and it was quickly covered up, but Cici had spotted it. It was Sam, she guessed. Sam being a woman. One glance at Tony and you could see he was a man’s man.

James finished up his welcome and started organising: giving guests their individual briefing about their boats, making sure the transfer hosts had handed out water. Cici returned to finishing the last quick once-over she was giving the engines before the boats set out for the week. She was in Lady Shallot, and it all looked to be working fine. Cici popped back up the steps and into the cockpit of the boat. The sun glared off the white finish, the intense heat making Cici yearn for the cast off and move to the open water, and a breeze.

Sam was on the pontoon, leading her couple, Suzanne and Tony, to Bateau Royale, right beside where Cici was. Sam, whom Cici found inspiring: effortlessly efficient, friendly and motivational, would be teaching the couple to sail a yacht together, running over the same routines she'd given Cici on her crash course.

'Here she is,' Sam said, 'Bateau Royale. She's a beauty.'

‘Royal Boat?’ asked the woman.

‘Sort of!’ said Sam with a laugh. ‘Now, feel free to clamber across to the cockpit.’

Sam stood aside to let the couple explore. Tony bounded aboard. The woman hesitated, staring at the plank of wood that linked the pontoon to the yacht with the horror Cici imagined many a fabled pirate would after being ordered to walk it.

Sam took a stride across the water, straddling the gap, and held an arm out for the woman.

'Bit odd the first time, Suzanne, but very unlikely you'll fall in,' she said with that funny mix of Yorkshire and Oz. The woman grasped the arm with a bashful thanks, and crossed over as her husband clambered about, inspecting rigging.

'And here you are,' James’s voice could be heard, ‘The good Lady Shallot.’

It startled Cici, being preoccupied with the couple next door, and she jumped before putting on a smile. It was indeed the grown-up boys with their dad, all looking excited and keen now.

'Excuse me,' Cici said, 'I was just checking everything was shipshape and ready for you. It's all looking perfect.' Perfect in that a standard engine check was passed, and all the electrics flicked on and off correctly. Perfect was an exaggeration, but she understood hyperbole was how to talk here.

'Thank you very much,' the older man said, giving her a warm grin, 'I'm sure you've done a grand job.'

She left them to it, but threw a glance back towards Bateau Royale. The husband was telling Sam he approved of the rigging. Cici guessed his wife was exploring downstairs.

Suzanne stepped down into the cabin. There was no transition into a cool lair from the seething heat that she’d hoped for. If anything, it was warmer, yes, it was warmer, with the air stationary, hovering and enveloping her like a heated blanket. She held onto the grip at the side of the steps and waited, not feeling the rocking motion she’d been dreading, and released her whitened knuckles. Her heart had been hammering as she spotted the boats, this, her hour of reckoning, and now it had plateaued at a steady beat, thumping in her ears. Her legs wobbled, but, finding it stable underfoot, strengthened.

The boat was neat and bare. Clean lines of wood, a polished table, and a cushioned seating area made an inviting sitting room. Before that was a small kitchen, directly in front of the stairs. A cooker, sink, and Suzanne fiddled with a latch to open into a fridge compartment with a suction sound. There was a welcome bag with a selection of food and wine.

The cupboard behind her proved to be a bedroom of sorts- a small compartment with a mattress and low ceiling- the cockpit making up the deck above- and cupboard. A bag was there- she assumed Sam’s. What she thought was a cupboard on the other side of the boat contained a sink and a toilet, then she noticed the shower head up in the corner too. It was all very compact, less luxurious than the glossy brochures had suggested. Practical too, which emphasised the point she’d been brought here to learn to sail and not relax.

Suzanne took a handful of steps through to the end cabin. Again, clean wooden lines of cupboards, tapering together at the bow. And filling most of the cabin space was the triangular bed.

Suzanne looked at it, and the floor space she stood in. It was a tight squeeze to shut the door. They’d clash heads with their pillows bunched together at the pointed bow. Or maybe they’d have their pillow at this end, right in front of her, their legs entangling.

They were used to a king-sized bed. They’d never sleep well in this airless coffin. There was a small hatch above their head, just wide enough for a small adult to squeeze through. Maybe a little air would come in there. The whole boat felt like a neat little prison, not glamourous at all.

‘Suzanne, what are you doing?’ Tony asked, a tinge of accusation in his tone.

‘Just looking at our room,’ she replied.

‘Cabin. The bow cabin.’ He nodded at the cupboard. ‘I told you to pack light.’

Suzanne followed his gaze and realised the implication of the tiny space. ‘Oh goodness, I’ll have to keep most of my clothes in the bag.’

Tony snorted ‘Where will you keep that? The bag should be stowed away in a locker.’ He looked back, into the main cabin of the boat. ‘She’s brought too much stuff, as per...’

‘No worries,’ Sam appeared down the steps, ‘these boats are like Mary Poppins’ carpet bag. There’s lots of space.’

She started popping open cupboards in the wall, pressing in a metallic button which was released out with a click, creating a little button handle which she then pulled to open. ‘You’ve got lots of extra space in here, and under the seats too, if you’ve got stuff you don’t need to access every day.’

‘Thank you,’ Suzanne replied, avoiding her husband’s face. She was grateful to Sam, who in the five minutes she’d known her had seemingly understood her nervousness. She was a funny woman. Very strong looking, a visor perched on her head, above sunglasses, hair awry, smile permanent. She oozed relaxed confidence.

‘Right, shall we get the lines away and move this bad boy?’ Sam asked.

‘Absolutely!’ Tony followed Sam up the steps and back out into the cockpit, where she took the luggage and made to pass them down to Suzanne.

‘Where shall I put them?’ she asked

‘Just dump them on the bench and table.’ She picked up one, and placed it on the table. There was a terrifying screech of a noise! Thinking she’d broken something Suzanne clasped her face in horror, to hear the rumble of an engine starting, the boat throbbing, and the beep ending. Hearing Sam and Tony chatting merrily, she decided the beep wasn’t the boat exploding and gave herself a moment to recover. She leant against the metal pole, her heart rate slowly returning to normal, her juddering legs settling.

‘Shall I unpack?’ she called weakly up to the cockpit, hoping to potter around the boat while Tony and Sam sailed, and she could pretend they were in a caravan or some other land vehicle.

‘I’d quite like you on deck, Suzanne, to talk you through some things,’ Sam called down. ‘Best to do it altogether.’

‘Oh,’ Suzanne pushed the bags onto the sofa, propped up against the edge of the table, and climbed out onto the cockpit.

She felt butterflies in her stomach. It was happening. With a bit of thumping, Sam was lifting up the plank, separating them from the land. They were adrift. No, they were tied on. Everything was fine.

‘Suzanne,’ asked Sam, ‘can you pull in the stern lines? Tony, open the anchor locker.’

Tony moved with purpose towards the bow of the boat, clambering along what looked like a narrow passageway that lined the edge. He ducked under lines, stepped over ropes and stopped at the bow.

Suzanne stared after him, half expecting him to dive off the end of the boat to open a little cupboard somewhere, but no, a hatch sitting on the surface of the boat was opened, right at the very end.

‘Suzanne?’ She was torn from the fixation on her husband. ‘See these ropes tying us to the pontoon?’

Sam pointed to the thick ropes that led out from metal prongs on the boat, out and around some metal loops on the land. ‘Untie the end from the cleats there, and pull in the lines.’ Sam flipped up the end wall of the boat, and clicked in a sort of metal fence, closing up the stern. Along from them other boats were clicking and revving and bobbing about. The flotilla was on the move.

The ropes she was talking about were strung out from the stern, on each side they ran out to the pontoon and came back to the boat. How on earth would Suzanne untie them from the pontoon if the bridge from the boat had been removed? Her brain became muddled with panic. It must be a simple task. Or was it a test? To see if she was hopeless. She was hopeless. It wasn’t for her, a fish out of water. She couldn’t even pull a rope. She stood at the stern, staring blindly at the pontoon.

‘Suzanne,’ Sam leant across her, ‘just take hold of the end of the line here,’ she lifted away the thick end of the rope around a metal holder, ‘unravel it from the cleat. Now you’ll see that when that end comes away, it’s a clean line around the cleat on the pontoon and back again, that’s called being set to cast off,’ and Sam, having unwound the end of the rope from the cleat dropped it into the water. She then pulled on the other end which was still tied around the cleat and pulled the dangling rope up, dropping what she gathered into the boat. The end she’d originally untied slithered through the water and pontoon hoop. ‘You bring this end into the boat, and then you’ve got it all here. OK?’

She stepped aside, and Suzanne took over, pulling in wet rope, dumping it onto the floor.

‘Right, now your turn to do the same on the other side.’

Suzanne crossed over to behind the wheel, and hauled the rope into the boat. The motion brought something back to her and as she did it, her fear momentarily dissipated, and there was a muscle memory there, a familiarity of the sensation of the wet rope, salty water, sunshine. The end of the rope passed through her hands, and the memory vanished. She looked at her palms, a salty dampness to them.

‘Great, Suzanne. Now leave that a moment while I get in here.’

She shifted into the middle of the boat, wiping her hands on her culottes, letting Sam at the controls. Not knowing what to do, Suzanne sat on the cockpit bench.

‘Tony, are you ready with the anchor? Now, if you are happy to let the anchor raise us forward, we don’t need to power forward with the engine,’ Sam looked at Suzanne, ‘the anchor chain is extended forward off the bow of the boat because we dropped it then reversed into our position here. By pulling it up, the boat will be drawn forward until it is over the anchor.’ Suzanne nodded. Of course. She always had imagined an anchor hanging just below a boat, but of course, there would have to be some leeway.

‘Yes, got it.’

Sam smiled at her, and she smiled back, then looked at Tony, pleased that she’d learnt something. He was holding a remote control attached to the boat with a wriggly cable, one hand on his lap, his mouth in a tight, irritated line. Vexed at the delay. Suzanne’s smile fell from her lips.

‘Right Tony, pull her up.’

With the engine revving and a vicious clanking sound, chain was being fed up into the boat. The yacht crept forward, past its neighbours, a squeak from a fender as it rolled over another, ‘Don’t worry about that’ said Sam, and the clank-clank-clank as they were hauled out. Sam raised her voice to reach the bow, ‘When you see the anchor, slow it down and bring it into position gently.’

Tony waved a hand, and there was a start and stop of the anchor clanking as he slowly manoeuvred it into place.

‘Right, let’s get this in gear,’ Sam clicked the throttle back to neutral and then pushed it forward again, the boat surging with it.

‘Goodness, to think I used to haul the anchor in by hand. All that chain, such an effort.’ Tony laughed as he strolled back along the boat, a carefree exuberance to his manner which cheered Suzanne.

However, having felt relatively comfortable with the boat secure in its mooring, she glanced back at the retreating pontoon and the familiar butterflies returned.

‘Do we not wear life jackets?’

Tony was clambering back to the cockpit. ‘No Suzanne, we don’t need them.’

‘No, that’s fine,’ said Sam, ‘I should have told you where they were. Tony, are you comfortable to take the wheel for a sec? Just bring her out and head 200 degrees or so.’

Tony stepped to the wheel with gusto. Suzanne stood up, holding onto the table for support, expecting rocking but finding none, and followed Sam down the stairs. Her skipper opened a cupboard and fished out a lifejacket. ‘If you fall in the water, you pull on the toggle and it inflates.’

‘People don’t normally wear these sailing?’

‘Not out here, in these conditions, but if it makes you feel comfortable, Suzanne, absolutely wear it.’

She decided to ask about the loud beeping noise as she helped her adjust and fit the buoyancy aid.

‘That was the engine. It always does that to terrify new sailors and annoy your neighbours in the morning. I’m joking, it’s just to let you know it’s starting. Nothing to worry about.’

Sam climbed back up into the cockpit and Suzanne followed, a little more secure with the lifejacket. Tony went to hand back the wheel. Sam slowed the boat down. ‘Well, Suzanne, do you drive a car?’

‘Yes,’ she replied, resuming her place on the seat.

‘Well, helming one of these is just like driving a car. Take it nice and slow.’