Ransom at Sea Page 12

  Emily sighed again. “It’s a very good question, but I don’t have an answer. I don’t know about Muriel or Mr. Brock. I would imagine Mr. Driscoll was on his own long enough—though of course, we did meet him on his way to the boat.”

  “Do you have any idea exactly where any of them were?”

  She shook her head. “Sheriff Barnes did talk to everyone briefly, but everyone said they were off hiking when it happened. He didn’t go much further than that.”

  “I see,” Ransom said as he pulled his cell phone from the inner pocket of his jacket. He flipped it open and punched in a series of numbers.

  “Who are you calling?” Emily asked.

  “The rest of the cavalry.”

  After three rings his call was answered by a voice that Ransom always thought of as having the consistency of watery pudding.

  “Detective White.”

  “Hello, Gerald.”

  There was a smile in his partner’s voice when he replied, “Hi, there, Jer.”

  “Everything all right there?”

  “Newman’s doing a burn over you taking time off out of the blue, but he’ll get over it.”

  Ransom curled his lips. Sergeant Newman was their immediate superior, and after years of dealing with the aftermath of murder and mayhem he was more likely to be upset over an impromptu vacation than over an eruption of violent crime.

  “He’s probably only miffed because I won’t be there to disturb him.”

  “How are things in the northern woods? Peaceful?” Gerald asked.

  “The woods themselves, yes. However, it seems that one of Emily’s fellow passengers wandered off into them and somehow managed to turn up dead back on the boat about an hour later.”

  “Back on the boat? Jeez! How is Emily? Is she all right?”

  “Oh, yes,” Ransom said broadly. “She’s fine. She’s more than fine. She’s refusing to leave the boat. Perhaps you can talk some sense into her.”

  Gerald burst out laughing. “I wouldn’t even try!”

  “You’re very wise. It would be a waste of breath. But I want you to talk to her about something else.”

  “What?”

  “She’s here with me now. I’m going to have her give you a list of the passengers and crew of the Genessee. I want you to run them and see if you turn up anything.”

  “Sure thing.”

  Ransom handed the phone to Emily. She gingerly held it to her right ear and said, “Hello?”

  Ransom smiled inwardly. She always sounded tentative when talking on the phone, as if somewhat awed by the idea of voices traveling over wires. But she sounded even more so when on a cell phone, the removal of the wires seeming to add to the bafflement.

  “Miss Emily?” Gerald said. “How are you?”

  “I’m perfectly all right. I trust you’re not going to try to talk me into moving off the boat.”

  He laughed again. “Wouldn’t dream of it.”

  After making polite inquiries about his wife, Sherry, and their two daughters, Emily proceeded to provide him with the list. When she was finished, she said her good-byes and handed the phone back to Ransom.

  “You get all that?” he asked.

  “Taking notes is what I do best,” Gerald replied flatly. Ransom could picture the smile on his partner’s pale round face. “I’ll get back to you as soon as possible, but it might not be until tomorrow.”

  “As soon as you can,” said Ransom.

  “Oh, by the way, Jer,” Gerald said quickly, “how is the local law taking you being there?”

  “Surprisingly well. I don’t know if that will last, though. We’ll see.” Ransom signed off and slipped the phone back into his pocket, then turned to Emily. “Shall we?”

  He climbed out of the car, went around to open the door for her, and helped her out. He then closed the door and gave Emily his arm.

  “The dock is just around there,” she said, crooking a thin finger in the direction of the back of the general store.

  Ransom guided Emily onto the walkway and they went around back to the dock. The Genessee was still moored alone in one of the slips, its boarding plank in place. As they approached, through the windows of the wheelhouse they could see Captain Farraday leaning back in his chair reading a newspaper. His wife was at the railing on the port bow, staring fixedly out at the water. Her long dark hair and the skirt of her white cotton dress fluttered in the warm breeze.

  Ransom walked Emily slowly up the ramp and onto the deck. Lily DuPree was lying in the same chair she’d occupied the day before, and were it not for the change of clothes it would’ve looked as though she’d never moved. She now wore a light blue dress with tiny, dark blue flowers that uncomfortably resembled a hospital gown. Muriel Langstrom was on a chair on the other side of the deck, uncharacteristically alone. Her eyes were hidden behind wide glasses with smoky gray lenses, her mouth hanging open and drooping to one side. She emitted loud snorts at irregular intervals. Nobody else was on the deck.

  “I’m going to need to talk to the captain,” said Ransom.

  She didn’t quite hear him, her attention elsewhere.

  “Emily?”

  “What? Oh! Yes, you should talk to Captain Farraday. Lily is alone. I think I’ll go over and have a little chat with her.”

  Ransom went around the starboard side of the wheelhouse, gave a gentle rap on the door, and opened it when he heard the sturdy voice from inside bid him to come in.

  “Captain?”

  Farraday laid down the newspaper and rose from his chair, extending a hand. “You must be Detective Ransom. The sheriff radioed you’d be coming over.”

  Ransom shook his hand. The captain’s grip was firm and strong, much in keeping with his general appearance. The erect posture, steel gray hair with its white-flecked temples, and the unwavering gaze all supported the impression of dignified authority.

  “Pull up a seat,” the captain said with a gesture toward the plain wooden chair sitting in the corner. Farraday resumed his seat behind the wheel as Ransom complied. But before the detective sat down, Mrs. Farraday came in through the port bow door.

  “Ah. This is my wife, Samantha,” Farraday said. “Sam, this is Detective Ransom. From Chicago.”

  “My husband told me you were coming. Pleased to meet you.” She folded her arms and rested her back against the door.

  Ransom inclined his head slightly, then sat down. “Captain, as I’m sure Sheriff Barnes has told you, I’m going to look into this murder.”

  “Yes. And I welcome that if it will get us under way any sooner.”

  “This delay is awful,” said Samantha. “It’s bad enough a murder had to happen at all, but then to be stuck here. I don’t want to sound unfeeling, because after all, a human being is dead—but I can’t think what this is going to do to our business. And everything we have is tied up in it.”

  After a calculated pause, Ransom said, “Given today’s climate I should think it would help business.”

  There was a barely noticeable jolt through Samantha’s body, as if a reaction were stopped abruptly almost before it started. Her face froze in incredulity. Apparently she couldn’t decide if she should be affronted by this suggestion, welcome it, or be horrified.

  “It would help us,” the captain said calmly, “if we could continue the tour as soon as possible. I don’t have a lot of confidence in Sheriff Barnes’s abilities.”

  “Why is that?”

  “He already has Rebecca Bremmer. I don’t see any reason for him to keep us here. He should let us get on our way.”

  “Even if there’s a murderer on board?”

  “What?” Samantha said sharply, her dark eyes widening.

  The captain hadn’t reacted openly, but Ransom could’ve sworn his spine had grown even more stiff.

  “You mean there’s some doubt about who murdered Miss Hemsley?” he asked.

  Ransom shrugged nonchalantly. “That’s why I’m here. The sheriff must’ve told you that.”

 
“No, he didn’t go into details … it’s just … I thought our being held here was more a formality than anything else.”

  “The sheriff is not completely satisfied that Rebecca Bremmer is the murderer. And after talking to him, neither am I. Now, I realize that you’ve only been with these people a couple of days, but can you tell me if you’ve noticed anything out of the ordinary going on between any of the people on board?”

  Farraday was silent for a moment, then laughed lightly. “Detective, Miss Hemsley was strangled, and she wasn’t exactly a petite woman, either. This is a seniors’ cruise. The passengers are, for the most part, pretty old to be doing something like that. I would say only two of the passengers are young enough and strong enough to have strangled someone, and one of them is her niece. The other one is that friend of Miss Charters.”

  “But there are other people on board,” Ransom said after a beat.

  “What?”

  “Besides the passengers…”

  “What are you saying?” Samantha demanded as she came up behind her husband and laid her hands on his shoulders.

  Farraday reached up and placed his hand on his wife’s, never taking his eyes off Ransom. “Wait, Sam. Detective Ransom is just doing his job. Thoroughly. Yes, you’re right, there are also three crew members.”

  “And yourself.”

  The captain smiled. “And myself, and my wife.”

  “Now, getting back to my original question: Did you notice anything out of the ordinary going on between any of the people on board and Marcella Hemsley?”

  “Sam would probably be the best one to answer that—I’ve spent most of my time in here.” He looked over his shoulder at his wife, who hesitated before answering.

  “Well … I don’t know any of them, so it’s hard to say what would be out of the ordinary. They seemed to form little groups, but I assume that’s because they were friends … or at least knew each other before.”

  “What were the groups?”

  “Um … as far as Miss Hemsley goes, she spent most of her time with Miss Charters and her companion, and of course, her niece. The three men—Mr. Brock, Mr. Driscoll, and Mr. Holmes—stayed together for the most part.…”

  So she doesn’t know that Holmes had a tendency to break off from the rest, thought Ransom.

  “Which I guess stands to reason. Uh … the Millers keep to themselves, mostly.” Here she stopped and smiled. “They’re that kind of couple. And Miss Trenton, she keeps to herself, too, when she can.”

  “What about Muriel Langstrom?” Ransom asked.

  Samantha rolled her eyes. “Oh, God! The chatterbox! She’s latched on to Miss DuPree, who I don’t think has the spine to resist her.”

  “And how did they all relate to Marcella Hemsley?”

  She sighed. “I didn’t see them pay much attention to her at all. She was … she wasn’t the easiest woman to deal with. I think there was something wrong with her—with her head, I mean.”

  “What makes you think that?”

  “She was … I guess you’d call it cranky. I didn’t have much time to notice her, myself—there’s a lot to do on a trip like this, you know—but she reminded me of how my grandmother was late in her life: always irritable. We found out later she was hard of hearing, and was acting that way because she couldn’t really keep track of what was going on around her.”

  “But you said you thought there was something wrong with Miss Hemsley’s head. I took that to mean a mental problem.”

  “Well, yes,” Samantha assented reluctantly. “Mainly because of that incident the other night. Honestly! Screaming like that in the middle of the night, she almost scared the life out of me and everyone else on the boat! And for nothing!”

  “For nothing?” Ransom looked at the captain. “So you didn’t look into it?”

  Farraday looked blank for a moment, then shook his head. “No, there wasn’t really anything to look into.”

  “Didn’t she accuse your head steward—David Douglas, I think his name is—of having been the one in her room?”

  “Yes, but David came out of his room after we did. There was no reason to think he actually did anything. Hell, there was no reason to believe she saw anything in the first place.”

  “Except that she said she did.”

  The captain leaned forward a fraction of an inch. “Detective, David followed us into the corridor. When Miss Hemsley accused him, he denied it.”

  “Naturally.”

  “The point is, what would be the good of asking him if he really had been in there? I don’t believe that there was ever anyone there: she was either dreaming or imagining things. If I’d questioned him, which I think would’ve been totally unnecessary, he would’ve denied it again and then felt he wasn’t trusted. I wasn’t going to do that for nothing.”

  “So … Douglas has worked for you before? You’re sure of his honesty?”

  Farraday sat back. “No, as a matter of fact, he signed on just before this trip. We scheduled this at the last minute, and needed to get somebody fast.”

  “What’s his background?”

  “He has had a lot of jobs, various kinds. He’s been a waiter, a bartender, he’s even worked in a nursing home. So we thought he’d be good.”

  “Hmm,” Ransom said with a half smile. “Sounds like he was everything you were looking for.”

  “Yes…”

  “That was very convenient. However, someone who’s had a lot of jobs doesn’t sound all that promising as an employee.”

  Farraday smiled, which deepened the crow’s feet around his incisive eyes. “It’s a temporary job. A summer job.”

  “Did you check his background?”

  “You can’t seriously think he had anything to do with this!” Samantha interjected. “Why would he kill Marcella Hemsley?”

  Ransom produced an unreadable smile. “As your husband said, I’m just being thorough.”

  “In answer to your question,” the captain said, “no, we didn’t check his references. We didn’t have a lot of answers to our ad, so there wasn’t a lot of people to choose from. But I met with him. Interviewed him. He seemed all right. A bit of a glad-hand, maybe, but that can be an asset in this type of job.”

  “I see. And the rest of the crew?”

  “Hoke—Joaquin Vasquez—he’s the other steward. He was with us last summer.”

  “He’s a very nice and sweet-tempered young man,” said Samantha. “Very eager to please.”

  “The only other crew member is Mrs. O’Malley, our cook,” said the captain. “She’s been with us since the beginning, and I’d vouch for her all the way.”

  “Um-hmm. Well, what can you tell me about the relationship between Miss Bremmer and her aunt?”

  “She ran the poor girl into the ground,” Samantha said with feeling. “Rebecca walked on eggshells around her, trying to keep her happy despite … the way she was … and running interference for her with everyone else.”

  There was a pause, then Ransom said, “You seem to have observed a lot more than you thought you did.”

  Samantha’s face flushed a deep crimson. “You only had to look at the poor girl to see how exhausted she was. I wouldn’t blame her if—” She broke off, and though it didn’t seem possible her face grew even more red.

  “If she’d killed her?” Ransom said.

  “Everybody has a breaking point. Even with people they love.”

  “That was obvious as well?”

  “That she loved her aunt? Yes.”

  The detective unexpectedly rose from his seat. “Well, I think I have all the background I need for now.” He swung the chair back into its position in the corner. “Thank you for your help. I’ll be talking to the passengers and crew—”

  “Mr. Ransom,” Farraday said, rising from his chair, “Detective … please keep in mind that the passengers have already been very upset by this business. I’d appreciate it if you’d be … circumspect in the way you talk to them. I don’t want them to be mor
e upset than they already are.”

  “So far the people I’ve talked to agree that Rebecca Bremmer adored her aunt, despite her aunt’s problems. It’s probably already entered at least some of their minds to doubt whether or not she is guilty. And if that’s true, I would think they’d feel much safer if they were sure they were not traveling with a murderer.”

  “I guess that’s so,” said the captain, “but still—”

  Ransom stopped him with a wide smile. “I’ll be a gentle as a lamb.” He started for the starboard door, but before opening it stopped and turned around. “Oh, one other thing: the two of you, I understand, went for a walk of your own while the passengers were on their hikes.”

  The captain’s visage hardened to granite. “Yes?”

  “Did you leave the boat just after the passengers?”

  “Why do you ask?”

  Ransom contrived to look perplexed by his reaction. “Because if you stayed onboard for a while, you might’ve seen someone come back, and even if not it would help narrow down the window of opportunity the murderer had to kill Miss Hemsley.”

  Much to Ransom’s surprise, the captain reddened slightly. “Oh. Well, actually, I’m not sure I remember.…” He looked to his wife.

  Samantha ran a hand through her long dark hair. “It was a around ten-thirty when we left, I think. I checked my watch because we had to be back to do the lunch.”

  “And nobody came back to the boat while we were here,” said the captain. “At least, if they did we didn’t see them.”

  “Good enough,” Ransom said genially as he opened the door.

  While Ransom had been questioning the captain and his wife, Emily was having a much more relaxed conversation on the deck. After Ransom left her, she wandered over to Lily DuPree in a tentative manner meant to disguise any trace of design. She sighed heavily as she sat on a chair beside the frail old woman.

  Before Emily could begin the conversation, Lily roused herself. “Who was that handsome young man you came on board with?” Her tone betrayed a prurient interest.

  “He is a police detective from Chicago with whom I’m acquainted.” She had chosen to downplay their relationship for fear of arousing even more of her elderly friend’s interest. “He was kind enough to give me a ride back to the boat from the sheriff’s station.”