Double Chocolate Cookie Murder Page 7

  “Don’t need to convince me,” Marla said. “I was merely confirming the obvious. You have too much on your plate to go looking for another murderer. I only mentioned it because you’ve seemed a bit distracted since we talked to the detective. You haven’t even wanted to finish the panzanella recipe.”

  Sherry heard Marla’s words and made up her mind to let her thoughts of Crosby and Rachel go. The investigators would unravel the murder. Ray was the best around.

  “You’re right. That’s the last you’ll hear about Crosby’s murder from me,” Sherry vowed. “What do you want to do this afternoon before we get back to the recipe? Don’s picking us up at the marina later, so we have a few hours to goof off.” Sherry winced. “If that’s the new relaxed me talking, I’m not sure I can stand myself. I haven’t goofed off in twenty years.”

  Marla burst into laughter. “Let the goofing off commence. I’ve booked us a tennis lesson and we have to be there in forty-five minutes, so let’s go take a look at what workout clothes I can borrow from you. It’s going to be a tight squeeze to get your tiny-sized clothes on this Oklahoma-sized body, but I’m up for the challenge.”

  * * *

  Hours later, Sherry and Marla had their feet up on the living room ottoman. They were resting their showered and casually attired bodies on the couch after their tennis game.

  “I’m vowing, here and now, to play more tennis in the new year.” Sherry raised her phone to her face.

  “I’m vowing to play more than once a year in the new year.”

  Sherry lowered the phone. “Change of plans. Don texted and wanted to move dinner up because the weather’s taking a bad turn later. I was hoping we could finish the butternut squash recipe before dinner and taste test it, but no time now. He’s already on his boat on his way to the marina.” Sherry heaved her tired body from the couch. She reached for Marla’s hand and yanked her upright. “Let’s go bundle up.”

  Sherry checked her reflection in the front hall mirror. “Windbreaker, check. Fleece jacket, check. Hats, gloves, check, check.”

  “Are we going out on a boat or visiting the Arctic Circle?” Marla snickered. She stuffed a scarf in her coat pocket.

  “Think it’s too late to cancel? I may be setting a bad precedent with Don. He may get the idea I’m in some way adventurous. Who knows what he’ll ask me to do next?”

  “Yes, it’s too late. It’s good for you to get out of your cozy, small-town comfort zone.” Marla opened the front door.

  Chutney and Bean attentively watched their every move.

  “See you soon, puppies. If we’re not back in a few hours, send for the authorities.”

  “Don’t even joke about that.” Sherry followed her sister outside. “Nothing bad will happen.”

  The sisters stuffed their cold-weather supplies in the back seat of Sherry’s car and set off for the marina.

  “Augustin is such a pretty town.” Marla gazed out the window. “Maybe I should move back.”

  An icy wave of emotions swept through Sherry’s core. Sadness combined with empathy for her sister’s predicament. She glanced at her hands clutching the steering wheel. “You can’t just pick up and leave your husband without a fight.”

  “Aren’t you the pot calling the kettle black, or whatever that saying is? Or does the saying ‘don’t throw stones while living in a glass house’ apply?” Marla laughed softly. “You and Charlie split up after seven years of marriage and that’s the mile marker Grant and I are at. At the moment, I’m not serious about moving here, but no telling what the future holds.”

  The rest of the drive was spent in silence. As the car pulled into the marina’s parking lot, the last of the day’s sunlight peeked out over the harbor. There was only one other vehicle in the lot, a vintage pickup truck. Sherry and Marla gathered their protection against the elements from the back seat and went inside the harbormaster’s shed.

  Before the screen door slammed, Sherry took an admiring glance at the orange and yellow horizon. “I assume we’ll be heading west if we’re eating in Seaport. The setting sun will be gorgeous. Marla, look at those seabirds. They’re so lovely.” Sherry pointed out over to the water behind the shed.

  Marla faced the water. “Gorgeous.”

  “ ‘If birds fly low, expect rain and a blow.’ That’s an old sailor’s adage.” A weathered face that hadn’t known much if any sunscreen in its lifetime, greeted them inside the small building. The man didn’t smile. Instead, he surveyed Sherry and Marla from head to toe. “What can I do you for?”

  The shed was nearly filled to capacity with the three adults. When the space heater hummed to life, it wasn’t long before the temperature rose to an uncomfortable high in the confined area.

  Sherry, in her many clothing layers, quickly began to overheat. “We’re meeting a boat driven by Don Johnstone. He’s taking us out to the Clam Shack before the restaurant closes for the season. Do we wait for him in here or outside on the dock somewhere?”

  “And you two would be?” The man drew out the words, as if speaking to a lost child. He picked up a clipboard.

  “Sherry Oliveri, and this is my sister, Marla.” Sherry added, “And you are?”

  “Vitis Costa. Dockmaster.” The tone of his voice was a low rumble. “Yes, I see on the harbor log, Don Johnstone has reserved the visitor slip for his boat, Buy-Lo Sell-Hi, for the next half hour. Hope he’s not late. I have another boat coming in for the evening. Only one slip available these days. And word to the wise, you best not be caught out on the water when the storm blows in.”

  “We trust Don knows what he’s doing. He’ll have us back before any bad weather,” Sherry said with a slight break in her voice.

  “We’re counting on that,” Marla added. “Is Don bringing the boat he bought from Crosby?”

  “No. He doesn’t own that boat yet. He’s not quite a two-boat owner yet.”

  Sherry watched Vitis study his clipboard. “What do you do when there are lots of visiting boats?”

  “They can anchor out at the buoys and radio in. I pick up the passengers in the dinghy, my fancy water taxi,” Vitis replied.

  Sherry peered through the wall-wide window behind Vitis, overlooking the harbor. No sign of a boat arriving. “Vitis, how long have you worked here?” Sherry couldn’t pinpoint his age. Her best estimate was early sixties, but he could be an excessively sun-kissed fifty-five.

  “Twenty years.”

  “I see this framed article about the marina next to the clock.” Sherry pointed to the yellowing newsprint enclosed in a decaying frame mounted on the wall.

  Marla took a step closer to the framed article. She had to contort around the edge of a corner desk to get a better look. “This is an old article. I’m guessing before your time here, Vitis. Says there was a fire here?”

  Vitis looked out the window behind him. He turned back with a deep scowl. “Wasn’t here during the fire, though. You’re young if you don’t know anything about the fire. Or you’re landlubbers.”

  “The second is the truth,” Marla responded. “I wish the first was, too.”

  “I put the article up on the wall because the town’s younger generation complains about the lack of facilities here. The kids want fancy and they’re getting austere. What can I do about the past? Nothing. If they’d like to contribute to the rebuilding fund, they can put their money where their mouths are.”

  “We’re not complaining.” Sherry was eager to break Vitis’s train of thought. “Just interested in the marina’s history. Neither of us has much boating experience. Well, none really.”

  “The Augustin Marina was nearly totally destroyed by a fire around twenty years ago. It spelled the end of the Augustin Yacht Club and the prestige the club enjoyed up until that point. It’s never been restored to its full potential, and now the big boats go elsewhere to dock. We don’t even dredge the harbor anymore. Town says they can’t afford it. We feel like second-class citizens when we used to be masters of the domain.” Vitis’s nostri
ls flared as he shook his head slowly.

  Marla leaned in farther. “I’m having some trouble reading the faded type, but the article says a man named Lonnie Currier was the dockmaster at the time. Currier. Is that any relation to Crosby Currier?”

  Sherry glared at Marla in hopes she’d discontinue the conversation fueling Vitis’s irritation, but the subliminal message went unreceived.

  “Yup. Crosby is his son. Imagine my shock when I was informed it was his body tied to the marina’s anchor. Dead as that stuffed swordfish mounted on the wall.” Vitis pointed to a huge fish arched across a mounting board, hanging on the wall by the door.

  “Did you become dockmaster right after the fire?” Sherry asked. “Or did Lonnie Currier stay on?”

  “Lonnie left his job soon after the fire. No sense sticking around when there were no boats coming and going. The marina wasn’t functional for half a year. That’s when I came on board. Plus, there was some debate about how the fire started and whether it was intentionally set. Personally, I think Lonnie wanted a career restart somewhere else.”

  “The fire wasn’t an accident?” Marla asked.

  “Never was resolved one way or another.” Vitis shrugged. “Everyone’s got a different theory.”

  “Sounds like the town decided rebuilding the marina wasn’t a priority,” Marla added.

  “Yep. By the time I took over as dockmaster, the job was part-time. Summers and weekends only. That’s it. Depending on the weather, we may be open until mid-December or closed as early as December first. No longer year-round, like when Lonnie was here.”

  A boat’s horn howled in the distance.

  “This might be your ride.”

  “I’ll go check. I can’t get a good look through the window.” Sherry rushed to open the shed door. She slowed her pace when she recognized the tall man at the helm of the approaching boat. His auburn curls protruded from under his knit cap. He waved and she made her way to the visitor’s slip on the dock.

  Additional overhead lights came on as the boat neared. Don threw Sherry a rope, which, to her surprise, she caught with one hand. He motioned for her to tie the rope around a dock cleat.

  As Sherry considered the best way to keep the boat from drifting away, a voice startled her.

  “I can help with that.” Vitis collected the rope from her and spun a tight knot around the cleat, securing the boat. “Good afternoon, Mr. Johnstone.” Vitis’s baritone voice sliced through the low vibration of the boat’s idling motor.

  Don cut the boat’s power. “Good afternoon, everyone. Hey, Vitis.” His smile lingered in Sherry’s direction. He secured a second line to the dock and leaped off the bow. “Brisk out there. But refreshing.”

  Sherry studied Don’s rosy complexion.

  “I’m dressed in layers.” Blotches of white across his cheeks affirmed her suspicion the wind chill temperature was bone-chilling.

  “Me, too.” Marla cozied up to Sherry.

  “Vitis, I’m gonna need another life jacket or two, if you wouldn’t mind me borrowing a couple.” Don sported a reflective life jacket over his parka. “Need an extra-large to fit over all those layers.”

  “No problem. Let’s go try a few on.” Vitis extended a hand toward the shed. Sherry, Marla, and Don proceeded in that direction.

  Outside the shed, Don dug through the bin of life jackets, handing his choices to Sherry and Marla to try on.

  “Meet you all back at the boat,” Vitis announced as he left the threesome sorting out sizes.

  After a few minutes, Sherry was satisfied with their flotation fashion. They accompanied Don back down the dock, where they found Vitis talking on his cell phone.

  “I always thought boat wear was so cute. I might have been mistaken. I feel like a stuffed turkey, and I’m sure I look like one.” Sherry laughed.

  Marla patted her sister’s well-padded tummy area. “You kind of do, which means I do, too.” Marla lifted her eyes from Sherry. “We’re not the only turkeys on the sea tonight.”

  Sherry gazed beyond Marla to where another boat was idling within arm’s length of Don’s boat.

  Vitis held his palm toward the boat, phone still at his ear. “Sorry I missed you. Come find me next time.” Vitis put his phone in his pocket and cupped his hands around his mouth. “Hold your position. One minute. They are leaving.” He turned back to Don. “They’re early. Must have seen the forecast.”

  Sherry squinted at the woman standing on the neighboring boat’s deck. “Who is that, Marla? I’m sure I know her.”

  Marla shook her head. “Couldn’t tell you who either one of them is.”

  “That’s Mrs. Currier. She’s a fixture around here,” Vitis said. “And the chef from Pinch and Dash Bakery is at the helm.”

  “Crosby’s wife?” Marla asked Sherry in a soft whisper. “And Chef Buckman?”

  “Ex-wife. Yes, that’s her.” Sherry didn’t take her eyes off the boat. “And he goes by Barry.”

  “If you can pull over here, these fine folks will be heading out soon.” Vitis positioned himself toward the elbow of the dock. The makeshift docking spot he pointed out would serve well temporarily, although Sherry calculated the boats to be only a wave’s distance apart and vulnerable to possible collision.

  “No rush.” Barry adjusted his furry, mad bomber hat.

  Vitis tied a line to a cleat and Barry cut his boat’s motor. “Sherry Oliveri. What a pleasant surprise.”

  “Hi, Barry. Hi, Rachel.” Sherry took a few steps closer to the boat. With a better view of the boat’s stern, she made out the name of the vessel, Sugar. “Rachel, I’m so sorry for your loss. You must be beside yourself with grief.” What kind of thing was that to say, when she obviously wasn’t beside herself with grief at all? She was enjoying time out on the water with a friend. The same friend Rachel had had a close word with after the bake-off.

  “Thank you, Sherry. Our family is devastated by Crosby’s untimely death. You probably think I’m heartless, taking a boat ride the day after my ex-husband passed away, but each of us copes in our own way.”

  “I can’t even imagine,” Sherry replied. “This is my sister, Marla, and my friend Don, who both had dinner with Crosby before the bake-off.” She vigorously waved Marla and Don over to Barry’s boat.

  Marla rushed over. “Nice to meet you. Sorry for your loss.”

  Don repeated the sentiment.

  “How was it out there?” Sherry asked. “I’m a bit of a reluctant boater when it’s not eighty degrees and sunny. I could use some encouragement.”

  “You sound like Crosby,” Rachel scoffed. “He never wanted to go out on the water. That was the final deal-breaker for me. We ran out of commonalities.”

  Sherry cringed slightly before adding, “Crosby was once my teacher in high school. He encouraged me to pursue my love of cooking, which I came to appreciate many years later. I’m grateful to him for that.”

  Barry threw a tow line to Vitis, who guided the vessel farther forward, giving Don’s boat ample clearance.

  “You knew him at his peak,” Rachel said. “He went downhill after his teaching career ended. I should never have married him. I thought I could change him, and that’s an awful mistake to make.”

  Don cleared his throat. Sherry fought the urge to look his way because she knew he wanted no part of this awkward conversation. A number of questions for Rachel ran through Sherry’s brain. Instead of asking any, Sherry bid Barry and Rachel farewell. The three returned to Don’s boat. Vitis cast off the lines.

  Buy-Lo Sell-Hi rumbled to life, smothering Sherry’s attempt to pursue the previous conversation about Crosby.

  Don backed the boat slowly away from the dock. Everyone waved and the marina grew smaller as they puttered away. “Take a seat, ladies.”

  Sherry and Marla nestled together in the cushioned seat next to the captain’s chair.

  “Why are you sharing a seat?” Don asked.

  “We’re cozy,” Sherry replied. “Helping each other get
our sea legs.”

  “Whatever makes you two sisters feel secure, but I’m a safe driver. I promise.”

  Once they passed the final buoy, marking low speed boating only, Don opened up the motor. Sherry’s exposed hair, not saddled by her cap, whipped around her face. The cold wind iced her cheeks. She had to admit she was exhilarated by the speed, the darkening sky, and the salt spray curling away from the boat as it rode the waves.

  A short time later, Don slowed the boat to a steady crawl as they approached a collection of lights. The boat entered an inlet where Sherry could make out a gray wood building. A porch, active with people and music, overhung a dock. The “Clam Shack” sign hung askew from the balcony, announcing the potential level of fun to be had by all patrons.

  Don slid the boat into a slim slip and assigned Marla the task of hopping across the gap between the boat’s deck and the dock cleat. He tossed her a rope. Sherry hoped he hadn’t concluded Marla was the steadier hand to choose between the sisters. At the same time, she was glad she wasn’t chosen. Creating the perfect Bolognese sauce was her thing, not securing a twenty-foot bobbing bathtub after leaping a watery gap. Marla was the right choice.

  “Okay, Sherry, watch your step.” Don crossed the gap and landed safely on the dock. He reached forward and pulled Sherry from the boat.

  “I wore the wrong shoes. I didn’t realize the boat’s deck would get so wet,” Sherry whispered to Marla. “Is that normal?”

  Marla shrugged. “Not sure.”

  “What are you two whispering about?” Don asked.

  “How hungry we are,” Marla said.

  After a dinner of fried clams, lobster salad, macaroni and cheese, and pinot grigio on the restaurant’s space heater–warmed porch, the time came to head home. The effects of wine consumption made boarding the boat a bit precarious. Again, Don assigned rope duty to Marla. While casting off was taking place, Sherry noted the nighttime sky was moonless and starless. The clouds had moved in.

  “I don’t like this.” Don shone a flashlight on the stern.