The Body in the Boat Read online

  The woman’s face was still flushed, and she spoke in rapid Japanese, but Ella, with her limited lexicon of the language, caught a word here and there. It was enough to confirm her suspicions that the woman came from a century as antiquated as some of her vocabulary choices. It also proved that obscenities never went out of style.

  After Horatio had whipped up a new, artery-clogging meal, the chaos calmed down until the lunch rush hit. As with Kayline’s murder a couple weeks before, the diner was packed with what seemed like the entire town as news of Stan’s untimely demise spread.

  It didn’t surprise Ella that word had traveled like a sneeze. What surprised her was that it had taken a couple of hours.

  In a small village lacking TV shows and the internet, entertainment was in short supply. Or rather, they were forced to drum up their own.

  At one point, Ella managed to pour herself a cup of sludge from the carafe, shove a homemade donut into her mouth, and listened to two women at the lunch counter, clucking about Stan. One wore a garnish hat that held half a garden atop it while the other had brows that were allergic to tweezers.

  “Ain’t natural,” Garden Head tsked. “Them turbine things are an abomination. An eyesore.”

  Unibrow cackled. “It’s ungodly using so much electricity. What’s wrong with a little bit of kerosene, hm? Or a candle? Keeps us humble, I say.”

  “Well, good riddance, I say.”

  Ella caught tidbits from other conversations as she delivered more plates of food to various patrons. Overall, the general consensus of wagging tongues was that Providence had taken care of the beady-eyed man.

  There was also plenty of speculation on how he’d drowned—the details of him being found in the boat hadn’t yet circulated—and what would happen with the wind farm expansion project now that the one spearheading it had passed.

  Ella worked until closing time, letting Wink go home early. They’d been so busy, she hadn’t had a chance to get a bead on Wink’s feelings about Stan’s death.

  Ella shooed the last of the customers out by feigning she’d spotted a mouse when they’d lingered ten minutes after closing. She finally flipped the sign around in the window and leaned against the glass.

  Her ears exhausted from the gossip, and her feet felt like they’d run a marathon. All she wanted to do was collapse in a booth, but she feared if she did, she’d never give up again.

  Dragging her sneakers over the checkered linoleum floor, she closed the back door and locked it. She’d sent Horatio home five minutes until eight.

  Her thoughts wandered back to Stan in the boat like they had all day. Had he had some kind of stroke?

  Try as she might to forget, Chapman’s news that he might have to release Six soon sent her gut squirming and threatened her with a repeat peek of her dinner.

  Six Shooter would be free soon. Six, who’d almost killed her and probably blamed her for getting him locked up.

  By the time she reached her bedroom, she jumped at nearly every shadow. A loud meow announced Fluffy’s presence somewhere in the bowels of the dark hallway.

  His claws clicked over the hardwood floor as she waited with her door open. Once his tail cleared, she shut it. Her hand lingered over the knob then turned the lock.

  Tuesday morning at the diner was more of the same: packed bodies and loose lips. Wink seemed herself mostly but subdued.

  Around noon, while Ella bent over to clean up a

  Tuesday proved to be far less of a headache than the day before. The diner was busier than its usual, weekday self, with lingering gossips that hadn’t had it out the day before, but Ella managed to squeeze in an early break.

  After wiping the floor of strawberry milkshake courtesy of a five-year-old, she poured herself some coffee, fixed with cream and sugar, and settled in with one of Wink’s chicken pot pies. After the diner owner finished with a customer at the register, who paid by taking a pile of cloth napkins to launder, she sat across from Ella. She’d just taken a sip of her own coffee when the door opened.

  Both Ella and Wink turned to greet whoever it was.

  “Oh, it’s just Flo.” Ella’s fork broke the crust of the pot pie. Steam rose and curled out.

  Flo mimicked Ella’s voice, a whole octave higher than it actually was. Then, she threw Ella across the booth with her wide hips. “Scoot over.”

  Ella glared and pulled her food and coffee over to her new seat. “What are you doing here? Couldn’t find anyone else to annoy?”

  “‘Course I could. You’re just special.” Without a word, Flo reached across and grabbed Wink’s coffee. “Just the way I like it, thanks.”

  “Yes,” Ella said for Wink. “I’m sure you’re exactly who she had in mind when she poured it.”

  Wink waved her away. “It’s a lost cause, Ella. Believe me, I’ve tried. Can’t teach manners to a swine.” She got up and poured another cup of mud and rejoined them.

  “So,” Flo began, “I missed all the scuttlebutt yesterday. Someone want to fill me in?”

  Ella had just taken a rather large bite without testing it with her tongue first. Her hand now danced in front of her mouth, waving off the potential flames from shooting out. Already, she could feel tastebuds dying. She shot Wink finger guns, indicating for her to talk.

  “What is wrong? Are you dying?” Flo slapped Ella on the back.

  Normally, she would’ve appreciated Flo being concerned for her well-being. Unfortunately, her attempt at dislodging whatever wasn’t in Ella’s throat actually served to lodge something in it.

  Ella hacked and coughed until a chunk of pie crust moved from her esophagus. “Kittens, Flo. You need to take a first aid class,” Ella managed to cough out.

  While she nursed her sore throat and gingerly took another bite, Wink rehashed what had happened to Stan.

  Flo’s dome of hair tipped forward along with her as she leaned in. “Stan was never no genius, but why on earth would he be out in the middle of the lake during that ungodly storm?”

  “Night fishing?” Ella’s face ping-ponged between their two blank ones. “No? That’s not a thing? I can tell by your expressions that’s not a thing.”

  She took a sip of coffee before taking another crack at them. “Did Stan have any heart problems that you knew of? Any known brain aneurysm, perhaps, just waiting to pop like a balloon?” Her face contorted. “Sorry, bad analogy. Really in poor taste.”

  Flo’s thick glasses turned towards Wink. “Pearl? You knew him better.”

  Wink snorted. “I think you’re overstating the nature of our ‘relationship’. Until this project, I’d never really talked to the guy. But no, I don’t think he had a heart problem. Don’t know nothing ‘bout his brain, though.”

  “Hm,” Ella said. “So, it could’ve been just an accident.”

  “I agree, it’s disappointing,” Flo said.

  “What? I didn’t say that?”

  “Really? I’m sure you did. Huh. Must’ve thought it then, and I picked up on it,” she tapped her head with an arthritic finger, “telepathically.”

  Ella coughed into her coffee. “Oh, sure, sure. Yep. That’s exactly what happened.”

  The door jingled. As Ella turned to greet the customer, she caught the apprehension in Wink’s face.

  Sheriff Chapman scanned the diner with his cool, blue eyes before approaching. He dipped his chin in greeting. The scent of horses and dirt followed mixed with the ever-present aurora of burgers.

  “Afternoon, ladies. Flo.”

  Ella snorted. An orthopedic shoe hit her shin under the table.

  After pleasantries were exchanged all around, Ella broached the question that had been burning in her mind since the day before.

  “Sheriff, was Pauline able to find out anything more about how Stan died?”

  “Drowned.” The word rolled around his mouth with his drawl, making it sound pedestrian, almost pleasant.

  “So he really drowned in a boat,” she said more to herself. How did one even manage that? If s
he weren’t so confused, she’d almost be impressed. “No heart attack?”

  His head swiveled to the few lone customers at the counter before lowering his voice. “She said he had the heart of a man half his age. Guess there’s something to being full of piss and vinegar after all.”

  Ella caught her bottom lip between her teeth and exchanged glances with the dynamic duo—well, mostly Wink since Flo was currently three fries into Ella’s food.

  Was it possible Stan had killed himself? She supposed it wasn’t out of the question, but she could think of at least a dozen other ways to do oneself in that were far more pleasant, most involving drugs or a rope, one involving thirty pounds of bacon.

  She looked up at him, noticed the pinch in his expression, caught his lingering gaze on Wink. “Oh, crap. You think it wasn’t an accident. That someone killed him.”

  “Hm, maybe that head of yours has something in it, after all.”

  “Thanks?”

  His hands worked the brim of his derby hat, his gaze still fitting to Wink. “There were traces of what Pauline called, ‘defensive wounds’.”

  Ella pushed her plate towards Flo, her appetite suddenly gone. A sinking in her gut told her she was about to watch another friend be put into the sheriff’s crosshairs.

  “But there was only one person in the boat,” Ella said, her voice small and far away.

  “You only saw one person in the boat. Obviously, there were two at one point.” Something in his tone sounded accusatory toward Ella like he blamed her that Stan was dead in the first place.

  He replaced his hat on his silver hair and rolled a finger over his mustache. “I’d appreciate it if none of you goes telling anyone just yet. If word gets out, I’ll know it was one of you.” He leveled a glare at each one woman in the booth.

  Ella wondered why he bothered telling them in the first place. Maybe because she’d discovered the body, he felt obliged to give her something for her troubles. Or maybe he was being his usual nineteenth-century self and ignoring protocol. Or maybe he was testing her.

  “Pearl,” he said, his voice taking on an official quality, “I need to have a word with you.”

  Flo leaned in.

  “In private,” Chapman added. Something in the way he said it made it clear that Wink had no choice but to comply.

  “Sure, we’ll just step out back.” Wink wiped her hands over her apron as she stood. Her mouth had become a thin line. “Ella, would you mind keeping an eye on Chester, please?”

  Ella’s head whipped back. “What? Chester?”

  “He’s in the kitchen.”

  “Oh, sure. Of course.” As the two stepped into the kitchen, Ella followed hot on Chapman’s cowboy boots, and shot a look over her shoulder, mouthing for Flo to stay there.

  Wink and Chapman slipped out the back door, leaving Ella and Horatio alone in the kitchen.

  Atop the industrial 1950s refrigerator, Chester stood on his hind legs watching his blue-haired human leave. He chittered and flicked his long gray tail. The bib of his overalls hung loose, and Ella stood on tiptoes to tighten the straps.

  Satisfied that the squirrel’s attire would stay put, Ella transferred the sourdough bread Wink had just baked to a cooling rack. She pulled the scent in, and her appetite came back with a vengeance.

  By the stove, Horatio cleaned and hummed a tune while Ella searched for the container of peanuts Wink kept handy. She held up a handful. Chester’s nose twitched in the air, and he crept forward. After he sniffed her skin, he snatched a nut from her palm then tore into it in a way that reminded her of how she attacked pizza after a long run.

  She hoped he wouldn’t leave his scent on her because Fluffy had ignored her for the better part of two days the previous week when she came home smelling of Chester. The two had a bitter rivalry that tended to leave a mess of broken things in their wake.

  After washing her hands, Ella sliced a couple of pieces of the fresh bread, trying to peer out the back window for a glimpse of Wink and Chapman. As she set the slices on a plate, she turned to offer some to the squirrel and stopped short.

  “Uh, Horatio? Did you see where Chester went?”

  After saying he hadn’t, he resumed his humming.

  Ella set the plate on the island and leaned down, looking for the gray-haired rodent.

  Whatever happened to keeping him on a leash?

  “Chester…” she called in her best sing-song voice. “I’ve got more peanuts.” She shook the container, hoping it’d bring him forth.

  When that failed, she got on her hands and knees, looking under the fridge, praying no one would walk into the kitchen because they’d have a perfect view of her underwear.

  The kitchen door swung in, and Ella shot to her feet.

  “Pink hearts? What are you, fifteen?”

  “Flo, help me find Chester.”

  “Why would I do that?”

  Ella shot a look at the back door where she knew Wink would come in any minute. “Because if you don’t, I’m going to tell Wink how you bought all of Rita’s ricotta cheese so she couldn’t use any on her lasagna at the next potluck.”

  Air hissed between Flo’s teeth as she sucked in a breath. “You wouldn’t dare.”

  “Help me find Chester, and your secret’s safe with me.”

  “And me.” Horatio held up a spatula.

  “And Horatio.”

  After a half-second of consideration, Flo agreed. “Be right back. I have something I think will help.”

  She darted into the diner. Ella prayed no customers showed up in the next few minutes to divert her from the search party.

  Flo bounded back in, a small canister in her hand.

  “What is that?” Ella asked, her voice rising in panic. “Is that mace?”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. It’s bear spray.”

  Ella opened her mouth, closed it, then pinched the bridge of her nose. “Wh-how-You can’t use bear spray on a squirrel.”

  “Why not? He’s an animal?” She pointed at the can that looked alarmingly like a blow horn. “Says so.”

  “There’s a marked difference in size between a bear and a squirrel.” She looked to Horatio for help. “I’m not wrong, right?”

  “No, they are definitely different in size.”

  “See? Horatio knows it’s wrong—”

  “But I must ask, what is a bear?”

  Ella held up a finger. “We’ll circle back to that, Horatio. I feel like this shouldn’t even have to be explained, Flo. You can’t use that on a small animal. Or a human.” She emphasized the last word.

  Flo made a sound like “pff.” She held the spray up, squinting at the instructions in fine print.

  Ella breathed deeply, vacillating between disarming Flo or locating Chester. The decision was made for her.

  A whoosh of air preceded something warm and furry slamming into her head. Ella screamed and grabbed at the squirrel, feeling fur as he dug his claws into her hair to keep from toppling off.

  She only had a moment to register the dispenser of bear spray pointed at her.

  “Flo, no!”

  The air filled with a hiss. Chester leaped off Ella’s head to the island then flew like Superman through the passthrough to the safety of the diner.

  Between the moment of getting sprayed and up until that second or two later after Chester smarty abandoned them, she’d felt nothing but the wet spray, most of it on her hair.

  Then a fire from hell hit her without mercy. It burned her skin. Her eyes shut involuntarily, unable to open. Not just tears, but streams of water gushed from her ducts. Her nose clogged, and her snot had its own snot.

  Doubling over, she gagged and coughed, wheezed and sneezed, yet somehow managing to throw out every terrible thing she could think of to call Flo—half of them not even real words. Just noises.

  Flo and Horatio weren’t spared, either. She could hear them huddled on the ground as well, hacking up kidneys and lungs. Someone vomited.

  Ella heard the back
door burst open and hit the wall and something fall.

  “Don’t!” Ella gasped, but the word came out garbled.

  “What on—” Wink managed before she began choking.

  Ella felt fresh air from the open back door. Crawling on her hands and knees, she felt her way towards it. A strong hand helped her up, and Chapman guided her to the sink, helped her rinse her eyes and face, then guided her to the door.

  “There’s a step,” he said as she stumbled to the ground.

  “Yep, found it.”

  He left her to retrieve the others. Ella’s eyelids still refused to open. Also, her tongue wasn’t working quite right. Some of the spray had gotten into her mouth, and she was strange things like metals and colors and cookies.

  She tipped her head back and turned in the direction she hoped was Twin Hills. With tears still streaming down her face and probably blood or snot or a combination oozing from her nose, she rocked on her feet.

  “Yep, just another day in Keystone.”

  Steps shuffled as Sheriff Chapman deposited Flo—obvious by the amount of cursing. A half-minute followed and out came Horatio followed by Wink.

  “Someone wanna tell me what the hell happened here?” Chapman’s usual drawl had an edge.

  “Well, Sheriff,” Ella started, “Flo—”

  “I’m over here.”

  Ella turned.

  “No, here.”

  She turned again, calling, “Marco.” She heard a sigh and gave one last turn, muttering, “no one ever says ‘Polo’. Where was I? Oh, yeah. Hurricane Flo.” She detailed what transpired. When she mentioned the pet squirrel, Wink yelled his name and went running around the building to the front. Or at least that’s what Ella gathered judging by the subsequent yelling and pounding footsteps.

  The sheriff’s deep voice shifted as if he’d turned his head. “Flo Henderson—”

  Ella coughed to cover a snicker.

  “—You’re lucky no one was seriously hurt.”

  “We sure about that?” Ella pointed at her eyes still fused shut.

  “Furthermore,” Chapman said a little louder, “I’m confiscating your bear spray. How you ever got your hands on it in the first place… ‘course I say that about half the weapons I’ve taken from you.”