Jeezy creezy. Not all families are created equal, that’s for sure.
I hurry up the steps after them, but my stomach swirls with a flash of nausea as the boat slows and spins awkwardly in the water. We must be nearing the docks in the marina, and I definitely want to get my hands on Erick before anyone else does.
Racing to the port side as we slowly motor toward the dock, I search the shore and find the sheriff and four of his deputies waiting on the gangplank.
As soon as the boat comes in range, two dockworkers, probably conscripted by Erick, tie off the boat. Two deputies man the gangplank, ensuring that no one exits without an interview, while Erick, flanked by Deputy Paulsen and Furious Monkeys/Deputy Baird, boards the ship with the confidence and bluster of an old-fashioned pirate raid.
While I make a beeline for Erick, he nods in my direction and sends Paulsen toward the body.
By the time I reach the sheriff, Deputy Baird has commandeered the microphone and is directing the passengers to “form a queue on the main deck . . .” The rest of her speech is lost as I let Erick slip a protective arm around my waist.
“How do you get yourself into these things, Moon?”
“Let me remind you, I’m a guest, Sheriff Harper, not a suspect.”
He shakes his head. “No, you’re not a suspect—this time. But that doesn’t mean you’re not under suspicion.”
“Before you waltz too far down that road, Sheriff, I thought you might like to know that the victim argued with several people over the course of the evening, and nearly all the female attendees are wearing gloves. Oh, also, it might interest you that Leticia Whitecloud, Jimmy, and Arnie are running this operation.”
Erick raises his eyebrows and nods thoughtfully. “I was made aware of her involvement by the Tribal Council. I’m sure there was some bribery and possibly even some blackmail involved. But I’m curious to know your source?”
I open my mouth to answer—
“Welcome aboard, Sheriff Harper. Let Leticia Whitecloud know if there is anything the boys can do for you.”
Erick takes in the vision in white that is Leticia Whitecloud and tilts his head my way.
Smiling, I whisper, “Asked and answered, your honor.”
He slips past me to continue his investigation, and I suddenly feel the burning need to find the demure Violet Barnes. My search below deck was fairly thorough, but I have yet to make it topside. I casually wander toward the staircase at the bow of the vessel and climb to the uppermost deck.
There, leaning over the railing, weeping and tossing bits of torn paper into the lake, is Violet.
Approaching slowly, I offer my condolences. “Excuse me, it’s Violet isn’t it? I’m so sorry about this second tragedy.”
She turns and the harbor lights reveal streaked mascara and swollen eyes. “I actually loved my mother, you know. Iris doesn’t speak for all of us. Vassili made my mom happy.”
I close the distance and gently pat her shoulder. “I’m glad to know your mother was happy at the end. So many of us never have that chance.”
“I knew something terrible was going to happen—after that huge fight at the estate. I don’t understand why she left everything to Vassili in the will? She could’ve tossed a few thousand dollars to Iris and Roman. That’s all they cared about. Money! When they found out she left everything to him, they lost it. You know?”
I’m pretty sure I’ve cracked the case regarding what “call” Erick was on earlier. And why he was so unsurprised to hear about the tragedy during tonight’s memorial service.
“What about you? Didn’t you want anything of your mother’s?”
She sniffles loudly. “Maybe a few knickknacks, just memories. Vassili said he would see that we were all taken care of. I don’t know what the big deal was.”
“You said you were worried something like this would happen. Did someone threaten violence this afternoon?” Fortunately, the bereaved younger sister is too emotional to be suspicious.
“Not exactly. Roman said he’d find a way to invalidate the will, and Iris said she’d never let Vassili walk away with everything, but no one threatened to kill him.”
At the mention of Vassili’s murder, my mood ring turns icy, and I glance down to see an encore presentation of the rope.
“Violet, was it you that screamed—before, I mean?”
Her innocence vanishes in a heartbeat, and the bitter stain that taints her sister’s beauty bubbles to the surface. “Who did you say you were?”
“I’m Mitzy. My grandmother was a close friend of your mother.”
She steps away, and her sorrow turns to distrust. “My mother didn’t have any friends. Especially not ones her own age.” Violet turns to leave, but trips on her own shoe.
I instinctively reach out to steady her. “Are you okay? Is something wrong with your shoe?”
She yanks her arm from my grasp, adjusts her boa with a gloved hand, and marches toward the stairs with an uneven gait.
There’s no point hurrying after her. I’ve gotten all the information I can from Violet Barnes.
Heading down a deck, toward the gangplank to check in with Erick, I notice the crowd is wadding up around the exit like a herd of sheep at the gate. But these sheep are getting restless and angry.
I force my way through the crowd with some nonsense comments about having important information for the sheriff, but when I arrive and see the two deputies barely keeping the agitated guests on board, I hastily make a new plan.
“Hey, Deputy?”
The thick-necked one with black hair looks up questioningly.
I nod. “Yeah, you’ll do. Did you get a copy of the guest list?”
His eyes register more anxiety than his powerful stance would indicate as he shakes his head.
I turn and address the crowd in my “last call” voice. “Has anyone seen the young kid who checked you in and announced your name when you boarded?”
Most shake their head, but, lucky for me, the kid I’m talking about is hidden amongst the crowd and pushes his way forward. “Do you mean me?”
“Depends. You got the guest list?”
He waves his clipboard and nods.
“Make way, folks. Make way. Once he gets us that guest list, we’ll have you out of here in fifteen minutes.”
The crowd parts like the Red Sea, and a high-school-age boy in an ill-fitting gangster suit rushes forward.
He hands me the clipboard. “Um, so, I’m not on that list, but I gotta get home. My mom has to work the graveyard shift at the cannery and I gotta babysit my little sister.”
“Come with me. And keep your mouth shut.”
The scrawny teenager falls in line behind me.
I approach the two deputies. “Deputy— Does your name tag say ‘Johnson’? Any relation to Odell?”
He shakes his head. “No relation. I get that a lot, though. Myrtle’s Diner is pretty popular and folks say I kinda look like him.”
He absolutely looks nothing like Odell Johnson, my grandmother’s first husband and my surrogate grandfather, but, like Grams always says, more flies with honey. “Sure, I can see that. I tell you what, I’ve got something here that’s going to make your job real easy and I only need a tiny favor in exchange.”