Captain Dead Man Page 7

  When they arrived at the bed and breakfast they went into Allie’s small office behind the front desk. She was on the phone booking a reservation. When she finished, she smiled at the two of them expectantly. Brenda sat down in one of the narrow wingback chairs and Mac took the other one.

  “We just spoke with your dad, Allie,” Brenda said. “Do you know what he was doing the morning of the race?”

  Allie’s eyes widened. “Is he a suspect?”

  “No, he isn’t. We’re just verifying everyone’s whereabouts.”

  “We’re doing this with everyone connected with the boat race first,” Mac added.

  “He was on TV,” said Allie. “I know he was filming down at the harbor side at first, because that’s where he said he was meeting the camera crew when he left early that morning. And then his crew followed him to the stands where the race began. I know he did that because in between my work here I watched him.” She gestured toward the twenty-inch television in the corner of the office that was often tuned to her father’s local channel.

  “Before he went to the viewing platform, did he go out on the water to show how one of the boats runs?” Mac asked. “I mean, did he go out with one of the captains, maybe take a quick ride around the harbor?”

  “I’m sure he didn’t do that,” said Allie. Her tone emphasized her words with a look of finality. “He’s not at all comfortable going out on water. Something happened to him a long time ago when he was a teenager and he doesn’t like water or watersports of any kind since then.”

  They stood to go and thanked David’s daughter for her input. Brenda was relieved that Allie was able to back up her father’s answers, because it would have been very tense at the Sheffield Bed and Breakfast if her own receptionist’s father were to be a main suspect. She and Mac climbed into Mac’s car and drove down to Sweet Treats. The aroma of pastries filled their nostrils in the bakery and David’s wife waved them in. “I’ll get the rolls from the oven and be right with you.”

  Brenda turned to Mac with eyes wide. “I won’t be able to resist one of those cinnamon rolls. How about you?”

  “This place is too tempting,” he agreed, looking around at the displays of baked goods and specialty cakes. They eagerly walked up to the counter.

  Hope returned and took their orders. She called to her helper from the back and asked her to take over in front while she talked with the detective and Brenda. They carried rolls and coffee to a small table at the end of the shop and Hope pulled up a chair for herself. Mac asked her the same questions Allie had answered. Although she too was worried at first that her husband might be a suspect, after they reassured her it was a routine alibi check, Hope’s answers matched her daughter’s.

  “Can you think of anyone who may have had a grudge against Captain Eddy? I know you had quite a crowd of customers during the weekend. I’m wondering if you overheard anyone speak ill of him.”

  “It was a busy time in here but I only heard everyone talk about how much they looked forward to the big weekend. I didn’t hear anything said maliciously against any of the three captains. There were playful arguments about who would win, but nothing seriously negative.” She looked intently at the two in front of her. “I know everyone involved in the race is suspect at this point, but I can assure you David would never hurt a fly, much less kill someone like Captain Eddy. He liked the man so much. David told me Eddy always made the world a better place.” They finished off their cinnamon rolls and coffee, chatting with Hope a little bit more, but there was nothing more to hear that would help them.

  Outside Sweet Treats, Mac turned to Brenda. “I’ll pick you up in time for the fireworks,” he said a little tiredly.

  “I look forward to tonight, Mac,” said Brenda, her eyes searching his. She silently hoped he wouldn’t be too distracted by the investigation to enjoy the night of celebrations. Brenda knew him well enough to understand that he would continue working the case in spite of the fireworks shooting off. They parted ways, with Mac giving her a brief kiss on the cheek. She held tight to the warmth of that kiss as she walked herself home to get ready for their evening together.

  That evening, Mac looked considerably more refreshed, having taken a shower and changed into a crisp linen shirt that showed off his broad shoulders. When he took Brenda’s hand and they walked toward the harbor, she enjoyed the fresh scent of his cologne and was glad she had chosen to change into a light, flowing summer dress. But despite the prospect of an entertaining evening ahead, they were both lost in thought about the case. Mac spoke first.

  “I’ve found no evidence of a murder suspect from the information I have at the station. If I could find a motive for it, I could have a lead.”

  “I agree it is frustrating. But I know you’re doing all the right things. Something will turn up soon.”

  Mac’s hand grew warmer as he squeezed hers a little, grateful for the reassurance. “It may have been one of the hundreds of tourists in town. Maybe someone who knew Eddy before he ever arrived here did it.”

  “If it was a tourist,” said Brenda unhappily, “the culprit could have left town by now.”

  They didn’t speak for a few minutes, thinking about the possibilities. Searching for and bringing in every tourist for questioning was impossible. Not to mention the troublesome fact that no strangers had been seen coming and going on the docks that night or that morning after Mac had questioned the business owners along the docks where the sailboats had been moored.

  “Let’s try to enjoy the spectacle tonight. Of course, we’ll need to be aware of conversations and mannerisms, especially of anyone talking about the crime,” Mac said. “It will be a while before gossip tones down around here. I just hope we can get to the bottom of it all.”

  They settled near the top of the grassy bank that overlooked the ocean. A small cruiser with fireworks was anchored yards away from the shore and as the twilight deepened around them into night, the exhibition finally started. Among the oohs and ahhs of the crowd, Brenda picked up a comment here and there speculating about who killed the captain. Those observations surfaced when Captain Scully turned and waved to the crowd before sitting down in one of the lawn chairs set aside in a special section for race entrants and officials. Brenda searched in the dim light for Captain Pratt. Mac started to wonder where the man was, too, but just then Captain Pratt arrived and sat next to Scully. The crowd roared when the fireworks shot higher and higher into the air, bursting in a way that seemed to cover the onlookers while reflecting on the water in dazzling effects. Brenda had never seen anything like it. After forty-five minutes, the finale of the display exploded in a triumph of color and the crowd clapped and cheered. Then the spectators began to disperse under the drifting haze that settled beneath the starry night sky.

  Brenda looked at the captains. Scully scribbled his autograph on various papers thrust at him from the onlookers. Captain Pratt was nowhere to be seen. She mentioned this to Mac who pointed to the edge of the water. Captain Pratt stood in the sand and looked out onto the ocean. He turned around and started to leave when fans approached him. He smiled patiently and then signed his name again and again. As she and Mac stood watching from their hill, they saw Pratt finally leave and Brenda presumed he was headed back to his boat for some peace and quiet. He seemed somber and she thought he must be seeking some time alone.

  “I’m ready for a cold drink,” said Mac. Brenda agreed and together they walked along the boardwalk where vendors had set up stalls selling food and drink. Jenny and Phyllis were in front of them and William tagged behind the two women. They all chatted about the fireworks display.

  “I could have watched it all night long,” said Phyllis. They found a picnic table and all sat and enjoyed their refreshments, savoring the festive atmosphere and chatting. Brenda looked around but there were few people nearby, so she couldn’t listen in on the conversations of the crowd as much as she wished she could.

  At last, Brenda felt tiredness overtake her, so she stood up a
nd Mac did the same. “I’m ready to turn in for the night,” she said with a yawn.

  Phyllis and William stated they were going to walk around a while longer and headed off toward the harbor side. When Mac offered to walk Brenda home, she protested until Jenny finally stepped in and convinced her father to come home and get some rest. Both Jenny and Brenda could plainly see that Mac was fatigued, though he was reluctant to admit it. He finally agreed and kissed Brenda lightly when she insisted she would be fine walking alone to the bed and breakfast.

  “I’ll enjoy the short walk back and will see you sometime tomorrow.” She waved goodbye as Mac and his daughter climbed into Jenny’s car and drove away.

  When she started up the driveway to the bed and breakfast, she smiled. The windows of Sheffield House shone out into the dark summer night. The lights were inviting and she watched a few guests enter ahead of her. Someone sat on the steps of the front veranda. The form was quite large, which soothed her initial fear – she wouldn’t have to face Bryce Jones tonight. As she drew closer, she realized it was Captain Pratt. In his right hand, he clutched a small cardboard box.

  “Good evening, Captain Pratt. You’re out late tonight. What brings you to the Sheffield Bed and Breakfast?”

  He attempted a smile. “I hoped you had not gone to bed. I’ve been waiting to talk with you.” He shuffled to his feet with the box in his hand. “I know it’s late but I hope you can spare a few minutes.”

  She was dying of curiosity and assured him she had time. They walked up the steps and sat on the porch swing.

  “I guess you’re wondering what’s in this cardboard box,” Pratt said. “I have photos I want to show you that Eddy and I took just a week ago. It’s still hard to believe he’s gone.” In the moonlight Brenda could see his eyes misted when he said that.

  “Me, too. I am curious to see the pictures.”

  “They’re from a day when we went out on my boat to do some fishing.” Brenda held her breath. Captain Pratt was finally opening up. Was this going to be the clue or confession that cracked the case of Captain Eddy’s murder? “I’m telling you this because I want to help solve this case. Captain Eddy was a brother to me, but he meant more than that to me. He was the best man I’ve ever known.” He opened the lid and took out the first picture and held it up for her proudly. “Look at this one. This is when Eddy caught the biggest fish I’ve ever seen. He threw it back. When I asked him why he did that, he said if the fish had lived this long he deserved to finish his life in the sea. I look at that as symbolic in a way...he was good-hearted like that. Though unlike that fish, poor Eddy didn’t die in the sea he loved, did he?”

  “No, he didn’t.”

  Pratt handed her the box mutely and Brenda thumbed through the pictures one by one. Mixed in with the recent pictures were a few other photos that showed the captains and friends fishing, sailing, and boating together in happier times. Photos of their catches with pride beaming on their faces, or the three captains posing together showing off a custom flag embroidered with their names above an anchor to symbolize their friendship. They clearly loved fishing, as some of the pictures were crowded with the rods and all the paraphernalia that went along with the sport.

  “Some of these pictures show the inside of my boat,” Pratt said. “I was proud of the craftsmanship Wally demonstrated when he built the boat. It was every inch a beauty. This is the engine compartment.”

  Brenda held the photo in her hand. “Let’s go inside so I can get a better look. The porch light doesn’t do justice to these pictures.”

  They moved inside and Brenda looked closely at the engine and its complicated machinery that shone with brass fittings and complex dials. “This engine looks new.”

  “When we were on the water fishing one day a couple weeks ago, just after the boats were finished, my engine malfunctioned. I knew that wouldn’t be a good thing in a race that I meant to win. So I went to Wally Doyle and he replaced it with this new one.”

  “Did he say why it malfunctioned? Why replace it and not just repair it?”

  “He didn’t say and I didn’t ask. The new one was worth taking a picture of after he replaced the bad one. I wanted to show it off to the other two. Scully and Eddy were impressed. It was a state-of-the-art engine and I think they were a little jealous.” He laughed. “Their engines were just as good, but this one was a newer model and built to last a much longer time, probably longer than the boat would. It had the same power as theirs did, however. Wally made sure to keep the playing field even between us when it came to building the boats.”

  Brenda held the photo. Thoughts raced through her mind. “I know it’s late, Captain Pratt, but do you mind if we go down to look at your boat?”

  Excitement filled Pratt’s eyes. “If you think it’s important I’m happy to give you a tour. It’s a mighty fine boat and I’m proud to show it off.”

  “Let’s drive down there since it’s so late. We can go in my car.” Pratt agreed to let her drive them down there. The night was getting late and though some revelers were still out, the crowds had thinned and they easily passed through the busier Main Street district to get to the parking lot near the docks.

  When they got to the boat, Pratt started expounding on the qualities of the wood and the other amenities in the boat. Brenda could tell he was ready to natter on for quite a while, so she interrupted him politely, smiling.

  “Did you mean it when you said you wanted to help solve the crime?”

  “Of course. Tell me what you need from me.”

  She told him she wished to inspect the engine. “I’d like to see it firsthand.”

  Pride flushed in Pratt’s face. He took her down into the cabin and back to the engine compartment which he opened with a flourish. Then he stopped in his tracks. He leaned over and examined the machinery from all sides.

  “I just wanted to make sure this is the new engine...and it is. It’s the one Wally Doyle put in here after the other one malfunctioned.”

  “Are you sure of that?”

  “I know for certain it’s the same engine. Believe me when I say I recognize the state-of-the-art one he put in here.” He nodded his head vigorously. “It’s definitely the same engine.” He gazed upon it with pride once more and stepped back to let her look more closely. Try as she might, she could not see anything out of place.

  Brenda walked ahead of Captain Pratt back up the stairs. She pointed to the cotton curtains. “Who made the curtains? They appear handmade.”

  Captain Pratt told her of the seamstress hired by Wally Doyle for shipboard work. “She’s worked for him for a long time. She’s quite the expert, don’t you think? Always does a fine—” He took a second look. Then he fingered the material and spread it across his hand. “This isn’t the original pattern he had her put in here.”

  Brenda stopped on the stair and turned back to come closer. “How can you tell?”

  “I chose the sailboat pattern. It was intricate like this, but it was sailboats and not yachts. Eddy wanted the yachts because that was his dream. He told me more than once that when he quit racing boats he would buy a yacht and cruise the waters until he died. I can’t believe that Wally would have made this mistake...I know for certain I had the sailboat pattern because I showed it off so many times when folks came around for tours.” He stared at the fabric in consternation.

  “Look around some more,” Brenda said, trying to suppress her suspicions. “Is anything else out of place or different?” She began to wonder if Pratt was showing her his boat or someone else’s. “You’re sure this is your boat and not Scully’s?”

  He looked hard at her. “I know my boat when I see it. Scully’s is right over there where it always is. This is where I always dock mine. This is my boat.” He scratched his head. “I’m sorry. There is something mysterious about it all. I’m sure it’s my boat but I feel I may be going crazy after seeing those curtains. Ah, but look at these scuff marks. I always get scuff marks right away, I’m a heavy-heeled man..
.” He knelt down to take a closer look. He was curiously silent, tracing the black streaks of a boot heel on the floor. Brenda looked at Pratt’s own boots and could see they were more of a reddish-brown rubber. Finally, he stood up, a look of consternation on his face. “These don’t match any of my shoes. They are a different brand.”

  She looked around, her mind racing. “I see you like a few sea knick-knacks in your kitchen.”

  Now Pratt was aghast, turning to look. “What? No—Eddy liked that stuff. I never liked that bric-a-brac clutter like he did. I don’t get it. This doesn’t look like my boat the more I look around. I haven’t walked through it like this since the race.” The man was clearly befuddled by this and kept turning around as if he would find a clue that would correct the strangeness of what he saw before him.

  Brenda started to walk outside onto the deck. She saw Scully’s boat where it should be. She walked around to the front of the boat and looked closely at the name painted on the vessel. It read Pratt but something was amiss, even in the dim evening light.

  “It’s my boat all right,” said Captain Pratt coming up behind her. “It says so right there.”

  “Take a closer look. Your name has been painted over someone else’s.” She pointed out the rough edges of the paint around his name that were just barely visible up close in the lights from the harbor side street lamps. “I’m convinced this is actually Captain Eddy’s boat and not yours.” Even though it was getting very late, she quickly dialed Mac and told him to come as soon as possible to the harbor. “Come to Captain Pratt’s boat.”

  She looked at Pratt when she ended the call. His face was ashen. “So someone switched things around.” Brenda nodded in agreement.

  “I’d like for you to give me any and all photos you have of your boat. I think we can assume it is the one that sank the day of the race and is a crime scene at the bottom of the ocean.”

  “I have plenty besides the ones we have here. I’ll get them to you.” He stopped talking. Then he spoke softly. “Well, no. Most of the photos went down with my boat, if you’re correct. But I have some in my suitcase that is stored in the harbor master’s office. I’ll get them.”