P.J. Alderman - Ghost Ship

“Absolutely,” Jordan agreed. “I’ve got some time between now and this evening’s plans, so I can spend some of it reading the memoir, which I brought home yesterday. Charlotte, was there ever a formal investigation into the wreck of the Henrietta Dale ? I’m asking because it seems there would have been. Do you remember hearing about something like that?”

Charlotte dabbed her eyes with an embroidered handkerchief. “Yes, of course. Mona followed the investigation with great interest and told me all about it. The ship’s captain—I can’t remember his name …”

“Nathaniel Williams,” Jordan supplied.

“Yes, that’s it. Captain Williams testified that his calculations were accurate that night, that never before in his career had he ever made such a grievous error. He claimed that someone had to have deliberately lured the ship off course.”

“Did the lightkeeper testify?”

Charlotte nodded. “The New Dungeness light had been turned off for maintenance. The keeper claimed he had discovered something wrong that needed to be repaired.” She wrinkled her nose. “Of course, I didn’t pay any attention to the mechanical details of what the man described. But he swore the captain couldn’t have used the New Dungeness light in his calculations.”

“And yet the captain claimed he triangulated off two lights, is that correct?”

“Yes, exactly.”

Frank spoke up. “I have some knowledge of these things from my time at sea. It seems reasonable to assume that if the captain claimed he used two lights for triangulation, then indeed, a second light was shining that night. I suspect someone with nefarious motives placed a light farther along the shoreline, perhaps even at the base of the bluffs along the headlands.”

“Would that have caused the captain to correct his heading enough to run aground in the location of the shipwreck?” Jordan asked him.

“Yes, absolutely,” Frank replied. “The strategy has been used by pirates for centuries, and it is relatively foolproof. The real question, in my opinion, is who would have had a reason to do so?”

“Yes, that is the question, isn’t it?” Jordan murmured.

AN hour later, she had taken a shower, grabbed some breakfast, and hauled Eleanor Canby’s memoir, along with Seavey’s stack of personal papers, out to the front porch. She settled onto the sunny end of the porch swing with Malachi lying underneath.

She had several hours before she’d planned to meet up with Darcy at the pub—a concentrated block of time when she could read, then try to piece together everything she had learned. What with the attacks, missing papers, missing money, and last night’s break-in, her brain was a jumble. She needed to make sense of everything before she could help Hattie come to any meaningful conclusions about Seavey’s murder. And if she could just keep her mind off the sawing and hammering, she stood a good chance of figuring out what might have happened that deadly night in August 1893.

Balancing a cup of tea precariously on one of the swing’s broad arms, she decided to start with—or rather, to finish—reading Michael Seavey’s papers, then move on to Eleanor’s memoir.

Unacceptable Risk

Union Wharf

July 23, 1893

THOUGH there was a crisp breeze coming off the water, the sun shone on the newly painted decking of the Henrietta Dale . Michael stood on the poop deck with his recently hired captain, Nathaniel Williams, and the ship’s carpenter, Grady MacDonough. Below them, people streamed across the docks, preparing to board a large passenger steamer bound for San Francisco.

Neck craned, Williams gazed overhead at the rigging, hands clasped at his back, a pleased smile on his weathered face. “A beautiful ship indeed, Mr. Seavey. The sailcloth is of the finest quality! It will be a pleasure to sail her.”

“I’m hoping to take her out on her maiden voyage on August 5,” Michael replied, gratified by his reaction. The man had years of experience; his judgment was quite sound in these matters. “Do you think you can have crew hired and be ready to sail by that date?”

Williams frowned, as if considering. “Barring a shortage of available experienced sailors, I believe we should be quite ready by then.”

“I can procure most for you, though I suspect you’ll wish to hire the officers yourself.”

“Yes, indeed. I always pick my seconds-in-command quite cautiously. One doesn’t need to discover after they’re at sea that his first mate can’t follow orders.”

“No, I imagine not,” Michael said wryly. Turning to MacDonough, he asked, “I trust the renovations will be complete by then?”

“Yessir! We’ve only the skylights to install, then I’ll be putting the finishing touches on the trim in the great cabin.” He hesitated, glancing at Williams before lowering his voice. “That other matter we discussed is taken care of, Mr. Seavey.”

“Excellent.” Unusually restless, Michael stared out at the water for a moment, lost in thought. Such smooth preparations should have him excited over the upcoming voyage, yet he found himself oddly unmoved. He sighed. “Then I’ll leave you gentlemen to your chores.”

“Seavey!” The shout came from below.

Michael walked to the taffrail and looked down at the crowded dock. Customs Inspector Yardley stood below, his expression grim, his manner agitated as he paced to and fro the length of the Henrietta Dale . “I must speak to you at once, man!”

“Inspector,” Michael acknowledged, taking hold of the rope ladder and climbing down. He stepped onto the dock, brushing off a bit of sawdust that clung to his morning coat. “To what do I owe the honor of a second visit in so short a time?”

“Two of my men did not return to port last night as planned,” Yardley stated. He returned to his pacing.

“I’m sorry to hear that,” Michael replied, not revealing the alarm he felt over the news. “Was the weather inclement? I don’t recall.”

Yardley slashed a hand through the air. “You know damn well it wasn’t!”

Michael raised a brow. “Actually, no, I don’t. I was at yet another interminable fund-raiser, this time held by one of our esteemed town councilmen. I spent most of the night indoors.”

“My men were again patrolling an area just off North Beach,” Yardley stated, seeming not to have heard Michael’s explanation. “They didn’t return to port at the designated time. I suspect they may have had an altercation with Sam Garrett. Was he scheduled to be at that location last night?”

Michael tsk ed. “I believe we’ve already had this discussion, Yardley. I am not in business with Sam Garrett, nor do I have any idea where he might have been last night.”

“Then you claim to have no information about what may have happened to my men.”

Michael chose his words carefully. “Though I’m certainly concerned as you are for their welfare, I know of nothing that would assist you in your efforts to find them.”

“I don’t believe you.”

Michael shrugged, drawing on his cigar.

Yardley’s face mottled with rage. “You smug son of a bitch!” he growled softly. “The entire waterfront knows you and Garrett have an agreement with suppliers out of Victoria to bring in opium. I’ll be damned if I’ll stand here and let you lie to my face, when two of my men may have been murdered by your partner!”

“Do you have evidence to back up your wild accusations?” Michael asked calmly.

“You know I don’t! And unless the bodies of my men wash ashore, I doubt I’ll find any.”

“Then I believe this conversation is over, Yardley.”