P.J. Alderman - Ghost Ship

“I’ve led a sheltered life. What about Sally’s alibi? The sister of the girl Holt dated who committed suicide?” Belatedly, Jordan glanced down the bar and saw Sally looking straight at her. Jordan winced. “Sorry,” she told her in a raised voice.

Sally slid off her barstool and walked over. Dressed in jeans, boots, and a flannel shirt, the woman wore a baseball cap stenciled with the name of the local mill where she worked. “Might as well ask me to my face,” she told Darcy, her tone belligerent, “because I certainly wanted the son of a bitch dead. I’ve been positively giddy ever since I heard someone popped him.”

“So where were you the night Holt died?” Darcy asked.

“At home, alone, watching television.” Sally drank the rest of the shot of tequila she was carrying, then set it on the bar for a refill. “And no, I didn’t call anyone, and I didn’t go out to buy anything, so no one can vouch for me.” She paused. “I suppose you could check with my Internet provider, since I was on email at some point.”

Darcy sighed. “I don’t suppose you have any idea who ransacked Holt’s place yesterday?”

Sally shook her head. “I was out there, but the place was in its usual shape—filthy, not ransacked.”

“When were you out there?” Jordan asked.

“Around midafternoon. I went inside long enough to retrieve something of mine. Why?”

“You really shouldn’t tell me that you entered Holt’s house without permission,” Darcy grumbled. “Why is it that everyone in this town thinks they can commit felonies at will? And that I’ll look the other way when they do?”

“Hey.” Sally glared. “That asshole wouldn’t give back a locket Melissa left there last year. It’s a family heirloom, and one of the few items of Melissa’s that I have left. I wanted it back, and I was damn well going to get it.”

“Did you see anyone else when you were there?” Jordan asked, handing her the tequila shot. “Someone driving a dark, midsize sedan?”

Sally knocked it back, then shook her head. “Nope. The place was deserted. Look, all I wanted was the locket, okay? And yeah, I didn’t have any qualms about breaking and entering to get it, but the front door was unlocked in any case.” She looked at Darcy. “Are you going to arrest me?”

“I should, just to make a point,” Darcy said. “Otherwise, at the rate I’m going, the town will be completely lawless within a year or two.”

“So you weren’t the person who shoved me down the stairs?” Jordan asked Sally as she pulled two microbrews for the crowd at the closest table.

“Of course not.” The surprise on Sally’s face looked genuine. “Why on earth would I do that? Those stairs are cement—you could’ve been hurt.”

“Probably accounts for one of the set of fingerprints you lifted, anyway,” Jordan told Darcy. “I still think the person who pushed me was a sumo wrestler.”

Sally smirked. “Slammed you back real good, did he?” She turned to Darcy. “Are you any closer to finding Holt’s killer?”

“The investigation is still in its initial stages, so no, no suspects as of yet.”

“Good.” Sally looked satisfied.

“You willing to come down to the station to be fingerprinted? Just so I can rule you out?” Darcy asked sardonically.

“Bite me,” the other woman replied, then left to go chat with some folks who were seated at the far end of the bar.

Darcy watched until she sat down, then pulled a Baggie out of her jacket pocket, picking up the shot glass by its rim and dropping it inside.

“Sneaky,” Jordan said.

Darcy shrugged. “Whatever it takes.”

Kathleen delivered burgers to them without a word. The beef was grilled to perfection, served on what appeared to be homemade whole-grain buns, and garnished with fresh tomato slices and homemade coleslaw. The potatoes were roasted organic fingerlings that Kathleen grew in her garden, and they gave off a heady aroma of garlic and Parmesan.

Jordan paused from mixing drinks long enough to take a huge bite of the burger, closing her eyes in ecstasy. “Holy God. I need to make this a permanent job. Screw the tips, as long as the meals are free.”

Darcy nodded, her mouth full. “Easy come, easy go on the money in the safe. But withdrawal of Kathleen’s cooking? Not an option.”

Jase, who was passing by, leaned across the bar to murmur in Jordan’s ear, “The perks are very good.” He winked, then headed over to deliver drinks to the band.

“I’ll just bet they are,” Darcy replied drily.

“So we know Sally’s visit probably accounts for one of the sets of fingerprints. That leaves two,” Jordan mused, ignoring them both.

“And one of the three matches the prints we got off your front door,” Darcy informed her.

Jordan raised both eyebrows. “Really? So that means whoever broke into Holt’s house is the same person who was in my library.”

“Yes, which I consider not to be a good sign,” the police chief replied. “You could be in real danger from someone, and that someone really could be the murderer. I can’t compel people like Sally to give me their prints, unless I want to start acting like a jerk. She did admit to entering Holt’s house. If the door really was unlocked, then I would be on thin ice except that she left the shot glass in plain sight.”

“Does that mean I need to carry my empty beer mug out of here and throw it away where you can’t find it?” They both turned to see Bob wedge his lanky body between Darcy and the patron on the next barstool. He towered over them, grinning affably, and held out his hands. “Cuff me, Chief. I confess, I dropped by Holt’s yesterday to pick up a roll of marine charts he’d borrowed from me.”

Darcy shot him a dirty look. “So you also admit to going into Holt’s house without permission?”

“Hey!” he protested. “The door was unlocked. And we both know that everything in Holt’s house will go through state-level probate, unless you turn up a distant relative, and it will take forever to get anything back. Major hassle. I just wanted to retrieve the charts; I use them all the time.”

Darcy swiveled on her barstool and addressed the room at large. “If there’s anyone here who didn’t trespass and break into Holt’s house after the murder, please raise your hands.”

The ghosts looked confused by the question; only a few human hands went up.

“Jesus Christ,” Darcy said. “I might as well call in a paddy wagon.”

“Well hell, Chief,” a man at a nearby table spoke up, “Holt had my compressor and paint sprayer. Those are expensive items. And the door was unlocked.”

“Yeah,” someone else agreed. “And he had my nail gun.”

“He was strapped for cash and borrowing stuff all over town,” a third explained.

“I’m amazed you didn’t find dozens of unidentified prints,” Jordan observed.

“Nah. Most of our stuff was in his toolshed,” the third man replied.

“I walked right in and grabbed the sprayer out of the living room,” the first said. “I don’t remember touching anything except the doorknob, and I was wearing my work gloves.”

Jordan remained confused regarding one issue. “I thought you said you didn’t talk to Holt about what he was up to,” she said to Bob. “He had your marine charts?”

“I didn’t talk to him,” Bob replied. He pointed to a tap, and she drew a beer for him, sliding it across the bar, which he made a show of handling with only his fingertips. “He dropped by a couple of weeks ago and asked if he could borrow some marine charts. People around here borrow my charts all the time, just to look at them, or to pinpoint a location based on reading some mystery novel set in this area.”