P.J. Alderman - Ghost Ship

Seavey made an elaborate show of dusting off his suit coat. “A life of crime can come in handy at times, can it not?”

Jase pulled Jordan well away from Bob, then retrieved Darcy’s cuffs. He walked back over to Bob, kicking his gun into the water, then knelt to flip him over and cuff him. Tom was on the phone, calling 911.

“You carry three guns?” Jordan asked, faintly incredulous.

“Middle of my back,” Darcy replied, standing as two more patrol cars and an ambulance drove into the marina parking lot, sirens blaring. “Son of a bitch is still alive, more’s the pity. You complaining about me being armed to the teeth?”

“No.” Jordan shuddered.

“Don’t ever do this again,” Jase said fiercely, coming back to hold her. “My heart fucking stopped .”

“But I didn’t do anything,” she protested, her voice muffled against his chest. She was fairly certain she didn’t want to quit holding onto him, either. Any time this millennium. “I had an appointment for a conference call. I had no idea.”

“Fine. Just don’t ‘not do anything’ ever again. Got it?”

“Shook us up real good, babe,” Tom said from beside Darcy. “When Jase got your call …” He paused and shrugged. “I’ve never seen such a laid-back guy move so fast.”

“So I called you?” Jordan asked, finally easing back. “I thought I called Darcy.”

“When you didn’t respond and I heard Bob’s voice in the background,” Jase explained, moving her out of the way of the medics who needed to get to Bob, “I borrowed Tom’s cell and called Darcy.”

“How’d you find me?” Jordan asked. “GPS tracking of the cell signal?”

Darcy rolled her eyes. “You’ve really got to quit watching crime shows. Small towns don’t have that kind of capability. I knew about your meeting with Bob this morning and put it together. My guys were at an accident out on Highway 20, so I told Jase and Tom to back me up.”

She turned to the medics, who were starting to work on Bob. “He’s got a sucking chest wound. You two would be doing the world a favor if you didn’t try all that hard to revive him.”

“Tsk tsk.” One of the medics winked at her without pausing. “So bloodthirsty. I had no idea, and I don’t mind telling you, I find that pretty hot.”

Jordan let her head fall against Jase’s shoulder and waved a limp hand. “I really do need to pee now.”

Chapter 22

JASE drove Jordan’s Prius home because she was shaking too badly to be trusted behind the wheel. At her insistence, he and Tom then left her in the care of the ghosts and went back to nailing siding onto the library wall. Amanda had hip-hop blaring on a boom box in the backyard while she weeded. Occasionally, Tom fired up what Jordan assumed from the deafening, grinding roar could only be the sawsall. The cacophony sounded eerily, blessedly normal.

She sat in the kitchen with everyone around her—Hattie and Charlotte at the table, Frank in his usual place, leaning against the counter behind her, and Michael Seavey standing nearby. Malachi lay at her feet where she could reach down and rub his stomach while she sipped the chamomile tea Charlotte had made for her.

Seavey brought out a cigar, preparing to light it. She glared at him, and to her surprise, he slid it back into his suit coat pocket.

“Pray, explain to us once again the ludicrous reason this man tried to kill you,” he ordered.

“He thought I was going to expose a part of his past—the fact that he was related to Sam Garrett,” she said. “He had a reputation to uphold as the president of the Wooden Boat Society, and he was desperately afraid unsavory details would come out that would cost him his position or harm the charitable contributions to the society. Evidently, the board of governors gets together once a year and determines his salary based on his fund-raising efforts.”

“And Garrett refused to tell you who he had seen shoot this great-great-nephew of mine, because the man was a family member of his?” Seavey asked.

“That’s my supposition, yes.” Jordan took a sip of tea, which felt wonderfully soothing on her sore throat. She’d have marks where Bob’s arm had pressed against her neck for days to come, a fact that had put a grim look in Jase’s eyes.

“Charlotte, I need to ask you more questions about the night of the shipwreck, if you don’t mind.”

“Are we back to that?” Frank asked, exasperated.

“Yes,” Jordan replied, determined. “By doing some more reading, and from having another chat with Garrett, I’ve figured out that Garrett was the one who lured the Henrietta Dale onto the beach that night. Captain Williams then contacted him, I believe, on the seventh, and told him about the hidden compartments and the opium. The two of them returned to the ship to salvage as much as they could.”

She turned to Seavey. “I was always bothered by Williams’s claim that he was so devastated by losing the Henrietta Dale that he retired from service. After all, he’d only sailed her for a few hours when she went down. I know now that it was a smoke screen. He didn’t want anyone figuring out what he and Garrett were up to, and he also didn’t want anyone suspicious about where he got the funds to retire.”

Seavey scowled. “I hired Williams because I knew he had the … traits, shall we say, to do whatever I asked of him. Nevertheless, I am surprised he turned against me so quickly.”

“I suspect he transferred any loyalties he had for you once he found out about your murder—he probably approached Garrett after Eleanor’s article appeared in the newspaper. What continued to puzzle me, though, was that Garrett swore that he didn’t murder you.” Jordan shifted in her chair, uneasy at the thought that Garrett might still be lurking somewhere nearby. “In fact, he’s been threatening me to make certain I told you so.”

Seavey scowled. “That’s unacceptable—I will look into it.”

“No!” Jordan and Hattie said it at the same time.

“I don’t think it’s necessary,” Jordan added. “He said he’d leave me alone as long as I did as he wished.”

“And I don’t like you taking any chances, Michael,” Hattie said. “Unless, of course, there’s simply no other way to ensure Jordan’s safety.”

“I don’t believe I’m in any danger at this point,” Jordan assured her.

Charlotte spoke up. “I don’t understand. If Garrett didn’t kill Michael, who did?”

“Eleanor Canby,” Jordan said.

Charlotte and Hattie both gasped, but Seavey nodded thoughtfully. “Of course. Because of Jesse’s death on board the Henrietta Dale .”

“The only other possibility would have been the Customs inspector, Yardley. But unless he found the bodies of his men, he wouldn’t have had any real proof. Whereas Eleanor had the reality of her son’s death,” Jordan explained.

“I read portions of her memoir this morning, and she clearly held Michael personally responsible for Jesse’s death.” Jordan looked at Charlotte. “Didn’t you tell me that her reporters were milling around during the rescue that night?” At Charlotte’s nod, she continued, “Do you remember who was transporting the stretchers of the three wounded men to Willoughby’s clinic? And I’m assuming they were sent to Willoughby’s?”

Charlotte frowned. “Now that you say that, I believe only two stretchers were loaded onto the wagon and sent to Dr. Willoughby’s. Eleanor was directing that effort, because of her close connection to the doctor.”

“And it would have been easy to simply have Seavey’s stretcher carried farther down the waterfront, to a location where someone wouldn’t pay it any heed.”