No Accounting for Murder

Chapter 9

Chapter 9

Carly loved visiting Riverdale. The town was about as different from Bear Cove as could be possible and yet the same in so many ways. Situated on a river that emptied into Bear Cove downstream, its streets ran parallel with the river, meandering a little in some places.

She enjoyed her stroll along the main boardwalk beside the water, watching the gulls soar and sweep in their eternal dance of life. The river that gave Riverdale its name ran deep and fast, with dangerous undercurrents that sometimes played havoc with shipping. Still, Carly enjoyed watching the movements of the water and the inevitable sea gulls. While she didn't think it as pretty a town as Bear Cove, Riverdale did boast a decent public pier where small cargo boats came upriver to deliver their loads of goods and passengers.

At one dock, a boat offloaded the treasures hidden in its hold-fresh fish and seafood processed from the Bear Cove Fishery. At the next mooring, staples such as flour, sugar, and tea that were first landed in the larger cities on the coast, then distributed to the smaller communities along the coastline, were being man-handled to the nearby warehouses by longshoremen. A little further upriver, at the private marina, several yachts were berthed and figures moved about on the pier and the boats.

As she strolled, Carly remembered a vacation trip she and Mike took a couple of years before. Being self-employed, they always struggled to find a good time to get away. Contrary to what most people thought, they did have to work, and one downside of self-employment was no paid vacations. However, they made the decision to take a week and go somewhere warm and sunny.

Mexico fit the bill perfectly, and they enjoyed a glorious seven days in Cozumel. The Atlantic Ocean was their playground, their hotel a respite from the heat and the sand, and the food glorious. They returned home refreshed, their passion for each other rekindled.

The sun glinting off the ocean reminded her of that week of heaven, although the air wasn't as warm as Mexico. And no doubt the water temperature here wasn't anywhere near the bathtub-like tropical waters of Mexico.

Another ray of light reflected off the near-calm surface, and she squinted to reduce the glare. A familiar figure appeared on one of the private yachts. Carly held her open hand above her eyes likes a visor. Was that who she thought it was?

Slowly she walked toward the pier about three hundred yards away. The figure looked up and their gazes locked. He looked around. His lips moved as if he was speaking to someone Carly couldn't see, then he clambered clumsily onto the pier, his lumbering gait rocking the floating dock. She knew that man.

Carly quickened her step. The retreating figure was the very person she wanted to see. Mayor Wells looked suspiciously like he wanted to give her the slip again. He peered over his shoulder as he hurried in the opposite direction. When Carly broke into a run to overtake him, he did the same. Although a portly man, Carly was surprised at how quickly he could move. He reached a vehicle, which she recognized as his black Lincoln Towncar and fumbled with the keys a moment before unlocking the door. He threw himself into the driver's seat and slammed the door. The engine started, and the car roared away. Carly stopped, dumbfounded at the fact she had lost him again.

And that he certainly looked determined not to talk to her.

Determined to get to the bottom of the mystery, she made her way back to the yacht he'd been on.

She walked unsteadily up the moving gangplank and called out. "Hello, on the. . . " Peering over the bow of the yacht, she saw the name painted on the hull. "Hello on the Flying Seagull. Could I talk to you for a minute?"

Scuffling sounds came from below deck. A moment later a tall slender woman came up. She was dressed in jeans, a t-shirt, and old deck shoes. Her hair was covered with a kerchief, and large, dark sunglasses covered most of her face. "How can I help you?" A strong mid-western accent hardened her consonants.

Carly struggled to catch her breath after her brief chase. She really needed to get in better shape. "I saw Mayor Wells here a minute ago and I need to talk to him, but he left before I could catch up with him."

"Mayor Wells? I don't know any Mayor Wells." The tight smile never quite made it to her eyes. "Are you sure you saw him on this yacht? They tend to look alike to most non-sailors." Somehow she made 'non-sailors' sound like a subhuman species.

Carly jutted out her chin. She hated being treated like she was an idiot. "I saw him here a minute ago. Short, chubby man wearing a suit and tie."

The smile was replaced by furrowed brows and a tightening of her jaw line. "There hasn't been any man, chubby or otherwise, on this yacht. I pulled into berth about a half hour ago and I'm making sure everything is secure before I leave for town."

Carly stepped forward, insistent on convincing this woman to tell the truth. "Of course he was here. I saw him."

"You must have been seeing things." The woman stepped closer to Carly, her tone brusque. She pushed her way past Carly, causing her to stumble back a step. "Excuse me."

Carly grabbed the railing on the gangplank to steady herself and caught a brief glance of the dark water behind her. For the second time in less than twenty-four hours, death reared its ugly head in her life. She often had nightmares about drowning, but those dreams usually involved a car with electric windows going over a bridge into a river. Unable to get the windows open once the motor stopped, she would awaken, covered in sweat.

Suddenly the pleasant thoughts she'd been having about the similarities of Riverdale to her vacation with Mike in Mexico vanished. No one tried to kill her in Mexico. She'd never been run off the road, no matter what people might say about the drivers there. And no one tried to push her off a gangplank for asking a few questions.

Panic rose in her at the thought of falling into the river, threatening to suffocate her. She gripped the rope railing. Under her feet, the boards moved up and down in response to the movement of the river. Next to her, the yacht bobbed on the gentle waves, mocking her in its languid movement.

Carly looked around. There was no one in sight. If she fell in, nobody would be near enough to hear her calls for help. She would die within feet of safety.

She took a deep breath, letting it out slowly through her nose. She wasn't used to feeling this helpless. She didn't like it one little bit.

The fact someone wanted to harm her gave her goose bumps. What was so serious it was worth dying for? Not one thing she could think of.

Still, others seemed to feel differently.