Dear Killer (Marley Clark Mysteries) by Linda Lovely Page B

I’ve booked the last company fishing charter.”
    It took about fifteen minutes to load all the passengers.
The boat ride proved wet and wild. At one point Braden’s gaze wandered below my
chin. He must have sensed my perusal. His eyes met mine and he blushed. Then he
stripped off his windbreaker and held it out.
    “You’re getting soaked,” he mumbled.
    I looked down and realized my tennis warm-ups were pasted to
my body. I was shivering like a newly shorn sheep in a downpour. Braden tucked
the windbreaker around me.
    “Thanks. You’ll have to start carrying two coats if you keep
giving one away.”
    We reached the dock and tramped up the sloped loading ramp.
Chief Dixon tossed me a towel and shook Braden’s hand.
    “Glad you made it,” he said to Braden. “Marley, I’ll drop
you home for dry clothes. The seas are too heavy for more ferries. That means
everyone on the island stays here till morning, and no one else can join us. I
couldn’t reach any of our fellas on the mainland in time to get them on Hook’s
boat.”
    Glancing at the white-capped frenzy, I spotted a hulk of a
man on the docks. He coiled a rope in hands the size of platters. Something
about him tickled my memory. He bulled his way down the rental docks, his
hunched back as broad as a billboard. Then he swiveled in my direction,
offering a glimpse of his grayish face. It looked like Underling’s ugly puss.
    Why would Kain Dzandrek’s flunky be docking at Dear Island ?
    ***
    It was four-thirty and chaos reigned. Stranded construction,
service and delivery vehicles jammed the marina parking lot. The bar will do
a banner business tonight.
    Dixon exited against the traffic tide. A line of golf carts
clogged the road. The drivers were all sixty-ish with gray hair, glasses and
pastel windbreakers. The carts snaking along Flying Fish Drive conjured up a
fleeting vision of zombie clones capturing the island. Some drivers were
undoubtedly coming to retrieve passengers, others to volunteer for ferry
duties. All wanted to check the marina hubbub firsthand. For Dear, this was
major excitement.
    “We still meeting Grace Cuthbert?” I asked the chief.
    “No,” he snapped. “Got a call from some hot-shot lawyer. He
said the Cuthbert boys’ latest prank had traumatized their mother, and she’d
gone away to…how’d he put it? ‘regain her mental clarity.’ Hell, she’s at some
fancy spa. Incommunicado for three days.”
    Grace’s departure surprised me. “She left the boys alone on
Dear?”
    “The boyfriend’s playing nursemaid. The lawyer claimed he’d
keep ’em on a tight leash, bed checks included. Fat chance. If those little
bastards come near my Sammie again, I’ll kill ’em with my bare hands. Screw
Grace’s money.”
    The sheriff sucked in a breath, held it a beat, and exhaled.
Anger management? “We don’t need to worry about those pissants tonight,” he
added. “Hugh drove the boys off island before the bridge buckled, and they
didn’t make Captain Hook’s last run.”
    Braden’s face reflected his puzzlement. “What did the
Cuthbert boys do?”
    I filled him in on the twins’ nocturnal escapade.
    “I’d sure like to know what those boys were up to the night
of the murder,” the deputy said. “If they regularly prowl at midnight, maybe they saw something. I need to chat with Hugh Wells, too. Stew’s calendar had ‘H.W.’
penciled in for lunch Saturday.”
    “Well, you can’t grill them tonight,” the chief allowed, “so
how’s about a little patrol help? The three fellas who worked day shift are
stuck here, can’t get home. But I can’t rightly ask ’em to work twenty-four
hours straight.”
    “Sure. I’ll help. That’s one reason the sheriff wanted me on
island. No way to get deputies to Dear in an emergency.”
    “Right.” The chief nodded. “Nobody’s gonna swim over if I
sound an alarm.”
    “Can you provide a car?” Braden asked as he tossed a smile
in my direction. “Marley introduced me to