Janine Marie - Rigging a Murder 01 - The Single Shoe Mystery Read online

  “Trent Braise-Bottom the Third, at your service,” corrected Trent, lifting his Tilly hat in a formal manner not used since the turn of the century and nodding to Thomas.

  “Always nice to meet a fellow Yacht Club member,” countered Thomas, making a visible effort not to laugh.

  “That lovely new Tiara 4300 Open series anchored over there is new to me this season. Isn’t she a beauty?” said Trent, pointing to a shiny new powerboat anchored off to the left of us. After receiving the appropriate nods and sounds of appreciation from Thomas and Greg, he went on, “It’s so comfortable that even Wiffy loves it! We have been here for a week, but the weather is changing so we are leaving tomorrow morning at slack tide. The boat’s got everything but a cook and Wiffy is desperate to go out for dinner,” he laughed, taking a moment to grab the side of our boat so he didn’t drift off as he had cut his engine. “Have you been to the falls yet?”

  “Not yet, but we’re about to hike them and have a picnic as soon as Mom is done making it,” interceded Katie.

  “Do you know the story of the falls?” Getting a wide-eyed “No” from Katie, he went on, “Well, Wiffy and I come up here for a several weeks every year; this is a special place for us. So I make it my job when we are here to welcome other Yacht Club members and act as kind of an ambassador, sharing my special knowledge of this incredible area. Would you like me to tell you about it?” he asked Katie, though we were all on deck now listening to his narrative. “The falls,” he turned and pointed in their direction, “are named Chatterbox Falls, and these magnificent tree-lined cliffs that surround us are granite, this gorge we are anchored in was originally cut by a glacier, and those granite cliffs I just showed you rise to heights in excess of 2,100 meters.”

  A glance told me that Katie was doing some quick multiplication in her head. “So these cliffs are like 6,300 feet high… wow,” she said, in awe.

  Looking a little put out at the interruption in his lecture, Trent continued, “In mid-June, the warm sun melting the mountain snow creates more than sixty rivers and waterfalls that combine to cascade down precipitous walls to the waters of Princess Louisa Inlet below. Tumbling 45 meters—

  “Or 135 feet,” interrupted Katie—

  “called Chatterbox Falls.” Trent continued.

  “Princess Louisa Inlet, or Suivoolot to the Native Indians, meaning ‘Sunny and Warm,’ has beckoned sea travelers since it was first seen by man. Except for aircraft, the sea is the only way here. The only public road is 40 miles away; it’s not even accessible by 4-wheel drive. The privilege of enjoying this bit of paradise” —waving his arms around like a preacher at this point, Trent almost fell out of his dingy in his enthusiasm—”comes through the generosity and foresight of James F. (Mac) MacDonald, who first saw Princess Louisa Inlet in 1919. He learned of the inlet from an uncle who had sailed to it in 1907. Mr. MacDonald remembered the spectacular beauty of the inlet as he traveled throughout the world. In 1926, after years of prospecting in Nevada, Mac struck it rich. With his newfound riches, he was able to attain his real Eldorado, or Princess Louisa Inlet. He purchased the land surrounding Chatterbox Falls in 1927 and built a log cabin. Unfortunately it was tragically destroyed by fire in 1940 but has since been rebuilt to a degree. For years, Mac acted as host to visiting yachtsmen and sailors.”

  Here Trent changed his voice from a British accent to what he perceived as an old raspy American gold miner and continued on, quoting old Mac:

  “This beautiful, peaceful haven should never belong to one individual,” he said. “I don’t ever want it to be commercialized. Indians, trappers, loggers, fishermen and yachtsmen have always been welcome to any hospitality I had to offer. I have felt that I was only the custodian of the property for Nature, and it has been my duty to extend every courtesy.”

  Switching back to his normal British accent, Trent continued.

  “In 1972, in his 83rd year, Mac spent his last summer at the Inlet. He died in 1978.

  “To maintain the perpetual trust, the non-profit Princess Louisa International Society was formed with an equal number of Canadian and American trustees. The formation of this society ensured the preservation of this enchantingly beautiful place for all future generations.

  “After ten years of careful guardianship, the Princess Louisa International Society, with the blessing of Mr. MacDonald, decided that for greater public benefit, administration of the property should pass to the Government of the Province of British Columbia. With the understanding that all previous stipulations would remain in effect, the property became Princess Louisa Provincial Marine Park in 1965. The Princess Louisa International Society continues to play an active role in the conservation and management of the park.”

  We all sat enjoying this interesting and informative but clearly memorized lecture from a guidebook for a few moments as we tried to think of what to say next. Finally Katie broke the silence with, “Well, let’s go and see this great waterfall, then.”

  “You need to be very careful, young lady,” Trent said solemnly. “Eight hikers have slipped and fallen to their deaths over the years. Make sure you stay on the trail. It’s a dangerous two-hour hike to the trapper’s cabin.”

  A bit unnerved and not wanting to frighten Katie, we all laughed and thanked Trent, who, it turned out, wasn’t done with us quite yet:

  “The real reason I came over was to …”

  We exchanged looks. Was he about to start on yet another 20-minute lecture?

  “Make sure you have enough scope out for your anchor,” he continued, “because the weather’s changing and I have 5 to 1 anchor line out, and so, depending on what you have… we don’t want to swing into each other tonight when the wind kicks up.”

  “Dad, what is scope?” Katie asked.

  “Scope refers to the length of line or chain between the anchor and the boat’s bow relative to the depth of water and the weather conditions in which the boat is anchored. Thus, a scope of 3 to 1 indicates that a boat lying in 10 feet of water has an anchor line 30 feet long,” Thomas replied.

  I tuned out at this point, as the amount of anchor chain out is not my area. Gathering up the knapsack I had filled I started to load up the dingy, lock up our boat, and generally make ready to go. Thomas and Greg managed to convince Trent that his boat was safe from us and that we had sufficient but not too much anchor out to ride out the weather change, and we got in the dingy and made for shore.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  The hike was beautiful, huge fir trees and ferny underbrush, with the sun shining through the breaks in the tall trees, turning the hike into an almost surreal fairy landscape of different shades of green floating on the mist from the waterfall. The trail was steep, definitely steeper than I had anticipated, and we were all out of breath by the time we found the perfect fallen log (it was huge) on which to enjoy our picnic. We were too tired to go up higher, plus it seemed to be getting darker, which was very strange because it was only three in the afternoon.

  We decided to head back down the trail. In a clearing we noticed that the sun had disappeared and it was getting cloudy. The growing darkness but made us even more eager to get down as it was slippery from the waterfall spray and getting hard to see.

  Finally we emerging from the trees. As we made our way to the dock, we noticed a thick fog had rolled in. We were hot and sweaty from our exertions but there was a definite chill or, more specifically, dampness in the air.

  “I think it’s going to rain,” I said.

  “Looks like it; let’s get back to the boat,” Thomas replied.

  “The wind is building too… how about we move the boats to the visitor dock for the night while there is still room?” said Greg, looking around.

  Thomas nodding in agreement and looking around at the other boats mused “Good thinking, and we better hustle or we won’t get a spot. It’s not an original idea. Look: Trent’s Tiara is already on its way here, and so is that other Yacht Club boat. Janeva, Katie, and Steph—why don’t
you girls hang out on the dock to catch us and hold a spot for us if you can, and we’ll bring the boats over?”

  As we watched them leave in the dingy, it started to rain. We looked around for cover, and not finding any we started to walk back up the dock to stand under a large fir tree to get what cover it could provide. Fortunately it hadn’t started to rain in earnest and we were able to stay reasonably dry until we saw Trent Braise-Bottom the Third coming in on his new Tiara.

  “I guess we had better go and help him,” I moaned.

  Laughing, Steph replied, “Yup. Look at his wife, or should I say Wiffy? She is so bundled up she will never get off the boat in time to catch his lines.”

  “Katie, why don’t you stay here and keep dry?”

  “Sounds good to me” was her quick reply, as she rummaged through the backpack looking for another granola bar or other treat. “Can I have… ?” trailed after me as Steph and I ventured out in the now pouring rain.

  “Yes,” I yelled back, knowing there was only one Cliff Bar and an apple left in the backpack.

  After catching and securing Trent’s Tierra to the dock, we were just in time to catch our two boats. As we were now thoroughly drenched we took ourselves below to change into dry clothes and dry off.

  Chapter Three

  Dinner on a Hat

  Finally I was feeling warm again! Curled up in my favorite yoga pants and under a fleece blanket drinking a cup of tea, I flipped through the pages of our DVD collection book. To save space I had removed them from their cases and put them in a book, four to a page. Of course it would have been prudent to put them in alphabetical order, or any sort of order for that matter. Hmmm. After giving this some thought I decided that that was one of those excellent projects that other people did.

  Katie and Thomas were busy suggesting DVDs that I don’t even think we owned as I rapidly flipped the pages in gathering frustration. Finally I randomly picked a disk and put it in the player.

  Fortunately I was saved by the timely arrive of Greg and Steph from what would otherwise have been a rather embarrassing “Did you really pick that DVD?” moment as the Flintstones’ theme song, “Flintstones / Meet the Flintstones / They’re a modern Stone Age fam-i-lee” started to blast through the speakers.

  “We come bearing gifts,” announced Greg

  “I love the Flintstones, and I have popcorn,” sang Steph, as she waved around two full popped bags of microwave popcorn.

  “Wilma!! I’m home!!… ” Came the booming voice of Fred Flintstone from the TV.

  “Who wants a hot chocolate?” I asked to no one in particular. “I think someone is knocking on our boat,” said Thomas loudly, as he maneuvered his way around the crowded galley and headed up the companionway stairs to look out.

  “Greg, we need to move our boats.” This statement finally had the effect of stopping the multi-way conversation going on between Steph and me about hot chocolate preparation methods, Greg and Katie debating who should hold the bags of popcorn, and Fred and Barney yelling at each other on the TV.

  “What?” Greg looked at Thomas, perplexed.

  “It’s Trent. He says a big Yacht Club boat is coming in and we need to make space.”

  “Okay.” Greg grabbed his foul weather coat and handed Thomas his. Steph grabbed hers and followed them out. “Pause your show, Katie. I have to turn the AC power off for a moment.”

  We successfully moved our boats and helped Trent move his, with all our boats tied up on the inside, leaving the outside of the dock open for the new boat.

  “Its huge,” I said in awe, watching the new boat arrive. “Will it fit?”

  “Its a 100 feet and will just fit in the space; well, actually it might hang out a bit,” said Trent smugly, obviously pleased that he knew the owners of such a fine yacht.

  The huge yacht came in with what can only be called as a perfect docking job. We helped tie her up and were heading back to our boat in the forlorn hope that Katie had left us some popcorn when—

  “Thank you, and wait!” came a booming voice from above. We looked up to see a man, large but not fat, more solid, with big shoulders and that round protruding belly that looks like they are seven months pregnant that some men get. His hair was dark and wavy in a luxuriant, disheveled way. Waving to us to stay where we were, he made his way down from the command bridge to the back deck to talk to us. We were all curious so we just stood quietly waiting, until he finally walked out the sliding glass doors to the back deck and leaned on the rail of his yacht to speak to us. I think we were all wondering the same thing—was this the hired captain or the owner? Yet as soon as this man had stepped out it was clear that he was the owner, and by his docking job in wind, current, pelting rain, and very little visibility, it was clear that he knew how to run his boat… pardon me, I should say yacht, as a 100-foot Hatteras is definitely a yacht.

  “Hi Trent,” came the accented deep voice. “Thank you all for being so kind in moving your boats. I know the maximum size is 55 feet and I can’t thank you enough for being so accommodating, it’s my wife you see, she doesn’t enjoy boating.” He stopped there, as if that was a reasonable explanation for the huge boat needing to tie up to a dock. These boats can easily ride out storms, especially in such a protected basin as we were in. They have water makers and loud generators, as they require tons of power to run all their electronics.

  “You are all Yacht Club members,” he continued looking at our dropping wet burgees dropping in the rain.

  “Yes, I’m Thomas Jags,” said my husband, “and this is my wife Janeva and our good friends Greg and Stephanie Writeman,” breaking the silence that this man’s presence seemed to uncharacteristically induce in us.

  “Always a pleasure to meet fellow Yacht Club members,” he said in an accent I now recognized as Italian. “My name is Lorenzo and I insist you all join us for dinner tonight.”

  “Thank you, but we couldn’t possibly,” started Steph.

  “No, I insist. Our cook is excellent and we have plenty of food.”

  “What time?” asked Trent eagerly, clearly not wanting us to talk Lorenzo out of his generous offer.

  “Excellent, Trent! I look forward to seeing your lovely wife again.” Looking at his watch, the big Italian pronounced, “See you all at 7 pm” with finality and turned to leave. I realized that he had taken Trent’s reply to speak for us all.

  “Excuse me, Lorenzo, but we have an 11-year-old daughter,” I ventured to say.

  “Good. I’ll have the Wii set up for her.” he replied over his shoulder as he walked away.

  We turned back to our boats feeling a bit stunned. It was like being summoned!

  Back on Greg and Stephanie’s boat we crowded around the Yacht Club yearbook to find out Lorenzo’s last name.

  “Who is he,” asked Thomas, “and how did he make his fortune?”

  “Italian” was all I could think to add.

  “He knows how to run his boat,” added Greg with appreciation

  “Well I don’t know about you, but if we’re going for dinner on a yacht tonight I’m going to have a shower and do my hair,” I said, running a hand over my wet head.

  “Groan…what will we wear?” Steph added.

  “The best I have is a sundress,” I laughed, thinking of the pouring rain.

  Later, Steph and I surveyed each other. We had shared various scarves and jewelry, and were rather pleased with the result.

  “You look very elegant,” said Steph as I spun around for inspection. “Definitely the brown flip flops” she finished.

  I had borrowed a tan sweater to go over the thin straps of my brown-and-gold Tommy Bahama sundress, added a silver necklace, and put my hair up, since no matter how much I tried it still looked frizzy from all the rain. But the end result was surprisingly good.

  “So do you,” I replied surveying her up and down. “That dress really looks great on you. I think I’ll have to give it to you now because it has never looked like that good on me!” I had loaned St
eph a straight, ankle-length grey sundress. She had added a folded dark blue sarong over her shoulders and looked great. People often remark that Steph and I could be sisters. We’re about the same height, and we both have medium-length light brown hair with the obligatory highlights; the main difference is that Steph is a few years older than I am and where I have soft curves she is lean and athletic.

  ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

  “Permission to come aboard!” Greg yelled, as we boarded the aft deck of the big Hatteras.

  “Welcome, come and meet my friends,” Lorenzo bombed, gesturing to us. “We are having cocktails in the cockpit, ha ha ha,” he laughed at his own joke. “And just look at that rainbow,” he added. We all turned to see a partial rainbow poking in and out of grey clouds. “This is my wife, Catherine,” he said as he put his large hand on a delicate, almost waif-like woman. Her long, wavy blond hair only added to the surreal quality about her. She looked up and smiled at us, then turned to fill two champagne glasses with, I noticed, a very nice vintage Dom Perignon. She handed one to me and one to Steph. She turned to refill her own glass; then, noticing Katie, she gave the girl a sweet smile and said, “I bet you like movies?” Katie nodded enthusiastically, so Catherine continued, “Would you like to see our media room? We even have a Wii if you like video games.” Katie looked to me and I nodded that she could go with Catherine.

  I turned my attention back to Lorenzo, who was busy introducing the everyone: “Traveling with us are Stella and John Blackwood, our good friends from Boston, and I believe you are already acquainted with Trent and his lovely wife.”

  “Darn,” I whispered to Steph. “I guess he doesn’t know her real name, either. Wiffy… could that really be her given name? Maybe it’s short for something?”

  “Wifferina?” Steph giggled in a whisper.

  Lorenzo said, “Now sit, please.” He gestured us over to a comfortable outdoor seating area with several sofas and chairs, propane heaters, fleece blankets, and an abundance of throw pillows. The others shifted around to let Steph and me sit together. Lorenzo continued to stand, holding court, telling a detailed story of a lucrative past business deal that he and John Blackwood had worked on. Thomas, who follows all business news, jumped in with intelligent questions, leaving the women to visit.