Chapter 39

I pressed my cell phone into Lady Anthea’s hand. “Stay,” I said.

“I’m not a dog,” she said.

“I meant, stay here in case I get in trouble.”

“How will I know?” she asked.

“If I sound funny. I don’t know. You just will. I’ve got to go.”

Before she could argue or ask any more questions, I walked forward. The lights from the forty-foot boat were still on and I came out of hiding and confronted him from one bright pool. “I’m right here.” I walked down the steps from the lighthouse base to the dock.

“Funny thing. I’ve lived here since I was born and worked on the water my entire adult life. Never thought I would ever be on a lighthouse. This is the third time I’ve been on this lighthouse in a week.” Captain Sandy talked in a lazy, drawn-out tone.

The dock was cantilevered to the breakwater to make it more resilient to the force of the waves. Sandy Westlake and I faced each other and swayed a little.

“When was the first time? When you brought Wags out here?” I asked. I had no idea what he was talking about, but figured I would play along.

“Yeah, when I heard how much he was worth, I wanted to breed him. Billy B. thought someone else stole the dog, and that I could help him get it back.” He laughed. “So I let him go on thinking that.”

“Who did he think had the dog?” I asked.

Captain Sandy chuckled again, but didn’t answer. Instead he said, “He stole some dog food to try to bargain with. He was going to leave town after he got the dog back.”

So he was afraid of someone, I thought. That’s when I heard the sound of a Jet Ski, or some brand of personal watercraft. At first I thought it was mine being stolen and that Lady Anthea and I were about to be stranded on the Harbor of Refuge Lighthouse. I saw a light over Sandy Westlake’s shoulder. The craft was getting closer.

Sandy turned to watch as it tied up. Chief Turner climbed onto the dock. I watched Sandy’s face to see his reaction to the police showing up. Was the guy crazy? Instead of the fear I expected, he looked relaxed. I turned to see John’s expression when he saw me standing on the dock in my wetsuit.

“He’s stalling for time. I don’t know why,” I said to him.

John stared at him and waited. Even in the dark, I saw the spring-loaded tension of a predator. Not many people could hold out with that level of intensity, but obviously Sandy Westlake was made of sterner or stupider stuff.

“Chief Turner isn’t really interested in dognapping. What did you have to do with Billy B.’s murder?” I asked.

Westlake’s eyes widened at that, but he didn’t say anything else.

I looked at John. “Billy B. was afraid of someone in town and Sandy knows who it was.” I turned back to our neighborhood dognapper and would-be breeder. “I think you’re stalling for time. I want to know why.”

He chortled and looked out into the water. The only change was that this time I detected a nervous laugh. And he had gazed at the water. He was looking for something, or someone. I pushed. “Tell us who Billy B. was afraid of, or else you’ll regret it.” A large wave rolled under the dock and when we swayed, my voice wobbled. I hoped he hadn’t noticed. “Or else,” I repeated, going for a stronger-sounding tone, one that “brooked no argument,” as The Felonious French Friends author had written.

I heard a roar coming from behind me and turned to see Lady Anthea. She flung herself at Westlake knocking him off the dock. He fell, arms and legs flailing into the two-hundred-twenty-feet-deep ocean. She turned around and smiled at Chief Turner and me, and wiped her hands together. She was proud of herself.