14

 

“Boats.” The word slipped from Berdie’s mouth. During her fretful sleep, it was the primary question that swam in her head. What did Lillie hope to achieve by hiring a boat?

Berdie became aware of dazzling light on her closed eyelids and fluttered them open. A few blinks and she pulled herself up on her elbows, suddenly conscious of the fact that the sun poured through the bedroom window. The space next to her in bed was empty. She pushed stray hair out of her way to glare at the alarm clock that proclaimed it was nearly 10 AM.

“Lord have mercy.” Berdie leapt from the bed and wrapped herself in the robe that was draped near the bottom edge. Why hadn’t Hugh awakened her? Did she sleep through the alarm? Nearly stumbling on the stairs, she flew to the kitchen, where Hugh, despite the fact that he wore his clerical collar with great dignity, had his hands in a sink full of suds.

“Hugh, where’s the closest large body of water?”

“The Atlantic? And good morning to you, too.”

“Good morning to you, too. I think.”

Hugh sighed. “You’ve had a busy week.”

“Busy, yes. But there’s so much more to be done today.”

“You’re all go this morning.” Hugh released the plug and water coursed from the sink. He dried the bubbles that clung to his hands with a cheerful looking tea towel.

“Why didn’t you wake me?”

Hugh pointed toward an awaiting cup and saucer sitting next to a teapot clothed in a daffodil decorated cozy. “I did try.”

Berdie sank into a chair at the small table for two by the kitchen window.

Hugh removed the cozy from the teapot, put milk from the creamer into the cup, and pulled a teaspoon of sugar from the petite bowl. “I’ve gotten some information, Berdie,” Hugh’s voice lost some of its morning luster. “I’m sure you’ll want to know.”

“What is it, Hugh?”

Hugh dumped the sugar into the cup while at the same time pouring tea. “I asked Busby to do some nosing around for me.” He handed the cup to Berdie.

She nearly dropped it. “Busby?”

Hugh didn’t lightly ask his former right hand man from military service, Warrant Officer Andrew Busby, to gather facts for him. This could be something significant.

She steadied the cup and raised it to her lips. “Go on.”

“I asked him to find out what he could about Gavin Broadhouse.”

Berdie nearly slammed the cup into the saucer.

“Now calm yourself and drink your tea, love.”

“He’s up to no good, I can tell you that much.” Berdie daren’t say more. She took another sip.

“Gavin Broadhouse, from Leeds, married with four children, died five years ago of natural causes.”

Berdie swallowed and gaped.

“His medical records bore it out, and his grave marker is in All Souls Church cemetery near Leeds.”

“So who’s our so-called Mr. Broadhouse?”

“Busby’s still sorting it.”

“What put you on to looking into this?”

“I’ve heard not a bean from him or of him. He’s all but disappeared.” Hugh put his hand on Berdie’s arm. “And I do listen to you, Berdie.”

Berdie smiled, although she didn’t want to be overly cheerful for Hugh’s sake.

“You must admit, he’s a poser, Hugh.”

“But he’s a tormented poser, love. People who seek to deceive don’t wrestle with telling lies. Falsehood falls off their tongues like warm butter. Our fellow struggles.”

“True. Or perhaps he’s dangerously clever.”

“I felt something genuine about the man. Still, I have to say you’re most often right when you twig someone.”

She wanted to tell Hugh about the fellow’s list of duped ladies. Instead, she leaned over and placed a peck on his cheek. “He’s only one of many deceitful characters in this mess. And I’m almost certain where our exploration needs next to go.”

“Our?”

“Hugh, we need to find Lillie. And right away. The police will eventually get there, but let me remind you that I was an investigative reporter, so technically, I am a professional, too. I think I have a very-reasoned-out place where Lillie may be.”

Hugh was attentive.

“Now, I made a list from my last conversation with Lillie, along with my other conversations I had with her this week. I dug in my brain to put things together.” She paused. “Where’s the closest marina?”

“The closest marina?” Hugh sat back in his chair and shook his head. “Odd.”

“Not at all.”.

“No, not you, Berdie.” He stared at her momentarily and knit his brow. “We got a prank call this morning. He said the answers to all your questions were at the marina.”

Berdie squeezed her lips.

Hugh tipped his head. “Berdie, is there something you haven’t told me?”

If only he knew the half of it. This could confirm that she was going in the right direction in her own thoughts. “Was that the exact message? Hugh, think. This could be critical.”

He leaned forward, clasped his hands together and formed a church spire with his index fingers. He poked it into his chin as if to prod the memory loose.

Berdie scanned Hugh’s intense eyes. “Was it a particular marina?”

Hugh sat up and snapped his now loosened fingers. “Seabrook, that’s what he said, Seabrook Marina.”

“Did you ask him particulars?”

“Berdie, I told him to get off the phone.” Hugh squinted. “But he did say something else.”

“Yes?” Berdie patted Hugh’s knee. “Think.”

“It didn’t make much sense. He said something about the more you know.”

“The more you know what?”

“That was it, ‘the more you know.’”

Berdie tumbled the words in her brain. The more you know facts? The more you know people? “People. The more you know,” she nearly shouted. “God bless that caller.” Berdie jumped from her chair. “And I shouldn’t wonder! Hugh, we’ve got to go to Seabrook Marina, and we’ve got to go now.”

Hugh simply stared at her. “The more you know people?”

“Come along, we’ve not a moment to spare.”

Hugh stood. “First, we inform the police.”

“Yes, good thought. We’ll stop at Goodnight’s Police House on our way out, and I’ll also ring Dave Exton at the newspaper office.”

“I’ll ring Loren at the lab. He’ll want to come with us.” Hugh paused. “You’re agreeable to involve Goodnight?”

Berdie tried to be nonchalant. “He is the law.”

“Just like that?”

Berdie could see a slight niggle in Hugh’s eying of her.

“Come along; we must move quickly.”

Berdie and Hugh left the vicarage drive within minutes and were on their way to the marina with two critical stops in between.

“Seabrook Marina is this direction.” Hugh pointed toward the front windscreen, his phone on his lap. “I still have to work out details.”

“And it’s that way,” Berdie pointed to the back windscreen, “to get to Queens Gardens.

“For just a bit, yes, and then that way.” Hugh pointed toward his driver-side window.

“Snap. So Hero was going to his real home. There it is, another six-letter word completed in the crossword. Sweet Duncan.”

“Duncan?”

“Goodnight, yes, the authority. That’s best.” Berdie took a quick breath. “Flight. But of course,” she declared.

“Berdie, you’re not making sense. I’m not following.”

“Oh, but I am making the best sense, yet, Hugh, just stay with me.”

Hugh shook his head and turned onto the street where the constable was located. He stopped in front of Goodnight’s home that also served as Aidan Kirkwood police headquarters.

Berdie was surprised to see Albert standing in the front garden, looking a bit of a sleepwalker, if it wasn’t for an open map in one hand and a beaker of something steamy in the other.

Hugh peered at the man. “I say, did he sleep in his uniform last night?”

Berdie simply pulled her chin down and exited the car as quickly as possible.

She moved in Goodnight’s direction. “He’s called you again, as well. Seabrook Marina?”

He glared at her with his red eyes, scratched his head, and returned to his map. “Good morning. Again.”

“Shh,” Berdie cautioned, glanced toward the car where Hugh sat, then back at Goodnight. “You can put the map away. Hugh’s locating the most direct route to Seabrook on his GPS right now.”

“There’s a treat.” Albert collapsed the map into a mass, dropped it on the ground, and yawned. “Not my patch, Seabrook Marina.”

“But it is your case, Constable, Lillie lives on your patch.”

“I’m fully aware,” the man grunted. “Didn’t say I wasn’t going out there.” He sniffed, making his nose go askew. “Gotta alert the CID of that county.”

“Good. Now, do you know the way to Queen’s Gardens Board and Cat Rescue?”

Goodnight took a sip of the hot liquid he held and scratched the side of his stomach. He gave a lazy nod.

“Very good”. You’ve got to go get a cat. It is critical to this whole situation.”

The constable squinted and glanced at his leg. “Pull the other one.”

“No, truth be told. His name is Hero, and he’s in the Board of the Rescue. You’ve got to get him and meet us at the marina. Trust me.”

“Trust you?” He half chuckled. “The one I found breaking and entering last night?”

“Keep your voice down.”

“This cat’s so important, you get the little beast.”

Berdie took a deep breath. This could take some convincing, and she was losing time. “Goodnight, I’m just a vicar’s wife.”

He looked askance. “Oh, yes?”

“You’re the one with the policeman’s uniform. You’re the one with real legal power. Show your credentials, and demand they give you that cat.”

He ran his tongue across his upper teeth. “Why’s this animal so important?”

“I haven’t time to explain it all. He is the crux of solving the whole dilemma. For Lillie’s sake.”

Goodnight sniffed.

“And don’t forget that feather we talked about earlier.”

“Feather?”

Berdie raised her brow, slowly nodded and shot an arrow of prayer heavenward.

“Oh, in the hat, that one, no, I’ve not forgotten.” He ran a finger over his mustache. “Well”--he said with compliance in his tone--”I don’t want cat hair all over my vehicle.”

“You won’t regret this. Meet us at the main entrance of the marina.” Berdie turned and waved at Hugh. “Can you give Constable Goodnight directions to Seabrook?” she called.

“Isn’t it the police who are supposed to be giving me the directions?” he asked Berdie.

“Well, it is Albert Goodnight, after all. Just help him, Hugh.” Berdie spoke just loud enough for Hugh to hear.

Hugh obliged. Pointing and displaying his phone GPS was followed by Albert’s assured nods. More quickly than a waggle of sheep’s tail, Hugh was once again behind the wheel and on the road to Seabrook Marina.

As countryside zoomed past, Berdie’s thoughts congealed. “The dots are connecting. All but one. The family at the sports club café, with the full plate, doesn’t fit. Yet it’s a key. What am I missing?”

“Love, if I could help you I would. I don’t even know where the dots are. But I trust you, Berdie.”

“Snap. Hugh, that’s it.” Berdie shook her head. “Why couldn’t I see it before? I was so busy looking at the crisps, I didn’t see the smoothies. And that explains the tablets.” Berdie gasped. “Hugh, I believe we’ll find Olivia alive.”

“That’s good, but what about Lillie?”

“I believe Olivia and Lillie are together.” Berdie felt her tongue just barely able to form the words. “Every moment counts, Hugh. Every single moment.”

 

****

 

The porter, dressed in medical scrubs, was very stern as he stood in front of the morgue doorway. “I’m sorry, but you can’t go in the lab.”

“We’re here to see Dr. Meredith,” Hugh informed.

“Dr. Meredith is scheduled to begin an autopsy.”

“It’s urgent. We’re here by his request.” Hugh was doing his best to be civil.

Berdie could feel her temperature rise as she fumbled her mobile nestled in her trouser pocket. “We haven’t time for this.”

The fellow folded his arms. “I’m sure it’s important. It always is, but you mustn’t disturb.”

“I’ll tell you what not to disturb.” Berdie found the words flying from her mouth. “The Lord’s work.” She grabbed Hugh’s arm. “You certainly don’t want to be guilty of disturbing that, do you?”

The man drew back.

“With all due respect, we’re going to speak to Dr. Meredith,” Hugh decreed, pushed the lab door open, and then entered, Berdie with him.

Loren stood near a human-sized drawer pulled from its casement in the lab wall, a corpse in repose upon it. He chatted, by the look of his garb, with an apparent colleague next him as they viewed the lifeless body.

“Loren,” Hugh beckoned.

The doctor raised his gaze to Hugh, concern etched into the deep brown of his eyes.

Berdie avoided looking at the cadaver. “Loren, I’m almost certain I know where she’s at.”

The chap with Dr. Meredith frowned.

“Where?” Loren froze.

“Seabrook Marina,” Hugh said.

“She’s in grave danger.” Berdie took Hugh’s hand. “Loren, she needs you there, now.”

“Dr. Meredith, who are these people?” The colleague frowned. “This is highly irregular.”

Spatters of blood dotted the surgical gown the objector wore. “You’ve got an autopsy scheduled, Meredith, you can’t just walk out.”

Loren lowered his chin. “Or you could be a chum and take it.”

“I’ve got one of my own, and you know we’re short staffed.”

“Loren,” Hugh countered, “as a friend and pastor, I have to say, you don’t want regrets.”

Berdie nodded toward the corpse. “Regret is one thing, but that could be Lillie lying there.”

Loren took a quick breath. “Kenrick, I’ve got to go.”

The man jutted his chin. “I’ll go straight to the supervisor. You’ll get the sack.”

Loren shoved the cold body back into the wall casement with a bang. “Good. That will save me going to his desk myself. This isn’t about my work. It’s about the woman I love.”

Berdie released a long breath.

Loren all but ripped his protective work garb from his form: scrubs, hair protector, shoe covering, rubber gloves. “That’s it, then. Why are we standing here?” Loren started for the door.

Berdie and Hugh followed.

“I hope she’s worth it because you can kiss your job goodbye,” Kenrick shouted.

 

****

 

Much to Berdie’s delight, Albert Goodnight was at the main entrance to the marina, cat carrier perched on the bonnet of his car.

“Well done, Albert.” Berdie recognized Hero’s scarred ear immediately.

“Yes, well, leave it to the CID to dawdle.” Albert still grasped the beaker in hand, but there was no steam arising. “I notified them to meet us here.”

“We’ll just have to proceed without them,” Loren clipped.

“Without them? No. They can be touchy about their patch.”

Loren’s gaze bored into the constable. “You’re a cop, and technically I work for the CID. Done and dusted.”

“Loren’s right. We can’t wait.” Berdie moved to the carrier where Hero was on his feet. Tail twitching, ears at attention, eyes enlarged, he was eager. “Sea air, Hero.” She worked to unlatch the door.

“What are you doing?” Goodnight demanded.

“I’m releasing Hero.”

“I brought that flea-bite out here just to let it go? That cat’s in police custody.”

“Good, don’t let him out of your sight.” Berdie bounced her gaze from Albert, to Hugh, and Loren. “All of you. Move in silence, and stay with him.”

Berdie flung the door open. Had Hero been a fox with hounds in pursuit, he couldn’t have sprung from the carrier more rapidly.

“Go, go,” Berdie beckoned to the men as the cat shot onto the primary dock.

Loren took the lead in pursuit, Berdie and Hugh after.

Albert smacked his beaker down on his car bonnet and fell in behind them.

After nearly fifty yards of chase down the dock, Berdie could feel her heart pumping.

Hugh was with her, Goodnight tragically far behind, Loren still ahead.

Hero stopped abruptly, pricked his ears, and shot down along one of the finger docks where there were several boat slips.

“Good boy,” Berdie breathed.

At slip seventeen, with his tail up, Hero jumped onto the bow of a cabin cruiser boat, Land Flow.

“That’s it.” Berdie sounded a stifled alert and pointed. “That’s the boat we’re looking for.”

Hero began to squall and scampered on deck.

Hugh stopped, bent over and picked up a pair of rather stylish black frame glasses that lay on the dock.

Berdie glanced his way, still trying to keep Hero in view.

Hugh held them out for Berdie to see. They had no lenses.

“Lord have mercy.” Berdie wanted to scream it, but kept the words at the bottom of her voice. “They’re Lillie’s,” she mouthed to Hugh. Berdie’s memory came alive. Lillie had them in her pocket when she was abducted. “Lillie’s here,” she mouthed again.

Loren stepped deftly toward the bow while Hero’s squalls continued.

“Hero?” a man called from quarters down below the deck.

Berdie knew that voice. She grabbed Loren and put her finger to her mouth.

Loren and Hugh became motionless.

“Did you run away again?” The even beet of footsteps sounded. “Hero, you silly boy.”

The cat sprang back on the bow.

“Grab the cat,” Berdie whisper-yelled to Loren.

Loren thrust himself with stealth across the bow and wrapped his hands around the creature’s middle. Hero let go a very loud objection as Loren slid onto the boat deck with cat in hand.

Berdie snapped a finger getting Loren’s attention. She mimicked pulling the cat to her chest and stroking it.

Loren obliged.

“Hero?” The body of Clive Moore began to emerge from the lower reaches of the boat. “You in trouble, boy?” He stepped onto the deck.

“No, but you are.” Berdie worked to keep her words even.

Moore reared. His hand moved to his waist as his cool gaze whirled from Berdie to Hugh to Loren. “Off my boat,” he growled toward the doctor.

“Not without Lillie.” The words blazed from Loren’s mouth.

Moore pulled a pistol from his waistband and thrust it toward Loren.

Hugh stepped in front of Berdie, half covering her with his own body.

“I said, get off my boat.” Moore jerked the gun toward the dock and rapidly back as he kept his icy gaze on Loren.

“Hero will most certainly die if you try to shoot Dr. Meredith.” Berdie, feeling breathless, barely got the words out.

Clive Moore’s gaze didn’t leave Loren, but Berdie could see a hint of panic rush through. “Be quiet, you interfering cow.” Moore edged toward Loren. “Give me the cat.”

Loren’s feet were anchored. The large elongated tom cat covered him neck to waist. “Off your boat or give you the cat? Which is it?” Loren scoffed.

Moore pursed his lips and rubbed his thumb against the gun butt.

“Mr. Moore, Clive. Let’s think about this.” Berdie’s calm voice sliced through her teeth-on-edge trepidation. “Think about all you have for Hero’s being here with you.”

The man swallowed. Moisture sprung along his brow, gaze glued to his treasured feline.

Hugh slid his fingers around Berdie’s hand.

“You can’t stroke your Cassie’s soft hair, but you can run a finger through Hero’s fur,” Berdie coaxed.

“Shut it.” Moore braced his feet, but his face skewed with emotion. He bit his lip.

“Flames all round her, Hero was Cassie’s protector, Clive, when you couldn’t be there with her.”

Moore’s chest began to rise and fall in a quickened pace.

Loren gently stroked Hero.

“Don’t take any silly chances, Clive.” Berdie’s tone was truth wrapped in cream. “He’s your link to the one you loved most.”

The firearm quivered. Moore drew his other hand up and clasped the gun barrel in an attempt to steady it, still trained on Loren.

“Think carefully,” Hugh spoke. “Let the doctor go below so he can see to the women’s health with a guarantee of Hero’s safety.”

A grimace appeared on Moore’s face. He squeezed his eyes momentarily, as if to wash the salty moisture that invaded them.

Berdie ran her tongue over her dry lips. “Cassie would want Hero and everyone safe.”

Moore lifted his chin and sucked air through his teeth.

“Put the weapon aside and let’s do this peacefully,” Hugh offered.

“I don’t need some fancy vicar telling me what to do,” raged from Moore’s mouth.

“Oh, I rather think you do, Morgan.”

Berdie heard the challenging words come from behind her.

Moore darted his gaze for a split second to the spot from where the words originated, then back to Loren, on whom the gun was trained. “Holmes.” The word was full of bile.

Berdie looked behind her to see the man she knew as Gavin Broadhouse.

“Let the doctor see to Olivia,” Broadhouse commanded.

“Get stuffed.”

“You’ve a bit of a surprise coming. I think you’ll want to let the doctor go about his business.”

“I said shut it. Or I’ll do him, and then turn on you.”

Heavy panting along with shoes clomping in lagging strides on the finger dock signaled Goodnight’s appearance.

Oh, no. Berdie’s stomach flipflopped.

“OK, you burke,” Goodnight boomed in breathy spurts, and then he spotted the weapon. Like tires screeching to a halt, he stopped short. “Let’s not be hasty,” he croaked and took steps backward.

The muffled blast and ping of a ricocheted bullet sounded across the deck.

For an instant, everyone froze.

Moore’s startled gaze zoomed to the boat next as if to find the origin of the fired shot.

Hugh pushed Berdie down. As she landed, it seemed everything happened in slow motion.

Hero rocketed from Loren’s arms as the doctor lunged low to hurl himself toward Moore, who swung his weapon to train it upon Broadhouse. As he pulled the trigger, Loren grasped the perpetrator’s knees and with his full weight, pushed Moore to the deck in a gasping sprawl.

At the same moment, Berdie heard Broadhouse release a cry of pain and collapse.

Moore struggled to rise.

But Hugh was upon the felon before he could get to his feet. Her husband smashed a fist directly into the side of Moore’s jaw that sent him tumbling back down onto the deck where he sprawled on his back like a bag of loose potatoes, unable to rise.

“Loren, get Lillie,” Hugh commanded.

“I’ll see to Broadhouse,” Berdie shouted.

Hugh retrieved the gun as Loren flew to the steps and disappeared below.

“Blimey!” Goodnight made way as rapidly as he could to the boat’s deck. “Sit on ‘im,” he urged Hugh and pulled out his handcuffs.

Berdie heard thunder pounding the dock as she turned to the supine Broadhouse and knelt next him. “How bad is it?”

“Thank God, the doctor knocked him off balance.” Blood stained the shoulder already encompassed in a sling. He pushed his free hand against the wound as Berdie wadded up a nearby beach towel.

“Just a graze,” Berdie observed.

Broadhouse grimaced. “Yes, well, I think he was keen to finish what he started with his hit and run.”

“You’ll be fine in a bit. The cavalry’s arrived.” Berdie placed the towel like a pillow under the man’s head.

Several police swarmed along the finger dock and invaded the boat. They lifted Moore to his feet.

Berdie rubbed Mr. Broadhouse’s free hand that had gone cold, shock taking its course in his body. “That was pretty bold of you, approaching Moore like that.”

“His name’s Clifford Morgan. And I thought it would distract him.”

“Oh, it did that, all right.”

“But the first shot fired, the one that broke everything up. Where did that come from?”

Berdie squeezed her lips together. She could feel the lump of her mobile phone against her thigh in her trouser pocket. “God watches over us all, doesn’t He?”

While Hugh turned over the firearm to one of the lawmen, a policewoman approached Berdie and Broadhouse. “You hurt, sir?” she barked.

“I’ll survive. See to Mrs. Mikalos, down below. She’s diabetic. She should have her tablets. And please let me know how she is.”

“You her husband?”

Mr. Broadhouse, or whatever his name, blew out a slow breath. “No.” He looked Berdie in the eye. “I’m no one’s husband.”

The officer nodded. “The ambulance is on its way.” She moved to the steps and descended.

“You took Olivia’s tablets from her bathroom chest.”

Mr. Broadhouse nodded and released a long sigh.

Berdie placed more letters in the crossword of her mind. “Holmes, that’s your real name, then?”

“Gareth Holmes, yes.” He gave a slight shiver.

Berdie took off her spring coat and placed it over Mr. Holmes upper body.

“And would you be any relation to a raspy voiced telephone informant?”

Mr. Holmes smiled. “You’ve an amazing talent, Mrs. Elliott.”

“And you used me.”

He nodded. “Sorry, that. I couldn’t come forward. There was a threat to kill Olivia if I tried to intervene or go to the police. I didn’t know where she was, and I needed someone to do the heavy lifting. May I say you did it brilliantly?”

“You may,” Berdie said with salt.

“I’m afraid I’m not an innocent, I’m deeply mired in this mess.”

“I know.”

He gave her a shy glance. “I fell in love with Olivia you see, and it changed everything.”

“Love, real love, does that.” Berdie saw sincerity in this man’s eyes she’d not noticed before. Her Hugh, he had comprehended it from the start.

The policewoman appeared on deck and addressed the Officer in charge. “Two hostages below are drugged, and weak, but there’s no signs of any real harm or abuse. The doc’s with them.”

“Thank God.” Berdie felt relief pour upon her like cool rain on a desert dune.

Gareth Holmes swallowed. Moisture seeped from the corner of an eye.

Two constables escorted the cuffed Moore, who sported a swollen jaw, from the boat onto the dock.

Berdie and Mr. Holmes watched.

“Please help me to sit up,” Mr. Holmes directed Berdie.

“But your wound.”

“Up, please.”

Berdie put her hands and arms under his back lifting him forward.

A growl of pain escaped from the man’s lips.

Nearly upright, Berdie wedged her shoulder behind him to act as a support.

“He’s complicit in all this.” Moore lifted his chin toward Mr. Holmes.

“I thought I’d get you something you’ve always wanted, Morgan.” Gareth Holmes’s words took great effort. “A very long island vacation fully paid.” He grinned. “At Parkhurst Prison on the Isle of White.”

Morgan sneered. “You heard the constable, no real harm.”

“And what of his gunshot wound?” Berdie huffed.

“You saw it yourself, madam. There was a struggle and the firearm went off.”

“Oh, yes?” Berdie snapped at him. “Let me see. First there’s kidnapping, then possession of a firearm with intent to endanger life, and use of firearm to resist arrest. Oh yes, each of which carry a life sentence.”

Holmes took a labored breath. “You know, Morgan, there is a force greater than greed, domination, or peril. It’s older than the ages and it’s called love.”

Morgan sniffed. “What’s that I smell? Rubbish.” He had the words barely uttered, when an unknown woman wearing a headscarf and sunglasses approached.

“Ah, someone I just recently met.” Holmes drawled. “I think you two may know each other.”

The woman removed the scarf and sunglasses.

Morgan’s jaw slacked as he shrank back. His face went chalk white.

“Seen a ghost, Cliffy?” The unknown lady took a step closer to Morgan, who struggled against his handcuffs. “Or is prison pallor already setting in? You didn’t count on Moroccan fishermen illegally trolling Portuguese waters off Madeira that night, did you?”

“Liv, darling.”

Liv? Berdie stared at the stranger. Familiarity danced through her memory.

The woman lifted her chin and addressed the constables. “He left me, his wife, for dead. And I dare say I’m not the first one he’s done it to.” Her gaze burrowed into Morgan. “Attempted murder, darling.” Her words had the sting of vinegar. “Lock him up, throw away the key, and don’t look back.”

“Livy?” Berdie blurted.

“Yes. Who are you?”

“Harriet’s friend. But when did you get here, how?” Berdie asked.

“Just arrived by sea. I spent weeks being cared for by two very kind fishermen’s wives.” She lifted a brow. “A promise of visa sponsorship to this country can get you almost anything in a small Moroccan fishing village.”

“Move along,” the two constables bawled and pulled the agitated detainee down the dock where a snap happy Dave Exton plied his wares.

“This entire boat is a crime scene,” the officer in charge trumpeted. “We want all of you,” he waved his hand to encompass everyone, “at the station immediately.” He plunged a finger toward Mr. Holmes, “and especially you, after you get checked out at the hospital.”

Mr. Holmes nodded.

“We’ll all be there,” Hugh assured.

Albert Goodnight cast his gaze at Berdie, Mr. Holmes, Hugh, and then Livy. He ran a finger across his bushy untrimmed mustache. “From a mangled cat to murder. Blimey.”