Berried to the Hilt by Karen MacInerney Page B

ran down to the carriage house to get a heavy jacket and gloves as I started the coffee, my stomach churning with worry. Gerald might have been unscrupulous—and, at times, I suspected, ruthless—but he didn’t deserve to die. I remembered the hatred I’d seen on Eleazer’s face out on the water yesterday—and the way his hand had strayed to the hilt of his cutlass. Gerald had been stabbed in the back. Had Eleazer taken matters into his own hands?
    The kitchen was filled with the comforting smell of brewing coffee when John returned to the kitchen a few minutes later. As he picked up the phone and relayed the information to the Coast Guard, I filled a small container with muffins and dug a thermos and a few cups out, packing them into a plastic tub. I watched John as I worked; several times, he raked his fingers through his dark blond hair, and his face was grim.
    “What did Eleazer do with the body?” I asked when he finally hung up.
    “He turned him over,” John said, sounding weary, “just to see if there was any hope of saving him. Then he tried to haul him into the boat, but he was too heavy, so he just tied him to the nearest lobster buoy.”
    “Was the blade still in the wound?”
    “No,” John said, and looked away.
    “What’s wrong?”
    “Nothing,” he said.
    I stared at him for a long moment. “Was it Eli’s cutlass that killed him?”
    “I have no idea,” he said. “But I’m praying it wasn’t.”

After John left, I debated waking Gerald’s colleagues, but decided to wait; a few hours wouldn’t make much difference, and at least they’d be well rested.
    Audrey was the first one down. I brought out the coffee carafe, but instead of taking her breakfast order, I sat down across from her.
    She was an attractive woman, with brown, blunt-cut hair and large, expressive eyes. She had the physique of an athlete, and wore little makeup—just a bit of mascara and some lip gloss. She exuded an aura of healthiness.
    “Could I have a bowl of oatmeal this morning?” she asked.
    “Audrey,” I said. “I’ve got some bad news.”
    Her brown eyes fixed on me, looking larger than ever. “What’s wrong?”
    “It’s Gerald,” I said. “He died last night.”
    The color leached from her face. “No,” she said. “No.” She took a deep breath and closed her eyes. A deep, wracking sob shuddered through her.
    “I’m sorry,” I said.
    After a long, painful moment, she opened her eyes and looked at me. “What happened? Was it a heart attack?” She dashed the table with her palm. “I knew he should have dropped those twenty pounds! I told him again and again …”
    “It wasn’t a heart attack,” I said.
    She blinked. “What happened, then?”
    “I can’t give you the details, but the police believe he was murdered.”
    “Murdered?” She rubbed her eyes with her palm; her mascara was smeared. “Oh, God. I can’t believe it. How? Where?”
    “They found him near the wreck last night.”
    “What was he doing out there?” She looked at the window, toward the wreck site. “The Lorelei ’s gone. The dinghy’s gone, too.”
    I followed her gaze, and realized she was right. The red buoy marking the mooring line bobbed up and down in the waves.
    “Why would he go out without me—without us?” she said.
    Why would he go out there at all, was the question I wanted to know. And Eleazer had said nothing about the Lorelei being out there—at least not that I’d heard. What exactly had gone on last night?
    “Oh, God,” she said, lowering her head to her hands. I reached out to comfort her, but at that moment, Frank strode into the room.
    He gave me a quizzical look, and Audrey looked up. “You got your wish,” she said, tears streaming down her cheeks.
    “What do you mean?” he asked, looking puzzled.
    “Gerald is dead.”
    Frank took a step backward. “What? He can’t be.”
    “I’m afraid he is,” I confirmed.
    “I don’t understand,” Frank said.
    “He’s been