Pleasantly Dead by Judith Alguire

“Now, that’s interesting.”
    “He landed the canoe, threw his shoes up onto the dock. But he missed. The shoes either fell short or sailed right over the dock.”
    “He had to walk across the lawn in his stocking feet. The grass was damp with dew. Ergo his stockings were wet.”
    “He probably tried to retrieve his shoes, but it was dark and the water would be at least six feet deep. So he wandered up to the inn and made his way to the wine cellar where someone murdered him.” She bit her lip in concentration. “What should we consider next?”
    We should consider tearing off each other’s clothes and making passionate love right here beside the bog, Edward thought. He gulped. “I suppose we should wonder what happened to the canoe.”
    She smiled. “Exactly.”
    “If I didn’t want to be seen, I would paddle into the boathouse and tie the canoe up there. I would then skulk up the side of the house behind the shrubbery.”
    “Let’s go.”
    She grabbed his hand. They scrambled down the slope, giggling like schoolchildren.
    “This is a bit of a lark,” he said as they stopped beside the boathouse.
    She put a finger to her lips. “We should be quiet. The murderer may be watching our every move.”
    “If someone spots us, we can just say we ducked in here to…get out of the sun. Or because we heard a frog.” He smiled. “That’s it. We were on a nature hike. We heard a frog in the boathouse and had to identify it.”
    He let her lead the way, something she seemed intent on doing anyway. She had a pleasing body, neat and compact. But it was her mind and manner that compelled him. No, he thought. That wasn’t true at all. He was thinking that way because he had grown up in the feminist age. He liked her body. A lot. He needn’t be ashamed, he told himself. After all, a man could entertain whatever thoughts he wanted. She was nice to be around in all sorts of ways. Going to bed with her would be an exhilarating experience. He paused. It would be terrifying. He had a feeling Miss Miller always got what she wanted.
    “Look,” he said. “A cormorant.” He pointed out the bird perched on a stump halfway down the bay.
    She drew him on.
    They reached the boathouse.
    “We’re in luck,” she said. “The door’s on this side. They won’t be able to see us from the inn.”
    She tested the door, swung it open, and looked in.
    Simpson peered over her shoulder. “Rudley keeps it in tip-top shape.”
    “Neatness may be his only virtue.” She pulled him inside and closed the door. A rack on one side held a half-dozen canoes. Two rowboats and a motor boat were moored along the far side.
    “What do you suppose the practice is if you want to take out a canoe?”
    “You ask at the desk.”
    “And then?”
    “Someone, usually Lloyd, takes one from the rack by the dock. I suppose if those are engaged, he takes one from the boathouse.”
    “Do they bring them into the boathouse at night?”
    “I don’t believe so. I imagine they leave most of them on the rack. Unless the weather’s unusually inclement.”
    She picked her way along the platform. He followed, resisting the urge to topple her into the water for the pleasure of rescuing her. He was an excellent swimmer.
    “Orange, red, and green,” she said, staring at the canoes. “Otherwise, they’re identical. Except for that one.”
    “Quite right. All the others bear the inn’s logo. That one has a set of serial numbers.”
    “That must be the canoe our victim arrived in.”
    “We mustn’t jump to conclusions. Rudley could have a misfit.”
    “Help me up.”
    He hesitated.
    “I want to see if our misfit is damp.” She looked at him over her shoulder. “Edward, I need a lift.”
    He bent down, let her climb onto his shoulders. He blushed. A little personal, but not difficult. She was light and balanced herself well.
    She squealed in triumph. “We were right, Edward. It’s the only one that’s damp. You can let me down now.”
    He squatted.