Page 2 of Death in the Family
I used to think of boats differently, which is to say I rarely thought of them at all. A ferry to Ellis Island when my parents were in town and wanted to see the Statue of Liberty. A dinner cruise a few years back that ended with my date vomiting his shrimp cocktail into the East River. That was it for getting my sea legs. I hoped my inexperience wouldn’t be an issue today, but I knew it probably would.
It was a three-minute drive from the station to Keewaydin State Park, a straight shot up Route 12. I relished the warmth of the cruiser, savored the feel of my dry clothes while I had the chance. “What do we know?” I asked, flexing my fingers on the wheel. They were tucked into gloves I wished I’d thought to make toasty on the heaters before we left the station.
“That we’d rather be back inside with that coffee?”
I doled out half a smile. The coffee would’ve gurgled to the top of the pot by now. I could picture it steaming in the break room. By the time I saw it again, it would be cold, pungent sludge. “Besides that,” I said.
“White male age twenty-six, gone missing from a summer house. He was up from the city. It was the estate’s caretaker who called it in, noticed the guy’s absence first thing this morning.”
“Whoa,” I said, swiveling my head. “Missing? I thought you said murder.” Those weren’t the same thing at all. Had Tim been playing me in the office? Joke’s on Shane?
“Murder’s what the family wants to call it.” Tim shrugged, making it clear he didn’t put much stock in that claim. “There’s no body,” he admitted, way too late for my liking. “The man’s just gone.”
A missing persons case that may or may not involve a murder. Suddenly my hands were too hot. I peeled off the gloves, jammed them in the center console. “Name?”
“That’s where this gets interesting.”
“It’s interesting already.”
Tim grinned. “The guy? He’s Jasper Sinclair.”
I gave him a blank look.
“The Sinclairs are a New York family. In the fashion industry, I think,” he said. “They’re kind of a big deal. And this morning Jasper’s girlfriend woke up to an empty bed and the sheets soaked with blood.”
“But no body,” I said. “Huh, that’s... different.”
“Yeah.”
“So they’re pointing the finger at her?”
“Not clear on that,” Tim said. “I don’t see how a young woman could transport a grown man’s body through a house full of sleeping people without waking anyone up.”
“Trapdoor in the floor?”
He laughed. “Maybe so.”
“That’s assuming the attacker worked alone.”
“Attacker,” Tim repeated and winced.
I knew what he was thinking. Murder on Tim’s turf was a personal affront. “How many people in the house?” I asked.
“Eight, including the girlfriend. The missing man made nine. They all slept through the night, so the caretaker says, despite the storm.”
I squinted at him. “And it’s all family over there?” No crime was easy to stomach, whether the body was on-site or not, but family stuff? That was the worst. I’ve seen the terrible things fathers, mothers, brothers, cousins are capable of. Blood ties can be bloody.
“Family, the caretaker, the girlfriend, and a couple significant others. Like I said, full house. No sign of an intruder, apparently, but the caretaker seemed a little funny on that point.”
“Funny how?”
“Like maybe he was holding something back.”
We took a left off the highway and sailed through a puddle the size of a lily pond. The dock and slips were just ahead.
“I asked them if they’ve done a search,” Tim went on. “Figured there was a good chance the guy’s licking his wounds in the bathroom or a cupboard under the stairs. A big house like that, you never know.”
“How do you know the house is big?”
