39 #3
Now he turned his attention back to the dock.
At first, he didn’t see any action on the decks of either of the boats, but then he noticed someone climbing out of the cockpit on Rosebud.
The person walked down the dock to the freshwater connection and grabbed the end of a hose.
He hopped back on the boat and began hosing down the deck.
Conor knew how fastidious boat owners could be, but if Rosebud had just left its marina that morning and hadn’t been out on a fishing trip, did it really need cleaning?
Conor thought of evidence being flushed into the bay.
“Who’s that?” Tom asked, watching the person holding the hose.
“Can’t tell,” Conor said, adjusting the binoculars’ focus. “Doesn’t look like Leo.”
“And too small to be Randall,” Mike said. “Randy is a portly fellow, to put it mildly.”
“Let’s find out who it is,” Tom said, steering toward the dock. He brought Meteor broadside and cut the engine.
Conor jumped onto the dock and secured the bowline, and Tom took care of the stern.
Mike was agile for being nearly eighty, and he climbed off without any help.
The three Reids walked over to Rosebud—sixty feet of gleaming fiberglass and stainless steel, rising to a massive tuna tower, perfect for spotting fish from a distance.
“Looks like a fast boat,” Conor said as they approached.
“She’s got twin Caterpillar diesel engines,” Tom said. “But she still couldn’t beat Meteor in a lobster boat race.”
“She’s not a lobster boat,” Conor said.
“Details,” Tom said.
The person they had seen washing off the deck must have gone below. A moment later, Conor saw someone wearing a yellow slicker and a Red Sox cap emerge from the cabin with a bucket, a scrub brush, and a bottle of Clorox bleach.
“Hey, there,” Tom said, flashing his Coast Guard badge. “Can you step off the vessel, please?”
The person looked up but didn’t move.
“Miranda?” Conor asked, startled.
“Hi,” Miranda Forrest said. She didn’t look surprised to see him, but she glanced down instead of meeting his eyes, and her greeting was subdued.
“Where’s Leo?” Conor asked.
“Oh,” she said. “I don’t know. He got a text and said he had to leave.”
“Who else is aboard?” Tom asked.
“No one. Just me,” Miranda said.
“When did Leo leave?” Conor asked.
“Maybe twenty minutes ago?” Miranda asked.
Conor stared at her. Her right cheek was bruised and swollen. “What happened to you?” he asked.
“Nothing,” she said, touching her cheek. “We hit a wave, and I crashed into the wall.”
Conor recognized that excuse as the nautical version of walking into a door, the lie that victims of domestic violence were so often pressed into telling, to protect whomever had beaten them.
“Is Randall Flook aboard?” Tom asked.
“No, I told you. No one is. They left,” she said.
“And you stayed behind to scrub the deck?” Conor asked.
“Yes,” she said.
“Where did they go?” Tom asked.
“I don’t know,” she said. As she spoke, her gaze went to Conor’s uncle. She looked at Mike for a moment, then away. Conor glanced at his uncle, wanting to see his reaction. Mike’s face was bright red.
Conor’s guard was up. He didn’t know what it meant, but the interaction between Miranda and Uncle Mike wasn’t casual. As they stood there, Miranda turned away and began to uncap the Clorox bottle.
“Stop that,” Tom said. “Put the bottle down, and I’ll say it again—step off the vessel.”
“I have to clean up a mess,” she said. “Before it stains the deck.”
“You can do that later,” Tom said. Conor caught his glance. “Call Joe,” Tom said.
“Why are you acting this way?” Miranda asked. “We’re all friends, aren’t we? I didn’t do anything . . .”
“We didn’t say you did, Miranda,” Conor said. “But can I ask you a couple of questions?”
“Okay,” she said.
“You were Belinda’s best friend, right?”
“Well, her cousin, actually. But yes, we were best friends. I already told Kate this. I feel horrible about playing along with Belinda. I didn’t know what she planned to do at your rehearsal dinner! I would have stopped her . . .”
“Forget the rehearsal dinner,” Conor said.
“You’re not mad?”
Conor ignored that. “Tell me how you know Leo. He wasn’t at the rehearsal dinner; he didn’t even show up in Watch Hill until after Belinda was murdered and my uncle thought I needed a lawyer. You’re not from Rhode Island, are you?”
“No,” she said.
“So how would you have known Leo before? How do you know him well enough for him to take you out on his boat and make you clean the decks?”
“It’s complicated,” Miranda said. “We met when . . .”
“Don’t say anything more,” Mike barked.
“Uncle Mike!” Tom said. “What the hell?”
“She needs an attorney,” Mike said. “Obviously Leo’s out of the question. Miranda, don’t say another word.”
Conor and his uncle stared at each other.
“She’s going to answer one question,” Conor said. “And if you try to stop her, I swear I’ll throw you off the dock.”
Mike squinted at Conor, like an Irish boxer waiting for the punch.
“Miranda, where’s Kate?” Conor asked.
“I swear I don’t know,” Miranda said.
“But you know they have her somewhere? Is it here, at Maynard-King?” Conor asked.
“I think so,” Miranda said, looking straight at Conor. “Either here or at Enchanted Petals.”
“Miranda!” Mike snapped, a sharp warning.
Both Conor and Tom stared at their uncle, and quickly and at the same time, took a step toward him.