Read Online Ghost Ship: A Port Chatham Mystery by P. J. Alderman - Free Book Online Page A

lost.”
    Seavey hissed, and Hattie looked horrified. “I couldn’t possibly!”
    Frank’s head swiveled toward Hattie. “You would actually consider his suit?” His expression was incredulous.
    Hattie wrung her hands.
    “Michael is a wonderful man,” Charlotte said loyally, shooting Frank a disgruntled glare. “Most people don’t understand that about him, but he truly cares.”
    Seavey looked gratified.
    Jordan closed her eyes, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Remember our discussion a few weeks ago about the number of people this man murdered during his lifetime?” she asked Charlotte. “I’m with Frank—I think the choice is obvious.” She gave Hattie a chiding look. “I’m surprised you even need to give it a moment’s thought.”
    “But—” Hattie began, only to be interrupted by Charlotte’s shriek of outrage.
    “Michael is a good man! Why, just before he died, he—”
    “That would be when someone deliberately lured his ship onto the rocks, correct?” Jordan drove her point home as she picked up pieces of the lampshade and dropped them into an ashtray. “It seems to me someone wanted him dead. And probably for good reason.”
    “Nonsense,” Seavey replied. “They lured the Henrietta Dale onto the rocks because they wanted to eliminate a competitor, nothing more. It was merely my bad luck to go down with the ship.”
    Frank snorted. “You mean, someone finally had the good sense to rid the waterfront of its worst nemesis. I’m sure you deserved whatever happened to you.”
    “ ‘Worst nemesis,’ ” Seavey murmured, looking quite pleased. “I like that.”
    Hattie looked confused. “But Michael, you didn’t go down with the ship.”
    He gave her a tender yet patronizing look. “I’m sorry, my dear; that’s precisely what happened. If it makes my death any more palatable, rest assured that I felt no pain.”
    “No, no!” She roiled the newspapers strewn across the desktop, then zinged one at Jordan, who barely managed to react fast enough to snag it out of the air. “Jordan, if you would be so kind as to read the article halfway down the front page?”
    Reluctantly curious, Jordan searched until she found the news story Hattie referred to, then skimmed through the text:
    Escalating Lawless and Licentious Activities on the Waterfront
August 7—Further proof of the disintegration of the social fabric of our beloved Port Chatham society was evidenced by the recent murder of the ruthless shanghaier, one Michael Seavey, whose body was found by this paper’s reporter early this morning, floating in the waters under Union Wharf, the victim of an execution-style slaying …
    Jordan raised her head to frown at Seavey.
    “See?” Hattie gave an affirming nod, then addressed Seavey. “The article states that your body was found floating under Union Wharf. You’d been shot.”
    “Yellow journalism.” Seavey waved his hand. “We both know Eleanor Canby told her reporters to write whatever suited her purposes, which fluctuated from one day to the next. The woman despised me.”
    “No, Hattie’s right,” Jordan said slowly, reading further. “The article is quite detailed—you were found under the wharf at dawn, wearing the evening clothes you’d been seen in the night before.” She lifted her gaze. “Someone shot you in the back.”
    Everyone looked horrified with the exception of Frank, who nodded matter-of-factly, saying, “Any one of your known associates would have been capable of it.”
    “A common enough occurrence in those days, even if untrue in my case,” Seavey agreed.
    “Actually, it seems to be common in your family,” Jordan informed him. “I found the body of your great-great-nephew this afternoon. He’d been shot as well.”
    “How horrible!” Hattie exclaimed.
    “How unseemly ,” Charlotte countered. “Women shouldn’t be exposed to such things. If you’d been here at the house, concentrating on restoring our home, ensuring that it will be