Read Online Murder Walks the Plank by Carolyn Hart - Free Book Online Page B

pictured Pamela being held at gunpoint, smooth countenance wrinkled in puzzlement, wide blue eyes questioning, pleasant voice perplexed: “Excuse me, please, that gun is pointed toward me. I believe it is improper to carry a firearm aboard a public conveyance. If you will be so kind…”
    The whole prospect was absurd. That’s why no one—with the possible exception of Emma Clyde, and Emma might have chosen to remain with Pamela simply because she was unconscious, not because Emma feared for Pamela’s safety—was willing to believe Annie’s insistence that murder had been attempted. Who would try to kill Pamela Potts? It was as ridiculous as imagining a plot against Raggedy Ann.
    Annie pushed away that thought and focused on the lifeboat and the curve of metal overhanging the sea.
    If Pamela had fallen on the other side of the lashed boat, she would not have been visible to Cole Crandall. Therefore she tumbled over right here, within inches of where Annie stood. Cole said there had been no one about and then he heard screams and he turned toward the bow. But Pamela wasn’t screaming. Pamela was already unconscious.
    Annie glanced toward the deck that ran between the railing and the housing for the upper saloon. The windows were now dark. When the boat was in the Sound, the cabin was lighted, but those inside would not be able to see out into the night.
    There were occasional lights strung along the deck, but this portion was shadowy.
    Someone—including Pamela—could have stepped out through the doorway as Cole sauntered aft.
    Annie eased back to the chain, slipped beneath it. She walked to the cabin door. “Max”—she waved toward the stern—“pretend you are Cole. Go toward the stern. Take your time.”
    Max did as she asked. At a slow amble, he moved into the darkness.
    Annie was quick. She darted from the doorway and ducked under the chain. There was even time to pause and watch Max’s slow progress. Definitely there was time enough for someone to come out of the cabin and hurry across the corridor. Max was just now turning to look toward her.
    But every time she came back to her bedrock conviction: Pamela followed the rules, all the rules, from a prohibition to remain behind a chain to the church’s admonition to finish the course. Pamela wouldn’t step over the chain, and most emphatically Pamela would never commit suicide. Pamela would have abhorred being a public spectacle, bringing the boat to a shuddering stop, becoming the subject of a dramatic rescue effort.
    So, if there was time for Pamela to cross the deck, there was time for someone else to do so. But where was Pamela when this person crossed? Surely there wasn’t enough time for an altercation. What could have happened?
    The puzzle pieces slotted in her mind. Pamela didn’t scream. The scream came from an onlooker who spotted Pamela in the air. She tumbled, arms and legs lax, because she was unconscious.
    Annie moved out to the lifeboat, once again ignoring the cautioning calls. She ran the flashlight along the rim of the boat. A piece of the covering tarp sagged. It wasloose. She tugged and the canvas yielded in her hand. She pulled it back, swung the flashlight over the interior of the wooden boat. The boat was old, the wood discolored. She squinted, bent nearer, held the beam steady. Careful not to touch anything, she craned to look between the seats, studied every inch of the flooring.
    A scrap of black plastic was snagged on the bottom.
    Annie felt a surge of triumph. “Come here, Ben. I need you to be a witness.”
    He approached slowly, his eyes suspicious. He stepped over the chain, held to the side of the boat, looked inside.
    Annie pointed the light straight at her discovery. “Do you see that piece of plastic? It looks like it came from a big black trash bag.”
    â€œMaybe.” His shrug was casual, disinterested.
    â€œYeah, that’s what it