Page 13 of Death at the Deep Dive

“Go to sleep!” Vera shouted, then turned to Ellery and said quite calmly, “Would you like to reconsider?”

“Pieces of eight! Pieces of eight!” Mortimer jeered. “Who loves ya, baby!”

Chapter Five

“Lucy, you’ve got some ’splaining to do,” Ellery called when he arrived back at the Crow’s Nest.

It was shortly after one when Tackle dropped him off at the bookstore. As Vera’s house was no more than a five-minute walk from the harbor, Ellery had been hoping to avoid another of those awkward, silent golf-cart rides with Tackle, but nope. Vera had insisted Tackle would drive him.

And, in fact, though still awkward, this ride had not been silent. No sooner was Vera’s house out of sight than Tackle asked, “What made you finally decide to hand that gold over to the authorities?”

“I didn’tfinallydecide anything. I only found the collection bag last night.”

Tackle’s expression was one of open disbelief. “Sure.”

Like he cared what some lout with hair growing out of all the wrong places thought? Ellery ignored Tackle.

“Where was it, then?” Tackle persisted, nearly steering them off the road in his effort to keep Ellery under observation.

Ellery met Tackle’s blank stare. “Way in the back of the cupboard with all the office supplies.”

Tackle continued to stare, then gave a single, short laugh.

And that’s what their entire conversation consisted of—both to and from Vera’s.

Anyway, he arrived safely and found Kingston washing the large windows facing the harbor. He turned to say, “Nora took the box of donated books to the med center library.”

“She didn’t have to. I was going to take care of that,” Ellery said guiltily. He knelt to pet Watson, who seemed under the impression they had been separated for many a year, wriggling and squirming in delight as Ellery tickled his silky black tummy.

Kingston smiled faintly, watching them. “I believe she wanted to visit Elijah Murphy. He’s recovering from back surgery.”

“Oh, that’s right.” Ellery gave Watson a final pat and rose. “Did the Silver Sleuths reach consensus as to who killed Vernon Shandy?”

Kingston chuckled. “I’m afraid not. They were still debating the date of his disappearance when the meeting broke up.”

“According to Vera, it was fifty-nine years ago, so Nora was right about it being 1963.”

Dirty water rained down as Kingston clamped his squeegee. “In 1963 the Vietnam War was beginning to escalate.”

“That was my thought too,” Ellery agreed. “But according to Vera, there’s zero chance Vernon deserted. Even Nora said Vernon Shandy had no problem going to war and would never have willingly left the island. Not for good.”

“She’s probably right.” Kingston beamed at Ellery. “I envy you the opportunity to speak with Vera. I tried to interview her for the revised edition ofGhosts of Buck Island. I’m sure she could tell a tale or two, all those family stories passed down from one generation to the next, but she declined my requests.”

“I suspect the Shandys prefer to keep a low profile.”

“I suspect you’re right. But, oh my word, there are some wonderful legends featuring the Shandys!”

Ellery grinned. “I know. I read the book.”

It had started to rain when Nora arrived back at the bookshop about an hour later.

Watson, having had no luck distracting Ellery from bookkeeping or Kingston from window washing (it had been a mistake to start with the outside), scrambled up, snatched the nearest toy, and dropped it temptingly on the toe of Nora’s sensible shoe. He wagged his tail hopefully.

Nora shook her head, picked up the blue rubber doughnut, and pitched it with impressive accuracy through the doorway to Ellery’s office.

Watson trotted jauntily after.

“You’re barking up the wrong tree there, buddy,” Ellery told him. And to Nora, “How’s Cap Murphy?”

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