Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

safely fastened to their moorings.
    I didn’t know anything about boats, but it was clearly a sailboat with a big motor and an impressive-looking one at that, despite its relatively conservative size compared to the other hulking behemoths in other slips. It was well appointed with a mahogany steering wheel and some really comfortable-looking padded seats. Trixie and I decided that it wouldn’t hurt anyone to step onto the boat and take a load off for a few minutes. I took a deep breath, stepping over the side of the boat, careful not to look at the water, still curious as to why the boat was swaying ever so slightly. Carter was dead. Was Lydia here? I looked down at the water again. Water always makes me nervous. After stepping gingerly onto the deck and taking a quick look around, I sat down, but not before I ran my fingers around the steering wheel, which was stained dark and very shiny and which was very smooth to the touch. Trixie made herself right at home and jumped up onto one of the padded seats and threw herself into a lounging position, head hanging off the side of the bench, tongue almost meeting the floor.
    “Make yourself at home,” I whispered to her. She picked her head up and gave me her doggy smile, the one that never failed to make me happy. After I had finished touching every luxurious piece of leather, expensive wood, and shiny granite that was on the boat—and then wiping everything I had touched with the edge of my shirt, realizing, too late, that putting my hands all over everything was a supreme error in judgment—I started down into the sleeping quarters, mainly out of curiosity to see how many people the boat could sleep but mostly to see how the other half lived. As I descended the stairs, I heard a sound from deep within the sleeping quarters and froze. I looked back at Trixie, and while she lifted and cocked her head, she didn’t make a sound, as paralyzed with fear as I was. Or completely uninterested. It’s hard to tell with her.
    The door to the sleeping quarters was solid so I couldn’t even peer through a porthole or a little window to see who might be inside. And I didn’t want to. I started back up the stairs, backward, keeping an eye on the door and hoping to make a getaway before whoever it was made their presence known and maybe killed me. I had just reached the top step, my eye trained on the door handle, when I saw it turn slowly. I didn’t waste any more time, grabbing Trixie’s collar and pulling her down, her right claw leaving a giant gash in the seat. The sight of it, stuffing spilling out and creating little puffs in the air, sent me into a mini fugue state and I stood stock-still at the end of the banquette, as close to the edge of the boat as I could get without falling over. When I heard the sleeping area’s door open and bang against the wall of the boat, rocking it back and forth violently, I came to.
    Ginny Miller burst from the sleeping quarters and ran up the stairs, seemingly intending to run past me and into the now dark night. One mystery solved. Now if I could just figure out the other various mysteries of life, like why Magda washes white shirts with black socks, I’d be all set. I grabbed the back of Ginny’s tank top and heard it rip, the force of her momentum matching the force of my grip, the whole thing coming off in my hand. She turned to me, red-faced, and bared her teeth. Trixie stood next to me and let out a low growl, which, loosely translated, said, “Back off, lady.”
    “What are you doing here?” I asked, genuinely curious.
    Ginny had no intention of answering me. Rather, in an action that first surprised and later angered me, she took advantage of the rocking boat and pushed me over the side and into the murky Hudson, where I plunged deep into the water. Me. The nonswimmer. I was fortunate that the boat next to me was out on the river and the gap between Carter’s boat and the one next to it just wide enough so that I didn’t hit my head on the way down. The water was colder than I would have thought, and muddy, something that its glassy surface belied. I held my breath and kept my mouth shut, kicking violently to get to the top. I finally broke through after furious arm and leg activity and swallowed in a gulp of humid air, seeing a blur of red running pants wrapped around an ample behind and pistonlike legs charging down the dock, a golden ball of fur closing in on its prey. I had almost regained my breath and was trying