Third Degree (A Murder 101 Mystery)

Carter up.”
    I wasn’t sure where this was heading, so I played it casual. I waved my hand dismissively. “Oh, sorry, Greg. I don’t know which end is up anymore.”
    He sank into one of the tufted benches, and put the screwdriver on the floor of the boat. “Me, neither,” he said, and put his head into his hands. “Having a guy die in your store is not the best thing for business, in case you couldn’t guess.” His voice was muffled. “I don’t know what I’ll do if I lose the store.”
    “You won’t lose the store!” I said, now feeling guilty for having suspected him of murder. I rushed over and sat beside him, my arm on his back. The plastic bag was next to me and I put a hand on it to ascertain its contents. Not too mysterious—they were more of the almost-stale muffins that he had offered me from the case in the store. “It will take a couple of weeks to come back but—”
    At this, he moaned.
    “Or maybe not! Maybe people will start coming back sooner.” I didn’t think so, but it was worth a try, if just to get this hulking bear of a man to stop sobbing. “Maybe you should have some kind of event or something.”
    He wiped his hands across his face. “Maybe. What were you thinking?”
    I wasn’t really thinking anything so I came up with a couple of weak suggestions. “Maybe you could have Mrs. Brown’s tap class come in and do a show?”
    He looked at me as if this were the worst suggestion I could possibly have made. Mrs. Brown’s tap class consisted of three octogenarians who insisted on wearing spandex, despite their advanced age and less-than-supple skin.
    “Or have an art show,” I said. “We’ve got tons of artists in the village just looking for a place to exhibit their art.”
    He looked like he was considering that. “I’ll think about it.” He sighed heavily. “First, I had Carter’s horrible blog saying things about me and the store and then the bastard goes and dies there.” He picked at a hole in his jeans. “The guy really wanted to see me fail.”
    “He was just a mean, angry guy, Greg,” I said. “Everyone knows you have the best coffee in town.” Except for Dunkin’ Donuts, I thought, but I kept that to myself. Now I really had to go to Beans, Beans on a regular basis if only to single-handedly keep the guy in business and atone for my lies about his not-very-delicious coffee.
    Greg looked up at the starlit sky and took a deep breath, changing the subject from failing coffee shops to the splendor of our environment. “I love being out here. I’m glad you take advantage of it, too.” He looked back at me, his face calm and serene. “Not too many people stop to smell the roses. Know what I mean?”
    I relaxed a little. We were on the same conversational path that we had been down a thousand times at Beans, Beans and it felt like old times before the two of us had seen a man die, and a car blow up, and a woman jump off a bridge. “I know what you mean. Life gets a little hairy.” I swept my arm out, taking in the view. “And look at this view. How could you not walk around down here?”
    Greg walked up a few steps to the steering wheel and fiddled with something on the control panel. The clicking of the engine morphed into a smooth rumble. “Isn’t this a gorgeous boat?”
    I moved back over to the bench that Trixie had ruined with her sharp nails, covering the wound in the seat with my butt. “It certainly is.”
    “I’ve got an idea,” Greg said, and powered up the boat. The roar of the engine startled me and I jumped up from the torn seat.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Taking you,” he said, pointing at me, “for a ride.”
    “No, thank you,” I said, trying not to sound panicked, while opening up all of the bench seats to look for a life preserver. I found some twine, a deflated beach ball, and a few empty beer cans, but no flotation devices. I lurched forward a little bit as Greg eased the boat out of its slip and headed toward the middle of the river.
    He turned around. “What’s the matter? It’s a gorgeous night.”
    “I’m sure Lydia doesn’t want you sailing this thing, does she?”
    “Of course she does!” he bellowed. “That’s another reason she hired me. Nobody would ever take this baby out if it wasn’t for me.”
    I headed down into the sleeping quarters, continuing my quest for a life preserver. In the room were two twin-sized beds with beautiful quilts, nautically themed, on top of them. In between the