Murder at Beacon Rock by Alyssa Maxwell

Author:Alyssa Maxwell [Maxwell, Alyssa]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2022-06-23T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

I knew better than to go alone. The man Angus had described to me might work on the yacht of one of the most famous men in America, and that yacht might be crowded with servants and crewmen, but a vessel the size of the Corsair nonetheless provided countless opportunities to corner someone, not to mention easily dispose of the body.

Together Derrick and I traveled to Beacon Rock. Angus being in the condition he was in, I pressed a few coins into his hand and told him to sleep it off. When Derrick met me at the wharf, we hired another boat and set out. The afternoon shadows were darkening by then, although Brenton Cove, on the west side of the island, would be bathed in burnished hues of marigold and amber.

Angus had even provided me a name, which he had overheard at the Rambler’s Inn. Cob Hendricks. It shouldn’t prove too difficult to find him on the Corsair, provided his fellow crewmen were willing to speak up.

“They might not be,” Derrick murmured to me as our boatman took us south. “As soon as the pair of us, dressed as we are, mention his name, his mates will more than likely shrug and walk away.”

“They might be persuaded.” I touched my handbag. When I gained my inheritance from Uncle Cornelius, I had vowed not to use the money for frivolous reasons. Finding a killer was far from frivolous. “Or we might get lucky and come upon this Cob on our own. He’ll have no idea we’re coming and won’t be on his guard.”

“That’s if your friend gave you an apt description. We could climb aboard and find ourselves surrounded by a score of men all fitting the same description.” Derrick spoke without sarcasm or disdain. He was right to be skeptical of Angus while in his cups, and ordinarily I would have agreed with him. However, Angus had never steered me wrong before, and besides, he hadn’t been drinking when he first found Cob at the Rambler’s Inn and then followed him to the Corsair.

At least, I didn’t think he had been.

We entered Brenton Cove and pulled up to the Corsair just as the sun sank behind a deep blue mound of clouds hovering over Conanicut Island across the bay. We were welcomed aboard by the steward on duty, but when we asked about the man named Cob and described him, he became hesitant.

“The Morgans aren’t here at present,” he told us with an embarrassed half smile. “They’re attending a function at the golf club.”

“We needn’t bother Mr. and Mrs. Morgan with this,” I countered. “We only need to ask the man a question or two.”

The steward took on a stern look. “May I ask what this is about?”

“It . . .” I sighed. I hadn’t wanted to explain our errand, not in any great detail. “It has to do with the woman who was found in the water by the Morgans’ boathouse.”

“And you think—”

“We only wish to speak with the man,” Derrick said.

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