Washed Up With the Tide: Seffi Wardwell Mysteries, #2

A Seffi Wardwell Mystery

By

Rebecca M. Douglass

This book is a work of fiction. All of the characters, organizations, events and places portrayed in this novel are either products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locales, or organizations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2024 Rebecca M. Douglass

Cover art and design by Maggie Samella

ISBN: 9798227643995

All rights reserved.

All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles and reviews. It is illegal to copy this book, post it to a website, or distribute it by any other means without permission.

For Jacky. Thanks for everything.

Chapter 1

SEFFI WARDWELL JAMMED a baseball cap over the fly-away grey hairs escaping from her long braid, and caught up the worn knapsack by the back door. The sun was shining, the tide was right, and the trees on Painter Head overlooking the Gulf of Maine were aglow with fall color. A walk on the beach was just what the doctor ordered.

Whistling softly—she couldn’t afford to waste too much breath—Seffi headed for the stone steps that had replaced the eroding path down which people had skidded for decades, if not longer. Once on the beach she set off at a brisk pace. She’d slung her binoculars around her neck in case birds or boats merited a closer look, since she was trying to get better at identifying both.

With the tide halfway out, a band of sand lined the water’s edge and would continue getting wider for the next few hours. The tides here at the junction between the Gulf of Maine and the Bay of Fundy weren’t the racing fifty-foot monsters of legend, but there was a good drop. Where Smelt Point curved around to the Neck and joined the Cat’s Claw and Painter Head, low tide exposed about a quarter mile of a surprisingly pleasant beach for walking.

Seffi stopped twice alongside the water. The first time, she raised her binoculars to scope a lone boat. It looked like the Sea Monster, a fishing boat operated by local Colorful Character, Carl Franks. Earlier that morning she’d seen half a dozen boats out there, including two in Maine Marine Patrol colors. They must have finished whatever they were up to—probably checking that the lobster pots and fishing nets were set properly—and gone home. She could stop by Sweet Dreams later to learn what it was about. The best gossip in town could always be found at the bakery, along with delicious pastries and good coffee.

Seffi raised the binoculars again to check out a large bird that had swooped down on the rocks where the beach ended. She had a nasty feeling she recognized that bird. She was no master birder, but turkey vultures were common enough to preclude errors.

What had died there at the base of the path up onto Painter Head? There came another of the large birds, along with a lot of gulls, all swooping down on whatever was in the rocks. It had to be a seal or something similarly large. A dead codfish wouldn’t call for more than one bird.

She looked more closely, scanning with the binoculars. Whatever it was, it was caught in the rocks at the waterline. She couldn’t see the animal, but it looked like ropes—a net? —had wrapped around something.

Her heart sank. A seal or dolphin had gotten caught in a loose net and drowned. It happened all too often, but she never got used to it. She’d have to call it in, which meant getting close enough to identify the carcass. The Fish and Wildlife people liked complete reports. Professor Carmen Greer, in charge of studying the brand-new Painter Head Reserve, would also want to know.

Seffi walked on past her path, drawing close enough at last to spook the vultures. They flew, but resumed circling overhead.

She peered over the large rock hiding their meal and got a good look.

Her head swam. That was no seal.

Chapter 2

THE SODDEN THING TANGLED in the net was a man. That must be what the Marine Patrol had been searching for all morning—someone had gone overboard in the night. Please, not someone from Smelt Point.

Fighting the urge to be sick, Seffi backed off enough so she couldn’t see the dreadful thing caught in the mass of rope and seaweed, but close enough to keep the vultures away. Thank heavens the man was face down; the carrion birds wouldn’t have been able to peck out the eyes.

She removed her pack and pulled out her phone to make the necessary calls. A wave of dizziness hit before she could dial, and she half-collapsed onto a rock, putting her head between her knees. The sun didn’t feel so warm now, nor were the colors as vibrant as they had minutes before.

Seffi was herself again in a moment. She’d met death before in her nearly seventy-two years, though never in such a messy form. It was a shock, but there was work to be done, and she did it.

Officer Jeremiah Cox was on speed dial. She might have called 911, but Miah was her friend and the village police officer. He’d know who to contact, and he’d come fastest.

I think you can have the Marine Patrol call off their search, she said when Miah answered his phone.

What? Not surprisingly, her words startled and confused him. Who—Seffi? Is that you?

Yes. And I think I’ve found whomever they’ve been looking for all morning.

Officer Cox uttered a word his old teacher would never have let him use in her classroom. Seffi didn’t scold him—she felt like using a few of those words herself. She’d been looking forward to lunch and now not only wasn’t sure she wanted any, but knew she darned well wouldn’t have a chance to eat anytime soon.

I’ll be right there. Where are you?

Seffi told him.

Are you okay? Warm enough? In a safe place? He ran through the standard questions as she answered in the affirmative.

Tide’s going out for another couple of hours, Seffi said, giving him another piece of information he hadn’t got around to asking. He’s not going anywhere. I’ll keep the vultures off.

The—Oh, geez. Miah swore again, or maybe it was a prayer. I really didn’t need this.

That made two of them. Seffi stowed her phone in a pocket where it would be close at hand, and pulled a fleece jacket from her pack, feeling a chill in the air she was certain hadn’t been there a few minutes before. Maybe it was the vultures now circling overhead, getting between her and the sun. She should move so they’d know she wasn’t dead.

After hours of waiting, which turned out to be about twenty minutes, she spotted a familiar figure approaching along the beach. Miah must have parked at the Beachside Inn and used their private stairs. Arden and Chloe would allow that; they were good people.

That was it. Think about the idealistic couple who’d opened the inn, rather than about what was behind the rocks a few feet away.

You okay? Miah called as soon as he was within hailing range.

Seffi stood up, steadier now. Of course I am. She had herself in hand. A teacher meeting with a student always had to be in control of herself. Besides, she was a scientist. She understood death and decay, and this guy hadn’t even been dead long enough to stink. All she could smell was the usual scent of the beach. She liked the familiar scent of rotting seaweed and salt water, which she hadn’t been able to smell for so long. The same bad case of Covid that made her dizzy had left her senses muted, a handicap that had lasted for months. Only recently had she begun to taste things properly, bringing on a surge of appetite just in time, according to her doctor. Even at a diminutive five feet two inches, one hundred pounds was too skinny, especially at her age.

Miah peered over the rock and stepped hastily back, much as she had done. Ugh.

I concur. Do you know who he is? She almost said, who it is, but forced herself to use the human pronoun. The dead man wasn’t an it, but a person.

I can’t say for sure until we turn him over so I can see the face, and I won’t do that until the rest of the crew gets here. But I assume we’ve found Bob Hughes. In response to her questioning glance, he added, "You might not know him. He runs a boat out of Smelt Point Harbor, a fishing boat named Rust Bucket."

Is it? she asked, momentarily distracted.

No. He keeps—kept—it up very well. The thing is, he took it out last night on the last of the tide, and this morning someone brought it in to Machiasport. Found it drifting and claimed salvage rights. Now we know why it was adrift. He glanced over at the rock and the bits of net visible from where they stood. Tangled in his own net and went overboard, I suppose. He frowned but didn’t explain what was bothering him.

Seffi could wait. She wanted nothing to do with the corpse, though there were formalities to be observed and she would have to stay for at least some of them. There’d be time to get information from Miah.

I can get your statement now, Miah offered. That way, when the others get here you’ll be done, unless they have questions. The Marine Patrol is sending someone. Also, the state police, since we don’t know where or how he died.

Seffi cocked her head at the net. He understood.

Bob could have gone over and then gotten tangled, or someone could have wrapped him up in the net and tossed him in. Miah grimaced. It wasn’t an idea he cared to entertain.

Nor did Seffi. It’s a pretty small net. She didn’t look closer. She’d seen enough the first time.

Miah didn’t say anything. That was what was bothering him, then: he, too, had noticed the net seemed wrong.

It’s a piece of a net, he said, not really talking to her. Seffi responded anyway.

Something torn loose from a rig? He might have been trying to salvage it and fallen in, I suppose. She wasn’t sure. Fishing—commercial fishing of even the small-time stuff the boats out of Smelt Point Harbor did—was well outside her area of expertise.

Right. Miah shook himself, took another look at the body, and backed off to sit on the rock, gesturing for Seffi to join him. Tell me exactly what you saw. How you found him.

Seffi told him. She gave details, things unimportant to her that might mean something to Miah, or to someone else involved in finding out how this man had died.

It was the vultures. I wouldn’t have seen him at all without them.

Why did you look closer?

She explained about the researchers tracking everything that happened on the reserve lands. When they can’t come, Fred and I do the weekend surveys. Weekdays, they have to do without, unless he can bring some of his high schoolers out. I’m sorry; you don’t need to know all that. I just meant, that’s why I wanted to see what had died. I thought if it was a seal or a whale or something, someone would need to know.

Miah nodded. Makes sense. So you went over to check and saw it wasn’t a seal.

Yes. She shivered; suddenly her fleece jacket wasn’t warm enough. The officer slung an arm around his old science teacher, sharing warmth and comfort. She straightened and went on. I spooked the vultures. They won’t come down while we’re here, but they’re still up there. She pointed. Gulls, bolder than the larger vultures, had to be constantly shooed away.

Miah looked up and gave a little shiver of his own. I never get used to it, he said. That once we’re dead, we’re just a meal to them. If it’s any consolation, I don’t think they had time to do much damage. Not, he admitted, that I looked too closely.

Noises made them turn. Several people had emerged from the woods onto the beach path.

Miah stood up. Time to get to work.

Seffi stood as well, not sure what might be expected of her.

Wait here a minute. I’ll see if anyone else needs to talk to you.

Seffi remained standing. Without the warmth of another person beside her, the rock was a cold seat. A few arm swings and a little pacing got her blood moving, but the deep chill remained.

A man separated himself from the group and came over. His uniform marked him as Marine Patrol.

I’m Lieutenant Devi. I know Officer Cox has taken your statement, but I wondered if you could answer a few more questions.

Of course. Was there anything else she could tell these people to help them understand the accident? Probably not. She also wondered how this man, whose accent proclaimed he’d been born in far warmer regions, felt about living in Maine. It was a topic much on her mind these days as winter approached, and more pleasant than corpses.

The lieutenant had other things on his mind. His first question took her by surprise and drove the coming cold from her thoughts. Can you see the harbor from your house?

Seffi shook her head. I can see as far up this shore as the spot where they round Smelt Point and head out to sea, but I can’t see the harbor itself.

But you could see a boat leaving the harbor and tell it was coming from there?

Maybe? If I happened to look out at just the right time, she said. There’s a pretty narrow window between when a boat comes into view and when I can’t tell if it came from the harbor.

Lieutenant Devi sighed. It’s a long shot. But—forgive me—you are of an age when you might not sleep soundly. Did you perhaps notice a boat, one that might have just left the harbor, last night?

You’re wondering if I saw Bob Hughes and his boat going out? Is that when it happened? In the middle of the night?

He smiled. We are hoping for confirmation of his times.

Did anyone see him go out?

Again, he answered her with a smile and repeated his question. "I take it you did not see the Rust Bucket heading out?"

I’m afraid not. I was up once or twice, as you would expect, but I’m afraid I didn’t look out the windows. Nor, she said before he could ask, did I check the time.

His features drooped in disappointment. She could almost feel guilty about having slept better than usual. She did not, however, apologize for what was neither a fault nor curable. Instead, on an impulse, she asked, Did you know him? Mr. Hughes?

Only by sight. Perhaps the boat more than the man himself. Devi permitted himself a smile, which Seffi returned. Did you?

She shook her head. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen him. Her eyes strayed to where a couple of officers took photos from every possible angle before permitting anyone near. I don’t think I’ll try to remedy that now.

The Marine Patrol man excused himself to go join the others. Seffi now saw a woman coming down the path, escorted by yet another police officer. He tried to take her arm to help her down the last rough bit. She shook him off with a few sharp words. Probably to the effect that she was neither antiquated nor fragile.

Seffi smiled, knowing both the woman and the officer. Andy Rawlins, known to the locals as Rawlo, was viewed by them as a total contrast to Miah, whom they liked and respected.

The woman was Hilda Blackburn, the Medical Examiner. She was whistling softly; Seffi heard her as she passed with a smile and a nod on her way to the body.

Hilda was whistling a tune from The Pirates of Penzance. A moment’s thought put words to it: a policeman’s lot is not a happy one. Seffi stifled a laugh. The first time she’d met the woman she’d been quoting from HMS Pinafore. The ME was Gilbert and Sullivan fan, no question.

Let her whistle. If a woman had to give up her lunch break to examine corpses that had floated in the Gulf half the night, she deserved whatever consolations she could find. As for herself, Seffi kept her eyes away from the corpse. Could she go home yet? She caught Miah’s eye and wandered over to where he consulted with several State Police officers. He’d already sent Rawlo away, thank goodness.

Seffi was about to ask permission to go home when Hilda drew their attention with a cheery, Well, look at that.

The whole lot of them surged over to the rocks, Seffi forgetting she didn’t want to and joining the rush.

The officers all crowded around, peering over the rock to where Hilda and a couple of EMT-types were trying to untangle the body from the net. They had rolled the body over, and Hilda pointed to the face.

Seffi swallowed hard and looked away as the ME explained, He hit his face on something, or something hit him. He didn’t come off a sailboat, did he? A swinging boom could have done that.

Or a swinging fist? Miah asked.

Seffi glanced at him. He must suspect something he hadn’t mentioned.

Maybe a fist. Hilda pursed her lips. It would have to be a hard blow and a hard fist. He could have hit something on the way out of the boat.

What about the rocks? One of the state police gestured at the tangle of wave-sculpted rocks all around them.

Hilda shrugged. I need to get him to the lab before I make any unsupported claims.

Maybe a fall or an accidental blow from something had stunned the man and knocked him overboard. If he’d then tangled in the net, she hoped he’d been unconscious. Otherwise, Bob Hughes had died in a panic she shuddered to imagine.

She turned away from the dead man and the rocks and stared out to sea until her stomach settled. Fatigue poured over her so that she longed to lie down. A look at her phone told her why: it was past one. Somehow, she’d been out here going on for two hours. No wonder she was cold to the bone, and no wonder she felt dizzy. She needed her lunch, however little she wanted it when she remembered the white, seaweed-draped face of the dead fisherman.

Tapping Miah on the arm, she asked in a low voice, May I go home? I need to get something to eat and to lie down for a bit.

He turned solicitous at once. Miah knew how sick she’d been before moving to Smelt Point, and how long it had taken her to get strong enough for the kind of walks she was now doing.

I’ll walk you home. They can spare me.

She wanted to protest, but an arm to lean on as they walked up the beach was too appealing to pass up.

Chapter 3

SEFFI HAD TAKEN ONE bite of her grilled cheese sandwich when someone knocked on the door. Grumbling—she was hungry, and it had taken far too long to convince Miah to leave her to her lunch and go do whatever he was supposed to do—she laid down her meal and went to the door.

A curvy Black woman of fifty stood on the porch, holding a telltale pink bakery box from Sweet Dreams. Nakala Tyler grinned at Seffi and held up the box without comment.

Though she wasn’t sorry to see her friend, or the bakery box, Seffi planted her hands on her hips. I suppose Miah told you I needed aid and comfort.

Nikka grinned, unabashed. Naturally. She sobered. He told me about it—about you finding a body on the beach. That’s a good way to ruin your day.

I can’t say it improved my walk, Seffi said. And then they kept me there until I was both frozen and starved. Not that I could actually tell them anything useful, of course. But there were at least three different law enforcement jurisdictions involved and they all needed their chance to hear my riveting tale.

Is it? A riveting tale, I mean? Nikka had followed Seffi to the kitchen and helped herself to a seat. She moved a pear tart from the bakery box to a plate, cutting it precisely in half while Seffi sat back down at the table.

It’s not a story to repeat while I’m eating my lunch, she told her friend. And it’s not exciting. It’s... icky. She took half the tart.

Do you know who it was? It wasn’t anyone from here, was it?

Seffi grimaced. I’m afraid it was. Miah said one of the boats from the harbor was picked up this morning, drifting. No one aboard. In answer to Nikka’s raised eyebrow, she elaborated. "Fishing boat, name of Rust Bucket. Did you know Bob Hughes?"

Nikka didn’t miss the past tense. I heard there was a search on this morning, but not for whom. No, I don’t—didn’t—know him, though of course I know who he is—was. He’s been fishing out of Smelt Point Harbor for as long as I’ve been around. I don’t know if he’s always been here or if he beat me to the place by a week. Nikka had been in the village for fifteen years, so Hughes was no newcomer either way.

Well, he went out last night and fell overboard. I didn’t look too closely—I’m no ghoul—but I could see he wasn’t wearing a life vest. Do the fishermen usually wear them?

Nikka shrugged. I have no idea. You’d think they would, if they’re smart. But someone going out in the middle of the night—he might have been drinking. She screwed up her face, thinking. What is it I’ve heard about him?

Seffi continued eating her sandwich while Nikka thought, moving on to the pear tart when no further comment was forthcoming.

At last Nikka said, It was something about Hughes and his wife. She’s a bleached blonde from the Midwest, if I remember correctly. Never comes to the library, so I don’t know her. Nikka ran the local library, housed in a remodeled Victorian-style mansion across the street from the Smelt Point Market.

Did he come to the library? And speaking of that, aren’t you supposed to be there now?

Yes, and no. It’s early closing today. Friday, remember?

What sort of books did Hughes check out? Seffi was curious what a long-time fisherman might read. Moby Dick? Probably not.

"Mostly he came in to read Sports Illustrated. Saved himself the cost of a subscription, and his wife didn’t have to see him poring over the swimsuit issue."

Seffi was building a picture of a man she couldn’t well relate to and a marriage that didn’t sound healthy. She said as much.

Oh, he’s—he was—okay, at least in the library. Not very imaginative, but polite and didn’t drool on the magazines. But you’re right about the marriage. I heard a rumor, anyhow. I think he’s been living on the boat, which suggests they’re more than a little on the rocks. At the expression on Seffi’s face, she said, Oops. I’m sorry. Bad choice of metaphor?

Well, he was washed up on the rocks out by the reserve. Both women grimaced. Seffi added, I wonder how the wife feels about this. I assume someone has told her by now. Her mind ran inevitably to the moment when her own wife died at the end of a long fight with cancer. Her guts cramped at the memory, even after more than two years.

Seffi pulled her mind away from the past and got up to clear away the dishes, there being no food left.

I’m going back to work, Nikka said, rising as well. "You should go take a nap. There’s nothing we can do for the poor man, and you