When Carol stops by the Godspeed, Sheriff Earl and Deputy Santiago are still poking around the first officer's cabin. She fills them in on the information that Lawson was shot within a range of two feet.
Santiago fishes a tape measure out of his back pocket. "I was building a crib this morning," he explains. "To get ready for the baby."
Earl pulls out the tape to measure the distance from the desk – which is under the porthole window - to the now-stripped bed – which is flushed sideways against the opposite wall of the cabin. "Five feet." Earl lets go of the tape, and it whirs back into its silver holder.
"That doesn't necessarily mean she was lying," Carol says. "If she took a step forward after she grabbed the gun from the desk," she steps forward, "and extended her arms out to shoot…" She holds both arms forward as if gripping and aiming a gun. Earl measures again, from the tip of Carol's fingers to the middle of the bed, with Santiago's help.
"Two feet," Santiago says.
"So it doesn't prove she's lying," Carol concludes with some disappointment.
"That doesn't prove anything," Earl agrees, "but come take a look at this." He jerks his head toward the door. Carol follows him out and into the second officer's cabin.
The cabin has been cleaned out of any belongings, since Susan Lawson moved into Mrs. Conway's old cabin. Only the bare bunk beds remain against one wall, with a nightstand beside it, and on the other side of the cabin rests a dresser with a mirror attached to the wall above it. "What am I supposed to be seeing here?"
"You go onto the Susan Constant, where Captain and Mrs. McBride live," Earl says, "or you go onto the Discovery, where Lieutenant-Commander Alvarado and Connie live, and you look at the second officer's cabin, and what do you see? Furniture wise, what do you see?"
Carol's eyes flit around the little cabin once again. She nods. "You see an office or sitting room, not a bedroom."
"Mhmhm. On those other ships, this bottom bed has been moved into the first officer's cabin and pushed together with the other bed to give more room for two people to sleep together. And you see the first officer's desk in here, instead of in the first officer's cabin, so that they can make more room in the bedroom for two people."
"They slept apart," Carol concludes.
"They slept apart," Earl echoes. "I talked to a couple of the sailors who are getting ready to take this ship out to the weigh station, and they confirmed there were definitely separate living quarters arranged here before she moved everything out. "
"She lied that they were together in that cabin when he died in his sleep and turned."
"My gut tells me she did," Earl agrees, "but she'll probably claim they slept together some nights and not others, and that they were sleeping together that night."
"That bed in the first officer's cabin is so small," Carol reasons. "They could cuddle up in it, sure." She and Daryl have done it before in a bed that small. "But if he died in his sleep and turned, I don't see how she could have woken up and pushed him off before he managed to bite her."
"Unless she woke up the moment he transformed. Which is what she claims – that the hiss of his breath woke her, and she pushed him back and scrambled out of the bed. Unlikely, but it could have happened."
"You know he had survivor benefits on that pension?" Carol asks. "And he was definitely hoarding the ammo. He wouldn't even buy cherries with it to help with his gout. She might not have known about it until recently. Was it generally known he had a small fortune? Among the sailors?"
"We'll ask around, but I doubt it," Earl says. "I'd never heard he was rich until I saw the will. Most of the other men who have been here more than six years spent up all their looted ammunition on liquor or whores long ago."
"Not all of them." Santiago, his hands on the top of the door frame, leans into the room. "I spent mine on more useful things. Well, and some liquor."
"A lot of liquor, back in the day." Earl smirks. "But Sarah's made an honest man out of you."
Santiago smiles. "And I've got a baby coming to save for now." He glances around the cabin. "So why doesn't Witherspoon get a ship to live on? He ranks higher than Alvarado."
"He opted to move into the dorms," Earl says. "With Devon. That cult refugee."
"When'd that happen? I didn't see that in the gossip column."
"That was awhile ago, deputy," Earl tells him. "Where have you been?"
Santiago shrugs. "Must be convenient for Devon to be able to swing both ways. Especially when his girl dumps him."
"Must be," Earl agrees. "But I don't, so I'll try to keep Rosita satisfied."
"How many men do you think have already responded to Mrs. Lawson's classified?" Santiago asks.
"I don't know," Carol replies. "She was clearly looking for a provider instead of a good time. So maybe none."
"Trust me, there are men in Jamestown who would work twenty hours a week just for the hope of getting laid by a woman on occasion," Santiago insists. "And Susan Lawson's not bad-looking for fifty-two."
Carol sighs. "Thanks."
"What?"
"Carol's fifty-two," Earl tells Santiago. "That was a little insulting."
Well, at least Earl thinks she's two years younger than she is. Because really, she'll be fifty-four. Next week.
"I thought you were forty-six!" Santiago insists.
Carol chuckles. "Nice attempt at a save. But we've had this conversation before."
"About me," Santiago says. "Not about you. I really did think you were in your mid-to-late forties. Forty-eight, tops."
"I'm starting to like you better," Carol says as she steps forward.
Santiago steps back so she can exit the cabin. "What, you didn't like me before? What's not to like?"
Carol smiles.
Earl follows her out of the cabin. "Santiago and I were going to go join Sarah in her interview of Lieutenant-Commander Alvarado. See what he heard and saw. You want to come, Carol?"
"I thought I'd stop by the tavern and then the trade house, see if Mrs. Lawson's been to either since she inherited, if she's started spreading any of that ammo around."
"Good idea," Earl agrees.
They climb one by one up the ladder to the deck and then begin walking toward the ramp that leads down to the dock. Seaman Reedus asks if they're done with the cabins so he can remake the beds – the weigh station crew will be sleeping in the officers' cabins and the sailors quarters while docked at the pirates' old campgrounds. Commander Witherspoon is taking this group, and Captain McBride will take the next one in two weeks, and then it will be Lieutenant-Commander Alvarado's turn after that. That way, no group has to be away from Jamestown for more than two weeks at a time. While they're up-river, they'll keep a look out, make sure the taxi route stays safe, clean and fix-up the sailboat the pirates left behind to claim it for Jamestown, and fish new waters. "We're done," Earl assures him.
When they set foot back on the dock, Santiago asks, "Are you going to demote Andrew? For screwing this up?"
Earl sighs. "He's an old friend of Garland's. All the way back to the Old World, from the Richmond PD."
"Where he was a police sketch artist," Santiago insists. "Not a deputy."
"He saved Garland's life once."
"Garland's not sheriff anymore. You are. And it's not just this." Santiago looks to Carol for support.
"He's right," Carol agrees. "Andrew's always stopping by the tavern during his patrol rounds, and not just to ask if anyone's skipped their tabs. He stays and chats for half hour, sometimes longer. Sometimes he even orders a drink."
"You think I don't know this?" Earl asks.
"I think you're not doing anything about it," Carol replies. By now they've reached The Discovery, which has just returned from fishing down river. Dianne is on the deck, talking to Lieutenant-Commander Alvarado.
"I'll see you later tonight," Carol tells them as they part ways, the sheriff and Santiago heading up the ramp, and Carol waling on toward the tavern. She casts a glance up at Dianne, wondering what bad news the woman is going to receive from Gunther, and when.
[*]
When Carol passes the farm fields on the trail up to the Indian Village, and nears the horse ring, she sees Gunther dismount a stallion he's been breaking, a wild one Dianne and Santiago and one of the guards found when out scouting and somehow managed to wrestle, lassoed and angry, back to Jamestown. "Don't you think you should be taking it easy?" she calls to him.
He hands the reins of the horse to a young man – a cowboy apprentice, probably - and meanders over to the fence line, tipping up his straw hat and wiping his sweaty brow with his handkerchief. "Why? I had my two weeks' vacation. Think it's time for catch-up."
"But breaking horses?" Carol asks. "You don't have to do that." Not with whatever health condition Dr. Ahmad revealed he has today.
He looks at her quizzically. "We've only got one other man who can break them, and he couldn't get this one to bend. Besides, I have to teach the boy how to do it." He points back to the apprentice. "Why so concerned for my labor?"
"Just want you to stay healthy," she says.
"How's the case going?"
Carol opens her mouth and then lets it close. "You know about that?"
"I'm married to a deputy. And she seemed busy today, up there on one of those ships, talking to sailors. I don't think she was flirting with them." He smiles slightly, a crooked grin. "I hope."
Carol chuckles. "No, she wasn't, but…it's not my place to talk about that. And please don't – "
"- Like I said, I'm married to a deputy. I know how to keep my mouth shut."
"I better get going," she tells him. Especially after excoriating Andrew for stopping to talk on the clock. "Take it easy."
She walks on up to the tavern, where she finds Andrew sitting at the bar and flirting with Trisha. He's supposed to be on patrol, making all the rounds, and taking reports of any complaints. At least he's paying more attention to his wife these days, even if he's not paying much attention to his job.
The tavern is nearing closing time, for the break before it reopens for dinner, and only has two customers at the far end of the bar. Madam Linda is at a table in the corner, working on the books. Carol walks over to her and pulls out the chair across from her. Andrew, having seen his fellow deputy, has slid away from the bar and is heading out of the tavern. Trisha takes off her apron, calls to Linda, "I'm off my shift. I'm going to pick up Little John from daycare," and heads out after him.
Carol wonders if maybe there's going to be some afternoon delight before Trisha picks up the boy and Andrew actually resumes his rounds. The teenage apprentice waiter, Gauge, who was putting up chairs, takes over Trisha's spot at the bar and tells the men, "Last call."
"I take it you're not here to drink," Linda says to Carol.
"No."
"Andrew already checked in with me. No skipped tabs this week."
"I wanted to ask – has Susan Lawson been in since her husband's death?"
Linda looks at her curiously but doesn't ask the reason for the inquiry. Instead she begins flipping through her book. "She came in the day after he died for both lunch and dinner. I figured she was too grieved to cook. She paid for both meals in ammo. But then she came in the next day, too, and so Trisha started a tab for her." Linda runs her finger down a column. "One more dinner since then, one lunch, and four drinks."
No one eats out at the tavern four times a week.
"I guess she inherited some ammunition?" Linda asks.
Carol nods slightly. "Did she eat and drink alone?"
"Well, you know. A widowed woman in Jamestown? She took a table to herself, but she always had a man stop by to say hello and ask how she was doing. And now, after that classified came out in the paper yesterday, and everyone knows she's looking for a husband…I guess she'll have a lot more stopping by."
Carol closes her notebook. "Thank you. How are you doing, Linda?"
Linda sighs. "I feel like a black widow. First Ernesto dies, then Joe. Ernesto left me everything but his horse and gardening tools. Joe left me all his belongings. You should be investigating me."
Carol smiles sympathetically. "You gave Ernesto's cabin to Gunther. And Joe had about ten rounds of ammunition to his name. And I'm really sorry for your losses. I hope you're hanging in there."
"Natural causes, both. Heart attack and then swine flu. It should make it easier than seeing someone ripped apart by cannibals. But somehow…it doesn't."
"If you want to come over for dinner sometime, at our place – "
"- Oh, God no. Daryl hates houseguests, doesn't he?"
Carol chuckles. "I'm allowed to invite people for dinner three times a month, if I give him at least two day's warning and I don't expect him to carry any of the conversation. Next Monday? Since the tavern's closed on Mondays?"
"Well, I appreciate the offer. But Gunther and Dianne are having me over next Monday. Maybe another time."
Carol nods, stands, and sweeps her notebook from the table. She goes to the trade house next. It's locked – it's not trading hours – but she, like all the deputies, has a skeleton key to the padlocks that bind the tavern, trade house, and brew house. She opens the blinds over the windows when she goes inside so she can see to consult the tradebook.
Jeffrey Lawson may have been a hoarder, but his wife is certainly not. Not only has she already bought four meals and four drinks at the tavern, but she's purchased in trade from other citizens extra corn flour, honey, and the costliest of all commodities currently – pork rinds. After the swine flu required killing off two of the fattest pigs without the benefit of being able to eat them, the price of the existing stores of pork rinds went way up, and bacon is not expected to be available for another two months.
Susan Lawson may blow through all three thousand of those rounds by the time her classified succeeds and she finds a working husband to support her.