There was no doubt about what killed the crewman. The knife was still
protruding from his chest.
"Was he the ship's cook," I asked.
Sparrow wheeled around and glared at me. "In case the pots and pans weren't a big enough hint for ye, yeah, this is the galley and that's the man who cooked your dinner."
I nudged Sparrow aside to get a better look. Not that I could tell much more than somebody took a large carving knife and rammed it into the cook's chest. I glanced back at the rest of the crew, clustered in the doorway. "Who found him?"
"That'd be me," answered a balding pirate, who had a mouth like a Jack-o- Lantern. "Cyrus Dobbins, miss."
Sparrow shot a look at Dobbins and then at me. "This is my ship. I'll ask the questions."
I waited.
He was silent. Finally, he gestured and when he spoke, his tone was gentler. "All right, go ahead, love."
"Dobbins, did you move anything?"
"Just Cal, to see if he was still alive."
"So he was face-down."
"Yes, miss."
"Any idea who the last person to see him alive was?" Morelli would have been so much better at this. At any rate, asking questions took my mind off the large amounts of blood on the floor. When nobody answered, I looked up at Sparrow. "Who gets fed first, you or the crew?"
"I do, pet. Captain's privileges."
"And did the rest of you eat?"
There were murmurs and nods before Gibbs stepped in. "Jack, I can't say as I agree with this. It's powerful bad luck to have a woman on board and this one thinks she's bounty hunter. And ye're letting her play about with a dead man who isn't even cold."
Women on ships were bad luck? Maybe that explained my lack of an orgasm – I was my own worst enemy. And then I realized that Gibbs actually said something important. I reached out and touched the body, ignoring the ick factor. "He's still warm. This didn't happen too long ago."
Sparrow crouched next to me and touched the dead man, confirming my opinion. "She's right."
What else would Morelli do? I knew what I would do. Snoop through the dead man's things to look for a motive.
Before I could open my mouth, Sparrow stood up and dragged me up with him. "All right, ye bloody scoundrels. I'd prefer to think I don't have a murderer on board, so I'm going to work with the idea that one of the crew from the Houghton sneaked on board. Gibbs! Ana! Form search parties and scour the ship from stem to stern. Barnhardt, help me with Callinan. We're going to give the man a decent burial at sea."
Barnhardt? No. It couldn't be. The man who stepped forward bore an uncanny resemblance to Joyce Barnhardt, my archenemy. My mouth dropped open and I was pretty sure I made a weird noise because Sparrow was looking at me funny.
"Everything all right, love?"
I pointed at Barnhardt. "You have sister named Joyce, don't you?"
The man turned bright red and when he spoke, it was in a thick brogue. "I'm Joyce Barnhardt, miss. Do I know you?"
"Not unless you slept with my ex-husband," I mumbled, turning a shade of red that matched his.
Sparrow ducked down so that he could look me in the eyes. "Are you all right there, Stephanie Plum?"
"Uh, fine. Fine. Say, uh, Jack?"
"Yes, love?"
"Where was Callinan's room?"
"The crew's barracks is below." He eyed me suspiciously now. "You are not to go there by yourself, savvy?"
"Okay."
"Good."
Right. I was a badass bounty hunter wearing a Buick. What could possibly happen?
More author's notes: Is it me, or are things starting to get interesting? Well, more interesting anyway. My continued thanks to everyone who's been reading, laughing and enjoying this story, which as I mentioned, wasn't supposed to be a story at all. I appreciate all of your kind feedback.
"Was he the ship's cook," I asked.
Sparrow wheeled around and glared at me. "In case the pots and pans weren't a big enough hint for ye, yeah, this is the galley and that's the man who cooked your dinner."
I nudged Sparrow aside to get a better look. Not that I could tell much more than somebody took a large carving knife and rammed it into the cook's chest. I glanced back at the rest of the crew, clustered in the doorway. "Who found him?"
"That'd be me," answered a balding pirate, who had a mouth like a Jack-o- Lantern. "Cyrus Dobbins, miss."
Sparrow shot a look at Dobbins and then at me. "This is my ship. I'll ask the questions."
I waited.
He was silent. Finally, he gestured and when he spoke, his tone was gentler. "All right, go ahead, love."
"Dobbins, did you move anything?"
"Just Cal, to see if he was still alive."
"So he was face-down."
"Yes, miss."
"Any idea who the last person to see him alive was?" Morelli would have been so much better at this. At any rate, asking questions took my mind off the large amounts of blood on the floor. When nobody answered, I looked up at Sparrow. "Who gets fed first, you or the crew?"
"I do, pet. Captain's privileges."
"And did the rest of you eat?"
There were murmurs and nods before Gibbs stepped in. "Jack, I can't say as I agree with this. It's powerful bad luck to have a woman on board and this one thinks she's bounty hunter. And ye're letting her play about with a dead man who isn't even cold."
Women on ships were bad luck? Maybe that explained my lack of an orgasm – I was my own worst enemy. And then I realized that Gibbs actually said something important. I reached out and touched the body, ignoring the ick factor. "He's still warm. This didn't happen too long ago."
Sparrow crouched next to me and touched the dead man, confirming my opinion. "She's right."
What else would Morelli do? I knew what I would do. Snoop through the dead man's things to look for a motive.
Before I could open my mouth, Sparrow stood up and dragged me up with him. "All right, ye bloody scoundrels. I'd prefer to think I don't have a murderer on board, so I'm going to work with the idea that one of the crew from the Houghton sneaked on board. Gibbs! Ana! Form search parties and scour the ship from stem to stern. Barnhardt, help me with Callinan. We're going to give the man a decent burial at sea."
Barnhardt? No. It couldn't be. The man who stepped forward bore an uncanny resemblance to Joyce Barnhardt, my archenemy. My mouth dropped open and I was pretty sure I made a weird noise because Sparrow was looking at me funny.
"Everything all right, love?"
I pointed at Barnhardt. "You have sister named Joyce, don't you?"
The man turned bright red and when he spoke, it was in a thick brogue. "I'm Joyce Barnhardt, miss. Do I know you?"
"Not unless you slept with my ex-husband," I mumbled, turning a shade of red that matched his.
Sparrow ducked down so that he could look me in the eyes. "Are you all right there, Stephanie Plum?"
"Uh, fine. Fine. Say, uh, Jack?"
"Yes, love?"
"Where was Callinan's room?"
"The crew's barracks is below." He eyed me suspiciously now. "You are not to go there by yourself, savvy?"
"Okay."
"Good."
Right. I was a badass bounty hunter wearing a Buick. What could possibly happen?
More author's notes: Is it me, or are things starting to get interesting? Well, more interesting anyway. My continued thanks to everyone who's been reading, laughing and enjoying this story, which as I mentioned, wasn't supposed to be a story at all. I appreciate all of your kind feedback.