Free Rigged for Murder (Windjammer Mystery Series) by Jenifer LeClair

ship had felt like a safe haven. What a difference a day could make. With a sudden twinge of homesickness, Brie thought about her apartment back in Minneapolis. Her mom had always chided her about being a minimalist. It was true—except for a few cozy afghans and too many books, her small Minneapolis apartment was fairly spartan. Brie also had mixed feelings about technology and, in her private life, clung to an almost anachronistic simplicity. The psychiatrist in her had long ago recognized this tendency as an attempt to create some balance with her emotionally complex job. Anyway, as far as she was concerned, less stuff meant more time. She had used that time to advance her career. But she wondered now, as she lay in her berth, whether that had been the wisest choice.
    After a minute or two, Brie dammed up her stream of consciousness and unzipped her sleeping bag. She sat up and dangled her legs over the edge of the berth. The cabin was cold and damp. A metallic taste in her mouth told her she hadn’t had enough sleep. She grabbed her toothbrush and filled her cup from the wooden cask. The strong taste of mint started to bring her around. After rinsing her mouth, she ran the hairbrush through her hair eight or ten times, her scalp tingling under the bristles, and then pulled the hair back into a ponytail. She exchanged the sweat pants she’d slept in for a pair of jeans, pulled on a gray wool sweater that matched her mood, and went to use the head at the end of the passageway.
    The nor’easter was still making its presence known, and rain drummed persistently on the cabin top above her.
Great day to move a body
, she thought, glancing upward. In a few minutes Brie was back in her cabin. She clipped on her gun, put on her foul-weather gear and rubber loafers, and headed topside.
    The captain was standing up near the bow with George, who disappeared down the galley companionway as she approached.
    “Hey, Brie. Were you able to sleep?”
    “Yup. But considering how I felt when I woke up, I might have been better off just staying up.”
    George came back on deck and handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “Morning, Brie.”
    “Thanks, George. Your coffee makes standing in this rain almost tolerable. I thought you’d take the chance to sleep in this morning since breakfast is later than usual.”
    George shrugged. “I’m best if I stick to my schedule. Creature of habit, I guess. So, what’s the plan, Captain?” As George spoke, Scott and Tim came on deck wearing their foul-weather gear.
    “Morning, gentlemen,” the captain greeted them. “We’ll get started right away if that’s all right. George, you may as well stick around for a couple minutes. We may need your help.” He turned to Scott. “Would you bring up the back-board from the storeroom? We’ll use it as a stretcher. And grab a roll of duct tape.”
    “Aye, Captain.”
    “We’ll place the tarp underneath the body when we move it onto the backboard,” DuLac said. “Then we’ll tape the tarp closed and lash the body to the board so we can lower it to the yawl boat.”
    Brie spoke up. “What you’ll see under the tarp will be shocking. I want you to be prepared.”
    The five of them moved over to the body. But despite Brie’s warning, as they uncovered it, George stepped back in shock. “Jesus!”
    The bluish tinge of Pete’s skin was amplified by the yellow of his rain gear, and rigor mortis had set in, hardening his features into a grotesque mask. The four men lifted the body onto the backboard and wrapped the tarp around it. They taped and lashed it. Then, with each man taking a corner of the board, they made their way to the stern of the ship.
    Brie checked the area under the body to make sure she hadn’t missed any evidence. She stooped down and inspected the deck planking where Pete’s head had been. Taking the tweezers from her pocket, she removed several wavy blond hairs caught between the planks. She placed them in a baggie, zipped