Free Bunker 01 - Slipknot by Linda Greenlaw

at all like Lincoln Aldridge. Did everyone know I came here from Florida? I wondered. I quickly passed this off as the result of small-town gossip. I gracefully bowed out of the seething stare and attempted to portray disinterest in the drawer and in Lucy’s husband.
    “Yeah. Whatever.” I detested the dangling “whatever” response and hoped Lucy did, too. Letting my eyes wander around the room, I finally focused on a series of portraits lined up like a perp walk along the far wall. The portraits, all men, were handsome and dignified and not at all like the last of their bloodline—Blaine Hamilton. As Blaine scurried back

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    L i n d a G r e e n l a w
    with broom and dustpan and proceeded to sweep up his folks, chatting the entire time about nothing consequential, I grew fond of him. Blaine was soft and warm. His portrait would look like a caricature in the company of those it would join someday.
    I began strategizing on how to get some time alone with Blaine to pump him for his account of what had gone down at the public meeting preceding the death that I was certain had not been an accident. How could I shake the suspicious wife?
    I would think of something. I just needed to be patient. I also would have loved a few seconds alone with that drawer, but I doubted that would happen. Lucy caught me staring at the drawer and moved to block my view of it. Fidgeting uneasily with her charm bracelet, she said, “The remains of the most affluent and superior people reduced to a dustpan . . . I never thought I’d see the day. What a disgrace. Does your employer carry liability insurance on you, Ms. Bunker?”
    “Lucy, darling. Please try to be polite to our guest. Accidents happen,” Blaine wheedled.
    “She’s not our guest, and most accidents are covered by insurance. Come on. Let’s get this over with. I have to be at the boutique at eleven.” Lucy swept her right arm toward the door, inviting and insisting that Blaine and I exit ahead of her. Blaine grabbed a ball cap from a hook in the entryway, pulled it on over his thinning curly hair, and held the screen door for the ladies with his foot while cradling the full dustpan to his chest. The three of us marched along the mussel shells with me in the lead and moving quickly. I wondered how Lucy was faring with her heels, but I never glanced back s l i p k n o t
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    to check. Once we were on the boardwalk, the heels clicked closely behind. I nearly ran the length of the granite pier and stopped abruptly at the top of the ramp, where Lucy almost ran up my back.
    “Ms. Bunker, we’ll only be a few minutes sprinkling the ashes around the shore. Then I’d be delighted to show you Fairways . Come on, sweetheart,” Blaine said to Lucy.
    Lucy ran her eyes along the shore, where the tide had receded, exposing a narrow band of clam flats. Then she looked down at her shoes. “I’ll just watch from here. But hurry. I’m meeting Victoria Cole at the shop. She’s always good for a grand. How long will this survey take?” Lucy asked me.
    “Well, I’m not sure.” I hesitated, hoping to discourage Lucy from joining us aboard the boat. “Your vessel hasn’t been surveyed since Mr. Hamilton, Sr., had it built, and you’ve made some changes, right?”
    “Yes, yes, that’s correct. There have been some changes—
    improvements, upgrades. That’s why I need a new survey. I have no other plans for the morning. You can have all the time you need,” Blaine chirped pleasantly. “Sweetheart, you can’t be thinking of going with us. You’ve never been aboard Fairways . You’ll surely have trouble climbing in and out of the dink wearing that dress.” The use of the word “dink” for his dinghy reminded me that Blaine was indeed a member of the upper crust of society; watermen below the yachting class would have called the dinghy anything but.
    “Don’t you worry about me,” Lucy warned. “I am no stranger to boats. I was born and raised in this town, on