Free Anything Goes by Jill Churchill

fierce look warning him. “Do you know any of these people?“ she asked Jack. “Besides Mr. Prinney and your editor?“
    “Only Major Winslow, your next-door neighbor, by sight. Is this Cooke person a relation of yours?”
    “Cousin,“ Lily said. “And I don’t know if it’s the same person. Cooke is such a common name. I know about Major Winslow. I must go over and call on Sissy. What do you know about him? Her father?“ Jack shrugged. Did she think he moved in circles that included the Winslows?
    “Not much,“ he said. “I’ve seen him in town, taking the train to New York. I hear they used to socialize a lot. Not with folks around here, though. With the high-society crowd. Had some prince or princess up for a big to-do a couple years ago, I heard. The whole town turned out to meet the train and gawk.”
    Robert had taken the first pages from Lily and asked, “What about this Fred Eggers?“
    “Never heard of him before,“ Jack admitted. “Nor the fella from New York. Winningham, was it?”
    “And these were the only people on the boat?“ Robert asked.
    “Yeah, plus Billy Smith and—“
    “Billy Smith!“ Lily yelped.
    Robert looked at her. “Have you gone mad? Who is this Billy Smith that you screech his name that way?“
    “The nasty little man who was in the kitchen; I told you about him. He’s Mimi’s husband—in a way.“
    “Billy is a nasty item,“ Jack said. “A real river rat. But he knows about everything there is to know about getting around on the water. Folks around here call him ‘Waterbug’—that is, when they’re not calling him something a lot worse. I’ll bet he could take a steamboat against the incoming tide with bottles of hootch all over the deck and never lose a drop.“
    “Was that what he was doing on board? Working?“ Lily asked.
    Robert rolled his eyes. “You don’t suppose Uncle Horatio had invited him along as a guest, do you? What do you mean about the hootch, Jack? Is he a rumrunner?“
    “Oh, sure. Everybody knows it. But he’s so slick about it that he’s never been caught. Last spring a bunch of G-men were up here keeping an eye on him and they couldn’t even keep track of him. Of course, everybody knew what they were. Pretending to be traveling salesmen staying at the hotel and bulging with guns.“
    “So if he’s so good with boats, how come the yacht sank?“ Lily asked.
    “It was a whale of a storm, Miss Brewster. A real freak. And, too, Billy was working for your uncle. If Brewster told him to pull closer to the island, Billy’d of done what he was told. Horatio Brewster was about the only person he seemed to listen to. Talked awful about him, but was afraid to cross him in person.”
    Lily and Robert were looking at him doubtfully.
    “Really,“ he protested. “Mr. Kessler told me the rain was coming at them horizontally and so heavily you couldn’t see more than a few feet. And the boat was rocking and bucking. Even Billy Smith couldn’t do anything about that. And he certainly wasn’t responsible for the weather turning that way.“
    “But couldn’t he have taken advantage of it?“ Robert asked.
    Jack stared at Robert for a long moment and said, “Yeah, he could have.“
    “There doesn’t seem to be any mention of murder in this article,“ Robert said. “Where did they find Uncle Horatio’s body? How does anybody know he’s really dead? Maybe he got washed downriver and is even now in some poor widow’s hovel with amnesia. I can see it,“ Robert said, waxing romantic. “Poor Uncle Horatio, sitting at a battered oaken table, making paper sailboats and moaning, ‘Who am I?’ while the widow, a mere slip of a girl, makes oatmeal for him and hems things.“
    “Robert, stop being so silly,“ Lily said. “Mrs. Prinney might hear you.”
    Robert looked slightly contrite.
    Jack handed Lily the transcript of another article from a later paper. The piece said that the yacht had been raised out of the water by the Coast