The Shadow Box(30)

“After a shocking experience,” Tom said, “such as the one you went through, memories can be muddled. Sometimes they don’t come back for a long time. Is there anything else you saw or heard that you might not have remembered right away?”

“Well, the note,” Bart said.

“What note?” Jeanne asked.

“I showed it to you,” Bart said.

“You did not! What note?” she asked.

“Just when we got back to the dock and I hosed her off—you know I always do, wash the deck after coming back in,” he said, looking at Tom.

“Good for the boat,” Tom said.

“Get the salt off,” Bart said. “Helps keep the rust away. And I like a clean boat.”

“So when you hosed her down . . . ,” Tom said, wanting Bart to get back on track.

“Right. I found this scrap of paper stuck to the side of our damn boat, above the waterline. I mean, it had ripped, some of it was gone and the ink was pretty much unreadable. But I could see it was signed ‘Love, Sallie.’ Like the end of a note.”

“Where is it now?” Tom asked. During Dan’s second interview with the police, he had said Sallie had been distressed, and her distraction had caused her to make a mistake in the galley, that she had caused the explosion herself. Could she have been upset enough to do it on purpose? Could this be a suicide note?

“I threw it out,” Bart said. “It was soggy as hell. Must have stuck to our hull when we motored through the debris. There was a bunch of ash and other rude shit plastered to our port side. I tossed it all in the dumpster.” He gestured toward the shipyard.

Tom glanced over. “Where’s the dumpster?”

“In that alley between the rigging shed and the big boat building.”

Tom nodded.

“It’s in a plastic garbage bag along with a couple empties. Don’t bust me for not recycling.”

“Very funny,” Jeanne said.

“Do you know what happened, what caused the fire?” Bart asked. “I mean, I’m reading the news, hitting refresh constantly, but there’s nothing.”

“Not yet,” Tom said.

“Yeah,” Bart said. “I thought you might tell us something off the record sort of, considering we were right there. And the part we played, and all.”

“It was horrible,” Jeanne said, her eyes bright with tears. “The Bensons, we didn’t know them, but the boating world is so small, especially around here, at the mouth of the river. We saw them all the time.”

“Where?” Tom asked.

“You know, coming and going at West Wind Marina. Or out on the Sound. Just, out having fun. All of them, the four of them,” Bart said.

“Sometimes just him,” Jeanne said. “With a few guys. You know, friends heading out for some fishing or whatever. She was well known, you know. Once I heard ‘Sallie B’ was Sallie Benson, I recognized her name right away. A decorator.”

“Famous,” Bart said. “It’s all over the news. She designed half the muckety-mucks’ houses on the shoreline.” He finished his drink, swirled the melting ice around the bottom of his glass, and took a step toward the companionway. “Can I get you another iced tea?” he asked, glancing at Tom.

“No, thanks,” Tom said. “I’ll be going now. Thanks for your time. I’m going to call the state police right now, and someone will come by to collect that trash bag with the letter.”

“Waste of time. You can’t even read it,” Bart said.

“It’s one big nightmare,” Jeanne said. “As if it wasn’t bad enough seeing what happened to the people on board a boat we knew, we rescued Maggie, their little dog, and she’s probably going to die. It’s a miracle she survived at all.”

“Yeah, and we’re out a couple hundred bucks for a vet bill,” Bart said, coming back with a full glass. “Just to find out she’d swallowed sea water. Breathed some into her lungs too.” He took a long drink. “Not that it’s all about the money, but I wouldn’t mind getting reimbursed from Dan Benson. When he’s out of the hospital, I mean.”

“Bart!” Jeanne said, giving him a sharp look.

Tom nodded. He shook the Dunhams’ hands and stepped onto the dock. Then he stopped and turned around.

“What vet did you take her to?” he asked.

“Silver Bay Veterinary Clinic,” Jeanne said. “We could tell she was having breathing problems, so we got her there fast. I haven’t had the heart to call and see if they’ve put her to sleep yet. Poor little Maggie.”

“We did our best,” Bart said, putting his arm around her.

Tom left Jeanne leaning against her husband’s shoulder. He took out his cell phone to call Conor and tell him about the bag full of Arcturus’s trash. He knew Conor was busy on the Claire Beaudry Chase disappearance, but ever since Tom had been appointed an investigator, his younger brother had become his mentor.

He then called Detective Jen Miano, lead detective on the Benson case, to inform her of the situation. Then he called Conor. He parked his truck at the entry of the alleyway where the dumpster was located, to guard it, on the off chance some refuse truck would come by to pick up the boatyard’s trash on the national holiday, and settled back to wait for the police.