When Helen married Ralph Jennings, a strange sort of friendship had developed between Jennings and Oat. Before long, Jennings had bought a share of the failing charter-boat business, and he spent many nights and weekends on the water with Oat. It had been on one of those trips, five years ago, that he’d fallen overboard in the dark, and Oat Finley had reported him dead.
Paul hadn’t seen Oat recently, but he knew where to find the man. The charter-boat service was. still in operation, though now it had been moved to Staten Island, where its main customers were weekend fishermen who traveled out into the Atlantic with a collection of exotic lures and a couple of cases of beer.
It was midafternoon when Paul walked down the sagging wooden ramp to the deck of the Brighter II and called out to Oat Finley. “How are you, Oat? Remember me?”
Though Oat couldn’t have been more than forty, he had a slow way about him that constantly brought forth guesses regarding his age, placing it anywhere over fifty. His hair was already gray, and the weather-beaten lines of his face seemed almost like old leather when he turned to smile at Paul.
“Conrad, aren’t you? Helen’s brother.”
“That’s right. Haven’t seen you in a number of years now, Oat.”
“Been that long?” Oat bit on his pipe. “What can I do for you? Give you a good price if you want to rent the boat.”
Paul sat down on a canvas deck chair opposite him. “I came about Ralph Jennings, Oat.”
“Ralph Jennings?”
“He’s dead.”
The wrinkled eyelids closed for a moment, then opened to meet his gaze. “Ralph Jennings has been dead for five years,” he said finally.
Paul shook his head. “No, Oat. Only for about ten or eleven hours.”
The expression of friendly indifference didn’t change. “He drowned.”
“You thought he drowned, but he swam to shore. He’s been alive all these years, working on a cruise ship. Last evening he called me and told me about it. Then sometime during the night he was murdered.”
“What do you want from me?”
“I thought Ralph might have phoned you yesterday, too.”
“He didn’t. To me, he’s been dead for five years, ever since that night on the boat. I don’t know about anything else.”
“Just what happened that night? Where were you bound?”
“I told all that when it happened. One of our boats, the Brighter it was, had developed engine trouble. We’d worked on it most of the day and took it out for a run to see if we’d gotten the kinks out. It was still making a funny noise, and Ralph leaned over the engine to try and spot the trouble. Just then we hit a swell and he went over the side. I swung the boat around, but in the darkness I couldn’t find him.”
“All right,” Paul said. “And you haven’t heard anything from him since?”
“What would I hear from a dead man?”
It was useless to explain any more. Paul thanked him and climbed back to the dock, feeling the sweat beginning to roll down the small of his back. He had visited Oat Finley and learned nothing at all. Now there was nobody left but the police.
Paul returned to the city and told his story to a calm and well-dressed detective who asked questions in a quiet voice and wrote everything down. They even gave him a cup of coffee, and when he left the station house it was with a relieved feeling that the worst was over.
“Hello, there,” a voice spoke from the shadows as he was opening his car door.
“What?” He turned and saw Sharon O’Connell leaning against the car next to his. “Well! This is unexpected.”
“I always do the unexpected,” she answered with a smile. “I spotted your car and decided to wait.”
He wanted to ask how she knew what his car looked like, but instead he said, “Let’s get a cup of coffee, then.”
“I could use a drink a lot better, if you’re buying.”
“Sure.”
She drove her own car, following him to a nearby bar that was reasonably quiet for a Friday night. Over two tall, frosty glasses he studied her carefully cool image and asked, “All right. You wanted to talk to me. What about?”
“Now that’s a romantic opening!”
“My brother-in-law was murdered this morning. I’m not feeling romantic. You shouldn’t, either, if memory serves. Didn’t you date Ralph at one time?”
“My good man, that was a lifetime ago! He married your sister nearly ten years back. I went with him in college.”
“Still—”
“Still, nothing! Besides, I didn’t come here to talk about me. It’s about your sister.”
“Helen? What—?” Suddenly he was afraid of what was coming. He signaled the waiter for two more drinks.
“I told you I spent the night at Fire Island with her, but that’s not strictly true. I met her at this party and came back to the cottage with her, but then she asked me to look after the children and she went out again. She was gone for three hours, Paul.”
“Did you tell this to the police?”
“Of course not. Do you think... Paul, would that have been time enough for her to drive into Manhattan and back?”
He thought about it and nodded. “Just barely. Are you implying that Helen drove into town and killed Ralph Jennings?”
“Of course not! I’m just telling you because that’s what the police might think if they get wind of this. Helen is a friend of mine, and I think she needs help. I think you’re the only one who can reach her right now.”
“What about her husband?”
“Oh, sure! I’m going to go to Jack Winegood and tell him his wife was away from home for three hours in the middle of the night! While he was working! How do you think that would sound?”
“Better than murder, I suppose. You know, another man might be her only alibi if this thing gets out.”
“How’s it going to get out?”
He played with his glass, forming moist circles on the table. “Things have a way of getting around. If there’s another man, he might talk. And if she took the ferry, several people must have seen her.”
Sharon leaned back in her chair. “So now you can worry about it, too.”
“Did she get a phone call while you were with her last night?”
“No. Not after we got back to the cottage. This all seemed to have been set up before.”
He knew he’d have to face Helen with his knowledge. They’d never had secrets from one another, not all through childhood when they confided their innermost thoughts while hanging upside down from the big elm in Grandmother’s yard. “All right,” he said finally. “Thanks, I think.”
“Is there anything I can do to help, Paul?”
“I guess not. Except... Well, you knew Ralph pretty well at one time.”
“So did you.”
“I know, but not the same way. Sometimes I wonder if I really knew him at all.” He paused, not knowing how to put it into words. “Sharon, did he ever give you any hint that he might have been involved in something not exactly honest?”
“What do you mean?” Her eyes sharpened with something like apprehension.
“He’d been hiding for five years. Why? Was he hiding from Helen, or something else? If it was from Helen, why would he have come back this summer? Not just because he suddenly heard about her marriage. Examine the thing logically, Sharon. The news of her marriage brought him out into the open, therefore it couldn’t have been hatred or dislike of my sister that kept him away.”
“Maybe he reappeared just to make more trouble for her.”