Bledsoe gave an exclamation. “My God, Vic!” He fished around for something else to say but made several false starts before he could get a coherent thought out. I watched him carefully. Surprise is such an easy feeling to counterfeit. It looked genuine, but…
The captain looked at me with narrowed eyes. “You seem pretty cool about it.”
“Would it be more believable if I lay down on the floor and screamed?”
Bemis made a gesture of annoyance. “I assume I could radio the Chicago police and get some verification of this.”
I pointed to the radio on the port wall. “By all means. A Lieutenant Robert Mallory can tell you anything you want to know.”
“Can you give us some more detail on what happened?” That was Bledsoe, finding his voice and his authoritative manner.
I obliged with as much of the accident as I could recall.
“Now what makes you think someone on the Lucella might be involved?”
“There’s a limited universe of who could have done it,” I explained. “Only a few people knew I was down there. Only a few could identify my car.”
“How do you figure that?” That was the captain again. “There are a lot of vandals down at the Port and this frankly sounds like vandalism.”
“Captain, I don’t know what your exposure to vandals is, but I see a lot of them. I don’t know of any vandal who goes around with a cutting torch and a ratchet wrench to disable cars. It’s a lengthy procedure with a very high risk of getting caught, and there’s no point to it. Especially in a place like a grain elevator, which is hard to get to.”
Bemis’s brow creased. “You think just because the Lucella was tied up there we’re implicated somehow?”
“You people and Clayton Phillips are the only ones who knew I was down there… Captain, I’m certain that my cousin was pushed overboard last month-or underboard, to be literal about it. And I know someone else was killed in connection with my cousin’s affairs. The way I see it, the killer is either connected with this ship or with Eudora Grain. Now you’ve got a big machine shop here. I’m sure you have a couple of cutting torches lying around-”
“No!” Bemis exploded. “No way in hell is Mike Sheridan involved in this.”
“How long have you known him?”
“Twenty years. At least twenty years. We’ve been sailing together a long time. I know that man better than I know-my wife. I see more of him.”
“Besides,” Bledsoe put in, “there’s no reason for Mike-or any of us-to want to kill you.”
I rubbed my forehead tiredly. “Ah, yes. The reason. That’s the real stumper. If I knew what my cousin had found out I’d know who did the murders. I thought it had something to do with those grain shipment orders, Martin, but you assured me they were perfectly legitimate. But what if it had something to do with the vandalism to your cargo holds? You told me that was what Boom Boom called you about.”
“Yes, but, Vic, we all need this ship operating to make a living. Why would we put it out of commission?”
“Yes, well, something occurred to me about that, too.” I looked at my hands, then at Bledsoe. “What if someone were blackmailing you-something along the lines of ‘I’ll tell your secret history if you don’t give up that load.’ ”
Bledsoe’s face turned white under his windburn. “How dare you!”
“How dare I what? Suggest such a thing-or bring up your past?”
“Either.” He smashed the table with his fist. “If I had such a past, such a secret, who told it to you?”
Bemis turned to Bledsoe in surprise. “Martin-what are you talking about? Do you have a mad wife stashed away in Cleveland that I never heard of?”
Bledsoe recovered himself. “You’ll have to ask Warshawski here. She’s telling the story.”
Up to that point I hadn’t been sure whether Grafalk had told the truth. But he must have to get that reaction. I shook my head.
“It’s just a hypothesis, Captain. And if there is something in Bledsoe’s past-why, he’s kept it to himself long enough. I don’t think it would be very interesting to anyone else these days.”
“You don’t?” Bledsoe pounced on that. “Then why would anyone blackmail me to keep it quiet?”
“Oh, I don’t think it’s very interesting. But you clearly do. Your reaction just now clinches it. What set me wondering was why you smashed a wineglass just because Grafalk made a crack that day about where you went to school.”
“I see.” Bledsoe gave a short laugh. “You’re not so dumb, are you?”
“I get by… I’d like to ask you one question in private, however.”
Bemis stood up politely. “I ought to look at the course, anyway… By the way, Martin’s occupying our only guest room. We’ll put a cot up for you in my dining room.”
I thanked him. Bledsoe looked at me speculatively. I leaned forward and said in a low voice, “I want to know that you didn’t get Sheridan to doctor my car while we were at dinner that night.” I saw a pulse start to move in his jaw. “Believe me, I hate to ask it. I hate even to think it. But that was a pretty horrifying experience-it shook my trust in human nature.”
Bledsoe pushed back his chair with enough force to knock it over. “Go ask him yourself! I’m fucked if I’ll put up with any more of this.”
He stormed down the stairs and the bridge echoed with the vibration of the slammed door. Bemis looked at me coldly, “I’m running a ship, Miss Warshawski, not a soap opera.”
I felt a violent surge of anger. “Are you, now? I’ve had a cousin killed and someone’s tried to kill me. Until I’m sure your ship and crew didn’t do it, you’ll damned well live in my soap opera and like it.”
Bemis left the helm and came over to lean across the table into my face. “I don’t blame you for being upset. You lost a cousin. You’ve been badly hurt. But I think you’re blowing up a couple of very sad accidents into a conspiracy and I won’t have you disrupting my ship while you do it.”
My temples pounded. I kept just enough control not to offer any grandiose threats. “Very well,” I said tightly, my vocal cords straining, “I won’t disrupt your ship. I would like to talk to the chief engineer while I am on board, however.”
Bemis jerked his head at Winstein. “Get the lady a hard hat, Mate.” He turned back to me. “You may question the chief. However, I don’t want you talking to the crew unless either the first mate or I am present. He’ll instruct the second mate to make sure that happens.”
“Thanks,” I said stiffly. While I waited for Winstein to bring me a hard hat, I stared moodily out the rear of the bridge. The sun was setting now and the shoreline showed as a distant wedge of purple in front of it. To the port side I could see a few chunks of ice. Winter lasted a long time in these parts.
I was doing a really swell job. So far I didn’t know a damned thing I hadn’t known three weeks ago, except how to load a Great Lakes freighter full of grain. In my mind’s ear I could hear my mother chewing me out for self-pity. “Anything but that, Victoria. Better for you to break the dishes than lie about feeling sorry for yourself.” She was right. I was just worn out from the aftermath of my accident. But that, in Gabriella’s eyes, was the reason, not the excuse-there was no excuse for sitting around sulking.
I pulled myself together. The first mate was waiting to escort me from the bridge. We walked down the narrow staircase, me following on his heels. He gave me a hard hat with his name on the front in faded black type; he explained that it was his spare and I was welcomed to it as long as I was on board.