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  MURDER AT SEA

  Maybe it was Val’s imagination, but she already felt as if the yacht was rolling and pitching less than it had earlier. She checked her watch. Just past nine. Hard to believe that little more than half an hour had gone by since the squall hit.

  The silence in the room was more deafening than the exercise music had been. With the host missing, returning to the table for the rest of the gala Titanic dinner probably had little appeal, especially for those feeling motion sickness. Yet Val was sure food would do them all good, if they could manage to eat. She decided to set out the main course as a buffet. Tricky to reheat the beef without overcooking it. It was still warm, so she’d serve it that way. She reheated the vegetables, found serving bowls for them, and put the food on the counter that divided the galley from the dining area. She then collected the booklets from the table and stuffed them into a drawer in the galley.

  Two minutes after she invited the guests to the buffet, Stacy started the procession to the table. Damian and Louisa followed her. Cheyenne joined them at the table. She and Bethany talked quietly instead of eating. Homer had no interest in food either.

  Val cleaned up the galley and pondered what could have happened to Otto. He must have gone overboard, but how? He might have had a heart attack, fallen from the stairs, and pitched into the water.

  Or one of this odd assortment of guests might have pushed him.

  Under the guise of a mystery game, Otto had accused them of crimes and misdemeanors. Their vehement denials suggested his accusations might have hit home. Could his fiction about a girl’s fall from the Titanic have led to his fall from the Abyss?

  Books by Maya Corrigan

  BY COOK OR BY CROOK

  SCAM CHOWDER

  FINAL FONDUE

  THE TELL-TALE TARTE

  S’MORE MURDERS

  Published by Kensington Publishing Corporation

  S’more Murders

  MAYA CORRIGAN

  KENSINGTON BOOKS

  KENSINGTON PUBLISHING CORP.

  http://www.kensingtonbooks.com

  All copyrighted material within is Attributor Protected.

  Table of Contents

  MURDER AT SEA

  Also by

  Title Page

  Copyright Page

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  Epigraph

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  THE CODGER COOK’S RECIPES

  KENSINGTON BOOKS are published by

  Kensington Publishing Corp.

  119 West 40th Street

  New York, NY 10018

  Copyright © 2018 by Mary Ann Corrigan

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any means without the prior written consent of the Publisher, excepting brief quotes used in reviews.

  To the extent that the image or images on the cover of this book depict a person or persons, such person or persons are merely models, and are not intended to portray any character or characters featured in the book.

  If you purchased this book without a cover you should be aware that this book is stolen property. It was reported as “unsold and destroyed” to the Publisher and neither the Author nor the Publisher has received any payment for this “stripped book.”

  Kensington and the K logo Reg. U.S. Pat. & TM Off.

  ISBN: 978-1-4967-0919-6

  eISBN-13: 978-1-4967-0920-2

  eISBN-10: 1-4967-0920-9

  ACKNOWLEDGMENTS

  I’d like to thank those who shared their expertise with me as I researched and wrote this book. I’m particularly grateful to retired Captain Brian Kelley, United States Coast Guard. He generously answered my questions about how the Coast Guard would respond to a Mayday call from the Chesapeake Bay and conduct a search-and-rescue operation in that area. For details about forensic investigations into drownings and shootings, I consulted D. P. Lyle, M.D. I received helpful information about the effects of drugs from pharmacist and toxicologist Luci Zahray. Any mistakes in the book on those subjects are inadvertent and resulted from my misunderstanding.

  While writing this book, I frequently consulted Last Dinner on the Titanic by Rick Archbold and Dana McCauley. It contains details about the menus on the ship, table settings, and recipes useful for those who want to hold their own Titanic dinner. If you would like to add a murder investigation to your dinner, I recommend the Titanic Murder Mystery Dinner Party Game by Printable Mystery Games. I’m grateful to the family members who assisted my research by taking part in that role-playing game: Chris and Jim Bruns; Regina Roman; George, Dan, and Greg Berman; Nora and Mike Corrigan. That murder mystery game is a lot more fun than the game Otto devised for his Titanic dinner guests in S’more Murders.

  Thank you to my critique partners, mystery writers Carolyn Mulford and Helen Schwartz. They brainstormed with me, read the book chapter by chapter, and gave me helpful suggestions at our weekly meetings. My thanks go to Paul Corrigan, Mike Corrigan, Cathy Ondis Solberg, and Elliot Wicks for reading and commenting on the book. Mike also answered my many questions about guns. Writing a book is a long process, and he stood by me all the way. Thanks, Mike.

  I’m grateful to my agent, John Talbot, to my editor, John Scognamiglio, and to the team at Kensington Books who helped bring S’more Murders to readers.

  To those who always crave some more murders—readers who enjoy detective and mystery fiction—thank you for your support.

  Titanic! Of all the remarkable incidents connected with the short life of that ship of destiny not the least was her name. If you look in your dictionary you will find: Titans—A race of people vainly striving to overcome the forces of nature. Could anything be more unfortunate than such a name, anything more significant?

  —ARTHUR ROSTRON, Captain of the Carpathia,

  the Titanic’s rescue ship, Home From the Sea, 1931

  Chapter 1

  “I want you to re-create the final dinner served on the Titanic. Ten courses for eight people.”

  Val Deniston stared at Otto Warbeck. Was he joking? Not visibly. The yacht owner had wrinkles in his forehead, but no smile lines. Not a man given to jests. When she’d agreed to cater a dinner for him on the Chesapeake Bay, she hadn’t expected him to demand a custom-made feast, not to mention one with really bad karma.

  She ran her fingers along the granite counter near the glass cooktop, cool and hard like everything on his yacht. “I’ve catered themed dinners before, Mr. Warbeck.” Only a few, since catering was a sideline for her. “My clients have always selected dishes from my standard menu, which offers many choices.” She reached into her tote bag for her catering menus.

  He stroked his neat salt-and-pepper beard. “Your grandfather assured me that your dinner party menus were flexible.”

  Granddad would say anything to get her a client. She would walk away from this gig if it weren’t for the termite damage to the house they shared. Granddad needed help paying for the repairs, so she’d try to reach an agreement with the yachtsman. “Let’s sit at the table and talk about this, Mr. Warbeck.”

  “Call me Otto.”

  As she walked around the counter
that separated the galley from the dining table, the floor swayed under her feet, reminding her that she wouldn’t be cooking and serving on solid ground. The boat would rock even more once it left the Bayport marina for the open water of the Chesapeake Bay. Fortunately, she wasn’t prone to seasickness. But if the dinner guests felt sick in rough water, they might blame her food for their nausea.

  Otto held her chair as she sat down, a courtly gesture that went along with his formal manner of speaking. Standing only four inches taller than her five foot three, he tucked his hand, Napoleon style, into his navy jacket with brass buttons. He took the seat to her right, at the head of the table. “As a collector of Titanic memorabilia, I really look forward to this dinner. It has a special meaning for me.”

  “I can certainly prepare a special dish that isn’t on my standard catering menu.” One dish, not ten.

  His frown lines deepened. “Your grandfather led me to believe you were creative in the kitchen. But you just want to make the same things over and over from a set menu. Where’s your spirit of adventure?”

  Val’s jaw clenched. What an annoying man, putting her on the defensive when he was making an unreasonable request. “Catering isn’t an adventure for me. It’s a business. I offer creative dishes at fair prices. I know my clients will be happy because I’ve thoroughly tested the recipes. With only five days before your dinner party, I don’t have much time to cost out an elaborate meal and experiment with dishes I’ve never made before.”

  He reached for the catering menus she’d put on the table, giving her hope that he was open to compromise.

  He scrutinized them. “You don’t need to price out anything. Let’s say I want you to make a four-course meal of the most expensive items you offer. Adding up the prices and multiplying by eight people, the bottom line is . . .” He took five seconds to calculate the total and announced it.

  “That sounds about right. So you’ll be happy with a four-course meal?”

  “No! I’ll multiply the total by two and a half, because I want ten courses, not four. Then I’ll double that figure because of the extra work involved in preparing dishes you haven’t previously tried.” He flashed a puckish smile. “Have I made you an offer you can’t refuse?”

  Getting there. “I’d love to give you your dream dinner party, but I can’t possibly cook and serve ten courses to eight people all by myself.”

  “I expected you might say that. I’ll pay your grandfather to serve as sous chef. He told me his Codger Cook newspaper column features easy five-ingredient recipes, but surely he can assist you with more complicated dishes. He knows his way around a kitchen.”

  Granddad’s cooking expertise was like a soufflé: mostly hot air. He’d wangled the job of food columnist by tweaking her recipes. “Besides my grandfather, I could use another assistant. My friend Bethany has experience helping at the athletic club café I manage.” A Titanic dinner was wacky enough to appeal to Bethany. Besides, she owed Val after dragging her into hunting for a dead body with a borrowed cadaver dog.

  Otto raised his index finger and moved it back and forth like a metronome. “I won’t pay for another assistant.”

  Only fair, given how much he was forking over for this dinner. Val would pay for Bethany’s services out of her own pocket. “I’ll need time to test recipes. Can you postpone the dinner?”

  “I cannot. The date, the place, and the guests have aligned for this occasion. Saturday is April fourteenth, the anniversary of the last dinner on the Titanic. I now own a boat that can accommodate eight for dinner here in the saloon.” His sweeping gesture encompassed the sitting-eating-cooking space that landlubbers would call a great room.

  For the first time since she boarded the yacht, Val focused on the sitting area, two steps down from and aft of the galley and the dining space. Picture windows along the sides made the saloon look larger than it was. The cherry wood paneling and matching cabinetry gave it a welcome hint of warmth. “The saloon is elegant, like a lounge on an ocean liner,” she said.

  “In miniature. My wife is going to add decorative touches that suggest the Titanic. I even have tableware in patterns used on the Titanic.” He pulled a card with rounded corners from his breast pocket. “Here is the first-class dinner menu from that fateful night.”

  She gaped at the gilt-edged card he’d passed to her. On a surface barely larger than five by seven inches, the menu listed around twenty-five dishes. “This is a restaurant menu.”

  “And I don’t expect you to turn the galley into a restaurant kitchen. Just choose one of the options listed for each course.”

  The menu included dishes she’d never heard of—Consommé Olga, Punch Romaine, and Waldorf Pudding. “I’ll have to do research to find recipes for these dishes.”

  “There are no surviving recipes for the dishes served on the Titanic, so you have leeway with the recipes, as long as you come up with something similar to what’s on the menu.”

  Hooray, a chink in his armor. Val tried to picture what it would be like to cook and serve the dinner in such close quarters. She saw a potential problem. “Your guests will be sitting steps away from where I’m preparing the meal. You’ll have cooking odors that the first-class dining room on the Titanic didn’t have.”

  “They can always get up between courses and go outside for fresh air.” Otto pointed to the door in the dining area. “That will give the guests easy access to the side deck. You can do much of the cooking ahead of time. Half the dishes on the menu are best served cold—even the consommé and the salmon.”

  Val didn’t mind serving salmon cold, but she drew the line at jellied consommé. She glanced at the other end of the saloon. The L-shaped sofa, three chairs, and built-in cabinetry didn’t leave much open floor space for a meet-and-mingle cocktail party. “Where do you want me to serve the hors d’oeuvres?”

  “Weather permitting, on the large open deck above us.” He pointed to the ceiling. “I’ll show you.”

  They went out the sliding glass door from the sitting area to the aft deck. A door just outside the saloon led to a tiny powder room, which Otto called a head. Val called it a step up from an outhouse. They took the stairs to the open area on the top deck. Perfect for serving drinks and hors d’oeuvres unless it rained. The only indoor space on this deck was the glass-enclosed bridge, equipped with three leather chairs facing the helm.

  They’d just returned to the saloon when a young woman slid open the door from the aft deck and swept into the room. Val recognized her from the Protect the Bay Barbecue the weekend before last.

  The woman flung her leather jacket on the sofa in the saloon. “Getting windy out there.” She finger-combed her golden brown hair back into place. It grazed her shoulders and turned under neatly.

  Val didn’t bother trying to smooth her own, less tame, hair. After its wind treatment on the upper deck, it probably looked like a cinnamon-colored clown wig.

  Otto stood up and hugged the young woman. His daughter, perhaps?

  He steered her toward the table. “Come and meet the caterer for our dinner. Val, this is my wife, Cheyenne.”

  Ah. The trophy wife. She looked to be in her late twenties, at least five years younger than Val. “Hi, Cheyenne. I’m Val Deniston. We were both helping the children make s’mores at the picnic a week ago.” Though Cheyenne had done more eating than helping.

  “They were so yummy,” she gushed. “It was like being back at summer camp. Fun times around the open fire. Can we have s’mores at the dinner party, Otto?”

  He winced. “Even if s’mores existed in 1912, they wouldn’t have been served on the Titanic. You know I’m striving for authenticity with this dinner. I don’t want the ambiance of a backyard barbecue.”

  “I saw a classy tabletop s’mores maker that uses chafing dish fuel. We could serve the s’mores as an ice breaker,” his wife said, unmoved by his objection. “You need something like that, or the guests will stand around stiffly in their formal clothes. It’ll be deadly dull.”


  “I doubt that.” He looked at Val as if he expected her to reject his wife’s idea.

  The last thing this dinner needed was another dish, but Val saw how she could turn this one to her advantage. “In addition to the sweet s’mores, we could do savory ones as one of the hors d’oeuvres. Melted Brie on a cracker with sun-dried tomato pesto.” She smiled at Otto. “The assistant I mentioned could be in charge of that. She was a camp counselor, an expert at making s’mores.”

  “Okay.” Otto touched his wife’s cheek and then turned to Val. “Add the pay for the s’mores expert to my bill.”

  After his concession on the s’mores, he allowed Val to tweak the meat-heavy menu. She proposed mushroom pâté as a substitute for pâté de foie gras. He agreed that she could skip the course of roasted squab—difficult to get locally—and add fresh fruit and cheese as a final course.

  She took out two copies of her standard contract and filled in the price and terms they’d negotiated.

  As Otto looked over the contract, Cheyenne offered to give Val a tour of the lower deck. They went down the curved staircase near the dining area. Doors from the lower hall led to three staterooms and the guest head, all decorated with a nautical theme.

  When they went back to the saloon, Otto gave Val a signed contract and a check for 50 percent of the total as a down payment. She tucked it in her shoulder bag. By preparing dishes wholly or partly ahead of time, she could pull off the dinner that had seemed impossible when he first brought it up.

  Once off the boat, she walked along the dock, where sailboats and motorized yachts smaller than Otto’s were moored. She turned to look back at his yacht and noticed what she’d missed earlier—the name painted on it. Otto’s boat was called the Abyss.