Ellery Queen Mystery Magazine. Vol. 133, Nos. 3 & 4. Whole Nos. 811 & 812, March/April 2009

“A poor, heartbroken schoolteacher who just lost his mom and sister? You’d get the benefit of the doubt, same as Mel Bennett did. What did the D.A. call it?”

“A Valhalla verdict,” I said slowly.

“Exactly,” Deke grinned. “Sometimes, livin’ in a town where folks cut one another a break ain’t such a bad thing, Professor. C’mon, the family’s at the park and you need to be with your people. Damn it, Paul, we’ve won for once. And it was long overdue.”

I couldn’t argue with that. Trotting down the steps, I slid into the car beside my uncle. Breathing in the aroma of wood-smoke and whiskey. Reading his wolfish smile as he gunned away from the curb.

I knew he’d played me. All the way. Maybe he had the right to. Maybe it was the only way we could get justice.

Still, I couldn’t help wondering... about those flowers.

Did Mel Bennett really send that wreath to my mother’s funeral?

But I didn’t ask. Uncle Deke was my mother’s brother. She loved him and that was good enough for me.

And it’s best to give people you love the benefit of the doubt.

Even when you know better.

Permission To Climb Aboard by Perri O’Shaughnessy

Sisters Mary and Pamela O’Shaughnessy first saw print (under their pseudonym Perri O’Shaughnessy) in the June 1995 EQMM, as the second-place winners in MWA’s 50th Anniversary Short Story Contest. They’d already sold a book by that time, and after 13 successful books in thirteen years, they decided to take a year off. Now they’re back, with Show No Fear (Pocket Books).

* * *

Aerial view: A yacht drifts in a vast turquoise sea speckled with small, distant islands.

Closer view: A man and a woman, both very good-looking, sparsely dressed, oiled with suntan lotion, sit together on plush cushions lining the deck of the yacht.

Even closer view:

“Where’s that go, Tom?” Carolina pointed at a trapdoor she had just noticed on the deck.

“Sail storage.”

She adjusted the strap on her swimsuit. “I guess you know boats. You were a Navy Seal, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah, but not on ‘boats’ like this. This is a fifty-two foot Tanaya yacht. The brochure calls her an eye-stopper. And so she is.”

She smiled at him. “Two bedrooms below. Impressive.”

“You mean two staterooms.”

“I don’t know much about boats, or yachts, for that matter.”

“If you knew me well, you’d know that I know you know about yachts and boats and I’m guessing much more obscure things, too.”

She yawned. “Just trying to get a dialogue going.”

“Bored?”

“Funny, isn’t it? I mean, we’re in paradise. You see it on magazine covers, thinking, oh, that’s life worth living.”

He scanned the horizon. “It’s going to be a beautiful evening, and let me remind you, we’re deeply into the good life.”

Taking a deep breath and closing her eyes, Carolina relaxed her face in the long rays of the late afternoon sun. “Stopped in at the post office in Roadtown lately?”

“No.” He picked up binoculars and put them to his eyes.

“You know that wall where they post pictures of the families that have disappeared off their boats — yachts?”

He nodded.

“Well, they’ve updated it. There are new ones, recent ones. Photographs of tousle-haired kids, tanned parents. Grinning dogs. Imagine people taking their dogs on long boat trips. I mean, where do they poop?”

He laughed.

“Seriously. That’s some sad stuff.”

They sat in silence while Carolina leafed through a magazine and Tom continued his scrutiny of the empty horizon. After a while, she put the magazine down, put a white canvas hat on her head, and pulled her ponytail through the back. She squeezed some sunscreen from a soft plastic bottle and rubbed her stomach.

“Any good?” he asked, sniffing, setting aside the binoculars. “Smells nice.”

“SPF thirty-five. No worries, no burn, baby.”

“Make me hot, sweet thing. Call me names.”

Carolina punched his arm. “Pay attention, here. Grow up.”

He studied her. “I am paying attention, here. You in a bikini: brown and beautiful.”

She blushed. “You’re cute in those surfer shorts, too. It’s sure a different look for you.”

A few minutes passed in silence. Then Tom picked up the binoculars again.

A huge yacht skidded by. The wake rocked them.

Tom swerved his binoculars that way. “Gotta be sixty-five feet.”

“Here be rich folk,” Carolina said. “They devour catered strawberries and pineapple with whipped cream and jump into the sea looking monstrous, loaded with gear, never more than ten meters from yet another of the world’s most dazzling coral reefs.”

“Hey, you snorkeled yesterday. You thought that parrot fish making those nibbling sounds on the coral was awesome.”

“He looked like a rainbow.”

“Check this out.” He handed her the binoculars.