stricken look they exchanged told me I had unwittingly stumbled into volatile territory.
"You'd better tell him, Kate," Fred said grimly.
Katherine Tyree shook her head stubbornly. "No. I don't want to, not today, not like this."
"If you don't, I will." His words were weighted with gloomy determination.
Katherine stole a glance at me then dropped her gaze to her lap. "I can't," she murmured, her voice a strangled whisper.
Fred sat up, squared his shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. "What she means to say is, we're engaged," he announced defiantly. He paused, waiting for a reply. When there was none, he continued, his voice somewhat more subdued. "We had planned to be married just as soon as her divorce was final. We had no reason to kill him. Logan and I were friends once—asshole buddies."
The fact that Fred assumed I was accusing them of murder led me to believe there was a whole lot more to the story than anyone had let on so far. I kept quiet, leaving an empty pool of silence between us. Fred rushed in to fill it up.
"You see," he said, "what you don't understand is that Boomer was my boat originally."
"You say you were friends? I take it that means you weren't any longer?"
Katherine Tyree started to say something then stopped.
"Nobody planned it this way. That's just how it worked out," Fred said. He shrugged. "Things sort of happened, got out of hand."
"Maybe you'd better tell me about it."
"Do you know what a boomer is?"
"Not really."
"In the trade it's a hand who knocks around the country, going from place to place, wherever there's work."
"What kind of work?"
"Construction. Working iron. That's how Logan and I met, on the raising gang down at Columbia Center. I came up here from California as a boomer and was living on the boat. Logan was interested in boats, had always wanted one. When he offered to buy mine, I took him up on it. I was tired of banging my head on the doorway every time I needed to take a leak.
"Logan and Kate here invited me out to dinner. Christmas, Thanksgiving, summer barbecues. That sort of thing. Kate and I just hit it off, didn't we."
Katherine Tyree gave a barely perceptible wordless nod.
"So that's how it started out, innocent like that. Once Logan had that boat, though, he wanted to spend every spare minute on it. He was gone a lot—on weekends, in the evening, after work. That's when things got out of hand with us, with Kate and me I mean. Like I said, we didn't intend for it to happen."
The last sentence lingered in the air for several seconds. I'm not exactly sure who Fred was trying to convince most—Katherine Tyree, me, or himself.
"Where were you two last Tuesday night?" I asked.
Fred didn't flinch or try to duck the question. "Right here," he declared resolutely. "Upstairs in the bedroom screwing our brains out."
"Fred!" Katherine Tyree wailed. "Don't!"
"Kate, honey, I've got to. Don't you see?" He let go of her hand and reached up and ran a finger tenderly along the full curve of her cheek.
"We're better off telling him right up front, hon. It would be worse if he found out later. Lots worse. Besides, we had no reason to kill Logan. In another month the divorce would have been final and we could've been married, no questions asked. I'm sick and tired of sneaking around. With Logan gone, I don't care who knows about us. It's nobody's business but our own."
Fred's forthright narrative was pretty tough to counter. My gut reaction was that he was telling the truth, that his involvement with Katherine Tyree hadn't been planned or premeditated and that he was sincerely saddened by his former friend's death.
"Tell me about the boat," I said.
Fred shrugged. "There's not a lot to tell. It wasn't new. I bought it used for a song. Gasoline boats are a whole lot cheaper than diesel ones. I'd been living on it for a couple of years when I sold it to Logan."
"What did you think about it?" I asked, turning to Katherine. "About your husband's boat."
"I
"You'd better tell him, Kate," Fred said grimly.
Katherine Tyree shook her head stubbornly. "No. I don't want to, not today, not like this."
"If you don't, I will." His words were weighted with gloomy determination.
Katherine stole a glance at me then dropped her gaze to her lap. "I can't," she murmured, her voice a strangled whisper.
Fred sat up, squared his shoulders, and looked me straight in the eye. "What she means to say is, we're engaged," he announced defiantly. He paused, waiting for a reply. When there was none, he continued, his voice somewhat more subdued. "We had planned to be married just as soon as her divorce was final. We had no reason to kill him. Logan and I were friends once—asshole buddies."
The fact that Fred assumed I was accusing them of murder led me to believe there was a whole lot more to the story than anyone had let on so far. I kept quiet, leaving an empty pool of silence between us. Fred rushed in to fill it up.
"You see," he said, "what you don't understand is that Boomer was my boat originally."
"You say you were friends? I take it that means you weren't any longer?"
Katherine Tyree started to say something then stopped.
"Nobody planned it this way. That's just how it worked out," Fred said. He shrugged. "Things sort of happened, got out of hand."
"Maybe you'd better tell me about it."
"Do you know what a boomer is?"
"Not really."
"In the trade it's a hand who knocks around the country, going from place to place, wherever there's work."
"What kind of work?"
"Construction. Working iron. That's how Logan and I met, on the raising gang down at Columbia Center. I came up here from California as a boomer and was living on the boat. Logan was interested in boats, had always wanted one. When he offered to buy mine, I took him up on it. I was tired of banging my head on the doorway every time I needed to take a leak.
"Logan and Kate here invited me out to dinner. Christmas, Thanksgiving, summer barbecues. That sort of thing. Kate and I just hit it off, didn't we."
Katherine Tyree gave a barely perceptible wordless nod.
"So that's how it started out, innocent like that. Once Logan had that boat, though, he wanted to spend every spare minute on it. He was gone a lot—on weekends, in the evening, after work. That's when things got out of hand with us, with Kate and me I mean. Like I said, we didn't intend for it to happen."
The last sentence lingered in the air for several seconds. I'm not exactly sure who Fred was trying to convince most—Katherine Tyree, me, or himself.
"Where were you two last Tuesday night?" I asked.
Fred didn't flinch or try to duck the question. "Right here," he declared resolutely. "Upstairs in the bedroom screwing our brains out."
"Fred!" Katherine Tyree wailed. "Don't!"
"Kate, honey, I've got to. Don't you see?" He let go of her hand and reached up and ran a finger tenderly along the full curve of her cheek.
"We're better off telling him right up front, hon. It would be worse if he found out later. Lots worse. Besides, we had no reason to kill Logan. In another month the divorce would have been final and we could've been married, no questions asked. I'm sick and tired of sneaking around. With Logan gone, I don't care who knows about us. It's nobody's business but our own."
Fred's forthright narrative was pretty tough to counter. My gut reaction was that he was telling the truth, that his involvement with Katherine Tyree hadn't been planned or premeditated and that he was sincerely saddened by his former friend's death.
"Tell me about the boat," I said.
Fred shrugged. "There's not a lot to tell. It wasn't new. I bought it used for a song. Gasoline boats are a whole lot cheaper than diesel ones. I'd been living on it for a couple of years when I sold it to Logan."
"What did you think about it?" I asked, turning to Katherine. "About your husband's boat."
"I
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