Installment 25

Water color by Caroline Hoyt

Working Title: Slow Boat, Bitter End

A Rony Boston Mystery

NOTE: This is the last of the installments to be posted on Substack (for the time being). The mystery-novel experiment has resulted in about 28,000 words and is not concluded. I have received several helpful comments and I am very grateful for the feedback.

This project began when my neighbor teased me about being a fan of the rock group called Boston. One day we laughed at the prospect of a “Ronnie Boston” character and I decided I’d create a mystery with a “detective” named Rony Boston.

The draft novel has been whimsical often, serious sometimes, thoughtful occasionally, rarely literary. I began with an interest in exploring the elements of physical attraction of the sexes, and hence created characters with differing partners. The result is a love story inside of a mystery — or perhaps the other way around.

My problem now is the pressure of keeping up a more-or-less weekly posting schedule. I need to take more time to craft the story arc and ending.

Do you have ideas? Have you decided how Aylin died, whether by accident or by murder? Do you have a suspect in mind? Are you expecting another murder? I’d love to hear your ideas.

Thank you so much, dear readers. This truly has been fun. I will say one more thing: I read some about writers and writing. I found this from Ray Bradbury:

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(This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, organizations, businesses, events, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is incidental. Artificial intelligence platforms are used occasionally for research but not for writing assistance.)

THE GULET BOBBED on a calm Aegean Sea. The intense reds and blues of the earlier sky receded. I turned to her, said nothing, and our eyes locked. She said:

What have you noticed about the people? Anything intuitive? What about the Wyoming couple, for example? They don’t say much. Did you catch their dissatisfaction with the potential real estate deal?

I might have been looking at you then.

Stop it!

A castle village? Is there something like that here in the remnants of the Ottoman Empire?

If there is, I’d like to see it.

A Wyoming couple selling out and then thinking about a second home at the edges of Byzantium? Seriously?

You’re the writer. Wouldn’t that be a good title for a book?

Byzantium?

No, “Edges of Byzantium.”

It’s excellent, but it’s no headless body in a topless bar. We’ll need your imagination. And perhaps a plot.

Agreed. I’m glad we have Henry to remind us of where we are. He seems imminently capable of adding the ridiculous to the mysterious. The rat theory is nothing if not imaginative.

If Neil and Barbara are upset with Gungor, maybe they’ve hired Vasil to do something about it.

And Vasil is so mean, dumb, and blind that he kills Aylin instead of Gungor? We need to think this through.

And what if the real estate deal went wrong? Have you ever been hustled while traveling in an exotic locale?

I’m on my first exotic-locale trip, but go on. Is this a hustle?

Right, buster. Watch your step. But the Wyoming couple has resources. Maybe Vasil is a vassal.

Vasil.

You noticed too?

I did. Why is he even here? These luxury vacations aren’t for locals.

He’s Bulgarian.

That’s local enough.

OK, we have a theory. Shall we give it a name?

We have two theories counting the Rat Theory.

Right. So let us have the Dumb and Blind Hired Killer Theory to add to the Rat Theory.

This is good progress. May I hold your hand, Z?

Of course, Rony. Like a couple of teens, let’s hold hands and hope for something wonderful. May I call you R?

She took my hand and gazed into my trembling heart. I wondered at the oddness of it. Is that how it can go? Is this how a woman and a man can come together? So accidentally on purpose? Wasn’t she just in my bed? And didn’t she get there entirely on her own accord? Where is the conquest in that? I had done nothing strategic apart from being myself, which I’ve attempted to suggest from time to time, isn’t exactly reasonable. Maybe I was searching the Aegean for an antidote to my failed marriage, and a woman who could be a foil to my sequestered emotions. I needed to say something clever, quickly, if for no other reason than to assure myself I still could form a sentence or, if short of that, repeat a tired joke.

Call me anything you want. But please don’t call me off.

For now, especially if you come up with another theory.

All right, Z.

All right, R.

The one theory I hesitate to offer, because it is so mundane, is that the girl died in an accident, as the leaders of this expedition have suggested. May I propose the Accident Theory?

It is a bit boring, my dear R.

Not the stuff of murder mysteries, I agree. But it’s possible that our imaginations are running away with us. The girl was where she shouldn’t have been, she slipped, and she fell to her death. The impact of her body loosened the anchor and down she went with it.

Until it stopped. And by what did it stop? Wouldn’t it pay out until it hits the bottom?

All right. It’s a theory we must keep on our list. But I have a question for you regarding the game we played last night.

Go ahead, I’m holding your hand for emotional support in case you get too private.

Lecher on the loose. Protect your privates.

Shut up.

How did you decide so quickly about Tad’s story?

She let my hand go and pointed to her eyes.

Your eyes? What did you see?

It’s something I learned and something I often practice.

Tell me more.

Eye movements often betray liars. I watch the eyes very carefully. The pupil might dilate. A liar will sometimes fixate eye contact in a conscious attempt to be convincing. What’s more, sometimes liars exhibit physiological responses, such as a bouncing knee or a slight wringing of the hand. It’s just a matter of paying attention.

It’s always correct? Can you always detect a lie?

This question made me uneasy, nervous as a tramp in church, as the old saying goes. I began to replay my conversations with her, searching for that moment when I fudged a little, not a lie, of course, but maybe a little omission, or a little exaggeration. Did she detect it? Does she think I am a fraud?

No. My little technique is not one hundred percent reliable, but an important indication.

And you noticed the giveaway in Tad’s story about Liberace and Shirley MacLaine?

No, I noticed nothing then, but when he talked about a necklace with a stone pendant, his eyes locked on mine, his knee bounced, and his pupil dilated ever so slightly. Remember, I was sitting next to him. It was easy to see.

Are you lying to me right now? Here, let me study your eyes. And maybe put my hand on your knee…

Nice try, Sherlock. Well, you asked how I knew so quickly. Nothing to do with his eyes, but it didn’t seem in his character to want a necklace with a pendant when a gold chain would suit him well. He’s a good-looking gay guy, not an idiot.

If you can detect a liar, can we use your rare skill to learn more about the death of Aylin?

It’s not a rare skill. Lots of people know the trick. But yes, maybe we should ask some questions. I think we should start with the Wyoming couple. If nothing else, I’d like to know where this castle village is. It might be a fun trip. We are in the area. We could go there when we get off this romantic vessel.

“If” is the right word. I think we’ve entered the Black Sea. So much for the historic Aegean. Why do they call it the black sea? Is it murky?

Why do you think we’re in the Black Sea?

It would be nice to know where we are.

Have you tried your fancy phone?

Oh, yeah. Let’s check. Here … as long as I have the phone out, shall we have a nice selfie?

Maybe tomorrow.

It says our position is west of Istanbul but still in the Aegean.

Progress. And in what direction are we heading?

South.

South? Greece is on our left?

Right. I mean wrong. Greece is on our right.

At least we’re a good distance from Bulgaria.

Let’s go aft. That’s where Bulgaria is.

We moved to the comfortable bed-like lounge settees at the stern. We arranged the fluffy pillows, me cagily bringing them together so that we might be close, but she rearranged everything so we could face each other. It is inviting on these lounging beds to rest one’s head and sleep, but there was an adventure in the air and a beautiful woman beside me. There is a sense of the word “sleep” that was in my mind, like the time we evidently had together last night, but Z brought up the Wyoming couple and their investment in a village of castles.

She said,

Remember the icebreaker when Neil and Barbara talked about their idea to buy property in Turkey? I mean isn’t that just plain crazy? Why would they do that?

Yes, and I remember Gungor sounding like the guy in yellow pants and white shoes selling memberships to a retirement village in Florida.

Right! He was selling.

So, had Neil and Barbara gotten in bed – so to speak – with Gungor?

And how would that have happened?

A guy on Fox News?

Maybe. I’m not sure Fox News would permit somebody from an Islamic country in the Middle East on their show.

Unless money is involved…