“There are rocky outcrops everywhere along the coast here, and some are farther out than you would think, just a quirk of Maine’s oceanic topography.” He grinned. “Didn’t expect those high-falutin’ words to come out my mouth, did you? Anyway, we all have sonar and depth finders and whatnot on our boats, so we don’t run into stuff we shouldn’t, including other boats. Well, apparently somehow Wilbur’s boat hit one of those rocks out there, hard enough to cave in the hull. Most commercial lobster boats range from around twenty-two feet on up to over forty. Wilbur’s boat, The Kingman, was a thirty-foot closed stern Beal, a nice size, and it handled real well on the water. But it didn’t have a hydraulic hauler, so they brought the traps up the old-fashioned way, with muscle.”

“How do you know it handled well in the water?”

“Whenever Earl was sick or couldn’t go out, I’d be the stern man for Wilbur. He ran a good operation, real safe.”

“Until he didn’t,” noted Devine.

“Right. Anyway, the thing was apparently loaded with lobsters in holding tanks full of water. It went down fast. Didn’t even get a distress signal or anything from them.”

“Weren’t they wearing life jackets?”

Cooper said, “You’re supposed to, sure. But you’re pulling up heavy traps all damn day, last thing you want is something restrictive like that on you. I just wear my orange overalls and heavy gloves. But all boats carry lifesaving gear. It’s required.”

“What did Earl say happened then?”

“He didn’t say much, which is very much like Earl. But he did say that in the collision he got thrown overboard and Wilbur got knocked out cold. He said he swam back to the boat and tried to get a life jacket on Wilbur, but the damn boat was sinking so fast, and stuff was sliding all around so much that he couldn’t. And Wilbur was a big man — hard to corral dead weight like that when you’re in the water. Earl barely had time to grab a floatable himself before it all went under and Wilbur was gone.”

“But with Wilbur knowing the waters so well, and all the nav gear you carry, how did he hit the rocks?”

Cooper shrugged. “Shouldn’t have happened, but it does. You lose focus, you don’t look at your screen consistently enough. Fog rolls in, you don’t know where the hell you are or what’s around you. It’s like that condition a pilot can get up in the air on a cloudy night, don’t know up from down and won’t believe his own instruments.”

“It’s called spatial disorientation,” said Devine. “It’s what probably caused the deaths of JFK Jr. and his wife and sister-in-law in the plane he was piloting.”

“Well, I think Wilbur got distracted and the fog didn’t help none, or his nav gear malfunctioned and bam, he hit the rock at speed. Hell, he really shouldn’t have gone out that morning, and he shouldn’t have been going that fast. But humans aren’t perfect. We make mistakes, particularly in situations like that. It’s not easy navigating in deep waters in the fog even with all the whiz-bang nav stuff they got. I’ve been on boats in real bad weather where I wasn’t sure the captain knew where the hell he was. And we’ve had some close calls. But we never wrecked. Just bad luck for Wilbur. Real bad.”

“How was Earl rescued?”

“Fog lifted and boats started going out. They saw him and picked him up. Poor man was in the water for hours. He’s lucky hypothermia didn’t get him. He was in shock, traumatized beyond all get out. They said he was still trying to find Wilbur. Didn’t want to get out of the water till he found his captain. Fought the folks trying to help him into the boat. Finally had to hog-tie the poor guy to save him. They recovered Wilbur’s body and he got a proper burial. Bing and Sons went all out for it, best of everything, and didn’t charge Ms. Kingman a dime for it.”

“That was good of them,” said Devine.

“Big loss for the town, for sure. But goes to show that no matter how much you think you know about what’s out there, the ocean always has surprises in store for you.”

Just like this damn town, thought Devine.

Chapter 57

“A guy named Phil Cooper spoke with me about the accident involving your husband.”

Devine was standing across from Pat Kingman at the front desk of the inn. She was on the other side, sorting some papers.

She looked up and slipped off her glasses, her expression pensive and faraway. “I’ve been thinking that it wasn’t just Bertie’s death eating Earl up. It was what happened with Wilbur. Even after all these years.”

“You said he did everything he could to save him.”

“But you didn’t really know Earl. He was as loyal as they come. He told me many times over the years that he wished he could have done more to save Wilbur. I told him he’d done all that was humanly possible. But I could tell he didn’t believe me. And then when Bertie died? It was too much.”

“So you think that’s why he killed himself?”

“Well, I can’t think of any other reason, can you?”

“Did he have any enemies?”

“Earl?! You must be joking. Everybody loved Earl. And Bertie.”