Murder Comes Ashore Read online

  “I’m following the pathologist to the hospital. I can drop you at your car after.” Sebastian was either clueless to the tension ratcheting around the front desk or he didn’t care. Probably the latter. His expression gave nothing away.

  Karen’s phone rang in her little designer clutch. She lifted a finger to excuse herself. “Minnie, this better be good news.” Karen snarled into her clean white cell phone. “When we win the election, we need a proper celebration and that means white roses.”

  “She’s planning her win already?” Sebastian slid black Ray Bans over heavy-lidded brown eyes.

  “She’s not even running for mayor,” I said. “Beau is. Not her. She’s like a barnacle on Beau’s backside.”

  Sebastian leaned forward, bringing his lips to my ear. “I missed swimming with you this morning.”

  A shiver dropped down my spine and curled every toe in my sandals.

  Karen pushed her little white phone inside her tiny white clutch and returned the clipboard to Frankie. “That should do it. I expect the sign down by dinner.”

  She turned on her pointy heels and stuck her nose in the air. “I need to get back to my office.” She gloated her way out the door, flipping her expensive highlights over one shoulder.

  “She gets to me,” I mumbled. “She shouldn’t, but she does.”

  My office had reduced to sticks after an intentional combination gas leak and fireworks display in July. My car was replaced twice after it got shot up and bombed, but the office insurance was picky about “too many claims in one billing period.” They wouldn’t replace the office. They tried to drop me, but ha ha on them. I couldn’t afford another month anyway. All the deposits and deductibles wiped out my savings.

  Sebastian met the pathologist at the door when her creepy white van pulled up. Black stenciled letters identified it as Property of Chincoteague Community Hospital. In smaller letters: Medical Examiner. She signed for the cooler on Frankie’s desk, and we tailed her out into the sun. Her white lab coat parted in the wind, revealing a feminine silk blouse and tiny waist. The crowd on the sidewalk took pictures of the van, the cooler and us until we drove away. Sebastian let the pathologist take the lead. I checked the rearview mirror twice. Where did the crowd go when the excitement of watching three adults carry a cooler ended?

  Sebastian escorted the pathologist as far as the hospital lot then headed back to my car at the beach. He drove with one hand and reached for me with his other, sliding our palms together, running his fingertips over my wrist until goose bumps rose on my arms. I crossed and uncrossed my legs as a distraction from the heat pooling below my belly button.

  I slid out of Sebastian’s Range Rover in the beach parking lot and pulled in a calming breath. Any amount of alone time with Sebastian was intense. Closed in his car, surrounded by his cologne and teased by his touch, I anticipated spontaneous combustion. Crushes were highly underrated.

  He walked me to my car and looked in the back windows. “Have fun tonight. Stay out of trouble.” I bit my cheeks to stop a goofy smile from spreading. His protective nature kept the heat circling in places I forgot about too often.

  “I’m sure Claire will keep me in check.” I opened the door to my Prius and heat beat me back a foot. “Yikes.”

  “It’s a hot one today.” He tipped his chin skyward.

  He was a hot one.

  “Yep.”

  He stepped into my personal space and backed me to my car. I stopped breathing. He hovered there, emanating heat and strength. My overactive imagination fanned through a few scenarios unfit for a public beach.

  The stress level between us had doubled when we made it official in July. The conversation went like this: “I don’t want to see anyone else, Patience.” I’d melted into a puddle of girl and returned the sentiment. All in all, “official” was more confusing than I expected. Sebastian liked me. I lost IQ points in his presence. Sometimes we kissed. Sometimes he disappeared for days on end without coming back to town. Somewhere on the mainland a mob boss wanted him dead. My parents gave him a velvet bag of protective stones. The usual complicated relationship things.

  Sebastian grabbed my hips, leaning his against me. He pressed his lips to my temple and lingered. His breath warmed my cheek and my knees loosened. I cleared my throat. He pulled back an inch and looked into my eyes. The look left no question about the direction of his thoughts. He pressed sunglasses over his eyes, successfully snuffing the fire I saw there. A muscle in his jaw twitched.

  “See ya later, boss.” His husky voice confirmed that he wanted me too.

  When Sebastian left, I remained pressed to my Prius, catching my breath, before reluctantly collapsing inside.

  I cranked the fuel-efficient, low-emissions engine and gathered more coherent thoughts. Cold conditioned air hit my face, cooling the scorching blush I’d worked up under Sebastian’s touch. Clarity returned. An ear washed up on my beach today. A freaking ear. Wait until Claire heard about this.

  * * *

  “A what now?” Claire’s perfect brows lifted. She curled on my couch, tucking bare feet beneath her. Tiny red toenails wiggled against the cushions. “Hang on.” She pulled my golden throw pillow onto her lap. She’d given me the pillow as an apartment-warming gift when I moved home. Her hot pink lips twitched like she wanted to smile but couldn’t. “An ear-ear.” Her black pinstriped short shorts accentuated hours spent in the gym.

  “Well, it wasn’t an ear of corn.” I shut the fridge and carried two bottles of water into the living room ten feet away. I’d stuffed a couple slices of lemon in each bottle. I was fancy like that.

  “Uh-uh. No you don’t. You can’t tell me a toddler found an ear on the beach and look at me like I’m the crazy one. Like this is everyday news. ‘Oh, I almost forgot. For lunch today I found a finger in my French fries.’” She leaned forward to take her water. “Oh, lemon. Pretty.”

  “Thanks.” I folded myself onto the old orange shag carpet and pretended it was new unstained white plush.

  “This island is crazypants. How many times have I told you that?”

  “Fine. You’re right about the ear. I’ve had time to get used to it, but this island’s not crazypants.”

  “And Sebastian’s in charge out here until they close the case?” She lifted the cap from her bottle.

  I frowned. “I’m not sure. He wasn’t exactly forthcoming. What do you know about his assignment? Could this have anything to do with Jimmy the Judge?” I said a silent prayer that the ear had nothing to do with Jimmy the Judge or Sebastian.

  She shrugged. “I’ll put out some feelers and let you know what I hear.”

  A pang of jealousy hit my chest. Claire still worked at the FBI, where we met. I was downsized. She had a predictable paycheck and a real desk. My desk blew up this summer and the insurance refused to replace it. I was paid in irregular bouts of cash, casseroles and handyman services. The last one wasn’t a euphemism.

  On time to prove me wrong about the island, a kerfuffle erupted on the street below my window. Claire shook her head and sauntered to the window. My apartment was the upstairs of an old two-story home. Adrian’s campaign office was downstairs. I had a good view of the Tasty Cream, Fern Street and Adrian’s campaign sign in our yard.

  “Now, who is that and what is she doing with a hatchet?” Claire asked.

  I leaned my forehead against the window to see the lawn below. “It’s a machete.”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  I shoved the curtains wide and looked at the top of a perfectly highlighted platinum head. “That’s Karen Holsten, and she knows she can’t cut that sign down with a machete. That’s destruction of private property and the machete won’t do the job anyway.” I shimmied the ancient window frame up for a better look. A pound of paint chips, dust and bug bodies fell on my ugly carpet.

  “I remembe
r her. Did she change her hair? I can’t see her face. Cute shoes.”

  “Stop.” I counted to ten. “She went platinum, but we don’t like Karen or her shoes. Okay, maybe the shoes, but we never say so.”

  “What’s she doing?” Claire sat on her knees beside the pile of paint chips and bugs.

  “Who knows. You should’ve heard her ranting at the police station today. Uh-oh.” I covered my mouth, recalling the reason she filed a complaint. “She said that sign was too big. I bet she’s going to try to hack it up.”

  “I thought you said she can’t cut it down.”

  “No, but she can ruin it in a hurry. Adrian spent hours on that. He hauled a bunch of wood over here in his Jeep, built the sign on the lawn, painted it and stenciling those letters. It took him all day yesterday.”

  Adrian appeared across the street and said a few creative swear words. He had a big white bag from the Tasty Cream in one hand and my tummy acknowledged his time was up. Karen had said the sign had to come down by dinnertime.

  Karen held the machete like a baseball bat. “You’re going to take this atrocity down or I’m going to chop it up!”

  “Why does anyone need a machete?” Claire shouldered her way into the window frame beside me for a better view.

  “Bamboo.” The island grew bamboo like wildflowers, but some people didn’t like it. Bamboo wasn’t for everyone.

  “Bamboo.” Claire hummed beside me. “I’d have worn shorts and flats for an evening of vandalism.”

  “That sign’s on my property and so are you.” Adrian’s face went from red to purple. “I suggest you take your hatchet and move along before I call the sheriff.”

  “It’s not a hatchet,” Claire called from my window, drawing both sets of eyes to us. “It’s a machete and it won’t work for cutting down that sign.”

  “Helpful.” I nodded.

  She beamed.

  “I told Sebastian you’d keep me out of trouble.”

  “You lied.”

  “Fine.” Karen jammed the blade into the grass at her feet and picked up her purse.

  I huffed. “She wears those frilly sundresses everywhere she goes. She visited New York City our junior year of high school and came back dressed like that. As if she’s fashion forward by dressing like the nineteen fifties.” I rolled my eyes.

  Claire nodded. “I like a good vintage look.”

  Adrian took a few more steps toward his office, which happened to be beneath my apartment, and dropped his doggie bag onto the grass. “Now get your skinny ass out of here before I call the cops.”

  “She’s not that skinny,” I muttered, hating the fact she was. She somehow looked better at almost thirty than she had in high school. It wasn’t natural. I had theories about soul selling.

  “She’s not leaving.” Claire stage whispered through the open window. Karen spun on the grass, suddenly armed with a can of spray paint from her bag. She pointed it at the Vote Davis for Mayor sign.

  “Look out!” Claire called to Adrian. She was on her knees, resting her forearms in the window sill as I went to the kitchen. Her head and shoulders protruded into the air above the arguing pair below.

  “There’s a crowd out there now,” Claire marveled. “Where’d they come from? I’ve been watching the whole time.”

  “Did she paint the sign yet?” I hurried, working my fingers with as much speed and dexterity as I could on an empty stomach. Cold water splashed in the sink, spotting both my sleeves and freezing my hands. I knew the slippery little balloons would come in handy one day.

  “No. He said her fake National Shoreline tan looked more like a real Jersey Shore spray tan and she threw the can at him.”

  Adrian knew tans. His mom ran the only tanning salon on the island. His mom was a Jersey Shore spray tan.

  “Excuse me.” I nudged Claire and she scooted out of my way.

  “You fit right in here, you know that?” She shook her head at me.

  “Yep.” I lined up my ammunition on the windowsill and leaned out the window. “Hey!”

  Adrian looked at me and Karen dove for the spray can. She didn’t spray the sign. She was busy fuming from Adrian’s taunts and insults. Two beats later, she had the lid off the can and sprayed Adrian in the chest at close range. Red paint plumed into the air, speckling his face. I gasped.

  Karen’s evil cackle was the last sound I heard before I snapped. Water balloons burst over her head. I had filled them in the hopes of cooling off the both of them. Seeing her attack Adrian lit a fire in me. When she looked up, it was too late to stop the last balloon from landing on her face. That had to hurt. Adrian doubled over in hysterics. Karen’s mascara streamed down her face. Her product-saturated hair stuck to her skin.

  Camera flashes popped and snapped in the dimming daylight as Karen shook the water off her arms and wiped bright red eyes. The scowl on her face belonged in a horror movie. She looked possessed. I sensed payback in my future.

  A siren barked and people scattered. I yanked the window shut and pulled the curtain as Deputy Doofus rolled up in the sheriff’s cruiser.

  “She’s going to get you for that.” Claire pursed her lips. “Too bad you don’t carry a sidearm.”

  “Come on. I’m hungry.”

  “I still can’t believe they made him sheriff.” Claire peeked through the curtains. “He looks like Clark Kent. The one in the newsroom. You think he turns into Superman sometimes, too?”

  I didn’t like where that conversation was headed. “It’s a small island. Anyone interested in being law enforcement is already on the force.” I grabbed my purse, keys and a box of kitty chow off the counter.

  “Just him, then?”

  “Yep. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty. Kitty.” I rattled the box and waited for Freud, my homeless gray fuzz ball to appear outside the door.

  “You need to buy him the can stuff. Dry kibble is nasty.”

  “If I did, he’d stop catching mice.”

  Claire stopped short. “You have mice?” Her voice hiked three octaves.

  “No, because I have him.” I scrunched my nose. “Her?”

  I filled the bowl on my stoop and pulled the door shut before marching down the outdoor staircase to the sidewalk.

  “You named him Freud without knowing if he’s a boy or a girl?” Claire straightened her white scoop neck shirt and adjusted her necklace.

  “Freud’s still a kitten, and the name works either way. Sigmund or Anna.” I waved at Adrian over the top of Doofus’s cruiser, where Karen lamented about the sign and “attack.” Adrian insisted he threw the balloon in defense of his sign and, look, I wasn’t even home. He motioned to the closed window and I hastened across the street, hoping the crowd wouldn’t fink on me.

  Music floated out of the Tasty Cream. Fresh baked waffle cones and greasy burgers scented the air. I licked my lips like one of Pavlov’s dogs. Food was near.

  Claire led the way through the crowd to a round metal table with a red checkered cloth and silver napkin dispenser. The white metal chair backs were twisted into heart shapes with red padded vinyl seats. I watched a giant taffy machine stretch pink sugar behind the counter. Mrs. Tucker waved from her place at the register. She’d run the Tasty Cream my whole life. No one made milkshakes like hers.

  Claire opened a menu I’d memorized years ago. I wanted a Chincoteague Champion Burger with Swiss cheese, mushrooms and onion rings on top. I wanted to wash it down with a chocolate malt.

  “What are you having?” Claire peeked over the top of her menu, undecided.

  “A house salad and sweet tea.”

  She stared. “You want to split a basket of fries?”

  That wasn’t the right question. I wanted the fries. I also wanted to zip my skinny jeans before my birthday. Turning thirty made me itch.

  “Sure.�
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  “I’m really into this ear thing.” Claire tucked the menu back into the holder and leaned on the table. “It’s like a crime show. The FBI gets the same boring stuff all the time. It’s all crime families and embezzlement schemes. The occasional gang bust breaks it up, but an ear in a kid’s sand pail...that’s interesting.”

  “Not for whomever the ear belongs to.”

  “Whose do you think it is?” She looked around as if to spot the one-eared man. “Where’d all these people come from? I thought tourist season ended early. What about the sharks?”

  “Birders.” I sighed.

  “What can I get you?” A pimple-faced redhead in a white apron and Tasty Cream shirt smiled. He looked oblivious to the group of men hooting and bird calling in the corner.

  Claire ordered before I had time to talk myself out of the burger again. “Two house salads, light dressing on the side, two sweet teas, a basket of fries and two plates.”

  He nodded, not bothering to write any of it down.

  “And a strawberry cheesecake shake.”

  He walked away and Claire shrugged. “I ordered a salad first.”

  If I had Claire’s petite five-foot-nothing frame and lean runner’s body, I’d indulge too. My jeans were nearing double digits on the size rack and Sebastian got trimmer every day. Being the overly competitive woman I was, I had some catching up to do.

  “Remember your dad saying people sold organs on eBay? What about that? What if someone’s killed people to harvest their organs?”

  “You got that theory from one ear?” As a counselor, I wasn’t sure what it said about her, and I planned to immediately forget she said it.

  “Fine. You’re no fun.”

  The boy returned with two sweet teas and a giant Styrofoam cup. SCS was scratched on the side in blue BIC. Strawberry cheesecake shake.

  “Sorry. We ran out of glasses. Instead of making you wait on the dishwasher, I upgraded you to a larger size at no extra charge, but I had to put it in this.”

  Claire’s mouth was too busy to respond. Her cheeks sucked in as she pulled on the straw. Thick pink liquid climbed toward her mouth and mine watered.