Murder Comes Ashore Page 4

  “I’ll be back in a minute with your salads.”

  My shoulders slumped.

  Claire pried her lips off the straw and smacked them together. “What’d you call them? Birders?”

  “Yes.” The group passed books around and made bird sounds. “Every fall a handful of bird-watchers come to wander the national forest in search of birds they can’t see in their hometown. Then The Big Year came out, about Steve Martin running all over the world with Jack Black looking at birds.”

  “I saw that movie.”

  “Yeah, well more and more birders started coming here and now there’s some internet report about a rare something or other migrating this way.”

  She eyeballed me. “You know this, how?”

  “I talked to some local birders waiting for Sebastian to question them on the beach about the ear. There were so many birders here last year I got two parking tickets and had to wait in lines for everything. Movies sold out. Mom made me read palms to keep up with business. I couldn’t wait to get back to the mainland after that visit. I never expected I’d be living here before the time the birders came back.”

  “That was before the something sighting?” She tipped the milkshake straw to her lips again.

  “Yes. That was last year. Between the internet and the movie, this island’s going to be a complete circus this year. Not to mention the ear thing.”

  “Considering your profession, I think it’s funny you hate crowds.”

  “Crowds aren’t people. People are interesting. Crowds are stupid. People lose IQ points in groups of five or more. Crowds trample people to death and riot. There are probably a hundred birders here already. Who knows what might happen?”

  Claire smiled.

  “I’m serious.”

  “I know.”

  “Between the sharks and the birders, this is going to be a tough month.” Wow. Being hungry made me cranky.

  “I’m going to miss our night swims. I noticed all the shops brought in their sunscreen displays with the inflatable swim gear. Did you see what they replaced it with?”

  I hadn’t.

  “Binoculars. Cameras. Hiking equipment.” She laughed delicately behind her cup, reminding me of her former career as a Disney princess. Before joining the FBI, Claire paraded around Orlando in a big green gown wearing elbow gloves and a tiara. Whatever I did, I couldn’t top that for funny.

  I could, however, practically smell her shake through the Styrofoam cup. “At least the birders can shop. That’ll help the island.”

  “Here are your salads. Dressing on the side. Anything else I can get you?” The waiter smiled.

  “Yeah, a chocolate malt.” I pulled my lips in over my teeth. Who said that?

  He nodded.

  “How are your folks?” Claire asked. Her own parents lived in Georgia. They prayed for Claire regularly at their Baptist church. Specifically, that she’d behave like a proper Southern belle and find a husband. I hoped they weren’t holding their breath. In the five years I’d known her, Louis Vuitton was the only man on her radar.

  “They acted strangely when I stopped to see them this morning,” I said.

  “How could you tell?”

  I ignored the well-earned dig and shoved a forkful of lettuce in my mouth.

  Claire lifted my phone and tapped the screen.

  “What are you doing?” I dipped a hunk of lettuce in my side of dressing.

  “I got a new extension at work. Where’s my old number?” She looked up with a frown.

  “Here.” I found her number and turned the phone back to her.

  “Princess? Your phone calls me Princess? Who are all these other people? Stinky? Green Eyes? Buffy?”

  “Security. I’ve given everyone a code name since high school. Back then it was to keep my parents and evil classmates from knowing who I was talking about. At the FBI, code names were smart for security reasons. I like it.”

  She stared at me before turning back to her milkshake. “What’d you name Sebastian?”

  “Camo. His file at the office called him a chameleon.”

  “And Adrian?”

  “Adrian hasn’t earned a nickname.”

  She set the cup on the table and narrowed her eyes conspiratorially. “May I suggest Hottie McMayor?”

  “No. You may not.” I had enough Adrian issues without a phone reminder of his hotness. He stirred things inside me that didn’t need stirred. The history Adrian and I shared was long, complicated, and always hot, but not always in a good way. Conflict gave me stress. Adrian gave me stress. He also plucked at my heartstrings and made me wonder if things might’ve been different somehow.

  “You think you two will ever make up?” Her coy smiled told me she meant make out.

  “No.” Maybe. I shoved another forkful of lettuce between my lips. He was my first kiss, first love, first everything. Firsts were hard to get over and I lived on a two-by-eight mile island with mine.

  Claire dragged a French fry through ketchup. “Aren’t you curious how much has changed since high school?”

  I shook my head left and right in silent desperation. Adrian had gotten better with age. More handsome, more educated, broader in all the right places. Ugh. Nope. Stop. If I didn’t think about wanting Adrian, then I wouldn’t want him.

  My chocolate malt arrived and I stuffed the straw in my mouth. Steamy memories fogged my brain. I was weak without food. Maybe I needed to order a burger.

  “I changed my mind. Let’s talk about the ear.”

  Chapter Three

  The ear didn’t affect my sleep, which was as horrendous as it was every night. Knowing a homicidal mob boss held a vendetta against Sebastian ruined my brain’s every idle moment. He wouldn’t talk about it, so I mentally conjured a number of possible and utterly psychopathic responses Jimmy the Judge might use to come at Sebastian. I spent my nights in dark alleys trying to stuff Sebastian out of sight when a faceless killer skulked through the shadows. My mind conjured Jimmy the Judge in black-and-white with a 1920s “I’m gonna get ya, see?” personality. I hadn’t worked up the nerve to ask Sebastian how a present-day mobster behaved. I didn’t think the Sopranos nailed it, but I did wonder what I’d do if Jimmy the Judge sought me out for counseling.

  Bang! Bang! Bang! The sudden pounding on my door translated to machine gun fire in my brain before rousing me from my restless sleep.

  Holy cannoli! I covered my head as the last tendril of dream whisked away. My heart beat against my ribs. Stupid mob. I swung tired legs over the edge of my creaky twin bed, I jammed my feet into fuzzy slippers and shuffled to the door. The Keurig on my counter sang a siren song. “Be with you soon, darling,” I promised as I passed.

  Orange shards of morning sunlight streamed through my front window. I blocked my face with one forearm. Evil.

  Gah! I stopped short and gulped air. Adrian’s forehead pressed against the window on my door. Both hands cupped around his face for a better peeping-Tom view. Unbelievable. I wiped the goo from my eyes, finger-combed my hair and tossed my head back and forth a few times until the slept-on strands felt less like a hat.

  “Hang on.” I caught my reflection in the glass of a picture frame on my wall and died a little. That lady needed a ten second face lift. I scrubbed last night’s eyeliner off my nose, pinched my cheeks for color and checked the corners of my mouth for drool. I hated Adrian’s early morning visits slightly less than the fact I cared what I looked like when he saw me.

  I was dating Sebastian, but Adrian was my first love. He’d filled my sand bucket in preschool and my everything else in high school. Then he dumped me without warning when we graduated. Logically, I understood why he chose college over true love, but it still hurt. Also, I should’ve thought of it first. I was the smart one. He was the eye candy. Some days I
would’ve traded without question. At the moment, I’d have traded anything for a cup of coffee and some lip gloss.

  “Why can’t you call or text like a normal person?” I pulled the door wide and stepped out of the way. Freud, my tiny gray fluff-ball kitty, circled Adrian’s feet like they were best friends. The little traitor. His dish overflowed with dry kibble.

  “Aren’t you hungry?” I addressed the cat when Adrian didn’t move.

  “Not anymore, right, Champ?” Adrian swooped my kitty into the air and pressed their noses together. “Say, I’ve got a tummy full of fresh tuna from the harbor.”

  “You fed him tuna?” My hip popped on instinct, my hands anchored to the curve of my waist. “Do not feed him meat. He won’t chase mice if you feed him meat. He gets water and kibble. And don’t call him Champ. His name’s Freud.”

  Adrian set Freud on the stoop, “Later, Champ,” and walked past me to the kitchen counter where he shoved my favorite mug under the Keurig and pressed the brew button.

  I shut the door and turned in place. A minute later Adrian lifted the cup, turned to me and drank from it.

  “That’s my cup.”

  “You can have it. I’ll make more.” He stretched his arm in my direction.

  “I don’t want the cup now. You drank out of it.” Seriously, was he a caveman?

  A lopsided smile popped out his damn dimple. “You used to let me drink from your cup.”

  “Shut up.” I stormed to the kitchen with as much force as a summer breeze and made coffee in a second-rate mug. Wisely, he waited while I finished my first cup before interrupting me. I averted my gaze as much as possible while I sipped. I ignored his soulful blue eyes and the unruly dark curls falling over them, probably wet from a recent shower. First loves were such a pain in the ass.

  “Is that my shirt?” His eyes hadn’t lifted above my collarbone in my last three sips.

  “No, it’s not your shirt.” I applied my best don’t-be-an-idiot tone and rolled my eyes. It was his shirt, but I wasn’t wearing it for the reasons he thought. I wasn’t subconsciously keeping him close. The shirt was old, worn and comfortable. Nothing more. “Everyone in our graduating class had this shirt.” Most everyone. Some people. They were sold in the lunchroom.

  His cocky smile raised the corner of my lips. “Shut up,” I said.

  He made a show of shutting up, locking his lips and tossing an invisible key over one shoulder.

  “So, what do you want?” I turned back to make another cup of coffee. He appeared at my side.

  “Thanks for the water bombs last night. Karen’s lost her mind.” He looked across my living room to the front window. “I don’t want to stay long in case she saw me leave the office. I slept there last night thinking she’d come back with that machete.”

  I leaned against the counter with my fresh cup of coffee while Adrian made his second.

  “I owe her more than a couple water bombs.”

  “I bet that last one hurt.” He laughed, pressing a hand to his heart. “I swear that was the best thing I’ve ever seen. I know someone had to have gotten it on video. I can’t wait. I checked YouTube all night.”

  Laughter caught in my throat. “She’s going to get me for that.”

  “Mmm-hmm.” Adrian sucked on his coffee.

  “What else do you want?”

  His wide-eyed faux innocent expression lasted long enough for me to raise an eyebrow.

  “I want to hear about the ear you found.”

  I took a seat at the table. “I know nothing.”

  He pushed away from the counter like a dog going for a Frisbee. “I heard they found fingernails on the beach this morning and human hair caught in the cattails along the marsh. Is it true?”

  “What? Hey, why does this information make you happy? A person belongs to all those parts they’re finding.” My tummy did a flip and I set my cup on the table.

  A somber expression settled on his face that didn’t reach his eyes. “Help me figure out who it is and I’m a sure win for mayor.”

  “Ew.” I left my coffee. “You’re disgusting. An awful, terrible human being.”

  “Why?” He followed me to my room.

  I shut the door in his face and pulled his old T-shirt over my head. “You’re always thinking about yourself,” I called through the closed door. I searched through my closet for something fitting my life criteria. Clean and coordinating. I slipped into a tank top and cutoffs. The smile in the mirror shocked me. Why was I so happy?

  He rapped on the door. “You know you want to.”

  Boy, I’d heard that from him before.

  “It’ll be fun.”

  I’d heard that too.

  “Sebastian’s handling it.” I pulled the door open and shuffled to the bathroom for a toothbrush and hair rake.

  “He doesn’t know this place like we do.” Behind me in the bathroom mirror, Adrian motioned between us with an open palm.

  I scrubbed my teeth and pulled a brush through my hair. A little fire kindled in my core. He was right. I wanted to know. My mom lectured me for years about curiosity. She said it killed the cat. Fine, but did he get an answer before he died? More than once I’d asked myself, “If finding out kills you, are you okay with that?”

  Always, yes.

  “I really want to beat Beau in this election and rub it in Karen’s face for the next four years.” Adrian’s voice went deep and crazy on the “really.”

  Well played. Find a common enemy. I spat into the sink and stuck my mouth into the running water for a rinse.

  “Your shorts are really short when you bend over.” His reflection stared at my backside.

  I righted myself and tugged at the hem of my cutoffs. The weatherman forecasted temperatures near ninety today. Short was my best friend.

  “You said they found fingernails and hair,” I said. “Who are ‘they’ and when did they find hair and fingernails?”

  “This morning. A crew from the hospital went into the national park with Fargas and the medical examiner at dawn.”

  Interesting. I bit my lip, wondering how the FBI was involved and if someone on cleanup at the beach was loose lipped enough to tell me what Sebastian wouldn’t. If this was a sick threat from Jimmy the Judge, Sebastian needed to get out of town. I’d rather he was alive across the country than floating ashore in Chincoteague.

  “Okay. Let’s go.” I made a run for my purse and keys. He was right. I had to know more.

  “I can’t.”

  “What? You came up here and asked me to investigate with you.” I swung the front door open and held it with my hip.

  “I need to protect my sign.”

  “Goofball.” I jogged down the steps to my Prius at the curb. “Lock up when you leave,” I called out, but I didn’t look back.

  I sped through town, ignoring the 35 MPH signs and little yellow men with flags with SLOW painted on their plastic chests. When an EMT approached me on the bridge over the marsh, I pretended I didn’t see him and pressed the pedal a little harder. At the end of the bridge, two geriatrics in black shirts and glasses stood sentinel at the booth outside the national forest. The long red-and-white lever that kept tourists from entering without a day pass rested in the horizontal position.

  The men changed positions when I passed the EMT. One moved into the road, blocking my path. The other headed for my window. He lifted a walkie-talkie to his mouth and waited as I slowed to a crawl. When he lowered the instrument from his mouth, he lifted a flat palm to me. “Stop.”

  I slid my eyes toward the goon at the front of my car. He crossed hairy gray arms over a stout barrel chest.

  “Hi, Bob.” I smiled. I hoped the name on his pocket wasn’t there ironically.

  “Patience.” Good. Bob was his name. Bad. I had no idea who
he was. Did he know me from my life here or was my picture hanging in the guard booth? “We’re redirecting traffic for a few hours. Sheriff Fargas is conducting a training session at the national shoreline today.”

  Uh-huh.

  “I know. He asked me to sit in on it. I used to work for the FBI.” I did my best I’m-not-lying face.

  He shook his head. I checked the other guy. He shook his head too.

  “I’m going to have to ask you to make a three-point turn and head back to town until this evening.”

  My mind blanked. These guys were unshakable. They’d apparently come out of retirement for this gig. I forced a peppy smile. “Well, I guess you have your orders. I thought he wanted me here.” I shrugged, thinking of how Claire made a shrug seem so natural. A little move of “no big deal.” Super casual. Whatever.

  He lifted bushy gray eyebrows at me.

  Fine.

  I pulled a U-turn and pointed my car back across the bridge. The EMT laughed into his walkie-talkie as I passed. They didn’t know me very well. Idling at the town’s only stoplight, I weighed my options. I could go home and admit defeat, or I could find another way onto the national shoreline. It was a shoreline, for crying out loud, not a department store. I could get there without driving through the national forest. The light changed and I drove down Colt Avenue right into Adrian’s driveway.

  Fifteen minutes later, I rowed his canoe away from the private marsh-side dock and headed for the beach. Paddling as far away from the marsh bridge as possible without heading out to sea, I hunched in my seat, trying to look smaller. A stupid idea, considering the eight-foot canoe I rode in. When I rounded the corner past The Wilderness Center, the long bed of white sand appeared and I got a second wind.

  Adrian’s canoe cut through the water with ease. The wind at my back propelled me forward, whipped my hair into a frenzy and created a feeling of flight. Morning sunlight warmed the spray on my arms and face as I powered past fresh wave breaks. I got as close as possible to shore and jumped ship, tugging the canoe onto the sand. Shoes in hand, I made my way toward the scene of the crime. Take that, old guard guys.