Murder Comes Ashore Page 7

  Curiosity fought with unbridled fear at the mention of getting involved in another murder investigation. Last time it ended horribly for me.

  Adrian leaned closer. He was cracking my resolve and he knew it. “It might be fun to hang out again like old times, united for a common goal. This is our town, remember? Besides, your boyfriend’s busy. That leaves you with extra free time.” He leaned over the arm of his rocker. “It’s just a couple friendly visits and a few innocent questions. Won’t you feel better knowing we’re all here?”

  There he went again, calling the entire town “we.” It’s exactly how I thought of this place. Islanders were interconnected in ways big city people wouldn’t understand. Couldn’t understand. We were invested in one another. “Like playing a game of ‘Clue’?” “Clue” didn’t sound dangerous. Everyone loved board games. Board games were fun family activities. Not scary or deadly or against Sebastian’s ridiculous rules.

  “Exactly. We’ll ask questions during the day and meet here for pizza at night, compare details, see how much we’ve figured out. I bet we can talk to everyone in a day or two if we hit the right events.”

  My knee bounced. Adrenaline replaced the residual butterflies from my near-death experience of the summer. I bit my lip. Twirled my hair. Could I do this? What he suggested wasn’t investigating. More like research or a census. I would definitely feel better if I knew everyone was safe. I could help Sebastian do his job by checking on the islanders and hanging out platonically with Adrian.

  Everyone wins.

  I jumped up and hustled toward my car. The crowd of birders seemed to have dwindled in direct proportion to the increasing number gathered at the Tasty Cream across the street. I unlocked the Prius and dropped inside, powering down both windows.

  “Where are you going?” Adrian leaned through my passenger window.

  “Research. Mark Mathers was a medical examiner on the mainland for a while, wasn’t he? I bet he has insight about people parts. He’ll know how long they last in water and who could do that to bodies. He can tell me if a shark could’ve torn the ear off, or if it was human effort.” I shuddered at the thought.

  “Smart.” Adrian’s smile warmed me. Call it only-child syndrome, but approval made my day. Every time.

  “Where’s he living now?” I shifted into gear. “Get in.”

  “Maybe we should split up.” He shifted his weight and stuffed both hands in his front pockets. His gaze drifted to the giant Vote for Davis sign. Karen might destroy the sign if he left it unguarded.

  I tipped my head. “You just want to sit here and protect your sign.”

  Adrian guffawed. “I’m just giving you room to assert your feminine prowess. You can handle this on your own. I’d only get in your way.”

  “Excuse me. Assert my what?” I leaned over the console toward him.

  He cleared his throat. “I’m not sure about Mark’s address, but he’s the new funeral director at Flick’s Funeral Home.”

  Yick. I had a healthy fear of death and the undead. Zombies. Ghosts. Things that go bump and all that. I’d been bombarded by campfire stories as a child. Kids loved to scare the bejeezus out of me. I was always the most timid one in any grouping and the other kids smelled my fear. They told me about reanimated hands that crawled into your sleeping bag and zombies that ate brains. I’d equated those stories with the island’s cemetery and funeral home before I was old enough to ride my bike past them alone. When I was old enough, I crossed the street.

  “Perfect,” I lied. “Helena was on the beach when the ear turned up. Maybe she’s told him already and he wants to tell me some secret information he learned during his time as a medical examiner.”

  Mark left a medical examiner position on the mainland for a funeral director position on the island. I sighed. Chincoteague got under everyone’s skin. You couldn’t grow up here and walk away. It sucked you back like that island from the television show, but with live people. Mostly.

  “I’ll ask my mom to watch the sign so I can make some house calls and visit Sandy Shore Retirement Village. If I hit bridge club or bingo night, I’ll have the over-sixty crowd counted in an hour.” Adrian stood and smacked my roof, sending me on my way. “Good luck.”

  I craned my head out the window as I pulled into traffic. “Don’t tell anyone I’m researching!”

  Every head on the street looked my way.

  Beep! Beep!

  * * *

  I rang the doorbell on the side door at Flick’s and jumped back three paces in case the Boogie Man answered. Funeral homes were still high on my avoidance list. Death was fine in the abstract. In my face it was enough to send me screaming. Bad things, in increments, I handled well. Bad things in bulk made me sleep with my lights on. Funeral homes specialized in death and bad things by association, like dressing the deceased...Abort! Abort! This line of thinking was off limits due to my fanatical inability to deal.

  “Hey!” Mark propped the door open with an elbow and motioned me inside. “Patience Price, you look amazing! How long has it been?”

  I baby stepped through the door, scanning the walls for paintings with roving eyes or shadows lurking near my ankles. Ankle shadows dragged people to hell. I watched movies. I knew things. My purse on my shoulder slid to my hand and I fisted my fingers in the strap, testing the weight for shadow smashing.

  “Everything okay?” Mark opened an interior door to a room with a desk and elaborate Victorian-style furniture. He perched his hip on the wide mahogany desk and smiled.

  “Yep. Good. You?” I pulled the bag to my chest like a teddy bear and eased onto a wing chair.

  Sunlight streamed through his office window, lighting dust motes in the air. I shuffled my feet against rose-colored carpeting. If I didn’t know I was sitting inside a funeral home, nothing in his office would have given me a clue. I knew and I wanted out.

  Mark rolled one wrist. “Good. Glad to be home. You must understand how that feels.”

  I nodded too fast, focused on letting my breathing settle and talking myself out of fleeing the scene. Silliness. Slowly, my shoulders rolled back. A smile grew with effort.

  “I hope I didn’t disturb you. I shouldn’t have come to your office.” I was in such a hurry to question him, I hadn’t given thought to what I’d say.

  “Not at all. Things are slow around here.” He lifted palms to the ceiling. “What’s on your mind?”

  “Have you heard about the ear?” It was a silly question.

  “I did.” Our eyes met and he frowned. He didn’t mention how he heard about the ear, but with the birders taking pictures of it on the beach and Mrs. Flick seeing it, he’d probably heard about it more than once.

  “I thought you could give me some insight. The cut on the outside of the ear was clean, not ragged. At first I assumed sharks tore it off, but the image burned in my mind and I’m certain sharks didn’t do it. In fact, aside from being an ear with no body, it looked normal. What do you think?”

  He laughed. “You think someone cut off the ear? Like Van Gogh?”

  “No, like a murderer.”

  Color drained from his face. Now who was laughing?

  “Would someone need training to do that?” I leaned forward, hoping to learn something technical and impress the pants off Sebastian. The visuals burned my cheeks. What kind of person was I? Who thought about sex in a funeral home?

  Mark’s head swung left to right, his pale skin turning sickly green. For a guy who embalmed people, his reaction struck me as odd. My gag reflex hit and I erased the most recent thought from my head.

  “Anyone can cut off an ear,” he said. “Hunters clean animals. Fishermen chop bait. Have you talked to the new marine biologist?”

  Everyone kept asking me that. I needed to up my game. “Not yet.”

  “I saw him arguing with a grou
p of fisherman early this morning when I went for my jog. I didn’t hear what they were saying, but the guy just got here. Whatever they had a beef about must be new, right? I wonder if his shark study messes with the investigation. Having his rig so close to the beach where evidence washed up seems like a problem to me.”

  Sounded like Mark had given the ear a bit of thought too.

  I agreed. The rig had to be interfering with the fishing and the investigation. “Thanks, Mark. I think it’s time I talked to James Trent.” I headed for the door. First thing in the morning, I’d catch the fisherman coming in from a long night trapping shrimp and Mr. Trent heading to the rig.

  Mrs. Flick passed me in the hall on my way out. Her small frame teetered on three-inch heels, bringing her closer to five feet than I’d seen her before. Her milky blue eyes glowered beneath frizzy white hair.

  “What brings you by, Miss Price?”

  “I came to see Mark.”

  She didn’t respond to my overly vague explanation.

  “Nice to see you, Mrs. Flick.” I motored out into the fresh air.

  Mark caught me at the curb. “Hey, let me give you my number. My wife’s new to the island. Mary could use a friend. Maybe we could double for dinner some night.”

  I followed him to a sedan in the small side lot. A Team Adrian bumper sticker jammed inside his rear windshield curled at the corners from unbearable heat. He grabbed a business card from the glove box with his wife’s name on it. Jewelry by Mary. Not a super catchy business name. A cartoon woman wearing far too many bracelets looked back through horn-rimmed glasses.

  “Hope I didn’t get you in trouble with Mrs. Flick. She looked upset.”

  “It’s not you. It’s a dying business.” He chuckled darkly.

  “Right.” Seagulls squawked overhead and I imagined ravens lining the roof of Flick’s, already aware of the next “guest’s” name. I stepped toward my car.

  “How’s Adrian?” Mark asked. “I didn’t see him running today. He never misses a morning jog.”

  “He’s at his office, guarding his campaign sign. You should stop by and see him. Looks like you’re a supporter.” I motioned to the bumper sticker in his window.

  “All the way. You two were great together in high school, you know that? Half the senior year book pages had a snapshot of you two doing something silly. Davis is one of the good ones.”

  “I agree.” I waved and turned for my car. First thing in the morning, I’d visit the harbor. I had questions for the local fishermen. Starting with: how much did they know about human disassembly?

  Chapter Six

  I couldn’t shake the icky sensation left over from my time at Flick’s Funeral Home. I tossed in my little bed all night, wondering who was downstairs on a metal table with a sheet, toe tag and no heartbeat while I visited. Exactly the reason I avoided scary movies. And cemeteries. My parents brought pets home for me over the years, but I gave them away, set them free or cried until Mom returned the tiny captives. Dad loved my profound compassion for the freedom of all creatures, but that wasn’t my whole problem. Living on an island with a national forest exposed me to death early and often. Stuff died. Sometimes in gross ways. Everything with a pulse had an expiration date. Caring for a pet until it inevitably keeled over one day was too much for my little heart. Fast forward twenty-nine years and not much had changed, hence the kitty who lived on my doorstep.

  I dragged into the kitchen for caffeine. My tummy groaned at the sight of a brown-dotted banana on the counter. Not the cream cheese Danish I wanted, but better for my waistline. I fumbled my favorite mug under the Keurig and peeled the banana with sleepy hands. Morning had come too early. It took me until after four to fall asleep. Five minutes later the sun rose, glowing cheerfully around my bedroom curtains until I couldn’t stand it anymore. I hadn’t slept well in weeks. Nightmares about Jimmy the Judge finding Sebastian haunted my nights. With the parts washing ashore and my brush with death this summer, my sleep cycle was a mess.

  On the bright side, I could question some fishermen before they sailed out.

  My apartment shone from too many hours of nothing to do. I’d oil soaped the wood paneling last week hoping someone might drop by and need counseling. No one came. Another reason being a counselor at large troubled me. I never knew when I was on duty. People dropped by unannounced, pulled up chairs where I ate lunch and shadowed me around the grocery store. The sheer lack of boundaries intimidated me. I liked details and clarification, but the people who made appointments never called them appointments. They invited me to random outings, pretended we weren’t having a session and ranted or cried covertly for an hour before leaving me in a wake of what-just-happened? Adjusting wasn’t my thing. Adjusting was my nemesis. But I tried to be a better counselor for the island by going along with whatever scenario made a person comfortable enough to talk with me about their private feelings. I’d probably do more harm than good if I didn’t get better rest soon. I barely had enough sleep to think straight.

  Predictably, the second cup of coffee got me into the shower and a better mood. Half an hour later, I’d memorized a list of questions for the fishermen and practiced sounding nonchalant as I interrogated my mirror. Did one of our fishermen do more than chop bait lately? People, perhaps? And why? There wasn’t an acceptable answer to some questions, but I needed to know. What was the killer thinking? Why not weigh the bodies down and dump them whole? Why? Why? Why?

  I grabbed my bag and stuffed feet into silver bejeweled flip flops. White sunglasses, silver halter top, white shorts. Outfit approved. I headed to the door with renewed vigor.

  “Patience?” A loud knock and high-pitched voice almost scared the coffee out of me. Ten seconds later and she’d have knocked on my face. I expelled a long breath and turned the door knob.

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis.” I made a show of adjusting my purse over one shoulder and swinging my keys. “You’re up early.”

  “It’s after nine. Us working people woke hours ago.”

  A dig at my profession? It was hard to tell. Adrian’s mom wasn’t my biggest fan.

  Wait. Hours? What?

  I fished into my bag and yanked out my cell phone. Crap! My alarm clock said six, didn’t it? I missed the fishermen. My shoulders slumped. I dropped my keys and purse onto the counter and went to refill my coffee mug. I’d literally missed the boat.

  “What can I do for you?” I pressed the mug to my lips and inhaled. I needed a plan to improve my day. Maybe I could help Mrs. Davis. Helping Adrian’s mom would make up for a brown banana breakfast.

  Mrs. Davis stood in the doorway looking agitated with me, as usual. Her ever-changing hair was longer than I remembered. She’d covered the red woodpecker tips in black and added an occasional gas blue streak for pizazz. Her stout figure tested the limits of a size ten wardrobe. Adrian’s mother was the fifty-year-old version of Girls Gone Wild. Her hair, makeup and general demeanor supported her wardrobe.

  “For one thing, you could offer me a cup of coffee.”

  “Do you want a cup of coffee?”

  “No. It’ll ruin my complexion. Do you have any bottled water?”

  “Sure.”

  I could visit the harbor later. Some fishermen were always on hand, maybe not the main crew of professionals, but still. It couldn’t hurt.

  Mrs. Davis narrowed her eyes. She’d caught me daydreaming.

  “What are you doing with my Adrian? I thought you two made up. Now I see you with the other one. Sebastian. One good man’s not enough for you? You think you need two of them fawning over you?” She huffed and squared her shoulders.

  I squirmed. When she used that tone, I was sixteen again and busted for kissing with the bedroom door closed.

  “You don’t like me,” I argued. “You think I’m crazy and my family’s nuts. I don’t understand why you want me to
be with your son.” I peeked out the open door behind her. “Did Adrian send you up here?”

  “I don’t have to like you if Adrian likes you. I want my angel baby boy happy. He says I’m not nice to you. So, here I am. Nice.”

  “Uh-huh.” I looked out the door again.

  “After all these years, don’t you think it’s time you made up with Adrian?”

  “I did.” I set my cup aside and counted to ten. “We made up. We’re fine. Adrian and I are friends.” My wide eyes and full set of teeth smile quieted her for a moment.

  “And the other one?”

  “Sebastian and I are...” I couldn’t say dating. I barely saw him. He had a hit out on him. He kept secrets. He dismissed my help. We’d never specified what we were doing, except not seeing anyone else. “We’re complicated.”

  “Honey, at your age you don’t need complicated. You need easy. Adrian’s easy.”

  Didn’t I know it. Hey! “I’m only twenty-nine.”

  “Aren’t we all?”

  “No. We aren’t.” My voice rose with each syllable.

  “I think you should reconsider the friends-only jacket you put on Adrian. He’s a good boy. He’s got a good education. He’s from a good family.”

  “Mrs. Davis.” I struggled for words. This was the nicest she’d ever been to me. I didn’t want to ruin it. “I agree with everything you said and I care deeply for Adrian. I’m sure I always will. However, I’m not comfortable discussing about my relationship with him or with Sebastian. I’m sorry.”

  Her cheeks turned red.

  “I really appreciate you coming here and talking to me,” I said. “I want Adrian to be happy, too.”

  “If you care about him so much, make up your mind. Let him stay or let him go, don’t leave him hanging on your line. He’s stubborn. He wants you, but you know that. Pick a team.” She clucked her tongue and left.