The Manatee Did It
THE MANATEE DID IT
Copyright © 2020 by Kay Dew Shostak.
All rights reserved.
This book is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents, and dialogue are drawn from the author’s imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Printed in the United States of America. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission except in the case of brief quotations embodied in articles and reviews.
ISBN: 978-0-9991064-9-5
SOUTHERN FICTION: Cozy Mystery / Southern Mystery / Florida Mystery / Island Mystery / Empty Nest Mystery / Clean Mystery / Small Town Mystery
Text Layout and Cover Design by Roseanna White Designs
Cover Images from www.Shutterstock.com
Author photo by Susan Eason with www.EasonGallery.com
Published by August South Publishing. You may contact the publisher at:
[email protected]
Table of Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 1 – Next Stop, Chancey Book 1
To our home –
Amelia Island and Fernandina Beach
While Sophia Island and Sophia Beach are based on you,
The characters and situations can only be found in my imagination.
Oh, and in my books.
Chapter 1
“We saw a manatee here under the dock last week,” the short woman on my right says as she holds one hand above her eyes to block the midafternoon sun. “We first thought it was an old tire. They’re big and kind of float right below the surface.” She leans forward on her tiptoes and looks over the railing. She’s joined by me and three other women, all around the same age. What age? Well, let’s just say none of us needed to hire a babysitter to go to lunch today, unless it was for a grandkid.
“Funny how before we ate lunch all that fried seafood smelled so yummy, but now, not so much,” the heaviest of the women opines. She leans over, looking into the marina water on my other side, her armful of bangle bracelets jangling. “So glad you joined our lunch group, Jewel. It was a smaller group today with only nine of us, but it varies each week. Lucy got your email address, so you’re on our list, right?”
I nod, smile, and say “yes”, but as I look at our reflections in the dark green water, not one of their names comes to mind. I used to quickly remember names whenever and wherever we moved, but not this time. Not in this fog. I want to say I look forward to these lunches and to making new friends, but the words just won’t come. I bend my head toward the water, letting the sides of my shoulder-length hair fall between me and the other ladies.
Sounds of the restaurant to our left cover the silence. Colby’s Seafood Café sits high on pilings in the middle of Sophia Beach’s marina. The marina is on the river side of Sophia Island, an Atlantic barrier island on the north coast of Florida. Both the marina and the café are long-time favorites with locals and tourists. Sophia Beach is the little town settled around the riverside marina on the island. And—insert drumroll here—the new home of Jewel and Craig Mantelle. I think brightly and try to force some positivity into my thoughts. The new home of Jewel and Craig Mantelle!
However, a tear slips down my face and drops to the water below. Enough of this! I laugh, not caring if it sounds fake, and stand up straight. My voice is as shrill as my laugh. “I’d love to see a manatee. Of all the places we’ve lived, we’ve never lived anywhere that had manatees.”
The big woman with curly, silver hair pats my back, her bangle bracelets rattling. “I bet moving is hard, but you’ll find good things here.” She winks at me and exudes pure joy when she says, “Like us!”
I swallow and force sincerity into my smile. They all return my smile, and then we turn away from the railing, talking about afternoon plans.
“How about you, Jewel? What are you doing this afternoon?” the woman closest to me asks. She’s tall and doesn’t have the Southern accent of the other three women.
“I’m still unpacking—this afternoon, tomorrow afternoon, every afternoon for the rest of my life it feels like,” I moan, but I remember to smile. When I pause for just a second, my smile slips into a look of embarrassment, and adding a deep sigh, I confess. “Would you mind reminding me of your names again? I’m so sorry. I guess it’s the move that’s gotten my memory so fuzzy.”
The lady with the silver curls laughs. “Shoot, wish I had a move to blame my forgetfulness on, but nope, I’ve lived here all my life. All sixty-six years of it, still can’t remember a thing. I’m Annie, don’t worry about last names yet.” Annie’s silver curls are so beautiful they look like a wig, but they aren’t. I’ve already looked close enough to check.
“My name is Cherry.” The tall, non-Southern lady with short, dark hair waves at me. “We only moved here five years ago when my husband retired. I’m a nurse, and I work at the hospital here on the island on the weekends. I’m parked up in town,” she adds as she stops walking at the edge of the parking lot.
The petite woman who’d seen the manatee last week nods to the lady beside her. “Charlotte and I drove together, and we found a spot just the next row over.” She sticks her hand out at me. “And I’m Tamela. Retired from teaching just last month, so I’m enjoying getting to do things like our weekly lunches for more than just the summer.”
I shake her hand. “I’m a teacher, too, but we moved around so much it was hard to get into a school system. I haven’t taught in years. So, you’re Charlotte,” I say, turning to the remaining woman.
“Yes, Charlotte Bellington. We actually live near each other. I knew your husband’s aunt Cora. Such a shame, don’t you think?” Easily the oldest woman of the group, Charlotte also looks the most formidable, wearing such an intense scowl that she completely catches me off guard.
“Oh.” My gulp is followed by stammering. “Oh, well… that’s nice. I, uh, I didn’t know her. I, uh…”
Tamela waves a hand toward me and says, “It’s okay, honey, we know. Charlotte, let’s go if you still want to stop by the library.” Tamela puts her hand under Charlotte’s arm as they step off the curbed sidewalk along the docks.
Cherry, the nurse, rolls her eyes behind their backs and turns to me. “Jewel, just ignore Charlotte. She thinks she owns this town.”
Annie shrugs. “Well, she kinda does, but don’t let her get your panties in a wad. She’s a good soul underneath it all.” She pats the hood of the car beside her. “I snagged a spot right here today. It’s getting busier and busier down here at lunchtime. I’m off to the grocery,” she says as she presses her key fob and the car beeps. “Good to meet you, Jewel. See you next Wednesday.”
Cherry straightens her shoulders and puts sunglasses on. “I’m parked a couple blocks up Centre Street. I want to stop in the bookstore. Have a good afternoon.” She pauses and l
eans back toward me, grasping my forearm. “It’ll all settle out before long. This group is a good way to meet people, so be sure and come next week.”
“Oh, I’m already looking forward to it. My husband, Craig, is out of town until Friday, then leaves again Sunday night.” I quickly clamp down on my bottom lip to keep it from trembling.
Cherry squeezes my arm. “That stinks just moving here and him traveling so much, but maybe it’ll calm down soon?”
“Not likely. He was supposed to be retiring early, but then this project came up, and, well…” I look around and sigh, which with my lip trembling sounds downright mournful. “It’s our first move without the kids, so it’s strange.”
Cherry pats my arm. “That is hard. It was the same for us when we moved here, but it’ll be all right. I promise.” She straightens up and sighs. “Guess I’d better get going. Where’d you park?”
“On the other side of the restaurant.” Trying another smile, I step back. “I think I’ll just walk on down the dock instead of through the parking lot. And thanks for the pep talk. It’ll be okay. I know. It always is.” With another bigger smile, I veer back to walk closer to the railing, looking over the edge at the dark green water of the river. It feels good to relax my face; forced smiles use weird muscles. Then my breath catches, and I yell, “Hey, uh, Cherry! Look it’s a manatee!” I point toward the water.
Cherry turns, then motions to Annie, who is still sitting in her car looking at her phone. Cherry yells, “Jewel sees a manatee!” and jogs across the parking lot. Annie struggles out of her compact car, then slams the door, hurrying after the more limber Cherry.
Cherry rests her hands on her hips and grins at her friend, shouting, “Well, come on, Grandma. Although I guess we won’t miss anything since we actually still move a little bit faster than a manatee.”
As they come to stand on either side of me at the railing, I point down. “See? Across there by the dock pilings, coming out from the shadows. Just below the surface. Wait…”
Cherry pulls off her sunglasses and squints at the dark water under the dock across from us. “I don’t see anything.”
Annie blocks the sun from her eyes. Then as waves from a passing boat begin bouncing the boats and the floating dock across from us, she exclaims, “There! I see it.”
I pull my phone out of my pocket. “Gotta get a picture. The kids won’t believe I saw a manatee. There it comes, see it?”
We watch as a rolling wave pushes the manatee into the sunshine. Instead of gray, though, it’s more of a tan color. Actually, khaki. And white.
And human.
Chapter 2
Shouts and pounding steps on the dock jar us as we lift our heads and stare at each other. By the time we look back at the scene, people are already pulling the facedown man out of the water. Cherry warns, “Girls, I’d look away if I were you. You do not want to see a drowning victim’s face, especially if the fish have already gotten to him.”
Annie and I immediately turn around. All three of us cross the dock and plop down onto one of the benches placed there for river sunset viewing. We can see the action around the man, but it is a little removed behind the railings. Then, as the crowd grows, we can’t see the victim at all. Taking in the running and shouting, we sit quietly for a few moments.
“Wonder who it is?” Annie asks just above a whisper. Then she sighs and her voice is steadier. “Hope it’s a stranger. That sounds awful to say, but lots of folks from all over dock here for lunch or to shop. Sad, but I don’t want it to be someone I know. You know?”
Cherry nods, then shrugs. “Of course, but there aren’t as many visitors lately with the shape the marina’s in from the last few hurricanes.” She turns around at the sound of a siren. “Here come the police and ambulance, though I don’t believe any resuscitation will help. That’s why I didn’t offer any assistance.”
Annie stands up. “This place is going to get crazier than a zoo. I’m leaving so I don’t get my car stuck here with all the emergency vehicles.”
“Good idea,” Cherry says as she also stands. “Jewel, there’s an exit for the parking lot you’re in on the other side of Colby’s. I’d suggest going out that direction.”
I also get up, but then hesitate. “You don’t think we need to stay? Talk to the police?”
“We didn’t see anything more than all those other folks,” Cherry explains. “Even all the people in the restaurant saw what we saw. They’ll probably have more eyewitness reports than they can deal with.”
“Probably true. It seems sad to just leave, but…” My words trail off as we walk toward the parking lot again.
Annie plods along behind us. “I agree, but there’s nothing we can do. Most likely someone had a heart attack and fell off their boat. We can read all about it in the paper on Friday. Or on Facebook in just a few more minutes, where we’ll get more details than hanging out here. I’m anxious to find out who it is.” She steps up to walk next to me and lays her arm across my shoulders. “You look like you need another hug,” she says with a low laugh as she squeezes me. Letting me go she whispers, “Besides, spotting a dead body is way more unusual than seeing a manatee!”
Cherry turns around as she keeps walking and groans. “Oh, Annie. You’re awful.” She picks up her pace and waves. “See you later, ladies!”
Annie steps over to her car while I angle away from her through the parking lot, having lost all interest in walking along the docks on the way back to my parking place. It’s hard to see the water even when the dock isn’t lined with rubberneckers and emergency crews. Chain-link fencing blocks off damaged parts of the dock. From what Cherry said, it’s damage due to past hurricanes. Before we moved Craig said this area never got hit by hurricanes.
Apparently he was wrong.
My path takes me up near Colby’s Café, which is built higher than the docks. From that vantage point I stop to watch as more emergency personnel arrive. I stretch to see if the man from the water is visible, but all I see is the crowd around him. However, no one seems to be in a hurry, which pretty much verifies Cherry’s professional opinion that the man is dead.
Turning away, I weave through the outside tables, full of chattering patrons, then walk down the other side, headed toward my car. The parking lot is crowded with others leaving like myself, but there are possibly even more arriving, drawn to the commotion. With a shudder I realize it’ll be a long time before I look down off those docks and don’t picture those khaki pants, that white shirt and bald head.
The exit Cherry mentioned at the other end of the lot has a long line of cars, so it’s easy to find. When it’s finally my turn, after nearly fifteen minutes waiting, I ease onto the road, turning to the right and away from Centre Street with all its shops and restaurants and traffic. Unlike all those little dots on the map that get historic downtown status to hopefully attract tourists to a couple old buildings filled with junk, Sophia Beach is a truly historic downtown on historic Sophia Island.
Carnegies, Vanderbilts, and DuPonts were only a few of the famous families and individuals who visited the island on their yachts before railroads made travel to Florida easier. Shops and restaurants fill the old buildings on Centre Street as it heads down to the marina. In the few weeks we’ve lived here, I’ve come to love driving and walking on Centre, but not today as I try to stay on the edge of all the excitement. Just a couple blocks to my right, and I’m out of the business area, driving under a canopy of old oak trees draped in Spanish moss. Farther back, underneath those ancient trees, sit houses with deep porches, elaborate railings, and tall windows.
For so many years I’ve sought out little towns like this as we moved around the nation. I even subscribed to magazines full of the graceful living happening in old homes on shaded streets like these. Of course I dreamed of what it would be like living in one of the old homes, but never—never—did I expect to see those fantasies come true. Craig isn’t really a handyman type, and we’ve never had the kind of money needed to r
estore an old home.
Passing almost a block of wrought iron fencing, I slow to a crawl as I come to the open gate and turn into the sandy driveway on my right. The driveway is lined with six tall palms on each side, leading to two levels of deep porches, more elaborate railings, and dozens of tall windows. The only difference between this house and the others is that it’s bigger than most of them.
Oh yeah, and I live here.
Chapter 3
Corabelle Mantelle Hocking’s childhood home was built by her grandfather, Howard Mantelle Senior, in 1888. That much I’d read on the historical marker out by the sidewalk—I’m still wrapping my head around the fact that we live in a house with its own historical marker. Howard had been in shipping and commissioned this mansion for his large family. He died in 1915, leaving a dozen adult children living around the area, but his wife alone in the huge mansion.
According to the marker, Howard Junior moved in with his new bride in 1915, and his mother, the original Corabelle Mantelle, died in 1920. Howard and his brothers ran Mantelle Shipping, which the historical marker points out was a formidable enterprise and responsible for much of the area’s growth. However, the marker ends by saying that family strife tore the business apart around the time of the Great Depression.
Craig’s aunt Corabelle was born in 1922—I saw her birthdate on one of the legal documents that brought us here—and grew up in the mansion. She was the older of two children raised here, and we found a couple pictures of the young family in the front bedroom: one at the seashore and one in a studio. I want to have them cleaned and framed, but the rest of her story is so sad I’m not sure I will. Shortly after her wedding, her brother, Howard the Third, and her new husband died in a sailing accident. Craig says he never heard what happened to her parents as she wouldn’t talk about anything having to do with family. He only remembered that detail about her husband dying when I asked why she hadn’t left the house to her own children. He kept repeating that she was a recluse and, like his mother, wouldn’t talk about family. Craig doesn’t like talking about family either. At least I know where he got that from.
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