The Manatee Did It

by Kay Dew Shostak

  Just like our counselor said to do.

  He takes a deep breath and repeats, “It’s not a big deal, but I was at the marina yesterday.”

  “Craig! You said—”

  His sharp look reminds me to not interrupt, so I stop talking and lift my cup to my lips.

  “I know I said I wasn’t there, but I was embarrassed, I guess. Like I told the police, you said you were going to Colby’s for lunch, so I went down there to find you and maybe talk you into having lunch with, with me.” He sounds unsure, embarrassed, unfinished. Avoiding my eyes, he gets up and walks toward the side window, where he pulls open the curtain, but between the dirty window and the bushes pressed against the house, there is nothing for him to look at. I stay perfectly still so he can finish. With a sigh, he drops the curtain back in place before turning back to me with a smile. “But I didn’t see you, so I came on home.”

  Letting a pause happen to show I heard what he said and am thinking about it, I take another sip of coffee. I follow it with another deep breath before I ask, “Did you see Pierson Mantelle?”

  He clenches his jaw but quickly releases it, covering any anger or impatience with another smile. “I might as well tell you, since the police know. Pierson had emailed me. I knew the police would be going through his email, so I wanted to come clean with them.”

  “You knew him? The man who, uh… You’d been talking to him? But I thought you didn’t know any of your relatives here.”

  “I didn’t know him. He got my information from the real estate agent and wanted to know my plans for the house. My aunt Cora had cut herself off from the family years ago, but I get the feeling they all thought they’d get a share in her estate.” He scoffs. “Everyone but me. You know I never even thought about this place. These people. I guess they were all as surprised that I inherited everything as we were. I think it was my aunt’s last chance to stick it to them all, but she wanted it to stay in the family, so… ” He looks around us, then meets my eyes. “I knew I should’ve refused it. I was right, wasn’t I?” He doesn’t wait for me to answer as he holds up his empty coffee cup. “I’m getting another cup, and then I need to get to work. This really hurts me not being able to be onsite. Maybe they’ll get this mess cleared up today.” He walks into the kitchen, leaving me wondering if I’m really that bad at listening or if he didn’t actually say anything.

  I follow him into the kitchen and lean against the island across from him. He’s facing the single-serve coffeemaker, watching it fill his cup. “So did you see Pierson Mantelle?” I ask.

  As the coffeemaker finishes with extra sound and fury, my husband doesn’t move or speak. When he does, he lifts his cup as he shakes his head at me. “I need to get to work.” He walks out the back door of the kitchen to his office and firmly shuts his door behind him.

  I just as firmly open it up and step inside. “We weren’t through talking.”

  His surprise as he looks up from where he’s bent over his desk almost makes me smile. I hold it back. “Why was he emailing you? Did you go see him? I deserve some answers. I tried listening to you, but you didn’t say anything.” I don’t want to be confrontational, so maybe if my body language is relaxed it’ll help. I lean on a stack of boxes beside the door and uncross my arms. And smile, or at least try to.

  He takes a deep breath and licks his lips. “Okay. Like I said, he wanted to know my plans for the house. I emailed him back that we were keeping it. He wanted to talk about that. That’s it.”

  “So did you talk to him? Did you see him yesterday?”

  He slowly stands, walks over to me, and stands close. With me leaning on the boxes, he’s taller than me, so I stay relaxed, looking up at him. Letting him be taller. Listening.

  “I came to the marina looking for you to see if you wanted to have lunch. I didn’t see you, so I came home. Now, I have a conference call in ten minutes and some work to do before that, so if you can hold the rest of your questions until later, I would appreciate it.” He rubs my upper arm, then turns back to his desk.

  As I walk out, his office door is once again firmly shut.

  Instead of heading back to the kitchen I turn to my left and open the back door. The morning air feels not hot, but heavy. I can only imagine how much thicker it will be when it’s actually summer. It’s only March now. While we’ve lived in a lot of places, the farthest south was Tennessee for a year, and I thought that was too hot. Why in the world I jumped on moving to Florida is beyond me…

  Oh yeah.

  I was trying to save my marriage.

  Chapter 12

  “Cute pajamas,” Annie says when I pull open our front door. This is quickly followed by, “Get dressed. I’ll just get a cup of coffee while you do.” She bustles through the front door, past me, and right into the kitchen.

  I fold my arms around my waist; feeling the soft fabric makes me smile. My cotton pajamas have pink ballerinas on them. I bought three sets of them last Christmas, one for each of my grown daughters and me. They have button-up tops and long pants, and I couldn’t resist them because they reminded me of the matching pajamas the girls wore when they were little.

  I follow her. “Dressed for what?”

  “Oh Lord, my Abbie has one of these contraptions. These pod things… There, I think that’s right. We’re meeting Lucy for coffee downtown. She’s got the lowdown on the marina being sold. Go get dressed,” Annie scolds as she turns to look at me. “I’d’ve called you, but I realized in all the excitement yesterday I forgot to get your phone number.”

  I’m halfway up the stairs when she yells, “Dress nice. We might have to go to town hall. Oh hey, Mr. Mantelle. You working from home today?”

  Let her and Craig work it out, I think as I dash into our bedroom and quietly shut the door.

  I pull on a tunic dress of lightweight turquoise fabric and slip on a pair of gold sandals. Clipping my hair back with a gold clasp, I look in the mirror and sigh. One thing I’ve noticed about the women here is that they tend to wear makeup every day. Even worse? It looks good. Yesterday at lunch I noticed the lipsticks and thick lashes on the women my age and older and wished I’d learned to do all that better. I pull open my makeup drawer, find a lipstick I probably bought for one of my kids’ high school graduations, and try it on. I start to wipe it off, then imagine my daughter Erin saying, “Leave it, Mom. You’ve got to get used to it.” My other daughter, Sadie, would shrug and say, “Whatever, Mom. Let’s go.” They are twins only because they were born at the same time.

  “Okay,” I say into the mirror as I drop the tube of lipstick into my pocket and straighten up. “I’ll try it.” I shut the drawer and leave the bathroom before I can change my mind.

  “You’re as cute as a bug’s ear!” Annie says from the living room as I come down the stairs. “I love them tunic dresses, but I can’t wear them straight things with my big ol’ boobs. If I bend over in something like that, you can see everything I got.” She struggles off the low couch and sets her coffee cup in the kitchen while I collect my purse. “I’ll wait for you on the front porch.”

  She’s still fighting with the front door by the time I get ready to go.

  “Here, let me.” I push, lift, and pull to get the door to swing open, and we step out.

  Once I close the door she says in a quiet voice, but with lifted eyebrows, “So, your hubby is working from home today? He didn’t seem real fond of finding me in your kitchen.”

  “He’s not in a good mood. I guess the police told him not to leave town. At least I think he said that. What did Aiden say about what happened at the police station yesterday?”

  We walk down the sidewalk toward her car.

  “He was busy last night so we didn’t get to talk, but he did talk to his girlfriend. She works at the coffee shop I told Lucy to meet us at. Can you believe her name is Eden? Aiden and Eden.” Annie rolls her eyes. “And wouldn’t you know, he seems serious about this one.”

  We drive through the morning shadows on the
old streets, and she pulls into a small parking lot marked with several No Parking signs.

  “Should we park here?” I ask.

  “Yeah, it’s my daughter Amber’s building. Comes in handy always having a parking spot since I don’t live downtown.”

  “What kind of business is your daughter in?”

  “Real estate. She’s put every cent she’s ever earned into property, and it’s paid off for her.”

  We walk out of the little gravel lot and down the sidewalk toward Centre Street. Crossing the main street and turning right on the sidewalk, the charm of Sophia Island is thick. The sky is a clear morning blue, and there’s a breeze rustling the palm trees. Leafy bushes in the corner planters ruffle as the wind passes through them. Most of the shops are still closed, so the sidewalks are empty except for a few people walking their dogs. On the next block, however, there are people seated at little tables and benches outside Coffee Sophia, a small place tucked between shops, art galleries, and restaurants.

  Annie talks to several people as we walk through them and find a place in line. She looks around, especially behind the counter. “There’s Eden. Eden!” she shouts as she waves. She makes several cryptic motions with her hands, ending by shouting, “Thank you!” Whispering, she says, “She’s getting us a table. I texted her that I’d need one with at least three chairs.”

  “So is that a service for anyone, or just for someone related to her boyfriend?”

  Annie furrows her brow and frowns. “I don’t know. Never thought about it.” She brightens. “There’s Lucy.” We wave as the man behind the counter speaks up.

  “Your usual latte, Mrs. Bryant?”

  “Yes, but instead of vanilla, give me raspberry. That sounds more like spring, don’t you think?”

  He nods, then looks at me. “And you, ma’am?”

  I grimace at how everyone calls me ‘ma’am’ down here. It makes me feel so old. “I’ll take a regular coffee, and I’ll add my own cream and sugar. Also, you don’t have to call me ma’am,” I add with a big smile.

  Annie laughs. “Oh, he does too have to call you ma’am, or his momma will be over here kicking his behind. Isn’t that right, Michael?”

  “Yes, ma’am, it is!” he says with a wink before turning his attention to the next person in line.

  We find ourselves being directed to the rear of the shop where Eden waits beside a small table. “Hey, Mrs. Bryant. I got you and your friends a table,” the young woman says. She’s slight and has tattoos on all of her exposed skin—which is a lot. Her red hair is short and cut choppily so that it sticks out.

  Annie gives her a big hug, then holds her at arm’s length, staring in her face. “Tell me something, Eden. Do you get tables like this for everyone or just for me because you’re dating Aiden?”

  “Oh.” The girl’s face scrunches in concern, and the flower tattoo on her cheek turns an appealing pink. “You always text to let me know you’re coming, so I just, well, I mean, you are Aiden’s mother.”

  Annie hugs her again. “Oh, you are a sweetie.” She turns Eden toward me. “This is my new friend, Jewel Mantelle.” At Eden’s widened eyes she adds, “Yes, Mantelle like the house. She’s the one living there! Eden loves antiques and loves the old houses.”

  “Yes, ma’am, I sure do. I really love your house. Can’t believe you get to live there!” She squeals and then jumps when someone shouts her name. “I’ve got to get to work, but here.” She pulls a folded-up piece of paper out of her jean pocket and gives it to Annie. “Here’s what I got from Aiden this morning.” As she ducks away from us, she whispers back, “Can’t believe there was a murder right here on Sophia!”

  We sit down, and Annie shakes her head. “Isn’t she the sweetest? Those tattoos are something else, but then, it is the family business. Now let’s see what she got from Aiden.”

  She spreads the paper out on the table, but from my angle I can’t make out the messy writing. I sit back, take my phone out of my purse, and look at it. There are two texts from Erin, the one of my four children who checks in every day. It’s strange how kids raised in the same family can have such varied opinions on communicating with their parents. There’s nothing from the other three. When all this gets straightened out, maybe I’ll fill Erin in, but right now what would I even tell her? I turn off the screen and lay it on the table just as Lucy comes up.

  “Good morning, ladies. What’s that you’re studying, Annie?”

  “Notes Eden got from Aiden about our case. They did find that Hawaiian shirt Pierson had had on earlier on the boat, so no doubt he was the same man Jewel talked to. The big glass pitcher was the murder weapon; no prints on it, so it must’ve been wiped clean. It had had margarita in it from Colby’s. Pierson’s girlfriend and one of her friends were on the boat, but his wife was not.” Annie looks up from the paper to meet our eyes with her eyebrows raised.

  “Seems they hadn’t been able to talk to his wife as of yesterday. They live in Ponte Vedra,” she says.

  “Oh,” I interject. “That’s where his mother lives, too. She came to see us yesterday.”

  At the same time, Lucy and Annie exclaim, “Leigh Anne Potts?” They look around to see if anyone is paying attention to them, but the loud coffee shop covers their noise.

  I lean toward them. “Well, she said she was Leigh Anne Mantelle. She didn’t tell us Pierson was her son until she was leaving.”

  “Potts was her maiden name,” Lucy says. “When I see her at tennis matches, it’s all I can do to remember she’s a Mantelle.” She sniffs. “I try to not remember her at all, but I guess that’s mean, seeing as her son was killed yesterday. Wonder where she’s staying.”

  Annie lays down the sheet of paper. “You don’t think she’s staying with her mother, do you?”

  “I think if she could get out of it she wouldn’t even stop in and say hello to her mother. I bet she’s at the Isle.” Lucy pulls out her phone and punches in a number while Annie goes back to deciphering Eden’s handwriting.

  Our drinks are delivered, mine with a small pewter container of cream and a matching bowl of sugar. None of the other tables have them, and I wonder if they are another perk of being here with Annie. I had thought I’d take my cup over to the fixing station, but this is really nice, knowing people.

  “She isn’t at the Isle, according to Davis,” Lucy says. “Davis is my, well, my friend, and he is one of the owners of the resort.”

  Annie grins. “He’s a very good friend. A very good, rich, handsome friend, right?” She punctuates her description with some elbow nudges.

  Lucy shrugs and points at the paper. “What else does that say? I have things to tell y’all, too. I’ll track down Leigh Anne Potts later.”

  Annie goes back to reading out loud. “The girlfriend and her friend both claim they were on the back of the boat, tanning and possibly asleep. They knew people came and went on the boat, but they didn’t pay any attention. They apparently only became alarmed when they couldn’t find any more margaritas.” She reads further, then drops the paper and rolls her eyes. “Both women are only twenty and were less concerned with Pierson dying than with how they’d get back to school. Apparently they go to college in St. Augustine.”

  Lucy and I both wrinkle our noses. “Ew, twenty?” I ask. “That’s disgusting.”

  Eden comes up to the table. “Let me guess, you got to the part about the girlfriend? I forgot to write down that Aiden said the thought is that they were too drunk to even lift up the pitcher. Apparently it was heavy, even when empty.” She sets a plate on our table. “Here’s some of the crumb cake edge pieces for y’all to share. Can I get you anything else?”

  Though we all say no, she lingers. She bends down to whisper and point to the piece of paper. “Just be sure to not let Aiden know I gave you that, okay?” She looks like a guilty child with her big eyes roaming around the table to meet each of ours.

  Lucy and I smile and shake our heads at her. Annie grabs her arm. “Of course not, you swe
et thing. You know if I’d talked to Aiden he would’ve told me all this himself, but I really didn’t want to infringe on the short time he gets to spend with you.”

  Eden tries to smile, but mostly just nods as she backs away.

  “Really?” I ask. “Your son would tell you all this? My sons barely even answer my texts.” I hope I kept the self-pity out of my voice.

  Annie plops her folded arms on the table and stares at me. “Are you kidding? I may cross all kinds of boundaries with my kids, but this kind of information only comes from pillow talk.” One side of her mouth crooks up into a grin. “Cultivating as a source the girl sharing my police officer son’s pillow, however, that’s a boundary I’m more than willing to ignore.”

  Chapter 13

  Out on the sidewalk, traffic has picked up, both walking and driving. Lucy darts through the outside tables, keeping her eyes up. Annie laughs as we try to follow her.

  Annie pushes me along, saying in my ear, “Lucy knows she’ll get stopped to talk if she hesitates even a bit. She’s a born politician, knows how to talk to everybody. Or nobody. And not tick off anybody!”

  When we catch up to her, Annie grabs Lucy’s arm. “Slow down there, mama. We’re safe here.” She pulls us into the alcove of a closed business. “Now tell us what you found out.”

  The petite blonde rolls her eyes and straightens her short navy jacket. She’s wearing it over a tailored, blue-and-white striped linen dress. Even after sitting for the last half hour, she still looks pressed as a leaf in a middle school science notebook. Her artful swoops of short hair make me think again of cutting mine off, but I know mine hangs limp and straight whether it’s three or thirty inches long. At least with a little length I don’t look like a wannabe British pop star.