Just the Facts, Volume 1

by Edward Kendrick

  “Neither do I. This was a stupid idea,” Hunter sighed. They canvassed the area in silence, covering one end of the pine trees and then another. After several minutes, Hunter spoke. “We should head back. I don’t see anything that would help us. I know he’s dead. But not why?”

  “Sorry, babe.” Dimas walked close to Hunter, and patted the top of Hunter’s back. Hunter turned and hugged Dimas.

  “Let’s go,” They headed back but then heard voices.

  “Shit, someone’s coming.” Dimas grabbed Hunter and they crouched behind a large saw palmetto bush, big enough to cover a Volkswagen beetle. Dimas let out the breath he was holding when they both saw it was a runner jogging past, music blaring from the headset. Sunlight now peaked. Hunter stood, but Dimas placed his hand and forced Hunter behind the foliage. He placed a finger to his lips to quiet Hunter from protesting.

  A woman’s face appeared in the grassy area where Hunter and Dimas had scoured minutes before.

  “That’s Ida,” Hunter whispered into Dimas’ ear.

  Ida focused her attention on the grass. Bile welled up inside Hunter. There was no reason for Ida be there unless…unless she killed Carl. Or knew someone who did.

  Hunter moved to stand up and confront Ida, but Dimas’ strong, painful grip on his arm forced him to maintain a crouched position. Hunter’s head spun. He couldn’t believe Ida, a friend of his mother, could even be involved. Was there a clue he missed about Carl and Ida? It’d be one thing if Ida cheated on her husband with Carl, but murder? Was it her lipstick on the glass by Carl’s bed?

  Ida knelt on the grass and scoured it, looking left then right, right then left. She did this several times, finally placing her hands on the grass where Carl’s body had been outlined.

  Hunter’s head lurched while he fought the urge to vomit. His throat burned; the bile surged and he could taste bitterness. Hunter almost fainted. He steadied himself and silently counted. He needed to breathe. He wanted to breathe, but his chest constricted. Fortunately, Ida moved away, scared off by another jogger. As soon as she moved far enough away, scared off by the runner, Hunter moved forward and placed his hands on the ground. He breathed in, but he couldn’t stop it, and soon he vomited.

  When he was done, Dimas offered to help him up. “Everything okay?” Dimas asked. “Are you sick?”

  Hunter appreciated Dimas’ concern. “I got dizzy. Thinking about Ida, Carl and his death…I don’t know. I’m a little queasy but I’m okay.”

  “How’d you vomit any food? We haven’t eaten anything.”

  “I couldn’t sleep so I went downstairs when you went back to sleep. I had a couple of muffins and some Cheetos from the mini-snack bar they had.”

  “Well, let’s get out of here,” Dimas said.

  Hunter nodded and accepted his help getting up, but something bright shone on the ground after he stood. The sun hit something at the right moment. Underneath the edge of the saw palmetto bush was something shiny. Hunter avoided the puddle of his own vomit and moved towards the shiny object. He crawled underneath the brush, avoiding the sharp saw palmetto petrioles, and the pointy leaflets of the palm. His fingers pawed through the soil and when his fingers encountered a round object, he pulled out an earring.

  “What is it?” Dimas asked.

  Hunter crawled backwards, careful not to get his eye poked by parts of the palm that spread out. He held up what he found in his hand. “You don’t think this is what Ida was looking for?”

  Dimas eyed the object. “An earring?”

  “Looks like a clip on too,” Hunter said.

  “Does Ida wear clip ons?”

  “Anyone can wear a clip on,” Hunter said. “How do we know its Ida’s?”

  “We don’t.” Dimas motioned Hunter to follow him. “Let’s get out of here. It’s getting lighter out. We don’t need that.”

  “Okay,” Hunter said. He stuck the earring in his pocket and followed Dimas. It couldn’t be sheer coincidence that there was an earring not far from where Carl’s body had lain and Ida looking for something off a well-known path, that couldn’t be coincidence either. Then Hunter thought about all the foot traffic present during the TPC tournament. It could be just coincidence. The clip on could have belonged to any number of people, possibly using this way as a shortcut between holes. “I think we need to find out if this earring was Ida’s.”

  “And how are we going to do that?” Dimas stopped and faced Hunter. “Are we going to show Ida the earring and confront her? We have no proof it’s hers. I think you should turn it to the deputy or whichever detective is in charge.”

  “And then they’ll ask us why were near the crime scene. What do we say to that?”

  Dimas nodded. “And what do we say to that? My boyfriend thought he was one of the Hardy Boys?”

  ‘I just couldn’t wait for the police to tell me what happened.”

  Dimas shook his head. The hotel loomed closer. “We didn’t gain anything by going there you know. We don’t know why or how Carl died. Whether it’s an accident, or someone killing him.”

  Hunter’s head hung low. “I know. But we can’t stop trying.”

  * * * *

  Dimas rolled his luggage to the door. He still didn’t know if Hunter was able to go back and retrieve his personal items from the hotel room he had shared with Carl. He unfolded the courtesy newspaper that had been shoved underneath the hotel door, and folded it back up. The local paper headline about Carl’s death shouted in bold letters: “Sudden Death.” Without hesitating, he pulled open the garbage can and threw the newspaper away. He didn’t want Hunter to see it. If Dimas wanted to read about it later, he would try an online copy.

  He’d already packed whatever was left of Hunter’s clothes in Dimas’ suite.

  A gentle opening of hotel room door and a moment later, Hunter was in the room.

  “Well?” Dimas asked.

  “Hotel security said the police hadn’t released the room yet, so I can’t get any of my personal belongings or remove anything. I’m not sure if they’re finished. I saw black powder in Carl’s room. I was able to look and see what they’ve done but just for a few seconds. They asked where Carl’s golf clubs were because they weren’t with the hotel, and I told them I wasn’t sure.”

  “Why would they want to know that?”

  “I have no idea. I left them with the bell captain after the tournament. I can’t believe they’re missing.”

  “Maybe Carl took them before he—”

  “Died?”

  “I haven’t checked the house to see if he went back. With all the construction and renovation, I’d be surprised.”

  Dimas scratched his head. “Why would Carl renovate the place if he was heavily in debt?”

  “I don’t know. A lot of things right now don’t add up.”

  Dimas kissed Hunter on the cheek. “Let’s go to your house. We can plan the memorial from there. I can look for Carl’s clubs.”

  “Well, I know what they look like. I was with him when he got his newest set, so I should be the one looking for it.”

  “You’ve got a lot on your plate. I’m just trying to help.”

  Hunter laid his head on Dimas’ shoulder and sighed. “I know, I know. Maybe we can figure it out when we get to the house.”

  Dimas scanned the room to make sure he hadn’t left anything behind. “Come on, let’s go to your house.” They took the elevator and walked across the lobby. Dimas kept his eyes on the ground. From the corner of his eye, he caught Hunter doing the same thing. They were both ignoring the guests in the lobby. They were almost through the doors out into the open when a small crowd rushed them. “Shit,” Dimas said under his breath.

  “Mr. Kanashiro, care to make a statement about Carl Mullins’ death?” one reporter asked.

  A microphone was shoved near Hunter, with a different reporter asking, “Aren’t you Carl’s stepson? When did you hear about Carl Mullins’ death? Where were you when you heard about it? Has the sheriff’s office
told you anything about his death?”

  With his free hand, Dimas forcibly grabbed Hunter’s arm and dragged him towards his car down the hill. The reporters hadn’t given up, waiting for one of them to comment and walked briskly behind them, easily keeping pace. Hunter almost tripped on Dimas’ luggage that he was hauling.

  “What’s your relationship to Carl Mullins? To his stepson?”

  Dimas stared straight into the camera, and moved towards the microphone and without thinking blurted his answer. “Hunter’s my boyfriend. How about letting him time to grieve!” Dimas said it loud enough for the other reporters to hear and for a brief second nothing happened other than cameras clicking, taking photographs. By then Hunter and Dimas were close to Dimas’ Tesla.

  “Please allow Hunter to grieve!” Dimas shouted this time while the cameras gave birth. Dimas caught a few of the media double-checking to make sure they caught the last two sound bites. Luckily, the news reporters moved away from the car, expecting maybe for Dimas to peel away like a bat out of hell, and before they knew it, after Dimas threw his rollaway in the back seat, Dimas was down the block, heading toward Hunter’s house. He reached Hunter’s house in less than ten minutes since traffic was moving. As soon as Dimas pulled up in the driveway, he shut off the power.

  “I can’t believe what just happened.” Hunter sat in his seat, staring straight ahead.

  “That was crazy.” Dimas pounded the top of his steering wheel. “You would’ve thought hotel security would have been able to keep them away.”

  “No, it’s not that. You just came out to the whole fucking world! How about letting me decide with you, and not you deciding for me!” Hunter’s voice cracked.

  Dimas avoided staring at Hunter whose face was red as a fire hydrant. “I’m sorry. I wasn’t thinking. I know we talked about it. Yeah, I’m sorry it came out…It just happened.”

  Hunter opened the car door and left the gull wing up. Dimas pushed a button and Hunter’s door closed. He closed his eyes and counted backwards from twenty. He hated it when Hunter had his self-described display of Irish temper. They’d had lots of fights in college when they lived together. Stupid fights like how to load the dishwasher, or when Dimas was accused of checking out another guy at a pub, or at the gym.

  Usually the flare-ups were short-lived.

  He sighed and got out, rounded the corner, and then Dimas approached the partially reconstructed porch. The turned the doorknob, but it was locked. “Hunter!” Dimas yelled. “Come on, open the door!”

  From the back of the house, Hunter shouted. “I’m back here!”

  Dimas ran around the old Victorian style home, concerned with the wary tone that Hunter had when he yelled. Dimas was careful not to trip over some plywood that had been dropped on the ground by the construction crew. Hunter stood by the door that led to the kitchen. Off to one side was the split garage. “What are you doing back here?”

  “I forgot my key…actually, I think my keys are back in the hotel. I didn’t get a chance to grab them from Carl’s room. There’s a spare key we keep back here, and I got it. But look!” Hunter pointed to the doorjamb. The door had been forced open. They could see pieces of wood poking from the latch, and scratch marks that looked like they were gouged by some metal object. It could’ve been a crowbar, maybe a screwdriver that was used. Something that forced the back door latch.

  Hunter’s eyes were wide from fear. Dimas never saw this look before, and he didn’t like it. Without thinking, he pushed the door open and stepped inside. Sunlight entered through the windows and illuminated the kitchen. They walked as quietly as they could. Hunter grabbed two knives, handing one to Dimas.

  Nothing was touched in the kitchen that he could tell, or the dining room. The living room opened up the front door and sunlight brightened the whole room. They both stopped at the stairs that led up to the bedrooms. Unlike the hard wooden floors below, the stairs and the second floor were all carpeted. Dimas had been over enough when Carl wasn’t around to worry about the third step that creaked. Hunter remained quiet and close. As soon as he got to the second floor, a thud came from the master suite.

  Dimas tiptoed to the open room. Carl’s bedroom was a mess. A honeycombed shade moved with the wind, and forced it to rattle against the pane. A brass amp plugged into a dresser lay on the floor, the lampshade crumpled but still intact.

  “That shouldn’t be open,” Hunter said.

  Dimas walked to the window to close it and pulled a small piece of flowery fabric that had been caught in the corner. He raised the honeycomb and peered out. He didn’t see anything outside but the partially finished porch below.

  He closed the window and latched it, and without thinking, stuffed the piece of fabric in his pocket.

  “I think someone’s been here,” Hunter said.

  The closet doors were open, as were the dressers. The top mattress had been pulled so the box spring beneath it was partially exposed. “Let’s go check out the other rooms first.”

  Dimas followed Hunter. The spare bedroom was untouched. Hunter’s mom used it before she passed. An old hemodialysis machine still remained in the corner on top of a counter.

  Hunter’s room was next door. The queen-sized bed occupied most of the room. It had one nightstand and a couple of bookcases peppered with trophies and knick-knacks. Several autographed baseballs were perched on the top of one bookcase.

  “Looks okay to me,” Hunter said.

  The sewing room was smaller than all the other rooms. Unused since Hunter’s mother died, Dimas was about to head back when the floral print of one of the rolled yards of fabric caught his attention. He stepped closer toward the yard, stacked on top of other ones. A Singer sewing machine sat on a table next to the fabric, and in the sunlight, Dimas noticed the layer of dust on the top of the Singer 1725. He pulled the fabric yard and then fished what he found in the window.

  “They match!”

  “Why would a piece of that be in Carl’s window though?” Hunter asked.

  “Could be anything. Does he dust using old clothes?”

  Hunter snorted. “Dust? Carl does any domestic? He still has a housekeeper come in once or twice a week from the Merry Maids or something like that.” Hunter walked to the closet of the sewing room, and opened it. It had nothing but piles of fabric, spools of colored thread stacked neatly built in cubbyholes.

  It wasn’t clear to Dimas why Carl didn’t want to make any changes to this room. He knew it wasn’t his place to say anything.

  Dimas followed Hunter to the spare room, where Hunter’s mother spent her last weeks. He threw open the closet there to find it empty. “We donated a lot of my mother’s clothes to charity. Ida took some too when she was having a yard sale and gave the sale proceeds to Carl.”

  “Why does everything circle back to Ida?” Dimas asked.

  Hunter’s shoulders sagged. “I don’t know. They were good friends. My mom and her. They got closer in the last few months of my mother’s life.” Hunter paused to fish out his cell from his shorts. He showed the screen to Dimas. Unknown number. He shrugged and answered. “Hello.” Hunter waved Dimas to come closer.

  Dimas moved closer to Hunter to hear as Hunter lifted the receiver an inch from his ears.

  “We logged in everything from the hotel and want you to take a look at a list to see which one was your stepfather’s and which one’s yours. Do you need anything right away?” The male voice asked.

  “No sir, just my keys. I left behind some clothes, but I don’t need them this minute.”

  “Are you still in town?”

  “Yes, deputy. We’re here until the memorial. I’m still planning it. Looks the funeral home can do it but not tomorrow, but the following day.”

  “Good, I’ll have a patrol car bring your things around, so I will send you an email of the evidence log so you can tell me which ones are your personal items. If nothing turns up, we’ll release your personal items to you.” There was static on the phone and then the deputy c
ame back on. “Have you heard from the investigating detective yet?”

  “No sir.”

  “Apparently, he’s been away the last three days with family for vacation, but he’s back to work. You should be getting a call from him today. I talked to the bell valet that was on duty the morning Carl died. He said your stepfather grabbed the clubs and walked with them, headed to his car. We checked his car, nothing in the trunk, and there weren’t any clubs at the scene. Do you have any idea where Carl would’ve have put them?”

  “No, but deputy, someone broke into our house—here in Ponte Vedra, and it looks like they were rummaging through Carl’s bedroom.”

  The cell was quiet for a moment. “What’s your address? Did you touch anything?”

  “Yes,” Hunter said. “We came in to make sure no one was inside, to see if anything was taken.”

  “We?”

  “Yes, Dimas Kanashiro and me,” Hunter said. “He actually pushed the door open since the kitchen door and been pried.”

  “I’ll send the patrol car now and email you the list too. Don’t touch anything else.”

  “Yes, sir,” Hunter said.

  “And one other thing…the coroner thinks the death is suspicious. It looks like less of an accident and more intentionally inflicted.”

  When the deputy hung up the phone, Hunter walked to his old bedroom, and sat on the edge of the bed. Dimas sat next to him and put his arm around him. Hunter’s face was ashen after hearing the news from the deputy. Hunter put his shoulder on Dimas, and when Hunter’s quiet tears stopped, Dimas wiped Hunter’s face with his shirtsleeve.

  Chapter 6

  Hunter turned his face away from the window and the lightning that lit up the room, and spooned next to Dimas. Florida monsoon-like afternoon rains had moved in, and he wanted to be in the comforting embrace of his lover. He didn’t even want to look at Dimas’ watch to see what time it was. He guessed they had fallen asleep for thirty minutes. Forty tops. The weather radio had come on downstairs off and on, alerting them to rain bands moving through. Before they both napped, Dimas confirmed that the rain bands would completely moved off from the Atlantic and inland by midnight.