The Sandcastle Murders

by K. E. Warner

  Raheem’s left eye tweaked upwards, making a question mark of his brow. “I just wanted to speak to him about one of his clients. There was a car accident just outside of the lot yesterday. Were you aware of that?”

  “No. Wait, I heard something on the news; I didn’t realize the accident was so close to the dealership. I didn’t see anything, and I guess if it didn’t happen on our lot, no one would mention it.”

  Raheem pulled out another business card and handed it to her. “Okay. I’ll wait for your husband then. Please ask Mr. Belcher to call me as soon as he returns. Nice to meet you.”

  He touched the front of his hat, leaving her looking perplexed, as he exited the dealership.

  Chapter sixteen

  Donna looked around the sea of people spilling out from the bandshell into the small field across the road. The organizing committee for the Sandcastle Festival accomplished quite a coup in hiring a popular island band to headline the annual bandshell event. Rivers of lawn chairs spilled to the small field across the road.

  As Donna placed her chair between Magda and Charles, she heard Elaine chattering with Dave behind her while he nudged Alice’s wheelchair into place. Donna had included Henri Ducharme on her guest list, and to be polite, his son Chris. She didn’t express it, but hoped Chris was unavailable. With Magda and Raheem engaged in a tiff, she didn’t want to see Chris anywhere near Magda. He was a little too swarthy for Donna to feel comfortable about putting the two together – even incidentally.

  She dropped a small blanket on the ground beside Magda. “I’m saving space for Henri.” Her smile so sweet, no hint at how mean she felt not saving space for Chris.

  Saori tangled her leash as she spun around Charles’ chair. She raced from one side to the other, sizing up other dogs attending the event. Keeping her little head high and her tail perked, she greeted other pups with a yip when they walked by with owners looking for a space to sit. It wasn’t often she got to enjoy the company of so many people and dogs. Her little tail worked overtime, a bobbing ball of fluff, to show her pleasure.

  Donna imagined Charles counting the minutes till they could leave. He never enjoyed crowds, but agreed to attend when she asked him. Progress. She couldn’t call him her beau, but he appeared to enjoy her company occasionally. At least he behaved as though he did.

  As the band played, the joyous, energetic rhythm of Celtic music reverberated through the crowd. People didn’t stay in their seats. Small children jumped between the feet of grandparents, groups of teens gathered in ambiguous circles, clapping a beat while hopping from foot to foot. Imitation Riverdancers closed their eyes, kept their hands still at their sides, while they attempted to step in time to the music.

  Donna took Charles’ hand and pulled him, aware that getting him up and dancing was more than he agreed to. He shrugged his hand from her grasp in a show of displeasure. Just as that happened, Henri Ducharme appeared as if by elfin magic. He took her elbow and guided her toward the bandshell to join the crowd of dancers. Donna kicked off her high heels with a cheeky flick and watched Charles’ face drop. A slight breeze whisked through her hair as Henri spun her as if she had wings, an ethereal being acting out the tale told by the music.

  The music ended and the crowd applauded Henri and Donna’s performance. She glanced at Charles, hoping for approval, but his face twisted as if he had a mouthful of lemon juice. The fiddler pointed to the couple with her bow, then bent at the waist in a grand gesture. Charles’ jaw dropped and Donna’s face flushed pink. When Henri returned her to her seat, she collapsed into the chair beside the frozen-faced Charles.

  “Henri, thank-you. That was fun. I need to practice dancing more. Charles, would you care to dance in a bit?”

  He tried to respond above the music to the next song, but all she heard was a mumble, and so she responded, “Pardon me? I’m sorry. The music. It’s loud.”

  Charles yelled at the moment the music paused, “I. Can. Not. Dance.” He felt the eyes of the crowd on him and, in that brief second of silence, he lost all colour in his face.

  The music started up again and Donna leaned very close. “We shall get lessons. You and I shall get lessons. Together.”

  For the first time that evening she saw tiny smile lines wrinkle around his eyes, and the corners of his mouth nudged upwards. He turned to her and she read his lips. “Yes. Perhaps.”

  Donna’s chest puffed as she wiggled into her chair. She was certain that was progress.

  Magda leaned over the back of Donna’s chair and pointed at the tall, muscular, blonde man making his way over to the group. It was enough to burst Donna’s bubble as she watched Chris Ducharme’s lengthy strides bridge the distance between them. Donna grabbed Magda’s hand and squeezed. Magda squeezed back – an acknowledgment of the message, but Donna knew it was not an agreement.

  Chris fixed his eyes on Magda and jerked his head to the left. She stared back, lips pursed and brows furled. He raised his chin toward her and jerked it to the left again. Donna’s lip curled as her thoughts tumbled from her mouth. “Like a caveman about to drag you off by the hair.”

  She stared after her friend leaving with Chris and realized the Neanderthal routine was a success.

  ◆◆◆

  “This is the last time I respond to such an ignorant invitation.” Magda glared at him and spat, “What do you want?”

  “To talk to you. You may recall someone interrupted us the last time we spoke. Can I make it up to you – come paddleboarding with me on Sunday? The weather will be great for it – hot, sunny, slight breeze.”

  Now, this sounded interesting. Magda wanted to try paddleboarding, but hadn’t made the effort since she arrived on the island a year ago. But she didn’t want to reward Chris for his behaviour. She stood staring at him, afraid to stop glaring for fear he’d consider himself forgiven. “Possibly. Where?”

  “Spider Lake. It's quiet, with no boat wake, and we can paddle around without strong ocean currents – you’ll bring a picnic and I’ll bring beer.”

  “Oh. Okay, so what you want is someone to bring you food for your exercise. I’m not biting.” She clenched her jaw, trying not to laugh at the pun.

  “No. I thought it’d be fun, and we’d get acquainted. And you’d understand I’m not the jerk you believe me to be.”

  She took three deep breaths, needing to see him squirm, but he remained poised. She didn’t have plans. And she did want to learn to paddleboard. “Okay. I’ve never done it, so I suppose your penance will be coaching me. Where do we get boards?”

  “I’ve got two great Blackfin inflatable boards. They’re triple-layer composite PVC. I love’em because they’re lighter than the quad layered type.”

  Magda understood nothing of what he said, but the boards sounded expensive. He must be a great fisherman, able to afford luxuries like that – and two. She nodded approval. “Okay. How’s eleven? I need to be back by four. I’ll bring lunch and you get what I make. Not even interested in your likes and dislikes.”

  He extended his hand and she ignored it. “Okay. Where will we meet?”

  “At Ocean Castles – I’ll go to your dad’s place.”

  Out of the corner of her eye, she caught Donna packing up as Charles’ fingers rummaged in Saori’s mouth. Her friend’s movements, sharp, frantic exaggerations of themselves. “I have to go, Chris.” She ran toward her friends without waiting for a response.

  As she made her way toward the front of the stage, Dave raced past her with Alice looking as though she was flying in the wheelchair

  “What’s wrong?” Magda called after him, but heard no response.

  Magda reached her friends just in time to catch a lawn chair as it fell from Donna’s arms. “Let me take those,” she yelled above the music as she took the other chairs from her friend’s tentative grip. Tucking them under her arms, she watched Donna hurry off, bouncing on her toes.

  Donna performed an odd ballet as she raced off, trying to avoid impaling her heels in the dirt.
Charles closed the distance between them, stumbling behind Donna while watching Saori’s puppy dog eyes. Saori slumped in his arms, and his eyes never left the pup’s.

  Magda followed, confused and concerned. She passed Charles and hurried to catch up with Donna. “What’s wrong?”

  “Alice dropped pills on the ground and we think Saori ate them. She swallowed before anyone could stop her. Dave yelled to get her to the vet at once. He didn’t explain the kind of pills. I called the twenty-four-hour clinic. A vet is meeting us.” By the time they reached the car her breath exploded in short gasps.

  Charles hadn’t spoken, but clutched Saori. Magda placed the chairs against the car and opened the car door for Charles before tossing the chairs into the trunk.

  “Can I hold Saori while you do your seatbelt?” Charles just shook his head, clutching the puppy closer to his chest.

  “Okay, well, I’ll put it on for you. No sense tempting fate, Charles. Donna, I’ll meet you at the vet. Are you okay to drive?”

  Tears streaked Donna’s face, and she nodded.

  ◆◆◆

  By the time Magda arrived, Saori was in the emergency room with the doctor performing gastric lavage. Charles’ shrunk and crumpled form occupied a chair. Donna pressed against him, her arm draped over his shoulders.

  “Is she going to be okay?”

  Donna’s response had the stoic sound of a mother comforting a child. “Yes, we think so. She’s having her stomach pumped.”

  Charles raised his head. “I recall the story of a remarkable War Dog Memorial. In Michigan. A pet cemetery, begun in the 1930s, but after World War II they expanded it to honour war dogs. The first dog buried there was a Doberman Pinscher, Sergeant Sparks. A messenger dog who survived the war on four different islands. The dog attended the memorial’s dedication… Someone poisoned him a year later.”

  Magda wondered at the story until the last sentence – that was the connection, the poison. This anecdote must be Charles’ way of processing what happened.

  After a few deep breaths, he continued, “They buried Sergeant Sparks at the base of the monument. It’s expanded today. You know they have listed every one of the four thousand, two hundred and thirty-four war dogs who served in Vietnam. Incredible. So many hero dogs.”

  The three sat in silence. Magda contemplated the enormity of service performed by dogs until the doctor bounded into the waiting room, a smile covering his face.

  “Well, the pup will be fine. She didn’t have time to digest enough of the pills to do serious damage – it’s to your credit for getting her here in time. We’ll monitor her tonight. You folks head home and sleep. I know it won’t be a good night’s sleep, but you’ll appreciate it more than sitting up in these chairs for hours.” The doctor tapped the arm of a waiting room chair.

  Charles’ body softened with the doctor’s words, and he conveyed his gratitude with simple sincerity. “Thank you.”

  With Magda on one side and Donna on the other, Charles shuffled to the car and climbed into the passenger seat. To no one in particular he sighed, “I’m so lonely.”

  Magda caught a slight smile on Donna’s

  Chapter seventeen

  Raheem’s siren roared past the train of RVs heading up island for a relaxing weekend getaway. He sometimes wondered at the number of vehicles the ferries transported to and from the island. As he entered the park, he turned off the siren and followed the road along the ocean to the parking lot. He leapt from the car, and jogged to the children’s playground, wary of the growing crowd of onlookers and making mental notes of all he witnessed.

  Raheem was guided to the crime scene by the boom of Sergeant Webb’s voice as he gestured to gawking bystanders. “Folks, move on back. Please move back. Officer, get the playground taped from the grass over there, to the surrounding sidewalks.” A young officer jumped at the command. The area in question was the site of the children’s playground where sandcastle competitors coached children in the art of building beach sculptures.

  Over the years Raheem enjoyed watching the artists teach kids how to compact a sculpting medium through the careful layering of sand and water. It was a lesson in patience for most children. They were eager to fill buckets with sand, and he’d laugh to see them plopped upside-down, sand spilling from the sides of a misshapen mound. The kids needed to be patient enough to follow the recipe: add sand, pour water through the frame, watch it settle, add more sand, pour water once again, and so on. The reward was a solid, easy to sculpt, form.

  “How did we find the body?” Raheem asked another officer. He stared out at the taped off beach, amazed at the number of people standing behind the barrier.

  “Children digging in the sand uncovered what they thought was the plaster of a human hand. They couldn’t remove it, and when some older kids dug around the hand for better leverage, they discovered a forearm and an elbow. See the little guy over there.” The officer pointed to a boy with his arms wrapped around a man’s neck, tears soaking his tiny t-shirt. “Smart little guy. He deduced it was a buried sand sculpture and ran to his parents for help. That’s when their fun ended. Dad called us as soon as he got a closer look.”

  And now all the onlookers knew a body lay buried in the playground.

  Raheem watched the father console his son and shook his head. He wished dad would take his son away. Buying him an ice cream would be an excellent start. Distract him.

  He turned to the growing expanse of land being confined by yellow caution tape. Determining the size of a crime scene depended on guesswork at first. Investigators preferred to err on the side of caution and extended the scene so far that onlookers needed binoculars to see. But cell phones, with their high-powered lenses, were streaming the event regardless – no doubt they had transmitted the busy sandpit around the world thousands of times by now.

  Minutes after the tape was in place, a forensics tent blocked the view of gawkers. Raheem perused the grounds for several minutes before he ducked under the tent flap. A wall of heat and the musky smell of a half dozen officers held him back from the sandy grave, but he watched as a body emerged. The process required care to protect evidence. The tiny particles of stony sand made it a tough job, and teams of police used hand sifters. Forensics specialists bagged everything from cigarette butts, to coins, to what appeared to be animal feces.

  Sweat trickled down Raheem’s forehead into his eyes, and he stepped out of the tent to open a flap. With a bit of ocean breeze, the gap offered fresh air for those inside.

  A familiar voice greeted him as he squinted into the sun. “Raheem, Raheem.” His heart pounded at the sound of Magda’s singsong call.

  He turned to see a thin arm waving above the heads of the growing crowd. As he walked in her direction, members of the crowd rumbled and called out to him, ‘Officer, is it a mass grave?’ ‘Are more people buried?’ ‘Shouldn’t the police be telling us there’s a serial killer on the loose in Stey Cove?’

  He lifted the tape in front of Magda and gestured her inside the space, away from the imaginative group surrounding her. She followed him until he stopped twenty feet from the tent, turning to face her with a frown. “Hey, Magda. What brings you here?”

  She smiled back. “Hey Raheem, I see you’re busy. What’s going on? I’ll presume, for starters, you haven’t found a mass grave and that a serial killer isn’t on the loose.”

  “Nice. Answering a question with a question. Well, no, it doesn’t appear to be a mass grave. Not sure how those folks leap to the idea there’s a serial killer on the loose, but gossip often involves magical thinking.”

  Her eyes narrowed at him like little laser beams. “Yes, that’s my point when I share facts with the public. They deal with facts, not fantasy. So who is it? What happened?”

  “Not sure who it is yet. Sand is embedded in the skin from head to toe. It looks more like a sculpture than a human, but we’re dusting it off. May not identify the body right away.” He watched her scribble notes. When she met his eyes, he cha
nged the subject. “Listen, Magda, I’d like to meet for a coffee or…“

  “Wait, wait, wait. This conversation is business Raheem. We don’t mix business and pleasure, if I recall. You want to ask me on a coffee date? Call me.”

  His expression fell flat till it emerged as the unreadable face of an officer at work. “Okay, good. Yep. I’ll do that.”

  “Should I hang around? I mean to see if the body’s identified.”

  “We won’t release that right away – not till next of kin are notified. Check-in later today and I’ll do my best to give you more details.”

  Magda smiled and nodded her thanks before walking back to the yellow tape and slipping under it to become lost in the crowd.

  Chapter eighteen