Coastal Corpse

by Marty Ambrose

  They nodded mutely.

  As some of the audience members popped open more beers, I took a seat in the second row behind Sam. I tapped him on the shoulder and whispered, “I hope you don’t have to get too tough on that podium group.”

  “Lily can handle them,” he murmured.

  I gave a short laugh.

  “We’ll start with Wanda Sue.” Aunt Lily pulled out a stopwatch and clicked it. “You have three minutes. Begin.”

  “Hi, y’all.” My landlady stood up, keeping her cha-cha’s restrained. “Everyone on this island knows me. I’m Wanda Sue, I own the Twin Palms RV Park, and I have ‘Free Beer Friday’ seafood dinners every month at the Twin Palms beach.”

  A wave of approving murmurs passed through the audience.

  She beamed a hundred-watt smile. “I won’t bore you with a lot of details about zoning odorances or bike paths. Just know that I’ll always vote with my conechance and that I can stand up for what’s right. Vote for me, Wanda Sue.” She sat down and patted the back of her beehive.

  More approval from the audience in spite of Wanda Sue’s malapropisms.

  “Okay. Thank you—I guess.” Aunt Lily checked the stopwatch again. “Destiny, would you like to speak now?”

  “Yes, Madame Chairwoman, I would.” She rose and read a long, tedious statement about zoning ordinances, protected wetlands, and bike-path resurfacing. Same old. Same old. Town-council drivel. After thirty seconds, most of the audience had flipped out cell phones to check their messages.

  Wanda Sue silently mouthed “Booooorrring” in my direction but, luckily, Destiny hadn’t noticed it.

  Stifling a chuckle, I started texting Sandy about the town-council meeting when Aunt Lily clicked her stopwatch. “Time’s up.”

  “But, I’m not finished,” Destiny protested.

  Aunt Lily showed her the watch dial. “Three minutes. That’s it.”

  Destiny’s mouth thinned, but she said nothing as she took her chair again and folded her arms across her chest. Bucky tossed a sympathetic glance in her direction as he heaved his stocky frame out of the chair. “With all due respect to Ms. Ransford, I guess it’s my turn.”

  Destiny gave a little nod—and something flickered behind her eyes. Gratitude?

  “Keep it within the time limit,” Aunt Lily warned him.

  He nodded, then turned to the audience. “I’m Bucky McGuire, and everyone who votes for me gets a free landscaping job from my company.”

  All of the cell phones in the room snapped shut.

  “That’s an illegal statement,” Travis exclaimed. “He’s trying to buy votes.”

  Bucky broke into a wide, good-old-boy smile. “I’m not giving ’em cash—just some help with their yards. Now, that’s what I call being a good neighbor.”

  “You can’t promise free services as a condition of your candidacy,” Aunt Lily said in a long-suffering voice as she rubbed her temples. “Please stick to the election issues and explain why you want to be on the town council.”

  Bucky stood there silently for a few moments as his good-ole-boy affability dimmed. Then he bowed his head, and a few moments of silence passed. “I wanted to be a councilman ’cause my dear daddy was one years ago, and I wanted to follow in his footsteps. He was as ‘country as cornflakes and gooder than grits.’ A man doesn’t get better than that.”

  People nodded.

  He looked up, teary-eyed. “I’m just sorry I didn’t do it while he still lived on Coral Island, before he got that disease that caused him to shrivel up like . . . roadkill in the sun.” With a sob, he dropped his head to his chest, continuing to extol the virtues of his father. Feeling my own emotions well up, I started to jot down some of his speech, but then I spied him scanning the audience with quick, furtive glances. Was he playing us?

  A cane tapped me on the shin and I turned to my left. Everett had taken the empty seat next to me while I was fixated on Bucky’s emotional monologue.

  “I had to come back for the Bucky McGuire Show. Not that I’d ever vote for that buffoon,” Everett scoffed as he propped the cane in front of him and rested both hands on top. “By the way, his daddy lost weight because he was on the Ozone Diet.”

  “Really?” It was Sandy’s favorite, and the sole reason she was able to fit into her wedding dress.

  Everett grunted.

  Bucky sobbed harder as he added, “Then Daddy moved to Miami Beach with a mighty fine lady who’d been his nurse through his time of trials. They were soul mates.”

  “She was a cocktail waitress at some dive that catered to oldies.” Everett snorted.

  Chest heaving as if to keep himself from breaking down, Bucky managed to add, “If I get elected, I want to help the island get back on track. We need to build more low-income houses, make sure our youngsters have parks to play in, and not allow bad offshore-oil drilling to destroy our beautiful island.”

  My mouth dropped open. Bucky actually said something that made sense. Quickly, I jotted down a few notes for my article.

  Wanda Sue mopped her eyes, and Destiny clapped. Even more surprising, Bucky garnered some support from his fellow candidates—except Travis, of course. He was still glaring at Bucky.

  “And I brought in fresh tilapia for our islanders here today.” He reached down and held up a string of limp, reddish-colored fish, their black eyes frozen in a glassy stare.

  “I changed my mind. You’ve got my vote!” Everett gave him a thumbs-up.

  Bucky’s tears ceased as the crowd cheered in approval.

  “You can’t elect someone just to get free fish,” I hissed at Everett.

  “Of course I can. I don’t have anything in the house for dinner.”

  “He’s still trying to influence voters with freebies. That’s unfair!” Travis stood up, his face contorted in fury. “And those are my fish. You stole them from my tilapia farm. No one can eat them.”

  “Wrong again,” Bucky said with a sneer. “I bought them from another island fish farmer who supplies the town hall’s aquarium over there.” He gestured at a large, bubbling fish tank, complete with an artificial beach and a tiny lighthouse. A dozen or so red tilapia swam around, flashing their silver tails around the hollow shells and phony sandcastles.

  “But it’s still a cheap, sleazy maneuver,” Travis spat out, brows drawn in a thunderous line. “You’re a disgrace to this entire election process.” I marveled at his ability to maintain the southern gentleman-speak in the face of Bucky McGuire’s slimy campaign tactics.

  “I’m just giving needy people a little extra food.” Bucky slapped the string of fish on the table. “Who could object to that?”

  Travis just glared at him.

  A few members of the audience rushed up to grab their freebie.

  “Take it easy, everybody. I’ve got more in my truck.” Bucky started to snap fish off the line and hand them out, sometimes two at a time.

  “Hell and damnation!” Travis’s face turned even redder, his refined routine obviously gone with the wind. “This has got to stop. It’s wrong.”

  “Says you.” Bucky shrugged off the insult and kept dispensing fish.

  “You can’t do that in here, Bucky,” Aunt Lily ordered in a loud voice. “This is not a seafood market.”

  Bucky ignored her, too.

  “Those fish stink.” Wanda Sue held her nose and made a gagging sound. “How long ago did you buy them?”

  “Point of order.” Travis raised his finger. “I want Bucky McGuire thrown out of this meeting right now!”

  “Make me,” Bucky retorted; then, he turned to Wanda Sue. “There’s nothing wrong with these fish. They’ve been in my truck only a few hours.”

  “In a cooler?” Wanda Sue pressed as she picked up a fish and sniffed it.

  “Nah.” Bucky waved his hand in dissent. “Just wrapped ’em in the Observer, but it was some kind of outdoorsy story, so it’s okay.”

  That would be my “Edible Seed” article from last week.

  Wanda Sue sh
ook her head and tossed the fish on the table. “I’ll pass.”

  Destiny nudged the fish with her index finger and wrinkled her nose. “I’ll pass, too.”

  Aunt Lily banged her gavel again, while Travis kept spewing insults at Bucky, and Bucky kept handing out tilapia. None of the spectators paid attention to Travis’s protestations because they were too occupied in helping themselves to the free fish.

  I snapped a picture with my cell phone for my article, filled with reluctant admiration over Bucky’s gimmick; he’d found an election loophole that seemed totally inappropriate, but somehow irresistible. I eyed the fish myself; they didn’t look half bad for a fry-up.

  “All right. I’ve had enough of this travesty!” Travis grabbed the gavel out of Aunt Lily’s hand and began to pound on the fish, causing soggy pieces to fly in all directions.

  People ducked and grabbed for their fish.

  “Stop it!” Bucky shouted as he seized Travis’s arm. “You’re smashing ’em to bits.”

  Travis grinned maniacally and hammered the tilapia even harder. Roaring an expletive and rearing back his arm, Bucky aimed a punch at his opponent’s chin. He missed and tipped forward with the force of his intended blow. As he struggled to regain his balance, he rammed an elbow into Travis’s stomach, which caused the older man to double over and yelp.

  Miraculously, Travis didn’t drop the gavel.

  I watched in helpless fascination with my fellow islanders (who were now transfixed with the drama) as Travis, from his hunched-over position, swung the gavel against Bucky’s legs, rapping him hard on the knees a couple of times. Bucky winced with each blow.

  “Call the police,” I finally called out to no one in particular as I flipped open my cell phone again. Unfortunately, the battery was now dead.

  Uh-oh.

  Somebody was going to get hurt.

  A few other people pulled out their cell phones again but, instead of punching in 9-1-1, they started video recording the fight and taking selfies with the podium behind them.

  I dashed toward the podium, but Sam was already en route ahead of me.

  Travis had straightened and was thumping Bucky on the chest with the gavel. Countering with his own attack, Bucky kicked Travis in the shins, causing him to hop from foot to foot, as he tried to evade Bucky’s cowboy boot toe pokes. Travis finally dropped the gavel. Instantly, Bucky reached down to retrieve it, but Travis kicked the gavel across the podium out of reach. Snarling, they cuffed, smacked, and pummeled each other with open fists, not doing much damage but managing to knock over the table and scatter the fish all over the floor.

  “I’ll kill you!” Bucky yelled out.

  “I’ll kill you first!” Travis retorted.

  They wrestled each other to the floor and rolled around, coating each other’s clothes in fish guts.

  Ick.

  “Break it up!” Sam ordered, his shoes slipping on the slimy residue.

  “This is just insane.” Destiny rose to her feet, holding up her iPhone. “I swear that I’ll call the police if you two don’t stop the craziness right now! Do you hear me? Bucky? Bucky?” Her voice rose to almost a high-pitched scream as she said his name.

  She might as well have been whistling “Dixie” for all the attention they paid to her threat.

  Bucky grasped a tilapia carcass and whacked Travis with the tail.

  “Help!” I cried out.

  Amid the chaos, a flare gun went off and everyone froze.

  CHAPTER THREE

  “We’ve got a shooter!” someone yelled out.

  I hit the deck, folding my arms around my head in a protective huddle, the hard, cool tile pressing against my face. Everyone else did the same, and the room turned deadly silent as we all waited to see if there would be a second flare.

  Arms and legs quivering, I stayed down and held my breath, but no more firings echoed through the room.

  Who had done it?

  Travis or Bucky?

  My heart pounded a terrified staccato in my chest at the thought of either one of those crazy men possessing any type of firearm.

  Please don’t let them maim or injure me. I’m a bride-to-be!

  As my checkered life passed before my eyes (I really needed to deal with this whole “marriage” thing and decide once and for all whether to get a trousseau or new beau), I strained my ears, but didn’t hear another shot. Slowly, I tilted my head to the side and peeped one eye open.

  Everett lay on his back, clutching his cane to his chest and mumbling curses.

  Motioning for him to stay down, I turned my face to the other side and saw Bucky and Travis on the floor of the podium, heads tucked down. Sam had thrown himself over Aunt Lily and held her in a protective embrace. I couldn’t help the ghost of a smile; he was always her protector, no matter what.

  Then I scanned the rest of the podium and found only one person standing: Wanda Sue, holding a black-handled gun over her head, with the barrel pointed upwards.

  A wave of anger surged through me, replacing the fear.

  Leaping to my feet, I moved forward and shouted, “What the hell are you doing? You could’ve hurt someone.”

  “Whadaya mean?” Wanda Sue looked at the weapon, holding it out with a sheepish grin. “This little ole thing couldn’t harm a flea; it’s a flare gun.”

  “It could’ve still caused a burn wound on someone if you’d missed your mark.” I pointed at the ceiling where she had fired the gun. A black, smoky stain had appeared where the flare had drilled into the stuccoed ceiling. “These things can be lethal.”

  Most of the audience members had risen to their feet and were videotaping the ceiling damage.

  “Hey, I was just trying to stop those two numskulls from smashing up things worse; they’re plum loco.” Wanda Sue stared at the charcoal-colored mark, then shrugged and jammed the weapon back in her large, leather purse. “Okay, so maybe firing a flare gun in the middle of a town-council meeting wasn’t the best thing to do, but I couldn’t think of any other way to get them to stop beating on each other.”

  “The bigger question is, what are you doing carrying around a flare gun in your purse?”

  “Oh, honey, self-protection.” She waved off the question as if I’d asked why she carried lipstick in her bag. “You can’t be too careful, even on Coral Island—especially with that bicycle bandit on the loose.”

  Oh, yeah, a flare gun’s going to help.

  “Please don’t tell Nick Billie. He’ll have my hide, for sure.”

  “He’ll probably find out.” Sarcasm edged out my anger as I swept my hand across the roomful of amateur videographers.

  “Wanda Sue, I intend to take immediate legal action against you.” Travis rose with an ashy-colored face and fish-spattered suit. “For attempted murder.” He began to brush off slimy fish scales with an indignant toss of his head.

  “Me, too.” Bucky had managed to make it to his feet, sweat pouring off his face. “You were aiming for me, you crazy woman!”

  “Pffffft.” Wanda Sue rolled her eyes. “It was only a warning shot, and I aimed upwards. If I’d wanted to hit you, I would have, trust me.”

  “That’s a confession!” Bucky shouted. “Wanda Sue tried to attack me!”

  “Attack?” she scoffed. “That’s big talk coming from you after everyone saw you slapping Travis silly with fish guts.”

  Who could argue with that?

  “Witness!” an elderly woman from the audience yelled out. “I caught it all on my cell phone.”

  Wanda Sue tossed the woman a smile.

  Bucky muttered something under his breath as he moved over to where Destiny still sat on the floor.

  “I’m calling my lawyer, too,” Destiny finally piped up, brushing her hair back from her face with a trembling hand as Bucky helped her stand. “You can’t just go around popping off a flare gun. It’s against the law.”

  “Maybe, and maybe not.” Wanda Sue dug around in her purse and whipped out a piece of paper. “See this? I’v
e got a permit to carry a concealed weapon. And if I feel threatened, I’ve got the right to defend myself.”

  “At a fish fight?” Destiny grabbed her files and clutched them to her chest. “I’m outta here.”

  “I’m with you,” Bucky agreed, then turned to the audience, most of whom were packing up to go. “Let’s not all leave on a sour note. I’ve got more free tilapia in my truck.”

  Everyone clapped.

  “More bribes,” Travis said through gritted teeth as he shook the last tilapia bits off his suit sleeves. “I won’t have it, I’ll tell you.”

  Aunt Lily snatched up the gavel and banged it on the table once. “This meeting is over!” She sagged against Sam’s chest and whispered something for his ears alone. But I could sort of guess at the gist of her words.

  “You are not giving out any more fish,” Travis said.

  “Try and stop me,” Bucky retorted.

  Travis’s eyebrows drew together in a thunderous line. “Oh, I will. Make no mistake about that.”

  Shrugging, Bucky strode to the exit, dogged the whole way by Travis, who kept posing arguments about the illegality of handing out free fish. Several aging islanders trooped out after them, grinning and clutching their cell phones, obviously ready for another photo op. Destiny exited through a side door.

  Everett tapped me on the shin with his cane. “I guess the second act starts in the parking lot.”

  “I’ll pass—sounds like it’ll be a repeat of act one.” Tossing my notepad and pen in my hobo bag, I then heaved it over my shoulder. “In fact, the whole town-council meeting isn’t much of a story, but at least Wanda Sue’s flare gun spiced it up a bit, even though I almost broke my elbow as I dove for the floor.” I rubbed my right arm and winced when I hit the sore spot.

  “That’s why they say local politics are a battlefield,” Everett said as he limped past me, brushing a lone tilapia out of his way with a flick of the cane. “Call me a sentimental fool, but I’m casting one of my votes for Wanda Sue. A woman who carries a flare gun won’t take guff from anyone once she’s in office. My kind of person. In fact, I might invite her over for a date and fish cook-up.”