Coastal Corpse

by Marty Ambrose

  “Wanda Sue, can I talk to you?” A deep, masculine voice wafted over to us from the doorway.

  Nick Billie. I didn’t even need to turn my head.

  She swallowed audibly as she hauled herself upright. “I swear I didn’t do anything wrong.”

  I took my place next to her for moral support.

  “I’m not saying you did.” He rested one hand on the hip of his jeans, thumb hooked around the belt loop. “But you’re the one who found Bucky, so I need your statement, which I assume you’ve already given to Mallie.” His glance moved to me. In spite of his frown, my heartbeat quickened.

  “Just the barest details,” I supplied, holding my landlady’s elbow. “And, for the record, I came here as her friend, not as the Observer’s Senior Reporter.”

  “Admirable,” he said dryly, then turned back to Wanda Sue. “Why don’t we go inside? It’s starting to heat up, and you can get out of the sun.” He gestured with his right hand for her to follow him. “Would you like a glass of water? I know it was quite a shock for you to find Bucky.”

  “Oh, yes, thank you.” She heaved a sigh of relief and smoothed an imaginary stray hair from her shellacked beehive. “And I didn’t mean to shoot off my flare gun in the town-hall meeting. It’s just that Travis and Bucky—God rest his soul—wouldn’t stop fussin’ at each other.”

  I groaned inwardly. Of course, she had to mention the flare gun first thing.

  “I’d heard.” Nick’s mouth quirked upwards. “Probably about ten people who attended the meeting texted me pictures—and selfies.”

  I started to follow, but Nick pointed at the yellow crime-scene tape. “By the way, thanks for forwarding the ‘plant killer’ text message to my e-mail. I was out of the office, so Ms. Ellis somehow got an automatic reply from me, and she’s already followed up with two e-mails.”

  “Trying to get you to investigate the herbicide?”

  He shook his head. “She wants to file a complaint against you.”

  “What?” For a moment, I completely forgot about Bucky’s death. “She barged into the office this morning, making all kinds of crazy statements, and then went berserk when I wouldn’t do a story on her dying plants.”

  “She says you insulted her, and she wants to sue for damages.”

  “B-but that’s not true . . .” My motor mouth sputtered out like a stalled engine.

  “Really? Maybe you have a different idea of what defines truth. At any rate, I sent her the island attorney’s name.” With one last, ironic glance at me, he ushered Wanda Sue up the stairs.

  What was he getting at? I started to follow with a protest when I spied Wanda Sue looking over her shoulder with fear-filled eyes, and I snapped back to the reality of her trauma. I gave her a little thumbs-up before they disappeared inside.

  As for Nick . . . I knew he liked Wanda Sue, so I figured that he wouldn’t grill her too hard. She’d just been at the wrong place at the wrong time, and Bucky’s death could’ve been an accident anyway.

  But what about that little “truth” dig Nick had tossed at me? Was he referring to Liz, or something else? Did he know I was engaged to Cole and had neglected to tell him?

  A ridiculous thought. Still . . . a small twinge of excitement tugged at me, causing my cheeks to grow flushed.

  Fanning myself, I slid back onto the settee and recalled with a stern inner voice that Nick had never actually said how he felt about me—ever.

  I’m a journalist; I need to hear the words.

  “Nick loves you,” Madame Geri spoke up, reading my thoughts yet again. But this time, it probably wasn’t any of her psychic messages or my panicked doodles; my red face betrayed my inner musings.

  “I don’t want to talk about it. I’m engaged to Cole,” I replied in a firm voice. “And we’ve got bigger issues right now than my chaotic love life.” I pointed at the medics carrying emergency equipment out of the building without haste. “I guess there’s no need to rush now Bucky is . . . gone.”

  “He’s crossed over,” Madame Geri said in a sober tone, “on a different kind of journey.”

  “One he wasn’t expecting,” I added.

  “No.”

  “You can’t hide from fate, and you can’t hide from your true feelings.” Madame Geri pursed her mouth as she sat back on the wicker chair, her elbows propped up on the arm rests. “They have a way of coming out when you least expect them.”

  I sighed. She wouldn’t give up on her new-age psychoanalysis until we had an in-depth girl talk about my future. “I don’t know what I feel. Cole and Nick are ‘enigmas wrapped in riddles,’ and I can’t seem to figure out which one of them is the man of my dreams. Or at least the guy most likely to live happily ever after with my fast-food/coffee addiction.”

  “Hmm.” She tapped her chin. “Has it ever occurred to you that you’re the ‘enigma,’ and the men in your life are trying to figure you out?”

  “But . . . nothing is hidden about me. I put everything out there, mainly ’cause I don’t have the ability to keep secrets—from anybody. You know my story: I have an Airstream at the Twin Palms RV Park, my doggy companion is a teacup poodle named Kong . . . oh, and don’t forget I have a geriatric handyman with a crush on me—mainly because I have an unerring way of finding his dentures. End of the Fascinating Mallie Monroe Life History. Book closed—finis.”

  “More like in medias res.” She smiled. “In the midst of things.”

  “Drop it, will you?” I stopped fanning myself. “I have to help Wanda Sue right now. She just found a dead body and is being questioned by our island cop probably as a ‘person of interest.’ If there’s something suspicious about Bucky’s death, she could be a suspect down the road.”

  “She didn’t do it. We both know that.” Madame Geri gazed out across the island foliage, and I followed her glance over to the thick growth of saw palmetto and cabbage palm trees, peppered with creeping sea-grape vines. Coral Island had a rural feel to it, with large open spaces of untouched tropical vegetation. They made the island seem bigger than it was—and feel emptier when the snowbird tourists flew north. It would seem really empty if Wanda Sue weren’t around.

  “For once, I agree with you. Wanda Sue is a total cream puff about hurting people, animals, plants, anything. We have to force her to use pest control at the Twin Palms so our trailers and RVs aren’t overrun with palmetto bugs.”

  “Bugs have to live, too.”

  Uh-huh. “I don’t suppose Bucky has given you a hint as to what happened to him?” Call me desperate, but I was willing to give the spiritual grapevine a try if it meant I could help Wanda Sue.

  “It’s not like a telephone call,” Madame Geri said dryly. Still, she closed her eyes briefly. “All I’m getting is ‘water,’ from Bucky.”

  I shot her a twisted smile. “Big surprise there since he died in a fish tank.”

  “Sometimes spirits don’t know what happened to them.”

  “The Great Beyond is fascinating, but I need to get a plan to help Wanda Sue.”

  Madame Geri focused her gaze back on me. “What should we do about it?”

  “There’s no ‘we.’ Wanda Sue called me—”

  “She called me, too—”

  “But this is my story; you’ve got that dead-president-on-aviolin headline to work on. Let’s not put that Dummy’s Guide to waste. Remember?” I held my hands in front of me, as if reading an imaginary book. “You promised to help me out at the Observer this week.”

  She clamped her mouth into a tight line.

  “Madame Geri, please let me handle this one. Wanda Sue is my best friend on the island, and I want to be there for her like she has been for me. When I drove onto Coral Island two years ago with fifty bucks in my purse, ready to start my new job at the newspaper, Wanda Sue let me park my Airstream at the Twin Palms for free until I had my first paycheck. She has a big heart to match her big hair, and I wouldn’t have survived without her.” Damn skippy. “Besides, I’m going to need the violin story since
Bernice’s bicycle bandit isn’t likely to be much of anything.”

  “Well, tip number two in the Dummy’s Guide says to go with ‘your gut,’ and the Old Abe apparition is almost guaranteed Pulitzer Prize material.” She gave a quick nod of her head. “It’s probably best that I put my energy there, but you’ll need help on the Bucky McGuire story. Ask Bernice.”

  “I can handle it.”

  Wanda Sue stumbled down the town-hall steps. “My life is over. I’m going to jail!”

  Maybe I spoke too soon.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  I rushed over to steady Wanda Sue as she reached the bottom step.

  “I’m going to the slammer. The big house.” Her eyes widened in desperation as she grasped my shoulders. “But I can’t go to jail! I have a daughter and a grandson. Who would look after Kevin if his granny was a jailbird?”

  “You’re not going to prison.” I tried to reassure her as I pried her clawing fingers from around my collarbones.

  She gulped. “I . . . I . . .”

  While she struggled for words, I steered her in the direction of the settee again. She collapsed and dropped her head in her hands.

  “What happened in there?”

  “Nothing happened,” Nick Billie said in an even voice as he strolled toward us. “I took Wanda Sue’s statement and then told her if she fired off a flare gun again, I would put her in jail for disturbing the peace.”

  “See?” Wanda Sue’s head came up again. “Jail!”

  “It was only a w-a-r-n-i-n-g.” I spelled out the word, enunciating each consonant and vowel. “I agree with Nick. You shouldn’t even be carrying a flare gun in your bag.”

  Wanda Sue nodded mutely, retrieved the gun from her purse, and handed it over to Nick.

  “We haven’t established that there is anything irregular about Bucky’s death yet,” Nick continued, glancing down at Wanda Sue with a mixture of kindness and amusement. “Your statement was to give facts only about how you found the body and what you did after that.”

  Wanda Sue tugged on his shirtsleeve. “You mean I’m not going to be on a chain gang?”

  “Hardly.” Nick’s mouth twitched, as he tried to keep a solemn expression intact while patting her hand. “You haven’t been accused of anything in Bucky’s death.”

  “Thank the good Lord, ’cause I could never wear one of those funny orange jumpsuits that make you look like a turnip in a sack.” Wanda Sue visibly shuddered as she released Nick’s arm. “You know, I pride myself on having a Dixie-gal fashionista sense.”

  “You could be on the cover of Southern Belle magazine.” I crossed my fingers behind my back to ward off bad juju at the lie.

  She managed a tremulous smile and started to heave herself off the wicker settee. But as she straightened, her legs began to quake, and she slipped down again. Quick to notice, Nick steadied her descent with a firm grasp on her elbow.

  “Take it easy, Wanda Sue,” he said.

  “Oh, my. All of this uproar has taken more out of me than I realized.” Her breathing became labored, causing her chest to heave in and out like a massive balloon inflating and deflating. “I feel like I’m going to faint.”

  “Paramedic, over here!” Nick shouted as he motioned over a young man who was walking toward the emergency vehicles, pushing an oxygen tank.

  “Yes, sir.” Instantly, he was at Wanda Sue’s side, checking her pulse and heart rate. “Your beat is a little rapid, ma’am, but your heart sounds fine. Just sit still for a few minutes while I check your blood pressure.”

  Wanda Sue sat quietly, taking in a few deep breaths as he cuffed her with the blood pressure strap. Eventually, her legs stopped shaking and her chest calmed to a steady rhythm.

  “I . . . I’m okay now.” She exhaled in another long, audible breath. “I must have hyperventriculated from the fuss.”

  The medic looked at me, and I silently mouthed, “hyperventilated.”

  He nodded as he peeled off the strap. “Your blood pressure is normal, but I don’t think you should drive, ma’am. Is there someone who could take you home?”

  Wanda Sue waved a hand in dissent. “Oh, I don’t think I need that. Besides, my car—”

  “I’ll drive her home.” Madame Geri’s voice was firm, final, and none of us protested. After some complicated group maneuvers to get Wanda Sue upright and settled into Madame Geri’s old-style Volvo, I waved them off. Then I suddenly became very aware that I’d been left alone with Nick Billie.

  I looked down at my Birkenstocks and kicked a shell fragment that had been crushed into the grass. It flew all of about six inches. Then I toed another one that went a bit farther, trying to think of something to say.

  Nothing witty, clever, or even mildly droll came to me. My motor mouth was stuck in neutral—and the hushed quiet stretched between us like silent chain lightning, jagged and electric.

  I cleared my throat and finally mumbled something about the unpredictable weather.

  “They’re finishing up inside,” Nick said, ignoring my pathetic attempts at chitchat. “You know, I went easy on Wanda Sue when I took her statement, but I had to warn her about the flare gun. It’s protocol.”

  “I know.” Looking up, I still avoided his eyes, searching around for a neutral comment that wouldn’t dig my landlady in any deeper. “Just for the record, she wasn’t the only one who was acting like an idiot during that meeting. All of the town-council candidates took part in the screaming match, especially after the fish handout began—”

  “That had to be Bucky,” he interjected.

  “ ’Fraid so. He had a whole cooler full of tilapia in his truck, I guess, and saw them as his ticket to being a shoo-in for town council.”

  “People have leveraged political success on less. I heard that he and Travis went at it pretty hard.”

  “That’s an understatement.” I gave a short laugh, then grew serious again as I thought of Bucky’s body inside the town hall. “Granted, Bucky acted like a complete jackass, but he seemed awfully healthy to die so . . . suddenly.” I paused. “Do you think someone—”

  “Killed him in the tilapia tank?”

  I nodded, waiting for Nick to berate me for hinting at foul play, as per Madame Geri’s suspicion, and I couldn’t say I’d blame him. It was way too soon to even speculate.

  “I don’t know. It’s possible.”

  “Huh?” I did a double take at his unexpected response. “Wait a minute. You’re not irritated that I suggested someone might’ve murdered Bucky before you’ve even done an autopsy?” Had I entered a bizarro world?

  Now it was his turn to give a short laugh. “Even I have to admit the circumstances of his death are . . . unusual.”

  “And?” I prompted. He knew something.

  “There were signs . . . of blunt trauma to the back of Bucky’s head.”

  “Could the fall have caused the wound?”

  Nick shook his head. “It looks like he went down face first.”

  “Okay. Not likely.” I tried to imagine various scenarios about how Bucky could’ve taken a konk to the back of the head. It didn’t take me more than a few moments to rule out almost everything but a deliberate attack. “If someone did kill Bucky, you’ve got plenty of suspects from the town-hall meeting—except Wanda Sue, of course.”

  He didn’t respond.

  “I thought she was off the hook.” I chewed my lower lip as anxiety spurted through me.

  “She is . . . for now.” Nick frowned and raked a hand through his dark hair. “You probably don’t know this, but Wanda Sue dated Bucky a few years ago, even though he’s a good ten years younger—”

  “What?”

  “It happened before you came to Coral Island. They had a bad breakup, and Bucky said Wanda Sue had tried to attack him with a frying pan.”

  “She never cooks,” I protested.

  “Maybe not, but he filed a complaint nevertheless,” Nick countered. “Later, Bucky started seeing a woman who lives in Paradisio, and things ble
w over. But all of that history means she might have a motive to turn violent on him. At the time, I had to take Bucky’s complaint seriously, no matter how out of character his allegations seemed for Wanda Sue.”

  We fell silent again.

  “Speaking of couples,” Nick finally spoke up, “when are you and Cole going to get married?”

  My attention immediately snapped back to Nick.

  “So you know about my engagement?”

  “Yep.”

  I was tempted to avoid the conversation and return to my shell kicking, but that wouldn’t help things much. “Look, I’ve known Cole for a long time. We lived together in Orlando before he took off to find himself in the wilds of New Mexico. When he showed up here last summer, we decided to be . . . friends. But, then, he asked me to marry him two weeks ago, and I sort of said ‘yes.’ ”

  “Sort of?”

  I met his glance squarely. “I’m thirty and not getting any younger.”

  “What about you and me?”

  My heart fluttered. “Is there a ‘you and me’?”

  “I thought we were edging there, until I showed up at your trailer, and you were two-timing me with Cole. No. Three-timing me, if you count Pop Pop.” A ghost of a smile touched his face.

  “I don’t count Pop Pop. Besides, it wasn’t like you and I had a thing going,” I said, feeling the waves of heat rise to my face. Okay, I confess: I’d planned dinner dates with both Cole and Nick. But hadn’t I been punished enough by having to eat dinner with Pop Pop, while watching him drop his dentures into a water glass? “You’re busy with your job twenty-four-seven and, if you come up for air, it’s usually to gripe at me for interfering with an investigation.”

  “All true.” He moved closer and lifted a lock of my red hair; he twisted it around his finger. “But you have to admit that you, too, can be maddening.”

  I put my hand over his. “Maybe we’re just not meant to be together.”

  “Do you really believe that?” Nick’s voice deepened. Then he grasped my palm and moved it to his mouth. He placed a kiss in the soft spot beneath my thumb, and my pulse skittered.