Coastal Corpse

by Marty Ambrose

  “Huh?”

  “Never mind. Just be happy that you haven’t had to deal with her sister and my boss, Anita.”

  We trooped over to my truck and, happily, Rusty started up on the first crank, and we were on the road in no time. “So, what did you find out about Destiny?”

  Joe Earl pulled out his iPhone again. “She’s in her late twenties, was born in Tampa, went to the University of South Florida. Majored in business. After her graduation, she went to work for Shoreline Bank and moved to the Coral Island branch three years ago when she was promoted to assistant manager. The basics were pretty easy to find since she’s on LinkedIn.”

  “Sounds pretty run of the mill.” We passed Deputy Brad, still pushing the tricycle along the bike path. I honked and waved.

  He didn’t look up.

  “It gets more interesting when you go to her Facebook page; it has a picture of her in a black leather cat suit, holding a whip and a pair of handcuffs.” He flipped open the file and I caught a brief glance of Destiny the Catwoman. “She’s got a slightly different name—Dusty Ransford—but I cross-referenced her background. It’s her.”

  “Wow. Maybe that’s the getup her bank makes her wear to drum up mortgage applicants. It’ll sure get people’s attention,” I said, still dazed as I remembered her buttoned-up appearance at the town-council meeting. Was no one on this island what they appeared to be at first sight?

  “The caption says ‘Halloween, 2012,’ but it looks to me like she might be one of those dominatrix chicks. Leather, whips, handcuffs—the whole nine yards of bondage. Maybe she’s into all that junky-gunk.”

  “And maybe it was just a Halloween costume that she just never took off her Facebook page.” I flexed my hands on the wheel and tried to focus on the road, attempting to expel the image of Miss Whiplash from my mind. “Anything else on Destiny besides the ‘kinky boots’ stuff?”

  “Just that she had an aging mother who lived on the island; she died ten months ago.”

  “Sad.” I frowned, promising myself that I’d call my mother this evening. “I have to give you credit for some speedy research. It usually takes me half a day and a couple of phone calls.”

  He shot me a “duh” glance. “Everything is out there if you know where to look—and have a smart phone.”

  “Guess so.” I looked down at my “dumb phone” resting on my lap. Maybe it was time to upgrade and take a course on “Investigating with Your iPhone,” especially if I wanted to keep the title of Senior Reporter. “Anything suspicious that might link her with Bucky’s death?”

  “Not so far.”

  “At the town-council meeting, Destiny seemed kind of straightlaced. You know, a manager type. I still can’t quite see her with Bucky, and I certainly can’t see her as some kind of thrill-seeking dominatrix chick.” It didn’t fit.

  “I’m just reporting the facts.” Joe Earl slipped his iPhone back in place.

  I pulled into the Shoreline Bank parking lot, and cut off the engine.

  “Thanks.” I gave him a brief smile.

  Joe Earl and I climbed out of my truck and headed for the building. A smallish, wooden structure, it had been painted pale green, the color of cash, with dollar signs stenciled on the stuccoed walls. A huge banner graced the entrance with palm trees and more dollar signs in the background, saying “Welcome New Customers!” Big bucks decorating. I had a mad moment of thinking I’d open a savings account, but then I realized that I had no money to put in one.

  A woman came barreling out, head down, and ran smack-dab into me.

  I stumbled back and realized it was . . . Liz Ellis.

  “You!” She pointed her finger at me. Her bleached blond hair had been scraped up into a messy bun, and she wore an ankle-length, black tank dress with a flip-flop embroidered on the front. The wild expression in her eyes had been replaced with . . . sadness.

  “Hi, Liz,” I said with a halfhearted little wave.

  “Are you following me? Snooping around?” she demanded. “Because, if you are, I’ll just add it to my list of grievances that I’m going to give the island attorney when I sue you.”

  “Of course not.” Cray Cray. “Joe Earl and I are here on newspaper business.”

  She gave him a contemptuous once-over. “Now you’re embroiling some kid in your half-baked journalism—”

  “Hardly,” I cut in before she could say something else that would really tick me off. “And just to show you there are no hard feelings, I rethought your story idea on the plant killer and would like do an interview—”

  “Not today.” A tear slid down her cheek. “I’m too broken up about Bucky.”

  “Bucky?” Joe Earl spoke up.

  She shot him a venomous glance. “None of your business, kid.”

  My radar perked up instantly. Was it possible that Liz’s angry entries on Bucky’s website hadn’t just been about her dissatisfaction with his landscaping services?

  A woman scorned? Could she be?

  I reached out a hand and touched her arm. “Liz, everyone on the island is shocked over Bucky’s death, especially those people who knew him well.”

  She swiped at the tear with the back of her hand. “He was a good man—in spite of his flaws.”

  Nodding, I continued, “Are you talking about his landscaping? I know you weren’t completely satisfied—”

  “Hah! You have been snooping and prying into my life.” She narrowed her eyes and knocked my hand away. “I’m adding ‘invasion of privacy’ to my potential lawsuit. My relationship with Bucky is my business.”

  “I wasn’t suggesting—” I began.

  “You’ll be sorry that you tangled with me. I have rights.” Liz stalked off.

  As she drove off in her bright red Lincoln Town Car, Joe Earl let loose with a whistle of disbelief. “I guess that explains the e-mails.”

  “And then some.” The Lincoln also screamed luxury, V8 power, and nineties-style status. I would’ve pegged her as a Chevy Impala kind of woman, but my car psychoanalysis wasn’t always foolproof.

  “Looks like there might’ve been something between her and Bucky,” Joe Earl commented.

  “She’s definitely going on our list. The trick is going to be getting her to talk without her slapping a restraining order on us.”

  The automatic glass doors slid open, and we strolled into the bank. The interior boasted a low-key, island atmosphere with mint-green paint, lots of wicker furniture, and potted plants. Even better, a coconutty smell permeated the room, light and pleasant, along with low-volume reggae music.

  I was definitely going to open a savings account here, once I had a few bucks set aside.

  Scanning the room, I noted two customers at the teller’s window and an office to the left with a sign that read “Destiny Ransford—Assistant Manager and Mortgage Officer.” Moving in that direction, I motioned for Joe Earl to follow. Destiny met us in the doorway, wearing a navy suit, pumps, and a phony smile, but her eyes were rimmed in red. She’d been crying—a lot.

  Over Bucky?

  Yet another woman distraught over the island Lothario’s death?

  “Hi, Destiny. I’m Mallie Monroe, Senior Reporter for the Observer.” I shook hands with her. “I don’t know if you remember me or not, but I was covering the town-council meeting yesterday for the newspaper?”

  She gave a shrug and murmured a “Nice to meet you,” but I could tell she didn’t know me from the proverbial man (or woman) on the moon.

  “Oh, and this is my . . . uh . . . assistant, Joe Earl.” He waved his iPhone.

  “If you could spare a few minutes, could I ask you some questions about yesterday?” I tried to keep my tone upbeat and chipper. “I’m writing a story on the upcoming election and town-council candidates.”

  Destiny hesitated for a few moments, then ushered us into her office and closed the door. She seated herself behind the mahogany desk, back ramrod straight, hair tucked firmly behind her ears.

  Joe Earl and I slid into comfy, l
eather seats across from her that, unfortunately, made odd squishing sounds as we settled into the cushions. Trying not to squirm, I pulled out my Official Reporter’s Notepad. “So, could you tell me why you decided to run for public office?” Keep it light. Keep it simple.

  She cleared her throat. “I just wanted to give back to the island community, and show everyone that I care about local issues and local people . . .” Her voice trailed off, and I suppressed a yawn. Talk about a canned response. I could shelve that one behind the peas and carrots.

  “What did you think of the debate?” I continued.

  Her mouth tightened. “I’m not going to dignify what happened with any comment, except to say that I’ve never seen such an unprofessional display in my life—”

  “From all of the candidates?” I cut in, scribbling in my note-pad.

  A shadow passed across her face. “Well . . . most of them.”

  I paused. “Even Bucky McGuire?”

  She burst into tears.

  Joe Earl and I exchanged glances.

  “Ms. Ransford, I assume you know that Bucky was found dead at the town hall only hours after the council meeting,” I said gently.

  She gulped and nodded.

  “Were you . . . close with Mr. McGuire?”

  “Bucky and I were planning to get married at the end of the year.” Tears rolled down her cheeks as she opened a desk drawer and retrieved a huge diamond engagement ring. The diamond was flanked by blue stones. “See this? A two-carat, marquis-cut diamond surrounded by sapphires. He gave it to me four months ago, but we decided to keep it private until after the election. Bucky McGuire was the love of my life.”

  “I’m very sorry for your loss.” A pang of sympathy tugged at my heart—and a twinge of guilt that I hadn’t protected my own ring as carefully.

  “Me, too,” Joe Earl added.

  She dropped the diamond back in the drawer and locked it.

  Smart woman.

  “There is no reason why Bucky should be gone. He was in the best of health—his prime.” Her tear-stained face fastened on me. “The island rumor mill has it that Bucky’s death was suspicious. Is that true?”

  “I can’t say for sure.” Okay, that part was true. “But, if you think there might’ve been foul play, do you know of anyone who might’ve wanted to . . . harm Bucky? Aside from his public argument with Travis Harper at the town-hall meeting, did you ever hear anyone threaten him?”

  “Not really.” Destiny’s brows knitted in puzzlement. “Most everyone liked Bucky. He had a thriving business because he was so honest. That’s one of the things I so admired about him.” She sniffed and dabbed at her cheeks, then stopped. “Now that you mention it, though, there was a client of Bucky’s who’d started harassing him about the landscaping around her house. She didn’t like the types of bushes that he planted, or she wanted her grass cut an inch lower—that type of thing. The woman was completely bonkers and wrote some vicious comments on Bucky’s blog.”

  “Liz Ellis?”

  “Yes, that’s her name!” Destiny’s face kindled in anger. “She’s some rich bitch with a big house in Paradisio who wanted more than her trees trimmed, if you get my meaning.” The anger turned to an expression of disgust. “She’s the only one I can think of, except for that horrible Wanda Sue, who’s my opponent in the town-council race. Ugh. That piece of trailer trash was practically stalking Bucky after he broke up with her a couple of years ago. She seemed to calm down, until that flare-gun incident. Maybe she was even aiming for Bucky.” Destiny crushed the handkerchief as her fingers curled into a fist. “She may have still been harboring hatred for Bucky because he rejected her.”

  “I’ve talked to her, but thanks for the input.” I bristled inwardly at her comments, both about Wanda Sue and the merits of trailer life. My landlady was not a stalker, and not everyone who lives in a trailer is “trash.” My sympathy for Destiny went down a notch. “I guess most people have secret aspects to their lives. Things that they normally hide from others, but maybe put on Facebook.”

  Her eyes cut to mine. “You’re talking about that Halloween picture.”

  “It looks . . . provocative,” I said.

  “Sure does,” Joe Earl chimed in.

  A bright red flush spread across her cheeks. “Bucky liked the picture, but it was a Halloween costume, that’s all, I swear. I wanted to take it off Facebook, but he didn’t want me to. I guess that was a mistake.” Anger fading, she began to sob quietly again.

  “I’m sorry to have to ask these questions so quickly after losing your boyfriend.”

  Her shoulders shook as she rocked back and forth. “You don’t know what that’s like to have the person you care about most in the world just gone one day. The pain is almost too much to bear after losing my mother not long ago.”

  Joe Earl and I sat quietly, while Destiny cried. “Trailer trash” comment aside, it was heartbreaking to see someone in such a deep hole of grief.

  “If only I’d been there with him, maybe I could’ve prevented his death,” she said, slumping back into her chair.

  “You have no way of knowing that,” I said, shaking my head. “Until the police know exactly what happened, it’s probably best not to speculate.”

  “I guess so.” She covered the top part of her face with her hand and sighed deeply, sorrowfully.

  I rose to my feet. “Maybe we should leave you to your grief right now.” She was too distraught to give us any useful information at the moment, and I couldn’t blame her. Her whole world had just been turned upside down, and she was still in a state of shock. “If you can think of anything else that you’d like to share with me, just give me a call.” I placed my card on her desk. It was one of the new ones on which I had penciled in “Senior” above “Reporter.”

  Destiny grasped my hand before I could move away. “Bucky was a good man and, if it turns out that his death wasn’t by natural causes, promise me that you’ll help find who did him in.” Her fingers tightened around my skin. “Justice needs to be served.”

  “I promise to do what I can.” Sliding my fingers out of Destiny’s grip, I gave her palm a little squeeze of reassurance before I let go. “Take care.” I signaled for Joe Earl to exit with me. Once back in Rusty, I let out a shaky breath.

  “That was intense,” Joe Earl commented, setting his iPhone on the dashboard.

  “And then some.” I leaned back against the headrest, om-ming my “muggatoni mantra.” Over-the-top emotion wasn’t my thing, to say the least, especially when it involved the untimely death of someone. I flashed back to the scene at the town-hall meeting yesterday, conjuring up the memory of Bucky’s good-ole-boy grin as he handed out the free fish.

  Sad. Sad. Sad.

  “Destiny sure seemed torn up.” A shadow passed over Joe Earl’s young face. “You think it was real?”

  “She was hurting, that’s for sure.” Starting up the engine, I reflected on the look in Destiny’s eyes as she glanced at the diamond; it was as if her world had suddenly lost all glimmer of hope. “But she may also know more than she let on. I mean, she was pretty quick to lay blame on Wanda Sue.”

  “Yeah.”

  We fell silent. Whatever Destiny’s motivations, it seemed fitting to pay respect to that kind of loss. “Pitched past pitch of grief,” as the poet Hopkins would say. I’d never really understood those words completely before, but I think I did now. Losing someone so suddenly created a gaping, black hole right in the middle of your life—a midnight of darkness and despair.

  Silently, I turned left on Cypress Drive and noted the palm trees pass by in a blur of swaying fronds. The breeze had kicked up again, even though the temperature had turned almost balmy.

  When I reached the island center, I checked my Mickey Mouse watch (a souvenir from my tenure there as a cast member—translation: theme-park drudge); it was nearly noon. “How about we hit that new island diner to throw off the funk?”

  “You’re on.”

  I headed south f
or another five minutes, and then spotted the retro Florida postcard-like sign, Cresswell’s Retro Diner, and turned in. The parking lot was already crowded, but not crazy busy, which meant we could probably get a stool at the counter. The place had just opened, and it served my favorite meal of all time: a three-inch thick, old-fashioned, artery-clogging cheeseburger smothered in every condiment known to humankind.

  Too bad I wasn’t still on my restaurant critic gig. I would’ve given them five stars and glowing review for the thick-cut fries alone.

  As I reached for the door handle, my cell phone rang.

  Aunt Lily’s name came up. “I have to take this, Joe Earl.” As I flipped open my phone, I didn’t even have time to tell my great-aunt “Hello” before she started in.

  “Mallie, have you heard about Bucky?” she exclaimed. “I went to my quilting group this morning, and they told me that he keeled over in the tilapia tank at the town-hall building, and Wanda Sue found his body. I can barely believe it, even as I say it. Is that true?”

  “Yes. I was going to call you this afternoon, but I just haven’t had two minutes to myself.” I filled her in on the events of the last twenty-four hours, hedging around any confidential details. “I’m working on a story about Bucky’s death but right now, it’s just initial interviews. I hate to ask this, but did you happen to pick up any tidbits from the quilters about him?”

  “Not really.” Her voice still sounded shaky. “A couple of them used his landscaping services and had no complaints. Some of them knew him socially from the Paradisio Food Pantry. I guess he donated pretty generously. And a couple of quilters who attended the council meeting yesterday raved about the tilapia giveaway. They said the fish fried up nice and crispy.”

  Damn. I knew I should’ve grabbed some for myself.

  “I think he would’ve given Travis a run for his money for the council seat,” she continued. “I heard a lot of the quilters say they were going to vote for him, in spite of the fracas at the meeting.”

  “I’m not surprised.” Especially because he seemed to have a high female-appeal factor.

  “It’s all been quite a shock, and I’m just sorry that my last conversation with Bucky was so negative, but what could I do? He was beating his opponent with a fish carcass.” A tinge of regret shaded her words.