Murder in Mystic Cove

by Daryl Anderson

  “You’re right, Addie. The dead know nothing, but we remember.”

  I was sorry for that. Then I asked Anita what she wanted of me.

  “You know.”

  When I woke I was bathed in sweat, the dream clinging to me. I was not superstitious, but the living ignore the dead at their peril.

  In dreams comes responsibility. My responsibility. Anita was dead and beyond my help, but I would follow the trail a while longer. I would have my truth.

  * * *

  The next morning I overslept and had to hustle so I wouldn’t be late. Pop didn’t get my anxiety, but perhaps I had a presentiment of trouble. As it turned out I arrived at my office with five minutes to spare, but when I opened the door, Jinks charged inside, barking furiously at the tall man pouring coffee. I had thought there might be trouble and there it stood.

  “Good morning, Mr. Richt,” I said over Jinks’s yapping. Involuntarily my eyes glided over the chaos of my office—the litter of papers on my desk, the open bottle of Jim Beam, the empty glass. I had intended to straighten up this morning, but you know what they say about good intentions. I took Jinks in my arms and he quieted, though he kept his glassy eyes peeled on Richt. How was it that dogs always knew?

  “I can explain about the dog,” I said.

  “I already know about the dog, Addie. All of Mystic Cove is talking about you and Mel Dick’s dog. I didn’t come here about the dog of a dead man.”

  I shrugged out of my jacket and poured myself a cup, giving Richt my back. “I don’t have anything on Anita Dick’s death.”

  “I didn’t come here about the old woman’s death either. You’re the sole reason for my visit and I’d like to have your full attention, Ms. Gorsky.”

  It clicked then. The reprieve was over and it was time to pay the ferryman. “Fine, we’ll talk in my office.”

  I strode inside, Jinks trotting at my feet. I took my place behind the desk and gestured for Richt to take a seat. The moment was sullied somewhat when Jinks jumped into my lap and nudged me to scratch. What the hell—I scratched under Jinks’s neck, the sweet spot.

  “What can I do for you?”

  Surprise flickered over Richt’s features, but I was tired and more than a little hungover. I had come to the end of my rope and found courage there.

  “You’ve disappointed me.”

  “I’m sorry about that, Mr. Richt. Say what you’ve come to say and let me go about my business.”

  Richt took a deep breath, his lips a thin line. “I took a chance on you when I promoted you to chief, even though I was cautioned that you might not be the right person for the job. Will you please stop fooling with that dog and give me your attention?”

  “Sure,” I said with a laugh.

  “I know what you’ve been doing these past days. Playing detective at the Cove’s expense—running here and there—did you really think I wouldn’t find out?” As Richt counted off my transgressions, I wondered again who the spy had been, not that it mattered now. Richt might have bugged my office, but I doubted it. That wasn’t his style—he appreciated technology as a means to an end, but his true appetite was in corrupting people.

  “You’ve left me with little choice,” Richt concluded, opening his hands in a gesture of false regret. This man must spend hours in front of a mirror practicing. His impression of a human being was really quite good.

  “Get it over with, Richt.”

  Pleasure filled the reptilian eyes. “You’re fired. I was going to give you two weeks’ notice, but your adversarial attitude is intolerable. I want you out of here immediately. Tomorrow Payroll will have your final check cut—then you can clear out your desk.”

  “Was that as good for you as it was for me?”

  Richt’s smile turned into a snarl. “You impudent...”

  “I’ll clear out my desk right now, if you don’t mind, and you can mail the check.”

  I had just put Jinks on the floor when the front door groaned open, followed by quick footsteps. I was about to ask who was there when I saw Richt’s broad grin. Coldness filled my stomach.

  “I’m in here,” Richt called out.

  “Coming, Mr. Richt. I got here soon as I could but...”

  Our eyes briefly met, but Tyler Andrews quickly looked away. I didn’t though. I wanted to remember this.

  “Your timing is perfect,” Richt said. “Ms. Gorsky prefers not to work her final two weeks after all, so you’ll be assuming her duties immediately, per our discussion. Make sure she turns in her keys before she leaves.”

  * * *

  “There’s nothing to talk about, Tyler.” After Richt left, I’d cleaned out my desk in a flurry, my earlier bravado a puddle on the floor. I looked around the office, thought I had everything. My belongings had easily fit into a shoebox, but then I wasn’t one to fill my office with keepsakes and mementoes—I carried my mementoes inside, where they couldn’t be lost or misplaced.

  “I’m only acting chief of security anyways,” Tyler grumbled, as if selling himself for twenty pieces of silver rather than the going rate of thirty made it better. “You’re taking this the wrong way.”

  “Is there a right way to take it?” I laughed, almost feeling sorry for this man who was too cunning for his own good. “Did you know about this last night?”

  “I...you...we...”

  My God, the man had probably been on the phone with Richt seconds after I left his bed. “You don’t even realize what you’ve done, do you, Tyler? You’ve bought yourself the dubious honor of being Jud Richt’s dog at Kew. But maybe the kennel’s the right place for you.”

  “Huh?”

  I hooked up Jinks. “You made your choice. Don’t expect me to make it easy for you. I’m not the easygoing type.”

  Tyler’s face hardened. “You know, people say you’re nuts and I’m beginning to think they’re right. You are a sorry excuse for a woman.”

  “That may be, but you were dishonest with me. I can’t fault you for working the angles—it’s tough nowadays. But you should have played straight with me. I would have understood.”

  “You’ve changed.”

  I smiled at that. “Yes, I have changed. We all change, Tyler, or we should. Only death stops the changing.”

  I closed the door with more force than I intended, sending a dull thud that echoed through the building.

  * * *

  It rained all over Florida that October day, but it fell hardest on Mystic Cove. I could have waited for the storm to pass—Florida is an inconstant state, where not even the rain lasts all day—but I needed to escape. Jinks didn’t like it but we braved our way through the slashing rain to the parking garage where the Vic waited. No more golf carts for me and Jinks.

  Before quitting the Cove for good I drove to Admiral Street for one last look. Unaware of my changed status, Jesse Potts waved me through the gate, but it wouldn’t be long before he got the memo. I was now an outsider, an interloper, one for whom the gates were meant to keep out. I pulled into the Dicks’ driveway.

  The rain had softened to a drizzle. The house had been forlorn after Mel’s murder, but now had given up the ghost entirely. A couple of sodden newspapers lay on the thick lawn, and the infamous garbage can remained at the end of the curb, its lid yawned open. A real haunted house.

  The front door burst open and a slim young woman stomped toward me, heedless of the rain. The puffy face and swollen eyes did not fully obscure her blonde prettiness, but something about the woman’s angry stride was eerily familiar. Jinks started yapping and wagging his corkscrew tail.

  I remembered Anita’s mention of a daughter in Ohio. What was her name? Jessie? Judy?

  “Julie,” I said. The woman froze, her eyes wide with surprise. “I am so sorry for your loss.”

  * * *

 
Anita’s kitchen was a feast for the eyes, gleaming with polished marble and dark woods, but its designer had never boiled water. Like so much else in Mystic Cove, it was built for show and not utility. The kitchen island at which Julie Breyer and I sipped coffee was way too big—more continent than island—and its marble top ridiculously vulnerable to everyday use.

  “I can’t believe they’re both gone,” Julie said. “I’ve woken to a nightmare.” Should I tell her the nightmare had only just begun? No, some things—the important things—must be learned through experience.

  Briefly I summarized my involvement in the tragic events.

  “You found both bodies?” Julie’s blue eyes darkened with incipient suspicion.

  “It’s not as unlikely as it seems. As security chief I am...I was always traveling around the Cove. And remember, I was actively looking for your mother last night.”

  “It makes as much sense as anything.”

  “If you want to talk, I’ll listen.”

  A short nod and Julie told me how the nightmare had begun. Anita Dick had never made that call to tell Julie of her father’s death. Now, there was no easy way to learn of death, but Julie’s had been one of the cruelest. She often went online to see what her father was up to, and yesterday’s search brought more than she’d bargained for. Brutal news delivered like tomorrow’s weather. Unable to reach her mother, Julie called GCSO, eventually reaching Sheriff Spooner, who verified her worst fears.

  “This morning I was on my way here from Newnansville Regional when Spooner called and...” Julie’s eyes squeezed shut, denying the tears. “That’s when I learned about Mom. How could this happen, and for the love of God why didn’t Mom tell me about Dad’s death?”

  “If it’s any consolation, the morning after your dad’s death, Anita was wrestling with how to break the news to you. She intended to tell you.”

  “What good are intentions now?” Julie twisted on the stool. “Oh, Mom wasn’t strong. She ignored unpleasantness if she could, but she would have never kept me in the dark about Dad’s death! Mom would have called my husband or maybe Uncle Stu and have one of them tell me, but she would have made sure I knew. Why didn’t she?”

  I didn’t know, but I wanted to. That morning in Fairley’s backyard Anita had been confused, but not confused enough to forget to tell Julie her father had been murdered. No, something or someone had stopped Anita in her tracks.

  “So what’s your angle in all this, Addie Gorsky?”

  “Angle?”

  Julie’s eyes were a laser focused on me. “I’m not stupid. You’re way more involved in this than you’re letting on. So what gives?”

  I thought about it. Julie deserved the truth, or at least part of it. “Before I became security chief at the Cove, I was a homicide detective. Old habits die hard. I noticed certain...incongruities in your father’s shooting and wanted answers.”

  Julie considered this. “So why did Richt fire you?” Her face came closer to mine. “Did it have anything to do with my parents’ deaths?”

  “There were lots of reasons, one of which was that, like you, my boss also noticed my interest in your father’s death and didn’t approve.”

  “Why are you interested in my personal tragedy?”

  I took a sip of coffee. Julie’s questions had taken on the flavor of an interrogation. “With all due respect, it’s not just your personal tragedy.”

  Julie’s mouth tightened, but I didn’t back down.

  “Someone shot your father in cold blood. He died.” Maybe not in that order, but Julie could discover the facts of the autopsy from Spooner. “Then last night Anita died, under mysterious circumstances. These acts happened under my nose, metaphorically speaking.” I paused to tamp down the anger. “I want to know what happened. It’s a matter of justice.”

  Julie powered down and took a sip of coffee. “I get the feeling the cops think Mom murdered Dad and then killed herself. Is that what you think?”

  I trod carefully. “It’s possible. After Mel’s death Anita was terrified, and terrified people do desperate things.”

  “You’re wrong,” she said flatly. “My mother was a devout Catholic. She would not take her own life.”

  Maybe not on her own, but what if somebody gave her a little push in that direction.

  “There you go again,” Julie said, but she was smiling. “You got that faraway look again, like you’re thinking deep thoughts.” Jinks waddled into the kitchen, his sharp claws clicking and clacking over the slick Italian tile. “Dad loved that damn dog, Mom not so much.”

  “Are you taking Jinks back to Ohio?”

  “God, no! Don’t you want him?”

  I shrugged. I might as well get something out of this mess—why not Jinks?

  “So are you going to answer my question, Addie? Do you believe my mother murdered my father?”

  That was the question I’d struggled with for days, almost from the moment I stumbled over Mel’s corpse, but the answer I gave Julie Breyer came straight from the heart, bypassing the mind entirely. “No, Anita is innocent.”

  Julie’s hand shot across the counter, catching my hand in its grasp. Unlike many of my sex who touch—or, even worse, hug—at the slightest provocation, I reserved physical gestures for those I loved. But my heart went out to this lost daughter.

  “Will you help me, Addie? I want you to investigate my parents’ deaths. I’ll pay—money’s no problem. Will you help me?”

  “Of course I’ll help you.”

  It was time to walk the tightrope again.

  Chapter Twelve

  What is the End of Fear?

  “Don’t be afraid, losing your job isn’t the worst thing,” Pop said.

  “I’m not afraid.” But that was a lie. My past was a graveyard of mistakes and the future yawned like a black hole. But I was also sick and tired of being a mouse. It occurred to me that fear was a funny thing—weird funny, not ha-ha funny. It was said that fear was the most primal emotion. True enough, but it was more than that. Fear was the natural condition of the human race and would consume us if we let it. Accept that and you accepted a lot. Accept that, and maybe then you could move on.

  “There’s half a chicken in the icebox if you’re hungry.”

  “Maybe later,” I said. “First thing I gotta do is get out of this damned uniform and shower, and then I need to talk to Uncle Otto. Can you get his number for me, Pop? I want to talk to him before I meet with Julie this afternoon.”

  When I returned to the living room, Pop had Uncle Otto waiting on the line. Otto and I talked for over an hour, with Pop throwing comments from the recliner, undeterred that he had but one side of the conversation. After disconnecting, my cell rang. It was José Barracas.

  “Marco just showed up for his shift, on time for once. You still wanna talk with him?”

  I did indeed. Five minutes later I was on my way to Cove, a route I’d traveled so many times before, but this time it would be different.

  * * *

  “What’s with the street clothes?” José snickered. “Going undercover?”

  “Good one.” I told Barracas about my change in employment and that I was now investigating Mel and Anita’s deaths for their daughter. “So where’s our boy?”

  “Out back blowing leaves—follow the noise and you’ll find him.” José did an exaggerated double take at the pug sitting at my feet. “Hey, I see you got your partner with you.”

  “Everybody’s a comedian.” I found Marco in the rear parking lot, gleefully blowing leaves into the street. “Remember me, Marco?”

  “No hablo ingles. No entiendo, por favor...”

  “Don’t pull that fucking bullshit with me, Marco. I know you fucking speak English.” The profanity worked, shocking Marco into silence. “That was a pretty stupid trick you p
ulled the other day.”

  “Que?” Marco croaked.

  “I hope you enjoyed your little joke because I don’t think the police will.”

  “But you’re no police,” Marco said, trying a grin on for size.

  “Maybe not, but I have friends at GCSO, and when they find out about your lies I don’t think they’ll be too happy with you. Cops tend to take a murder investigation seriously.”

  “Murder? I don’t know nothing about a murder! I was just playing around, that’s all.”

  “Tell me about that night.”

  “It was just Mel Dick being a dick.” Marco chuckled at his wit.

  “Fine, we’ll do this the hard way. I’m coming back with the cops.”

  “No, no.” Marco’s voice had taken on an irritating whining quality. He sounded like my snotty nephew when he was trying to pull a fast one.

  “Talk to me, Marco.”

  “Yeah, fine, but José can’t find out. He’d fire me for sure, and I need this lousy job.”

  “Talk to me.”

  “I didn’t do nothing wrong. Lots of people do it.” Prattling all the while, Marco dug in his pocket, retrieved his cell phone and started punching. I was confused and told Marco there was nothing to gain by stalling.

  “Gimme a sec. You’re gonna like this a lot.” He held the tiny screen in front of my face.

  On the pocket screen, a red-faced old man stood in the middle of the crowded patio of the Grub and Grog, his wild yet solemn manner that of an old testament prophet delivering a jeremiad. I caught glimpses of the other players in his audience—Gigi and Fairley and the Rands, all of them squirming like worms on a hook.

  Marco grinned at me, a student who’d just cheated his way to an A. The little bastard had recorded Mel Dick’s breakdown at the Grub and Grog.

  * * *

  I got back to Admiral Street in time for my appointment with Julie and was surprised to find Spooner’s cruiser parked in the driveway. Julie met me at the door.

  “He turned up a few minutes ago,” she said, hanging my jacket on a hook. “I stalled until you got here.”