“Well, I’ll be,” he whispered, then crooked his arm at a ninety-degree angle and grunted while bending over to flex like a bodybuilder. He jumped straight up at the sound of a rustling noise. Glancing around, he saw he was alone. It must have been the breeze hitting the window screen. Still feeling a tad self-conscious, he inspected the work he’d done.
He and Alex had plenty of room to work with the steamer. As a side benefit, he also had more clarity about Reese Potok and her supposed witness statement. This whole debacle she’d created with Flynn O’Connor wasn’t something he could ignore. The question was, what would he do about it?
Right now, he needed painting tarps. He left the door open on his way to find Marquetta, certain she would know where they were stored—assuming they even had some.
Partway down the stairs he spotted Flynn O’Connor coming in the front door. He quickened his steps down the stairs until he saw Reese Potok facing off against Flynn. He stopped and waited, curious to see what Reese was going to pull next.
“What a shame about last year’s nautical archaeology grant, Flynn. I thought you were a shoo-in.”
“Don’t give me that, Reese. You sabotaged me—you and your thieving salvage company.”
“Oh, don’t be so bitter. There are plenty of other nautical archaeology projects in the sea.” Reese chuckled and snapped her fingers. “I have an idea, why don’t you come to work for me? Our project needs an intern.”
Rick tightened his grip on the stair railing. He wouldn’t blame Flynn one bit if she hauled off and slapped Reese. It didn’t happen. In a way, it seemed a shame. The undercurrent of venom in the exchange had Rick on edge. If ever asked about it, he’d willingly testify how Reese had provoked an attack. He might be the innkeeper and needed to stay impartial, but that didn’t mean he was immune to having an opinion.
How his picture of Reese had changed. He’d once thought of her as an intriguing and beautiful woman. But now, finally, he saw through her. Her flirtatious ways were nothing more than a ploy to manipulate him. The air of mystery she cultivated hid a set of closely guarded secrets. He could now see she only cared about one thing—being the first to find the San Manuel.
“Ladies,” Rick said. “Everything okay here?”
Flynn did a double take at the interruption, then sidestepped around Reese. As Flynn hurried away, Reese looked at Rick and gave him a sweet smile.
“No worries,” she said. “Nothing more than a little friendly competition. That’s all.”
None of their conversation had sounded friendly. But unless Flynn complained, what could he do? He nodded and returned a polite smile. “Sounded pretty serious to me.”
Reese closed the distance between them and looked up into Rick’s eyes. She winked and whispered, “She’ll get over it.”
He watched as she turned and strolled away, the sway of her hips obviously exaggerated for his benefit. “As I have gotten over you,” he muttered. How had he ever found that woman attractive? He looked around for Flynn.
She’d disappeared. Again.
Rick’s search didn’t take long. He found her on the south side of the house standing next to the three maidens fountain, which was near one of the side yard gardens. This particular area was a guest favorite. The fountain featured three maidens standing with their backs to a decorative pillar. Water fell from an upturned bowl held above the their heads.
In terms of outward appearance, not much had changed since he’d first seen Flynn this morning. She wore the same red camp shirt and tan shorts she’d had on at the coffee station. She still had her hair pulled back. That, however, was nothing more than—as they say—window dressing.
At six-feet wide, there was a lot of water in the fountain’s basin. The constant burbling could be heard throughout the grounds on quiet days, creating a zen-like atmosphere which drew many visitors to the little garden. Some spent hours here. Rick had often wondered if they were trying to find peace or simply enjoying the sound.
“Miss O’Connor?”
Her shoulders rose, fell, and then she twisted so he could see her features. Her lower lip puckered. It was the first sign of sadness and concern he’d seen her display since her arrival. And why shouldn’t she feel that way? Her entire career was being threatened. The allegations Reese was making could destroy Flynn’s reputation. While Rick felt certain Alex would defend Flynn to the end, he was thankful she wasn’t here to see this exchange—or worse, the previous one. He didn’t need his daughter going to war with Reese.
“I’m sorry about Miss Potok. She was out of line.”
“She’s protecting her turf. I’ve known Reese for years—correction, we’ve crossed paths. It’s never been an amicable relationship, but she’s changed. She must be feeling immense pressure to produce results. I get it. I’ve been there myself, but my grants don’t come with a link to the bottom line. And unlike her, I don’t enjoy the spotlight. I hate board meetings and news conferences and all that crap. But it’s part of what goes on. For us to get funding, we have to submit an application, justify our project…do the dance.”
Rick murmured his understanding— and regretted his promise to Deputy Cunningham. He had no desire to report Flynn was here. “I didn’t realize you and Reese were so well acquainted.”
“Acquainted—yes, that’s a nice neutral term. We’ve always been on different sides of the fence.”
“Well, there’s another fence now. Deputy Cunningham was here earlier to ask you a few additional questions. You weren’t around, so I told him I’d keep an eye out. He would like to talk to you at the police station about an argument you had with the deceased.”
She swore under her breath, then stared blankly into space.
“Miss O’Connor?”
“Let me guess. This is Reese’s doing.”
He wished she would look at him. Perhaps then she could see he didn’t want to bring her harm. “She said you and Ms. Collins had an argument at the Crooked Mast last night. I’m sure you can clear this up quickly.”
Flynn glared at him. “No. It won’t be cleared up quickly. This is Exploration International’s doing. They want to get rid of me in any way they can. It wouldn’t surprise me if Reese has concocted evidence proving I killed Dani.”
“Dani?”
“Dani Collins. That was her name.”
“You knew her?”
“Not really.” She crossed her arms over her chest, looked away, then started to leave.
Rick instinctively took a step sideways to block her path. He felt terrible as she glared at him.
She rubbed her hands against her cheeks and sniffled. “Really? What are you going to do, hold me hostage until he gets here?”
“Not at all. You’re free to leave. I need to give the deputy some kind of answer.”
“Tell your Deputy Cunningham I have work to do. If he wants to talk to me, I’ll be around. No one is going to run me out of this town. And that includes Reese Potok.”
Rick stood to one side and let Flynn pass. His footsteps crunched on the gravel as he went to stand where she’d been moments before. He took a minute to do what so many of their guests did—listen to the peaceful rhythm. Unfortunately, he couldn’t pretend to be a guest. If only he could. He ran the B&B, so how could he stand here without noticing how the fountain needed maintenance? The water was starting to cloud up, the level was low, and freshly fallen leaves might clog the filter.
Rick created a quick reminder to have the fountain serviced. He needed to call Adam. Tell him about the animosity between Reese and Flynn. While he was at it, he wanted to read the statement Reese had made. Maybe he should also look through the photos of the crime scene. At least while he was doing all of that he wouldn’t be seeing things to fix.
He hadn’t changed his mind. He had no intention of becoming involved in the actual investigation. But he felt an obligation to look over the evidence for one simple reason. If he had to tell Alex her latest role model was being arrested, he wanted to be sure th
e charges were based on facts, not on something conjured out of thin air.
CHAPTER 8
RICK
Rick had never given much thought to what was in the pea-soup colored building on Main Street. It was a very uncharacteristic look for this town where bright colors predominated. This particular building had muted awnings and uninspired sixties architecture. Then there were the other signs. Antennas poked skyward from the roof. A flag out on the sidewalk. There was even a small Seaside Cove emblem stenciled on the front door.
This was the home of the Seaside Cove police, fire, and water departments. Or, as Mayor Francine Carter called it, the nerve center of the town. This might be big doings for Seaside Cove, but it wasn’t exactly NYPD Central.
Rick crossed the street, opened the door, and practically ran into Deputy Cunningham’s desk. He stood in the doorway feeling underwhelmed. What had he expected? A dozen cops running around with guns at their sides and cups of coffee in their hands?
The deputy looked up and smiled, then motioned for Rick to enter. “Come on in.”
“Adam, what are you? Police chief, investigator, meter reader, and receptionist?”
Deputy Cunningham grinned and pointed at the other desks. “Let me give you the grand tour. That’s the water department—me on Tuesdays and alternate Wednesdays. I do the billing in addition to reading the meters. The desk over there belongs to Del. But as you know, he’s been out sick for a while. He’s the full-time deputy, but we don’t know how long he’ll be out. So for now, that’s my second desk. Mostly what I do is shuffle papers from one side to the other. It seems to keep the chief happy.”
He pointed at an empty desk in the back corner. “The one over there is for visiting law enforcement. Last time someone sat there was…” He paused and frowned. “You know, I don’t remember when that actually happened.” He shrugged. “Anyway, the chief has the office in the back corner. The mayor was supposed to move into the office up front, but she seems to prefer working out of Scoops & Scones. The Fire Department is upstairs. It’s just as exciting as this is.”
“Well, isn’t that something special?” Rick said.
Adam chuckled and motioned to the chair by his desk. “Yeah. Extra special. What can I do for you?”
“A couple of things. I observed an interaction between Reese Potok and Flynn O’Connor this morning you should know about.” He described the encounter, up to and including Flynn’s final response. When he finished, he said, “I also wanted to take a look at the photos of the crime scene.” When the deputy’s eyes widened, Rick held up his hands. “I’m not joining the investigation, but I will look over what you’ve got so far. Another set of eyes, and all that.”
“Works for me,” Deputy Cunningham stood and crooked his neck at his other desk. “Let’s step over to my official investigator’s station. As you can see, it’s right next to the evidence room.”
Rick pointed at the open door. “That’s a closet.”
“No, that’s the evidence room.”
Deputy Cunningham closed the door and, sure enough, there was a handwritten sign taped to the wood.
“Does the door lock?” Rick asked.
“Yup,” the deputy snickered. “We’re totally uptown here. Nothing but the finest for the Seaside Cove PD.”
“Gotcha. Well, Deputy Cunningham, what have you got?”
“Not much. Let me show you the photos.” His smile fell as he goosed the computer mouse.
The screen lit up with the image of a stretch of sand, behind which there was a seawall composed of small and medium-sized boulders. Rick had walked by the spot on many occasions. He’d seen the seawall. On the other side was Seafront Parkway. The name was either a case of a small town with big aspirations, or one which mocked big city life. In truth, Seafront Parkway was closer to a two-lane country road than anything remotely metropolitan.
“That’s the overview,” Deputy Cunningham said. “The body was found right here.” He tapped the screen near the seawall. “The only people who would have seen it are those walking on the upper part of the beach.”
“That stretch of beach is what, thirty or forty feet wide?”
The deputy nodded. “Sounds about right. The shore drops off pretty fast right there, but you can still walk down by the water at low tide.”
“So the only way you could have seen the body is if you were walking on that upper sandy stretch.” Rick pointed at the waterline. “And down here, it wouldn’t have been visible.”
“Exactly.” Deputy Cunningham leaned back and crossed his arms over his chest. “Wait a minute. Were you there? Did you see the scene?”
Rick felt the heat rise in his cheeks as he made his confession, feeling all too much like a rubbernecker watching a freeway accident. “I did walk by. But not until after you cleared the scene.”
Adam shrugged and smiled at Rick. “No worries. I just wish you’d have been there when all the tourists were doing their looky-loo thing. At least none of them got sucked into a riptide.”
The subtle reminder of his own foolish mistake sent a shiver through Rick. He wasn’t sure if Adam had made the reference deliberately or not, but Rick’s mistake had nearly drowned both him and Adam. Never turn your back on the ocean. Surf is treacherous. Riptides, even worse. All were lessons he’d learned the hard way. The heat in his cheeks deepened, and he cleared his throat. “Who found the body?”
“Joe Gray. He walks along there every morning. Joe likes to pick up the trash that washes ashore.” Adam put up another photo. “This is the victim. Dani Collins. Notice the pottery shard in her hand. This is it.” He picked up a fragment of milky-white porcelain from next to his computer monitor. The fragment was about three inches by four, had a design on one side, and what looked like Chinese writing on the back. “It’s already been dusted for fingerprints, so you can handle it.”
Rick turned it over in his hands. The design was of a duck gazing into the distance while it stood in the middle of a stand of reeds. He rubbed his fingers across the smooth surface. “Beautiful,” he said. “Any idea what it is?”
“Joe seemed to think it was part of a Ming Dynasty rice bowl. I’m going to have Howie Dockham take a look at it.”
“Good idea,” Rick said as he handed the piece back to Adam. “He’s the closest thing we have to a local expert on antiquities. Were there any other witnesses?”
“Traci Peterson and Isabelle Murdoch were out walking. They saw Miss O’Connor down there on the beach. So did Michelle Steele. I called Traci right before you got here. She’s coming over to give me her statement. I have to tell you, Rick, it’s not looking good for your lady archaeologist.”
What did not looking good mean? “Are you saying you seriously think Miss O’Connor is the killer? Why? Is there any evidence? Any signs at all? And what’s the motive? Why would she kill a woman she barely knew?”
“Slow down, Rick.” Deputy Cunningham leaned back and peered at him. “Who told you she didn’t know the deceased?”
“Miss O’Connor. I talked to her before I came here, and she told me she didn’t know the victim. I assumed the argument was over something that happened at the Crooked Mast.”
“Not according to Miss Potok’s statement. According to her, they were arguing over something from the past. The incident occurred on a dig they both worked a long time ago.”
The front door opened and a young woman wearing a white, lacy blouse and jeans entered. Deputy Cunningham’s face lit up with a smile.
“Hey, Traci,” he said.
Traci clasped her arms to her sides and shivered as though she were cold. She paused inside the door, letting her gaze dart between the two men. “I’m interrupting.” She started to back out the door.
“It’s okay. Come on in,” Deputy Cunningham said.
She shot a quick glance at Rick. He nodded and asked her how she was doing.
“Frazzled—do I look it? I can’t believe this is happening.” She pulled at a few strands of hair and looked a
t the deputy as if she were seeking approval.
Rick busied himself with examining more photos while the deputy stood, went to Traci, and wrapped his arms around her. Despite Rick’s attempts to avoid acting like a voyeur, he noticed Traci lean into Adam. Not once had he thought about the deputy having a personal life. But why shouldn’t he? The man was young, handsome, and had a steady job. And if these two were a couple—now he got it. That’s why Rick ranked higher on the marriage eligibility list than Adam. Deputy Cunningham was off the market.
Once again, Rick struggled to keep his focus on the computer screen and the photo before him. The victim’s face had what looked like a severe sunburn and a moderate case of acne. There was also something odd about her blouse, though he couldn’t pin down what he meant by “odd.” Perhaps it had something to do with the way she lay in the sand.
He moved on to another photo, this one showed only the victim’s upper body. She’d been wearing a lightweight blouse with a button-down the front. The shirt hung open at the neck—almost as though it had been pulled apart. About two inches to the right of the opening, there were two burn marks on the fabric.
Rick looked up as Traci backed away from Adam. Her hand lingered on his, but that wasn’t what caught Rick’s attention. It was the glint of light reflecting off her fourth finger. Oh goodness, Traci was wearing an engagement ring. How little he knew about what went on in this town.
Traci straightened her shoulders and took a deep breath. “I’m ready to make that statement now.”
“You’re not the only one,” Rick said. “Adam, I think I found something you’re going to want to see.”
Clues in the Sand Page 4
