Clues in the Sand

by Terry Ambrose

  Howie pointed to the bird on the face of the fragment. “Look. See how there’s a greenish tint to the ink? It’s not the Mohammedan blue used during the Ming dynasty.”

  “You’re telling me someone went to a lot of trouble to make this rice bowl look legitimate, but used an incorrect ink color?”

  “That’s about the sum of it.”

  “Why?”

  “Good question. I have no idea. But it could also explain the color being off on the porcelain.”

  Rick rubbed the back of his neck as he stared at the fragment. Was this Reese reacting to a need to produce results for her employer? To date, the actual wreck hadn’t been located. “Could this creation of a fake rice bowl fragment be the work of Reese Potok? Do you suppose she’s desperate enough to need a forgery to buy herself some time?”

  Howie shook his head. “We considered it. There are two big problems with that theory. First, she’d be ruining her career if she were ever found out. Second, Miss Potok isn’t stupid. She wouldn’t make a mistake like getting her colors wrong. Think about it. If she can’t find the San Manuel, that’s one thing. If she fabricates evidence, she’ll be discredited in archaeological circles, and her employer will fire her. How could she ever get another job? Even Miss O’Connor agrees this can’t be Reese. It has to be someone else.”

  “Huh.” Rick gazed around the store. There were several brass accent pieces that might be useful in the Jib Room. Off to one side in a corner stood an old grandfather clock. He spotted several other collectibles that the B&B could use, too. The problem was he had a budget to consider. He said, “You have too much good stuff, Howie.”

  “Thanks, Rick. I’ll give you a good deal. Unfortunately, I think today’s not a day for shopping. Is it?”

  “No, it’s not.” Rick paused and glanced off to the side for a moment. When he looked back at Howie, he asked, “So did you and Flynn have any suggestion about what to do next?”

  “Miss O’Connor seemed to think involving Reese Potok might be helpful.”

  “Excuse me? Those two hate each other.”

  “No. They’re professional opposites. The thing is, for this particular issue, they’re on the same side. They’d both want to know who’s behind this hoax.”

  Rick groaned and rubbed the back of his neck. The last person he wanted to ask for help was Reese. He paused to think about what such a conversation might sound like. “Not good” would probably be an understatement. “Howie, who cares? We have a murder to solve. If somebody wanted this piece found, they wouldn’t have killed Dani Collins. Now all the attention is on finding a killer and the whole purpose for creating a fake is lost.”

  “Could be. Or what if you’re asking the wrong questions?”

  Narrowing his gaze at Howie, Rick thought about how the police investigation appeared to be going nowhere. How little they knew about the murder. “Okay, I’ll play along. What questions would you be asking, Howie?”

  The old stamp collector winked at Rick and leaned back in his wheelchair. “In my opinion, everything comes back to this fragment. Why would someone commit murder, then leave a fake five-hundred-year-old artifact on our beach?”

  CHAPTER 36

  RICK

  Rick stepped into the sunshine outside of Howie’s Collectibles and began to walk. He didn’t pay attention to where he was going. Direction. Surroundings. Nothing mattered. It felt like he was in a daze. So many unanswered questions, so many wrong assumptions. When he glanced up, he was standing in front of a three-story, dark green Victorian with white trim. It was the office of H. Jordan Lane.

  Across the street was the office of Thorne Waldorf. Two attorneys. Opposite sides of the street. A physical separation illustrating the differences between them. Rick stuck his hands in his pockets and pressed on. No matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t shake the opinion Howie might be right. Everyone might have been asking the wrong questions. And what if even Howie was asking the wrong one?

  Rick took a right at the next block, then a left on Main Street. He continued on to the wharf. Joe Gray’s houseboat was a double-decker with white trim and teal accents in the third berth. Its teak siding was kept in the same immaculate condition as the rest of the boat thanks to Joe’s year-round maintenance efforts. If there was one thing Rick knew for sure, it was that Joe Gray had an eye for detail which gave the home of Gray’s Sailing Charters a welcoming appearance.

  As Rick approached, Joe waved at him from the second story. He was pruning the petunias on the upper deck. Joe’s smile was quick and easy and he said he’d be right down. Inside the main cabin, Rick stood in front of the glass display case Joe used as a counter. He eyed the brass clock on the wall, and wondered if Howie might be able to find him something similar for the Jib Room.

  “I’ve been expecting you.”

  Joe’s voice caught Rick by surprise. “Why would you be expecting me?”

  “Because, Deputy Cunningham is trying to do three jobs and isn’t a trained investigator. You, Rick, have a way of turning up the truth.”

  A flush of embarrassment heated Rick’s cheeks. “Joe…I’m not supposed to be helping on this.”

  Though his sandy blond hair was graying and had started to recede, Joe’s blue eyes still showed a youthful exuberance. “So what are you doing here, then?”

  “Good question.” Rick’s embarrassment deepened. “I’m here because I can’t let this thing go.”

  “So you are looking into it.”

  “I guess I am.”

  “Then how can I help?”

  “Tell me what happened when you found the body,” Rick said.

  “So sad.” Joe shook his head and seemed to recall a distant episode from his past. “I’ve seen dead bodies before. I’ve helped with search and rescue efforts for years, and every once in a while someone doesn’t get lucky. This girl was way too young to die.”

  “I saw a photo of the body. It looked like she was in some sort of contorted position. Is that how you found her?”

  “Yes. I didn’t touch a thing. I took a quick photo, then called 9-1-1.”

  Rick’s eyes widened. Deputy Cunningham had said nothing about there being other photos. Did he even know? “Did you tell anyone about this photo?”

  Joe shook his head. “No. I figured Adam would be taking his own. I only did it to refresh my memory if he started asking detailed questions. He asked me to describe what I’d seen. That was about the sum of it. Seemed like he was satisfied a little too easy, you know?”

  “I understand.” And he did. Adam was a local boy. He’d grown up with these people. Respected them. Wanted to be liked. Without formal police training, Rick guessed he saw asking questions as being disrespectful. Rick had no such attachment or reservation about being inquisitive. “I’d like to see the photo if you still have it.”

  “Sure.” Joe pulled out his phone and tapped the screen.

  “How long after you took this did Adam get there?” Rick asked.

  Joe paused, lines on his brow deepening as he seemed to think. “I’d say maybe twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes in Seaside Cove for a murder call? Why so long?”

  “The murder was on a Tuesday morning, Rick. Adam was in the middle of his meter reading route. The poor guy had to hustle to make it so quickly. Unfortunately, our three-man police force is down to one person right now. Things will change eventually, but for now that’s the way it is. I suppose the sheriff could have come in from San Ladron, but it could have taken an hour for them to show up.”

  Rick nodded at the reminder of how isolated Seaside Cove could seem at times. “This is so different from what I was used to.”

  “I hear you, but it’s a tradeoff for living in a small town. The real reason the chief doesn’t want you nosing around has more to do with your grandfather than anything else.”

  “Captain Jack? What did he do to the chief of police?”

  “He got him in some very hot water a couple of times. The chief may have run t
his town with an iron fist for decades, but the reason he’s still around has more to do with his family ties than his abilities.”

  “Good grief, Joe, don’t beat around the bush. What family ties?”

  Joe watched Rick for a few seconds, then turned away. He pulled a high school yearbook from a bookcase and laid it on top of the counter.

  “This is another one of those things about small towns. There are a lot of…connections.”

  Rick stared at the cover of the yearbook and found himself unable to look away. The last time Joe had shared information about the past with him it had been about Marquetta. It might not have been so bad, but when Rick learned how Marquetta’s father died he couldn’t bring himself to tell her about the questions he’d asked. She’d been furious with him for digging into her past and he’d vowed to never violate her privacy again. “This doesn’t concern Marquetta, does it?”

  “Nope. She’s got nothing to do with this one.” Joe flipped the page and pointed to a photo of a boy and two girls. The girls were on opposite sides of the boy and each was kissing him on the cheek. “That’s the Dixon sisters, Francine and Francesca. Can you guess who the boy is?”

  Rick let out a heavy sigh. More Seaside Cove secrets? “Chief Jackson?”

  “Good guess. In fact, young Gerald Jackson was quite smitten with both of the Dixon girls. The three of them were inseparable, but one of them eventually married Gerald. Can you guess which one?”

  “It couldn’t have been Francine. Her last name is Carter.”

  “Good deduction, but there’s more to the story. Gerald proposed to Francine first, but she got cold feet at the altar. Francesca married Gerald two weeks later. Their first-born came eight months after that. Very convenient how it all worked out, wouldn’t you say?”

  Rick stared at the photo for the longest time. A high-school love triangle had kept the chief of police in power for all these years? “Are you telling me the mayor made her sister’s husband police chief to assuage her guilt over jilting a boy at the altar?”

  “Ah, you missed the subtext. It’s exactly the opposite. Gerald had gone to work for the Seaside Cove PD. He eventually became chief, and when Francine decided to run for mayor, he helped her get elected. It was a way to clear the deck, so to speak. Security for him, and for her. What you’re dealing with is a mayor who owes her job to a boy who cheated on his fiancé with her sister.”

  “Oh, good God,” Rick said. “No wonder this town is so screwed up.”

  Joe winked at him. “The good news is, now you know the mayor’s secret. You might even have a little leverage. Enough about this town’s ancient history. Do you want to look at the photo I took or not?”

  CHAPTER 37

  ALEX

  July 22

  Hey Journal,

  Daddy’s gone out for a while, so I gotta make use of my free time. I guess he forgot about the Jib Room and our painting project. When I went downstairs, the machine he put in there to dry things out was gone. The room was still kinda hot, so I opened the window.

  I finally have a plan to prove Miss O’Connor didn’t kill that lady. Going up to the attic last night helped me figure it out. I found clues to Marquetta’s past up there cause I didn’t give up. I’ll bet we can find clues to what happened on the beach if we try hard enough.

  Miss O’Connor told my dad she didn’t own one of those taser thingies. So if we can find the confetti stuff, the cops can figure out who owned it. Right, Journal? I’m gonna talk to Marquetta about organizing a search party. If we can get everybody down at the beach looking around we might find it! That would be awesome. Kinda like finding buried treasure.

  Bye for now,

  Alex

  Marquetta’s folding sheets in the kitchen when I get downstairs. She looks at me and winks. “You’re just in time, Sweetie. Grab the other end. Where did you disappear to?”

  “I was writing in my journal.” We fold the sheet in half the long way, then fold it one more time. “Marquetta, can I ask you a question?”

  “Sure, Sweetie. What is it?”

  We both step closer to each other until Marquetta can take my end of the sheet. She folds it two more times and it’s ready for the linen closet.

  “Do you think Miss O’Connor killed the lady on the beach?”

  “I doubt it. Besides, a jury makes the decision, not us.”

  “But what if there’s evidence the cops haven’t found that might show she didn’t do it?”

  Marquetta looks right at me and its like she suspects I’ve been doing something I shouldn’t have done. “Explain yourself, Alex. What kind of evidence?”

  “The confetti the taser gun shoots out.”

  “Oh, Sweetie. I know you want Miss O’Connor to be innocent, but Adam took plenty of photos of the crime scene and there was no sign of anything like that.”

  “But Deputy Cunningham said the wind was blowing and it was a long time before he got there. If we organized a search party, we’d find it.”

  “We can’t just run down to the beach and traipse all around. Besides, even if we found the confetti, it wouldn’t be admissible in a court of law.”

  “But if Deputy Cunningham got credit for setting up the search, wouldn’t that help him out? He’s gonna want to go for the chief’s job ‘cause the chief has one foot out the door and the other in his fishing boat.”

  “Oh, Lordy, where do you get this stuff? And why are you asking me about organizing a search?”

  “Cause you’re smart and people listen to you. And if you tell Deputy Cunningham it could get him a promotion, he’ll totally go for it.”

  Marquetta sighs and shakes her head as she watches me. “Your father is right. You may be the death of us both. Does he know about this?”

  “No. He’s gonna ground me, so I’m trying to tie up the loose ends before I go off the radar.”

  “My, my, aren’t you all grown up? You’ve already got loose ends and radar.”

  Marquetta sighs again, then bites her lower lip. That always means she’s thinking. I’m totally sure she’s gonna go for this. But even if she doesn’t, I have a backup plan.

  “Marquetta? Please? This would be a super big help for Miss O’Connor.”

  “What am I getting myself into? All right, we’ll do it if Adam is willing to be in charge. If he says no, you agree to back off.”

  “But…”

  “No buts. Those are my terms. And you can tell from the look on my face I won’t change my mind. Can’t you?”

  I nod. Bummer. It kinda sucks that Marquetta knows me so well, but if she’s gonna be my mom someday, it’s probably a good thing. “Marquetta?”

  “What, Sweetie?”

  “Thank you.” I wrap my arms around her waist and hug her tight. When she hugs me back and kisses the top of my head, I get warm all over. Is this what having a real mom feels like? I hope so.

  “We haven’t done anything yet. It’s a little early to be thanking me.”

  “Not for the thing with Miss O’Connor, but for being here. For this.” I hug her again and she tightens her grip on me. “And for not asking why Daddy’s gonna ground me.”

  She clears her throat, and her voice sounds like she’s gonna cry. “I have a pretty good idea of what you did. And if it concerns the attic, I can’t talk about it yet.”

  “Okay. I don’t wanna talk about it either. It was too scary up there. Are there ghosts up in our attic?”

  “No, Sweetie. But there are spiders and other creepy-crawly things that might get you!” She tickles my sides and we both giggle. When she stops, I reach out and hug her again. This time, she says, “I was afraid of spiders at your age. Now I realize those little bugs are the least of my worries. Come on, let’s call Deputy Cunningham. I’ll put him on speaker so you can do the sales pitch.”

  CHAPTER 38

  RICK

  Wavelets lapped against the sides of Joe Gray’s houseboat, creating a soft, soothing rhythm. It was much like the three maidens fountain at th
e B&B. Rick regarded Joe Gray’s expression. Somber. With the joy he’d shown in sharing secrets from the past gone, he appeared eager to move on.

  “Of course I want to see it,” Rick said. He’d committed to helping Flynn, and without some sort of break, Flynn O’Connor would go to trial. He wanted to look at anything that might help.

  “With what you know, it might even cause old Gerald to take up fishing full time.” Joe chuckled as he put the high school yearbook away. He picked up his phone and held it so Rick could see the screen.

  The photo showed Dani’s body in exactly the same position as the official police photo. Rick inspected it carefully, but found nothing different. He took the phone from Joe’s hand and zoomed in on Dani’s blouse. There were the same two burn marks, but next to the body, there was something different. There were a few little pieces of colored paper lying in the sand.

  He turned the phone around and showed it to Joe. “Do you remember seeing these?”

  “I think maybe. What are they?”

  “They could be the taser’s AFID confetti.”

  “Oh.” Joe scrunched up his cheeks. “Let me guess, a couple of those would have been helpful.”

  “Definitely. I’m not sure if a lab could enlarge this photo enough to read one of the numbers. Can you recall what happened to it?”

  “Wind was gusting, Rick. They were tumbling all around.”

  “Crap. I heard you pick up trash on the beach. I was hoping you bagged some of it.”

  Joe showed Rick a trash picker he kept behind the counter. The device had a handle on one end and a pair of claws on the other. “I could never grab anything that small with this.”

  The air in Rick’s chest, along with his hopes, deflated. “This does prove someone discharged a taser where the body fell. It doesn’t help Flynn, though.” Rick handed Joe’s phone back, taking a last, wistful look at the photo. “I’m going to talk to the mayor. Somehow I have to get her to tell the chief to back off.”