Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  “You’re trespassing.” Just a statement of fact—no malice or threat in his voice.

  “I’m sorry about that. Your friend Lydia Campbell told me you might be working in your garden. I knocked on your front door, and then decided to see if you were in your back yard.”

  “You know Lydia?”

  “Yes, she and I play in a bridge club together. I’ve known her for years. I’m surprised you and I haven’t met.”

  Abruptly, he turned his back on Patty, and walked to a bare bed of dirt a few feet away.

  “Can we talk, Mr. Frolick?” she persisted.

  “Come on, if you like. I have to get these bulbs in the ground. Already late with them.”

  He wasn’t so much unfriendly as he was distracted. Patty had been warned that he was ‘crazy’, but, so far, Frolick didn’t strike her that way. He might be eccentric, definitely, but there was a quiet intelligence in his manner.

  “What are you planting?”

  “Hyacinth. Should have been in the ground in November. Forgot I had them.”

  “Well, it’s been pretty mild this winter . . . you’re probably OK with them.”

  Patty looked around the space and wondered at how different it looked than his front yard. Frolick’s garden was tidy, even on this day in mid-winter. There wasn’t much grass, just a couple of pathways that were lined with neatly-placed rocks. The bulk of the space was filled with flowerbeds, surrounded by shrubs, mostly hydrangeas, she thought, although they were in January stick mode. One carved-out bed at the left was full of rose bushes, five or six of them, all pruned and primed for early spring growth. It was easy to imagine this garden in the full flush of summer beauty. It occurred to Patty that Frolick might delight in presenting a ramshackle appearance to the world out front, while keeping this jewelry-box garden all to himself. She felt like an intruder, but she had a job to do.

  “What do you want to ask me about?” Frolick asked as he continued to spade the ground. A paper bag holding his bulbs sat open near his right knee.

  “Do you know Emily Bushnell?” Patty asked to Frolick’s back. She tried to maneuver herself around him so she could see his face.

  “You mean Marjorie and Fred’s girl? Yes, I know the family.” Dig. Dig. Dig.

  “Could you stop working for just a minute, please?”

  Frolick put down his trowel, and wiped his hands on the front of his overalls. He stood and faced Patty with his full attention. “What is it, Ms. Perkins?”

  “Thank you. Emily Bushnell was found dead on the beach below here yesterday”—she gestured out to the beach beyond the road—“and we think she was murdered. I’d like to ask you a few questions.”

  “Is she the young one?” His voice was calm and steady. If he felt any emotion, his face didn’t betray it.

  “Yes, four years old. Where were you on Friday evening?” she asked, all business now.

  “I have no idea.”

  “Were you at home?”

  “I can’t remember what I had for breakfast this morning, how do you expect me to remember back to Friday? But, yes, I was likely at home. I’m here most of the time.”

  “Friday night was particularly foggy and rather drippy…do you remember?”

  “You know, I do remember that. I went out to the store to get some food from the deli. Great invention, delis, don’t you think?”

  Patty smiled. “Yes, I have to agree with you. One doesn’t always feel like cooking, does one?”

  “No, one doesn’t.” A hint of a smile. “I’m sorry to hear about that little girl. She’s a little charmer, that one.”

  “She was stabbed.” Patty let that truth hang in the air.

  “And you think I did it?” he asked, and seemed keenly interested to know.

  “Did you?”

  “I don’t think so,” he replied. “You would think I’d remember that.”

  Patty stared at him. Was he pulling her leg?

  “Did you walk on the beach Friday night?”

  “Doubt it. Likely stayed in with my deli dinner and turned in early. This time of year I go to bed early and get up early.”

  “Do you walk on the beach most days?”

  “Yes, I would say so. No point in living here if you don’t enjoy the ocean.”

  “But you didn’t go down there on Friday?”

  “That’s not what I said.”

  She gave him a puzzled look.

  “I said I didn’t go for a walk on Friday night. I was down there earlier in the day. Picking up a piece of driftwood I’d spotted from the bluff.” He ran his hand through his ruffled hair.

  “Do you remember if you saw anything strange or out of

  the ordinary?”

  “Didn’t see another soul, if I recall.”

  “Do you have a police record, Mr. Frolick?” Patty asked, changing tactics.

  “No, I don’t believe I do. Seems as though I’d recall that, too.”

  This man was as crazy as she was.

  “You remember some things and don’t remember others. Is that a pattern with you?”

  “Do I have dementia, you mean?”

  “Yes, that’s what I’m getting at. Do you think you weave in and out of reality at times?”

  “Quite possible,” he replied matter-of-factly.

  “Does that frighten you?”

  “Yes, it does. That’s why I try to stick to my routine. And, I don’t believe it’s part of my routine to kill little girls.” He was serious, and Patty believed him. She also liked him, and felt a twinge of regret for his situation.

  “Can anyone verify that you were home on Friday night?” she asked.

  “Doubt it. They know me at the deli, though. If you need to check that what I’m telling you is the truth, Sandy over there would probably remember that I stopped by.”

  “What did you buy?”

  “Rotisserie chicken and a fruit salad,” he said without hesitating.

  “How can you remember that from two nights ago?” She truly wanted to know.

  Frolick shrugged. “Not sure how. But it’s what I bought.”

  “OK. How well do you know the Bushnells?” Another change of direction.

  “About like everybody else, I guess,” he replied. “Fred’s the mayor.”

  “Yes, he’s the mayor. Do you ever talk to him?”

  “I see him sometimes down on the beach, and sometimes at the post office. Can’t say that I do more than talk about the weather with him. There are things I could tell him, though.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “Do you think he knows his uppity wife fools around with one of our firemen? Or that all of his kids smoke pot. Not the little girl,” he clarified, “she’s an innocent. Was an innocent.”

  Patty stood rooted to the spot. She was momentarily stunned.

  “Marjorie Bushnell is having an affair?”

  “Yes, I believe that she is.”

  “How on earth would you know that?” Patty asked. She was incredulous.

  “Saw ‘em.”

  “You saw Marjorie Bushnell and another man together? Who is he?”

  “Craig Kenton, he’s a volunteer fireman. Also works at the hardware store. I saw them coming out of the A-frame cabin below the Pacific View Motel. They were cozy.”

  “When was this?”

  “I’ve seen them twice. The time at the A-frame was about a month ago, middle of the day. Can’t remember what day of the week it was. Then, I saw them last week with their cars pulled up next to each other in back of the market. They were both driving and pulled up in opposite directions to talk. She had the little girl in the back seat.”

  “Why were you behind the market?”

  “I was looking for a trash can to dump my lunch bag.”

  “They could just
be friends and were catching up,” Patty suggested.

  “Just friends don’t plant a big, lengthy smooch on the lips leaving a beach cabin together.”

  “You saw them kiss?” Patty felt a chill, and it wasn’t only the cool January air.

  “Yes. I had just come around the corner by the cave and was probably hidden from their view behind the rocks. There was no one else around, and they probably thought they were all alone. Surprise!” he grinned, and threw his hands up in the air.

  “This is hard to believe, Mr. Frolick.”

  “Believe it or not, I can’t help you there. Marjorie and Craig, sitting in a tree, K-I-S-S-I-N-G!”

  “But how could they think they could get away with a relationship in a small town like this?” Patty couldn’t remember ever being more surprised at a nugget of information from an interview.

  “Maybe they don’t care if they get caught.” Frolick said.

  “But it’s crazy—she’s the mayor’s wife.”

  “Craig Kenton is a nice-looking young man.” He was amused at Patty’s obvious discomfort with this topic.

  “Still,” she said.

  “The stirrings below don’t always cause man or woman to stop and think.”

  Chapter 15

  Sunday, 8:30 a.m.

  In the War Room, Matt, Jay, Fern, and recently-arrived Ed Sonders discussed verifying the alibis of each Bushnell. Jay and Ed were in uniform, looking starched. Matt already knew them well enough to understand that they both made a habit of being professional. Fern was wearing a black dress and the same knee-high boots as yesterday. Matt liked her better in yesterday’s blue sweater, but accepted that the black dress was the appropriate choice for today.

  “Before I left here last night, I phoned the Port Stirling Cinema and spoke to the manager,” Matt told his colleagues. “She says that Jack Bushnell and his pal Joey Hawthorne were at the movies Friday night, although she couldn’t verify how long they stayed—she only sold them tickets and saw them in their seats before the movie started.”

  “Did she say what the movie was?” asked Ed.

  “Yeah, it was the Star Wars film.”

  “OK, that’s what Jack told me they saw,” confirmed Ed.

  “I also tracked down Joey’s parents—they’re the only Hawthorne in the book—and talked to his dad,” said Matt. “He corroborated that the two boys went to the movies. Said his son walked home afterward, and was actually home a little earlier than he expected.”

  “Did Mr. Hawthorne know about Emily’s murder?” asked Fern.

  “No, he wanted to know why I was calling, of course. I told him that we were investigating a crime, and needed to verify where the kids were Friday night. I could tell he didn’t know what was going on. So, if Joey and Jack killed Emily, Joey did a good job hiding it from his parents. One thing—we’re going to get into it a little deeper with the three siblings today, and because two of them are still minors, we’ll need to have one of their parents in the room to make sure we stay on the up and up. Gary is eighteen and if we want to interrogate him separately we can.”

  “How do you see this morning working?” asked Jay.

  “From a logistical standpoint, the four of us are going in at the same time as our search warrant crew—we got the warrant last night from Judge Hedges. Thank you Mr. District Attorney.”

  “Oh, man, the mayor and his wife are not going to like this,” said Jay, shaking his head.

  “No, they’re not,” Matt agreed. “But it’s going to happen and they will have to face up to reality. We’re looking for a serrated kitchen knife, and any bloody clothes, in particular. Once the search is underway, I want you and Fern to continue with Marjorie, but let’s add Susan to the mix. Today we need to press on their alibis, really quiz them about Friday night. Ask for any verification you can get to nail down the details. Also, you’ll want to ask them both about their activities and whereabouts during the past week…see if anything unusual stands out. What did the family do all week? Was Emily within someone’s sight every day? Because we don’t have a motive yet, we need to establish Emily’s whereabouts, mood, health, everything about her in the days leading up to her death. We also need contacts for all the girls at Susan’s slumber party, and the parents of the home involved.”

  “I would like to know if either Susan or her mother kept a diary,” added Fern. “Can we add that to the search warrant? Girls and women often put their daily thoughts down somewhere, and it might offer up some insight.”

  “It depends. I had to state the things constituting the object of the search—the knife, bloody clothes, and all computers - and get authorization to seize those items. If the DA prepared the affidavit to include language like “and any other evidence related to said crime”, then we have more leeway. He did tell me that Oregon law is tougher than the federal 4th amendment requirements for search and seizure. It’s an excellent thought though, Fern—can you call Dalrymple and ask him the specific language of the affidavit? I’m waiting for my copy of it; he said I’d have it first thing this morning.”

  “I’ll go call him right now,” said Fern, getting up.

  “Jay, are you clear on how to proceed?” Matt asked his officer.

  “I think so. We’re trying to get straight on where everyone was all week and what they were doing. I’m also assuming that Marjorie was Emily’s primary caretaker since Fred spends a lot of time here and out in the community, so she should be able to shed the most light on Emily’s movements.”

  “Right. Ed, I want you to drill down with Gary. I didn’t make it over to the Stirling Tavern in person last night, but I did have a phone call with Paula, the owner, before I left here, and she said she couldn’t swear to it that Gary never left the tavern Friday night. She said she didn’t keep a close eye on their group. When I asked her if he could have slipped out for an hour and then slipped back in, she said it was possible, and she might not have noticed. She had a big crowd Friday night. I want you to share that with Gary and note his response, OK?”

  “Interesting,” replied Ed. “I should be able to tell from his reaction if he’s telling the truth or not.”

  “Also, I’m going to pop into the tavern tonight and surprise her. We’ll see if there are any minors present. I hate to admit it, but I was too tired last night to do a raid justice.”

  “What?” said Ed. “You mean you’re a human after all?”

  “Very funny.”

  “I’ll go with you tonight and we’ll check IDs together. It will be a bonding experience for us.”

  “That’s a plan, Mr. Smartass. In the meantime, I will take Fred and Jack together this morning. I need to know more about their alibis, their relationships with Emily, and how the previous week unfolded for both of them. I woke up wondering if anyone in town held any grudges against the mayor. Any history? Anyone know?”

  “You might ask the mayor about Fergus Dunbar,” said Jay. “He’s a local farmer who lit into him at the last city council meeting. He’s harmless in my opinion, but we should know Fred’s thoughts on him.”

  “What was his beef?” said Matt, jotting down the name.

  “I can’t remember exactly. Something about telling tourists about the local farmers’ CSA program, I think. Fergus wanted the mayor to help promote it, and he said no. Something like that.”

  “Anything else I should know about our mayor’s dealings with the town folks?”

  “Not that I can think of.”

  “Mr. Dalrymple says the search warrant is on its way, and a copy of the affidavit he wrote should be on your FAX machine,” said Fern, coming back into the room. “Also, all of your officers are here and ready to go when we are.”

  “Great,” said Matt. “I’ll call the mayor and tell him we’re on the way. I want y’all to remember that the Bushnell house is a potential crime scene, and that one or more of the family is o
ur likely perpetrator. If any of you are uncomfortable going back in there this morning, this is the time to let me know. I know this is new for you, Jay, and you, Fern. It’s normal to feel apprehensive, but if you think it will get in the way of our investigation, I need to know that now.”

  “I’m uncomfortable as hell, Chief,” Jay spoke first. “But I’m clear on what I need to do, and it’s my friggin’ job,” he said, his voice strong and convincing.

  “What he said,” said Fern, pointing at Jay, and attempting a timid smile.

  “Let’s go,” said Ed.

  * * *

  Sunday, 8:30 a.m.

  Gary Bushnell got out of his childhood bed, stretched, and looked outside the window. What a fucking nightmare. He was happy to see that last night’s storm had passed on, and they might actually get some sunshine in this God-forsaken shithole.

  He should have stayed in Eugene for the holidays. His family was fucked up, for sure. He wanted to stay at school and make a move on this hot bitch that was in his freshman sociology class. She was from San Diego, and was planning to stay in her dorm between semesters. Gary thought she might be dead broke, and couldn’t afford the plane fare home. He’d been planning to move on her by spending some dough on restaurants and acting like a big-shot mayor’s son.

  What a fucking joke his parents are. His lunatic mother insisted that he come to Port Stirling for Christmas, and his clueless dad reminded him that they were paying his bills, and that it was the “least he could for his mother”. So now, instead of fucking the lights out of Miss San Diego, here he was stuck with these crazies for another two weeks.

  Long blonde hair, even longer legs, and big, bouncing titties. Wasted.

  Great. Just great.

  * * *

  Susan Bushnell rolled over and noticed a ray of sun peeking through the slit in her curtains. Unbelievable, she thought. How could this be happening? Instead of lazing around today and enjoying her sixteenth birthday weekend with her friends, she would have to get up and endure her ridiculous parents.

  Susan deeply loved her little sister and would miss her, of course. But—hello!—life goes on, does it not? She wasn’t sure if she could handle more of that lame Fern Byrne and that huge cop asking her more questions about Friday night. Now, if that scrumptious new police chief with his sexy Texas voice would take over, she’d tell him everything she knew. Which was a lot.