by Karen Harper
Would someone who wished her or Daria ill because of their report about the toxic gulf water be among those strangers? Bree had wondered silently. Surely, not among those who knew her.
Bree had put in a few frantic hours. She had met with her and Daria’s lawyer about Daria’s will. Because of the sometimes dangerous work they did, they both had wills with each other as the beneficiary. If they were both deceased, there were bequests left for Amelia’s sons. They’d used the only lawyer in Turtle Bay because they feared Ben would try to control everything. At Daria’s suggestion, they had recently added a codicil that, should one of them die or leave the business, Manny would become a full partner.
After her visit to the lawyer, Bree, Amelia and Ben picked out a coffin and arranged for a funeral home and the burial of Daria next to their parents, though Amelia kept protesting that she should have her own grave site, even if it was in the same cemetery. The grave site their father had bought when Mother died had a third plot next to her grave, although they weren’t sure why. “Maybe the deal was for three plots, so your dad just bought the extra,” Ben had said.
All this, and they still didn’t have the body released for burial—nor did they have answers, Bree thought. She promised to drive to Ben and Amelia’s to have dinner with them and see the boys later, but as soon as they were gone, Cole came over.
“No word on when we’ll hear,” she blurted when she saw him at the door. They hugged in greeting, and he kissed her cheek. He looked exhausted.
“I probably taste as salty as the gulf from crying,” she told him.
“Blood, sweat and tears.”
“Something like that.”
“How are you holding up?”
Arm in arm, like old friends or contented lovers, they walked toward the sofa. “Cole, I’m just praying the coroner and police come up with a foolproof ruling of accidental death. I—I can’t believe it could be anything else.” She sat next to him, turning toward him with one leg bent, and hugged a throw pillow to her chest to keep from crawling into his lap as she had on Sam’s barge.
“Surely not,” he said, covering one hand with his. “Have you been through her things?”
“Ben said not to, in case it does become a criminal investigation. He—it’s just that he’s trained to think that way. He’s seen too many bad situations. I can’t be wrong in thinking that this is just a horrible, freak tragedy. I know I was wrong in thinking she was alive all this time when she obviously wasn’t, but it’s just that I couldn’t bear to accept she could be lost—dead.”
“I suppose when you’ve been so close to someone, it’s hard to admit that as adults, your connection might not be quite as strong.”
She frowned at him. “We may have liked some different things and had some different friends, but we knew all that about each other. It has to be an accident, for heaven’s sake! People don’t just stroll up and surprise you miles out in the gulf. I still can’t recall hearing a boat motor. I didn’t even hear her start our boat’s motor, and I’m very familiar with its sound, even underwater.”
The street doorbell rang, and Bree jumped up as if it had been a fire alarm. “Maybe one of our friends,” she said, starting for the stairs. “They’ve dropped off enough food to feed an army, but Amelia still insists on cooking tonight. If it’s another reporter, I’m not opening the door.”
She heard Cole come down the steps behind her. It was strange—she’d only known him for three days, but she trusted him completely, just as she did Manny, Amelia and Ben. She crossed the office, running her hand along Daria’s desk, and glanced out through the locked door. A good-looking middle-aged couple stood there with serious, almost pained looks on their faces.
“You know them?” Cole asked behind her.
“No.”
“I can tell them you’re not seeing anyone.”
“Since I’m seeing them and vice versa right now, I’ll just ask them what they want.” She unlocked and opened the door. “May I help you?”
The woman spoke. “We’re Vivian and Frank Holliman, friends of Daria’s from her accounting class.”
“Oh.”
“Of course, the entire class and instructor send their deepest sympathies, and we are so very sorry for your terrible loss. But we’re here to speak with you about something that can’t wait. Perhaps Daria didn’t mention our names to you, but of course, she told you about her plans to be a spokesperson for Shells Eternal.”
“No. What is Shells Eternal?”
“Oh, dear,” Vivian Holliman said with a roll of her blue eyes. “You see, she made plans for her own burial at sea.”
Cole couldn’t believe Bree asked the couple upstairs or was listening to them with rapt attention as the Hollimans sat on the sofa and Cole and Bree took the wicker rockers. Bree had hers tipped forward, almost upright. When they’d announced the reason for their visit, Bree had looked completely stunned. She must have thought at first that they meant Daria had planned her funeral ahead, then committed suicide. Now she looked as if she was seething but keeping the lid on her temper. The whole damn thing smelled like a con game to him.
The Hollimans had explained that they represented a business that sank large, sculpted, concrete seashells onto the sandy floor of the gulf. In carefully constructed niches, the shells sheltered the cremated ashes of people. Accompanying plaques served as headstones.
Cole studied them as they did the fast talking. Viv, as she asked to be called, had pure white hair but a young face and a great body for her age; Frank was bald and was the better dresser of the two, including his expensive wristwatch and diamond-and-onyx ring. Bree had started out by demanding how well they knew Daria before they segued smoothly into a well-honed sales pitch.
“We really are an ecology-conscious business, and that appealed to Daria,” Frank went on. “As her business partner and a fellow diver, I’m sure it does you, too. And the fact that Daria loved the sea, made promotion for Shells Eternal a perfect match for her. She agreed to be our spokesperson in exchange for a fee and a gratis eternal shells resting place when she passed on.”
“Of course,” Viv went on as if they were a tag team, “we—and she—didn’t expect that she would actually have the need for that for decades. But the point is, she was extremely taken by a photo we showed her of one of our beautiful shells—”
“Offshore at Tampa,” Frank put in, “though the next one will be near Naples.”
“Our goal is for the shells to be covered with algae, barnacles, soft coral and small sponges, except for the bronze plaques with names and dates of the deceased. Of course, being a diver yourself, you could easily visit the site. A person who loved the water, the gulf, that much should surely have her cremains rest there, even though she can’t be our spokesperson now. Actually, we were hoping you might consider our offer now—in honor of Daria’s wishes.”
“Her cremains?” Cole said when Bree just stared at them.
“Cremated remains,” Viv explained. “Our ads urge our ecologically minded customers to think outside the box, and Daria did that. I’m so sorry she didn’t mention to you that she was interested in a partnership with us.”
Cole could almost read Bree’s expression. She’d been struggling to smother her emotions since her hysteria in his arms on Travers’s barge, but her eyes widened and she looked as if she’d throttle these two. Somehow she managed to unclench her fists and grip her hands together as if in prayer.
“Daria didn’t mention it,” she told the Hollimans, “but I assure you, your offer is so…unusual that she surely would have told me about it. We lived together, we shared our business and—”
“But she took the accounting class alone,” Viv put in, starting to look miffed. “We were hoping you would honor her wishes.”
“I assume, since this so-called partnership was so far advanced, you have a contract or some sort of written agreement from her you could show me.”
“We were preparing one for her to sign,” Frank said, sit
ting forward on the sofa. “We can bring you a copy of that, of course, or amend it to suit you.”
“What would suit me is for you to leave now,” Bree said, rising. “Our family has already made burial arrangements, and I’m not interested in Shells Eternal.”
The couple stood, reluctantly, even angrily, Cole could tell. He couldn’t believe their gall.
“It’s not unusual, you know,” Viv said, “for someone as young as Daria not to want to upset those dear to her by talking about death.”
“And I assure you,” Frank put in as they moved toward the door of the apartment, with Bree leading and Cole bringing up the rear, “that this is not some sort of scam, though I can tell you think so. You can check our Web site, talk to the families of those who already rest under the sea.”
“Our search for Daria, and now her death—” Bree choked on that last word “—have made Daria quite high-profile. Anyone could read about her background.”
“I repeat,” Viv said, “we are sorry for your loss and deeply regret you cannot honor her wishes. I would have assumed she shared this with you.”
Cole figured the Hollimans were lucky Bree didn’t just shove them down the stairs.
The bell gave a last jingle as she closed the door to the street firmly behind them and leaned against it.
“Do you believe that?” she asked, smacking her hands on her thighs. “If I wasn’t so desperate for any lead about what could have happened to her, I would have thrown them out the moment they said their motto was Think Outside the Box.” As they went back upstairs together, she went on. “You don’t think those people are bizarre enough that they would harm someone just to get publicity for their concrete shells, do you?”
“I can check them out online. They would hardly have said all that if it was totally bogus. My guess is the business is legit and they just thought they could use a high-profile former scuba-diver to give them sympathy and credibility. And they could get you, Daria’s look-alike, to be in their emotion-packed ads.”
“They said they were in her accounting class, so that’s easy to check.” At the top of the stairs, he put his arms around her and felt her shudder. “What scares me,” she said as she laid her head against his chest, “is that suspecting those off-the-wall people of harming Daria makes as much sense as suspecting anyone else. I don’t think she had an enemy in the world—but if she did and if someone could possibly have hurt her, have I inherited them now?”
Being with her nephews lifted Bree’s spirits, though both James and Jordan telling her they were going to miss Aunt Daria pierced her heart. “Now you and Mom get to be best friends, ’stead of you and Aunt Daria,” six-year-old Jordan told Bree. Amelia stopped stirring the spaghetti sauce; her eyes met Bree’s over the steam.
“Yes, that’s right,” Bree managed.
“Okay, you two,” Amelia told her boys, “go put those Star Wars action figures away, wash your hands and come back down for dinner. See if Daddy’s off the phone yet, and tell him to wash up, too.”
“But we aren’t done yet—Anakin is going to turn into Darth Vader and be really bad soon,” Jordan, the younger, protested. “See, Anakin used to be good but he’s going over to the dark side.”
Amelia turned to face the kids. From her seat on a stool at the breakfast bar, Bree thought Amelia looked absolutely stricken by something they’d just said.
“I don’t want to hear that kind of thing,” she told them, her voice as stern as her face. “Why can’t you play with something that has good people in it?”
As if to defend his younger brother, James said, “Luke Skywalker and Yoda are good, and Chewbacca. Sorry, Mom, I know you been crying a lot.”
“Yes,” Bree said, reaching out to put a hand on each of their heads. “Your mother’s tired and sad, so you two go do what she says, all right? And when she works hard on a meal like this, you can both help by eating really well.”
“And wash those hands until you’ve sung all the Birthday Song,” Amelia shouted after them.
“The Birthday Song? What’s that about?” Bree asked. It felt good to be talking about little, normal things, though her pain and loss sat so heavy on her chest it was an actual physical pain. Surely, that was why Amelia was so strung-out.
“Their idea of washing hands is zip, zip. If they sing ‘Happy Birthday To You’ all the way through, they get some of the grime gone. Bree, that was really weird about the Eternal Shells stuff—bizarre. Had Daria ever, ever talked about cremation instead of burial?”
“Only in a general way, that for some people it might make more ecological sense, but I don’t think she ever felt visiting Mom and Dad’s graves was morbid. We always thought it was pretty and peaceful there. We went once in a while and left flowers, tried to concentrate on the good things and happy memories.”
Amelia pressed her lips together before she gave the sauce another swift stir and turned back toward the kitchen sink. Bree could see her face only in the reflection of the window. “It’s good you two went,” she said quietly. “I—I just can’t face that place any more than I could being under all that water when you two used to dive with Dad so much.”
The front doorbell rang, the chimes beautiful. But then, Bree thought, everything in this house was beautiful and beautifully kept. “Are you expecting anyone?” she asked.
“No, and if it’s those Eternal Shells people trying to get to us now, they’ll get a sieve of wet pasta dumped on them. Ben will get it. He said he’d man the phones and watch the door. The neighbors have been really nice about dropping things off to eat, but I just needed to make something myself tonight for us, for you. As if there’s any such thing as comfort food at a time like this.”
Bree heard voices, a man and woman. Surely, the Hollimans had not come here. Ben appeared in the kitchen door, his face solemn.
“What? Who is it?” Amelia asked.
“Josh and Nikki Austin,” he said, looking at Bree. “Josh says he’s been pushing the coroner for a fast decision and he has something to tell us.”
Bree’s legs went weak as she followed Ben into the living room and Amelia followed. She went to the broad staircase and called up it, “You two can play a little longer, and I’ll call you when you can come down!”
Bree could not read Josh’s expression. All those years she’d known him, and she could not psych out what he was going to say.
Nikki looked as if she hadn’t slept, with smudges under her eyes as if she’d been crying. Bree was touched that she was evidently taking a stranger’s death so to heart, but then perhaps something else had upset her. Nikki’s jaw was set hard, as if to keep herself from dissolving in emotion. Bree empathized with the woman; she felt the same herself.
Josh hugged Bree while Nikki hugged Amelia, then Bree. Nikki smelled of expensive perfume. She hugged quickly and lightly, then stepped back to perch on the edge of the deep leather couch beside her husband.
Some movement outside caught Bree’s attention through the window behind the couch. In the gathering dusk, standing beside a dark car by the street curb, waited the Austins’ jack-of-all-trades, Mark Denton, whom Bree had briefly glimpsed in the hospital. Was he their chauffeur, as well as PR man, pilot and bodyguard?
“As I told Ben,” Josh said, “he’s not the only one who’s been pulling strings with the coroner for quick answers, for all of your sakes, as well as to just get this settled.”
“We’re grateful for your concern.”
Josh nodded. “At least I have some answers for you. There will probably be a few other results later—blood and toxicology tests, for example.”
“She wasn’t drinking or on drugs,” Bree put in.
To her surprise, Nikki spoke, uncrossing then re-crossing her long legs. “Of course, Josh is always concerned for all his constituents, but as Briana and Daria were childhood friends, this is especially important to him.”
Daria was much more than a childhood friend to Josh, and Bree recalled that Nikki knew that. Marla S
herborne had said she’d mentioned that Josh had dated Daria.
“I admit,” Josh said, “because Briana and Daria have been at the forefront of the efforts to monitor the problems with the gulf water, I’ve gotten more deeply involved than I might have otherwise. I know you have a key report to unveil soon, Bree, and it would be best to have things settled and Daria at rest before that. And, for your sake, Ben, too. With the election coming up, you need answers and closure.”
“We all do,” Bree said. “Just tell us the coroner’s ruling.”
Josh exhaled through flared nostrils. “Accidental death. The autopsy showed she hit her head very hard in the back. The shape of the skull fracture suggests she fell against the steering wheel and was knocked unconscious, perhaps in the rough sea. The medical language says, ‘a compression fracture in the occipital region of the skull with internal hemorrhages.’ The exact cause of death, though, was drowning, no doubt when the boat drifted ashore, hit the concrete breakwater wall—they think they’ve found the place—and went down in the choppy channel of Big Marco Pass. They’ve decided not to raise the wreck, so it will remain there as a memorial of the tragedy. Officially, the wreck of Mermaids II is off-limits because of diving dangers in Marco Pass.”
Nikki put in, “Of all the terrible, possible scenarios for the accident, that ruling seems the best, at least.”
Nothing was the best, Bree wanted to shout, but at least now, surely, with this accidental ruling, she could put her mind at rest.
11
It was nearly ten o’clock that night when Bree entered Daria’s room. She had phoned Cole to tell him the results of the autopsy. He’d told her not to do anything until after the funeral, now scheduled for Monday, and had volunteered to put off driving to Miami to check out Dom Verdugo’s casino boat tomorrow so he could be with her.
