The Cats that Walked the Haunted Beach

by Karen Anne Golden

  “So, you’re taking all of the cats?” he quizzed.

  “No, why do you ask that?”

  “Because we have seven cats and you mentioned seven bedrooms — a bedroom per cat.”

  “No, silly, just Scout and Abra. I thought that on Saturday, Daryl and you could drive up. There’ll be plenty of room.”

  “Sounds like fun. I’ll call Elsa and see if she can mind the cats.” Elsa was their go-to cat wrangler.

  “I’m waiting on a text from Mum to see if she booked a flight.”

  “Where’s she flying into?”

  “There’s an airport in Gary.”

  “Yeah, that’s right. Been there once.”

  Katherine’s cell phone pinged. “Speak of the devil, it’s Mum.”

  “Devil all right,” Jake said under his breath.

  Katherine read the text, then sighed.

  “What’s wrong?”

  “Mum’s in a complete tizzy because she knows a better place.”

  “How would she know a better place? Has she ever been there?”

  “No, but apparently one of her Irish friends has, and she recommended a vacation cabin practically right on the water.”

  “Nope, stick to your B&B.”

  Katherine read more of the text. “Wow, it has a screened-in porch. Scout and Abra will love that.”

  “It can be freezing up there this time of year.”

  “How would you know, Mr. Big Shot?”

  “I’ve been there . . . in April, and it was colder than cold.”

  “As long as the cabin has heat and isn’t sitting on an iceberg, I think we’ll be okay.”

  Jake drummed his fingers on the glass-topped table. “The idea of you staying in a place that Mum recommends raises a big, fat red flag.”

  “Well, I’m in a bind. I sold Colleen on the idea of going on this little adventure. She’ll be very disappointed if I don’t give in to Mum. Colleen’s all for peace and love right now so close to getting married.”

  “Close to getting married,” Jake repeated mischievously. “They can’t even agree on a date. How is that close?”

  “You know what I mean!” Katherine retorted.

  Jake was quiet for a moment, then said, “Do what you have to do, but take your Glock.”

  Katherine smiled. “I must be a very good salesperson. It took a while, but I sold you on the idea.”

  “Reluctantly,” Jake said, getting up. “Is it okay if I use your computer? I’m lazy. I don’t want to trek up to the attic.”

  “You spoiled rotten baby. It’s fantastic up there. Margie did an incredible job.”

  Jake walked into the office, sat down, then called to Katherine, “Come in here, Sweet Pea.”

  Katherine joined him. “What?”

  “Is this the place?”

  Katherine looked over Jake’s shoulder at the screen. “Do you think this is the vacation cabin Mum texted about?”

  “The cats seem to think so.”

  Abra jumped up and tapped the mouse.

  “Okay, it was you. Busted.”

  “Raw,” Abra cried innocently.

  Jake read the screen. “The cabin is located near the town of Seagull. I’ve never heard of it.”

  “Look at the sidebar. There’s a map.”

  Jake clicked on it. “That is very close to the Dunes State Park.”

  “What exactly is a dune? I did a Google search and still don’t know exactly what it is.”

  “Don’t you have sand and beaches in Manhattan?”

  “In Brooklyn, there’s the Coney Island beach, but I’ve never heard of a sand dune.”

  “It’s a hill of sand along a beach. They’re formed by the driving winds off of Lake Michigan. I remember that some of them are quite high.”

  “Yes, professor. What is there to do at the park?”

  “Biking, hiking, birdwatching, swimming—”

  Katherine barged in, “Oh, no way, Colleen will hate this. She’s not an outdoorsy kind of gal.”

  “Don’t stick up your pretty little nose just yet. There are other towns and cities nearby. If you want to do the drive, Gary or Chicago are a hop, skip away. You’ll find something to do.”

  “Doesn’t matter. Mum is planning it, so I’ll go with the flow.”

  Jake said, “Give me your hand, my lady.” He grabbed Katherine’s hand and kissed it.

  She laughed. “That tickled. Why didn’t you shave this morning?”

  Jake ran his hand through his beard stubble. “You don’t like my manly look?”

  “Yeah, whatever.” She headed to the kitchen.

  “Let me know when you find out more about your trip.” He forced a laugh, and tried to hide the fact that he’d be happy if Mum stayed in Manhattan where she belonged.

  “Will do,” Katherine said, stepping back to the kitchen. “Dinner will be ready in twenty minutes.”

  Chapter Two

  A Week Later

  Misty Komensky, co-owner of Seagull Cabins, sat behind a fifties-era metal desk in the office, and sorted through a stack of medical bills. Her husband Arlo was busy in Cabin Five. She’d join him in a few minutes to change the bed linens and tidy up the cabin. Arlo said the people who just checked out did a number on it. The new guests would be arriving soon, so the cabin had to be spotless. The last thing Misty wanted was a bad review on their website.

  Misty fretted about Arlo’s health. He’d been a healthy seventy-year-old until three months ago, when he suffered a heart attack. Now, thanks to modern-day medical technology, Arlo had the blockages cleared, and several stents later, he was good to go. Her only worry was he hadn’t been vigilant in taking his medications.

  Arlo’s potassium level would fall to such a degree that he’d pass out, then the drama would begin. She’d call an ambulance, and he’d be whisked away to the hospital. In the ER, she’d sit by his side for hours, becoming angrier by the minute because if he’d only taken his pills like he was supposed to do, he’d be safe at home, sitting in his recliner, watching TV. Instead, every trip to the ER resulted in more and more bills. Even with Medicare footing most of the cost, the supplemental insurance had refused to pay some of the bills.

  Although the cabins were paid off, there were taxes and maintenance costs. It was a struggle to keep afloat, especially in the winter when they didn’t have the steady vacation rental income coming in.

  To help reduce her anxiety, Misty learned of a pen pal program at a prison not far from where she lived. She began corresponding with an inmate named Josh Williams. When he was recently paroled, she’d asked him to come to the cabins and work for her and her husband. Arlo complained at first, but then realized he was no longer up to the task of maintaining the cabins, so Misty hired Josh to be the new maintenance man. Josh would be paid an hourly wage, plus receive room and board. He’d have one of the seven cabins to call his own. And Josh would have her whenever he desired, because ever since he’d gotten out of prison, they’d been having a steaming hot affair.

  Misty didn’t like cheating on her husband of five years, but Josh was just so handsome with his award-winning smile, his sense of humor, and his six-pack abs. She found that when they were together, she couldn’t keep her hands off him. No matter how much she tried, she couldn’t resist him.

  She smiled at the thought of seeing Josh in a few days. It was convenient that he lived in Cabin Seven, which was the farthest cabin from the office. It was a perfect arrangement for their love nest.

  She didn’t smile long. Nagging worries just wouldn’t let her be happy. She couldn’t divorce Arlo because she’d lose money in the deal. She’d lose the income from Arlo’s retirement and social security. At thirty-five, she didn’t relish finding another job, and she lacked the skills and the education to find another manager’s position. She didn’t have enough money to buy out her half of the business. The cabins sat on a premium location facing Lake Michigan. In light of their private beach frontage, a realtor had recently appraised them for seve
ral million dollars. Where would I come up with that kind of money? she asked herself gloomily.

  In the beginning of her marriage, she loved Arlo, but when he started smacking her around, she was repulsed by him. He was moody and quick to get mad at her for the most trivial reasons. He was controlling and wouldn’t let her have friends. That’s when she started writing letters to Josh, and in time, the letters got more and more romantic. Josh said he wanted to marry her. She’d said yes, but she’d have to find a way. Divorce was out of the question. Misty pounded the desk with her fist and muttered under-her-breath, “I wish Arlo would die.”

  Murder wasn’t her cup of tea, at least in the grisly sense. She had to find a way to get rid of Arlo so no one would suspect her. She’d watched enough CSI TV shows to know that she’d have to be very careful. Poison was out of the question because if an autopsy were performed, the coroner would identify the toxic drug and she would be the number one suspect. Could she smother him with a pillow? She thought, with my luck he’d wake up, realize what I was doing and beat the crap out of me.

  Misty wanted his death to be quick. Although he was a jerk, she didn’t want him to suffer.

  Last time she saw Josh, she’d talked to him about this. He said he knew someone who could get a drug that would cause Arlo’s heart to stop, and the coroner would write fatal cardiac arrest on the death certificate. Josh didn’t know if the drug came in pill form or had to be injected, but he assured her, either way, Arlo would die peacefully. She’d collect the life insurance, and no one would be the wiser. She agreed that it was a good plan, but wasn’t sure if they should go through with it. She’d told him that dreaming about this kind of stuff is one thing, but actually doing it was another. There had to be another way where they both wouldn’t end up behind bars.

  The office’s front door bell chimed and Arlo walked in.

  Misty startled and snapped out of the reverie. “Hey, I’m sorry. I’ll be there in a minute.”

  He grumbled. “Damn toilet is broken. Gotta drive to the hardware store to buy a new flapper. Where’s that new guy, Josh? He should be doing this.”

  Misty paused and chose her words carefully. “He had a funeral to go to.”

  “So? When’s he comin’ back?”

  “In a few days.”

  “You’re kiddin’ me? It doesn’t take a few days to go to a funeral. Where is it?”

  “Some town south of here.”

  “How’s he getting there? He doesn’t own a vehicle?” Arlo said, getting angry.

  “I said he could take the truck.”

  “The new truck,” Arlo complained. “Damn woman. Are you stupid? Why didn’t you just loan him your Cherokee?”

  “He said after the funeral, he was picking up his belongings from his cousin’s, and my Cherokee wouldn’t have enough room.”

  Arlo walked up to the desk, and glared down at Misty. “I’m not happy you loaned out our new truck to an ex-con. What was wrong with the old Ford?”

  Misty frowned. “It’s like a hundred years old. I got tired of it dying on me whenever I’d go to town.”

  “It’s my vehicle,” he said sarcastically. “You never drive it.”

  “Josh tried to jump it, but it wouldn’t start. He thinks you need a new battery.”

  “Like he knows somethin’ about old trucks.”

  “Ah-ha, you agree it’s an old truck,” she said lightly, trying to get Arlo in a better mood.

  “Don’t you get smart with me,” he said, not in a better mood.

  Misty shrugged. “The new truck is a tax write off. Is that enough to wipe the frown off your face?” she smiled.

  Arlo scowled. “Give me a couple of twenties from the cash box.”

  “Why?”

  “Because I can’t find my wallet.”

  “Again?” Misty said, surprised, then laughed nervously.

  Arlo was not amused.

  “Oh, don’t worry about it. I’ll help you look for it.” She reached in her bottom drawer and removed the petty cash box. She handed Arlo more money than he asked for. “Take sixty, sweetheart, in case you need it. And come closer and give me a kiss.”

  Arlo brushed off the invitation. “I’m busy. Throw me your keys, so I can get the toilet fixed.”

  “Sure,” Misty answered. She got up, went to her bag, and pulled out the keys. “Do me a big favor? Fill my tank. I’m about out of gas.”

  Arlo grumbled something and left.

  Her cell phone pinged. She looked down at the text, then her mouth dropped. It was Josh. “I miss you, baby,” he wrote. She read it and thanked her lucky stars Arlo wasn’t around to ask her who texted. She texted back, “Arlo just left. Watch what you say! He reads my texts sometimes.”

  Josh didn’t answer.

  Chapter Three

  Dave Sanders, the new owner of Erie’s Dew Drop Inn, sat on a barstool at the bar. His bartender, Eddie, was busy hand-drying glasses. A man in his thirties, with a shaved head and a chin beard, came in. He walked directly to the bar.

  Dave turned to see who the newcomer was so early in the day.

  The man sat down two stools from Dave and said to the bartender, “Bring me a Jack and Coke.”

  Eddie mixed the drink and slid the glass over to him.

  Dave started the conversation, “Ain’t never seen you in these parts.”

  “That’s cause I’m not from around here,” Josh laughed, and took a drink from his J & C. “I’m stayin’ one night at the Erie Hotel. Just checked in. I asked the gal at the front desk if she knew where Stevie Sanders lived, and she told me to come here.” Josh looked around the near empty bar and said, “Well that guy over there ain’t him.” He pointed at the heavyset man wearing bib overalls sitting at a nearby table. “Unless Stevie’s gained a ton of weight, and gone bald, that definitely ain’t him.”

  Dave didn’t comment but continued staring at the newcomer.

  Josh continued, “Several years ago, Stevie gave me an address at a trailer park down by the river. But when I drove there, all I found was a burned-out trailer sittin’ on the lot. Hope nothing happened to him. Can you tell me where he moved?”

  “Who’s askin’?” Dave asked suspiciously.

  “I’m a buddy.”

  “How do you know my brother?”

  The man eyed Dave curiously. “Yeah, Stevie talked about you. Dave, right?”

  Dave didn’t answer the question. “When?”

  “We were cellmates at prison. Michigan City? Does that ring a bell?”

  “Yeah, so? What’s your name?”

  “Josh. Josh Williams.”

  “I don’t recall Stevie ever mentioning you.”

  “He got out before me, and I told him when I got paroled, I’d come and visit.”

  Eddie piped in. “If you hang around long enough Stevie is sure to show up. He always comes in for a beer when he’s done with his electric business.”

  Dave threw Eddie a mean look.

  The bartender took the hint and stepped to the end of the bar.

  “Hope you don’t mind my askin’, but are you fixin’ to live in Erie?” Dave asked. “Find a job here?”

  “Oh, no, I’ve hooked up with a woman who owns vacation cabins on Lake Michigan — up by the dunes. She’s asked me to help manage it.” He lied about the latter part.

  “Just released and you’re already hooked up with a woman. That’s impressive timing,” Dave noted, starting to lighten up.

  “We wrote each other letters while I was in prison. She was my snail-mail, pen-pal,” Josh began. “She’s my age, but she’s married to this old geezer who is just about ready to kick the bucket. She said I could live rent-free in one of her properties, if I’d—”

  Dave cut him off. “Sounds like a good deal, but you need more than a place to sleep.”

  “Oh, she’s paying me a handsome salary as well. It’s just that I’ve got this big deal coming up, and I wondered if Stevie—”

  Dave read his mind and put up his hand, �
��Stevie ain’t in the drug business anymore. He’s clean. You better find somebody else.”

  Josh became irritated. “I’d much rather ask Stevie.”

  “He’ll tell ya the same.”

  Josh pulled out his wallet, and threw a ten on the bar. “Thanks for the info,” he said. He slipped off the barstool and walked out of the bar. In the parking lot, two men stood by their trucks shooting the breeze. Josh moved over to them. “Howdy, y’all,” he said in a fake southern accent. “I’m lookin’ for Stevie Sanders. Know where I can find him?”

  The man in the checkered flannel shirt and faded blue jeans said, “Lives next to that pink mansion on Lincoln Street. Got him a nice house.”

  “How far is Lincoln Street?”

  The other man dressed in a similar fashion answered, “When you get to US 41, Lincoln Street is the first right after the ice cream place. Pink house is on the right.”

  “I thank ya kindly. Y’all take care now, ya hear?” Josh said.

  He climbed into the new GMC Sierra and plugged in Lincoln Street on the in-dash GPS. He wasn’t sure the yahoos he’d just talked to were telling the truth. He was wrong. GPS directed him to turn right after the ice cream place.

  Back in the bar, Dave texted his brother to give him the heads up, but Stevie didn’t text back.

  “Dang, I swear Stevie never answers his text messages.”

  Eddie came over. “He’s probably out in the sticks where there ain’t no reception.”

  Dave’s cell phone pinged. Stevie texted, “He’s the last person I want to see.”

  Dave said to Eddie, “Okay, he got it,” and then he complained in a stern voice, “Don’t volunteer information about me or anybody else in my family. You got that?”

  “That was stupid of me. Sorry about that, boss.”

  Dave finished his beer. “Another one for the road,” he said, then he started laughing.

  Eddie reached down and pulled a bottle of beer out of an ice chest, handed it to Dave, and then asked, “What’s so funny?”

  Dave smirked. “Stevie’s done found him a girlfriend.”

  “You don’t say,” Eddie said, shocked.

  “Yep, he’s got a date with her Thursday night, except it ain’t around here. He’s got to meet her somewhere up north.”