“A little harsh with him, weren’t you?” Bill asked. “I mean, the poor guy’s practically penniless.”
If he only knew.
* * * *
Bill was so addled by his missing BMW that he didn’t question my heavy foot on the accelerator. I raced down Varick Street and pulled into a parking space in front of the station. Bill was already out the door and halfway to the entrance before I could lock the MC. I caught up with him inside the station and looked around. Not completely unlike the Etonville Police Department: a dispatch window, an outer office manned by staff, a hallway that probably led to inner offices. The place was quiet, possibly because it was only 8 a.m. Bill approached the dispatch window. I stood behind him as he explained his problem. Then my eye caught an officer striding down the hall toward the lobby. It was the no-pleasantries, all-business cop who had interviewed Jackson at my rental. If he identified me, I would have to enlighten Bill about Jackson’s situation. It was too early to tap-dance around the truth. Besides, he had enough on his mind and didn’t need Jackson’s dilemma piled on.
“I think I’ll wait in the car. Better yet, I’ll find us some coffee. Text me when you’re finished here. Bye!” I said, ignoring Bill’s quizzical expression, and took off.
I steered my MC onto Ocean Avenue, traveling a quarter of a mile until I reached the Candle Diner. I hurried inside, stood at the takeout counter, and waited for my order. I was shocked that Bill’s car was missing. I knew that luxury automobiles, like BMWs, were hot-ticket items for thieves, but what truly mystified me was how someone drove the car away from the curb without any of us, especially Jackson, hearing something. Could he have been sleeping that deeply? He was exhausted when we spoke, but—
“It’s Dodie, isn’t it?” said a male voice.
Behind me stood the lovely gentleman who worked for Sam. “John! Nice to see you. How are things in the community theater world?”
He smiled, a scattering of laugh lines visible around his sparkling eyes, making him appear younger than his probable sixty years. “Coming along. I think Sam will be happy when the festival is over.”
“I’ve seen his website. He must be a busy man.”
John removed a straw fedora and dabbed at his forehead. “Are you planning to remodel your home?”
As if I owned a home to remodel. “Me? No way. Just curious about Sam. How does he have the time to babysit the theater event? I imagine his contracting business is booming.”
“It is,” said John. “But Sam has always been committed to his community.”
“I noticed. His philanthropy, his work after Hurricane Sandy…impressive,” I said.
“I’ll pass on your compliments,” John said warmly. “He’s even delivering a eulogy for Vincent Carcherelli today.”
The memorial service. There had been a mention of it in the Candle Beach Courier. “Was he a friend of Vinnie’s?”
“A work acquaintance. But that’s the way Sam is.”
I accepted my coffees and pocketed the change. “Good luck with the festival.”
John laughed. “We’ll need it.”
“Tonight’s your dress rehearsal. I’m thinking of stopping by.”
“Glad to have you on the premises. We appreciate calm, sensible people, such as yourself,” he said.
I got it. Theater folks could be a mite zany as they drew near an opening. I had witnessed the wackiness at the ELT on numerous occasions. “Bye.”
John stepped to the counter to place his order. I had no sooner opened the door to exit than my cell buzzed. Bill must be ready for pickup. I juggled the coffees and read the text. It was Lola: What’s up today? I’m free till afternoon. Lunch? I hesitated. Who knew what was up or if Bill would require some man-handholding. I texted back that I wasn’t sure and would call later.
I nosed my car into the beach traffic—sunbathers in Candle Beach emerged early to avoid the worst heat of the day—and drove to the police station. I parked and sipped my coffee; I had no intention of interrupting police business with a text. Bill would get in touch when he was ready. The sun was warm on my face and neck as I leaned out the window, little evidence of the humidity that would almost certainly descend on the town later. Despite the caffeine, I felt drowsy. I’d had only a few hours of sleep last night. My mind flitted like a butterfly from flower to flower…I fluttered from Bill’s BMW to Vinnie’s murder to Sam Baldwin and the theater festival. Sucking the nectar out of each event, I thought poetically, and visualized the home where Aunt Maureen had lived for many years in Ocean Port, not far from Candle Beach. Her yard was full of hydrangeas, roses, and a swarm of butterflies and bees, always fragrant, sweet, and warm. I missed her…
My eyes popped open. I did know what I’d be doing later this morning. I texted Lola and hoped Bill wouldn’t be peeved at being deserted, especially on the day he’d lost his wheels. As if he read my mind from a distance, he sent me a one-word message: Ready.
* * * *
“Thanks.” Bill slammed the passenger side door of my MC and flipped the lid off his container of coffee.
“Sorry it’s not hot anymore.”
“No problem. As long as it’s caffeine.” His brow puckered.
“Were the police optimistic about getting the BMW back?”
“Not really. Turns out there’s been a string of carjackings and thefts in towns along the shore for the last year. They’ve got some leads, but nothing’s resulted in any arrests. Or in many recovered cars. They go after luxury models. Mercedes, Lexus, Maseratis, Porsches, and—”
“BMWs. Since you’re a police chief, I’m hoping you’ll get some extra attention.”
“Dodie, it doesn’t work like that. Down here I’m just another tourist.”
We drove in silence for a minute. I’d never seen Bill so down. He loved that car as much as I’d loved my old Metro. When I’d had a slight run-in with a tree stump and some hedges while driving his car earlier this summer, Bill was downright miserable until the body work to remove the scratches and dents was completed.
“I don’t understand how they got into the BMW and drove it away. Don’t you have some high-end security devices in it?” I asked.
“Yeah, but apparently car thieves have high-end electronic devices to override anti-theft measures. They can use relay boxes to jam and transmit signals from a keyless fob in the vicinity of the car.”
“You’re kidding?”
“Nope. They’re so smart they can attach universal key fobs to a car and record a code when the door is locked remotely. Once they’re inside the car, all they need to do is press the Start button. Who stands a chance with that kind of high-tech theft?” He paused. “I don’t understand how Jackson didn’t hear anything.”
“Maybe he did and thought it was our neighbor’s car.” I pulled into the driveway of our bungalow. “Why did you park on the street last night?”
Bill sighed. “I was in a hurry. To join you for dinner.”
I switched off the engine. “What’s next?” I asked softly.
“I’ll drop by the station tomorrow to review my statement, pick up some more intel from the state car theft unit. They’re working with local municipalities like Candle Beach,” he said.
“Sounds like a plan,” I said.
Bill reached for the door handle.
“By the way, did anyone mention Vinnie’s murder?” I asked.
“No, why?”
“No reason.” I tapped the steering wheel. “Well, actually Jackson is kind of a person of interest—”
“What?” Bill exclaimed.
“—he met with Vinnie the day before the murder and had a past relationship that…might have been rocky. Any chance you picked up some murder intel as well as car theft intel?”
He exhaled loudly. “Dodie, what’s going on in that head of yours? No, don’t tell me. I don’t want to know.�
� Bill opened the car door. “We’re on vacation, right?”
“Right.”
“I’m sorry about Jackson, but I can’t help you out here,” he said.
“Even to ask how it’s going?”
“No,” Bill said firmly.
“I understand how you feel about Jackson—”
“It’s got nothing to do with how I feel about Jackson—”
“But he and I have a history and it’s hard to walk away and pretend I’m not bothered by his…predicament,” I finished lamely.
“Dodie, you and I have a history too,” Bill said gently.
Which part of our history was Bill referring to? My participation in murder investigations or our relationship? “You’re right. I shouldn’t have asked you to nose around.”
“I hope we never break up,” he joked. “You’ll be stalking me forever!”
“Very funny,” I said as I got out of the car. Bill hugged my shoulders and kissed my forehead.
The porch door opened. Jackson stuck his head out. “Hey, bro. Any news?”
“Nope,” Bill said.
“So breakfast would help. Got a delish Spanish omelet ready to go.”
Bill perked up. “I could do with some food. And hot coffee.” He went down the hallway to the bathroom.
“Coming right up.” Jackson brandished a spatula and headed to the kitchen.
I followed, examining him. Gone were the grungy shorts and frayed T-shirt. Instead he sported khakis and a white button-down shirt. Both were badly wrinkled, but at least clean. His curly hair was neatly contained in his man bun. “What’s the deal? You have clothes on,” I said and poured Bill and myself cups of coffee, grateful that Jackson had assumed control of the kitchen.
“I do clean up well.” He smirked, then leaned in closer, serious. “The dude’s got some bad luck.” Jackson flipped the omelet.
The dude certainly had. “So why the change in clothes? Got an appointment today?” I asked, hopeful.
“Nah. It’s for Vinnie. His memorial service.” Jackson glanced at the wall clock. “In an hour.”
“Right. I read about it. I think I’ll go with you.”
Jackson rolled his eyes. “Dodie, I don’t need a chaperone.”
From bingeing on mysteries and thrillers, I knew that a funeral could be a clever friend to an investigator. Who came, who broke down, who spoke to whom. Bill had said on more than one occasion that funerals were excellent opportunities to gather investigative information. I’d seen him in action—out of uniform, expression neutral. Who would be in attendance at Vinnie’s service?
“This isn’t about you. It’s about Vinnie.” Or partly about Vinnie.
“What’s about Vinnie?” Bill accepted the mug of coffee. “Something smells super.”
“His memorial. It’s this morning. I’m going,” I said.
Bill considered my comment. “You were that close?”
“No,” Jackson said.
I nodded and said, “Yes.”
Bill took his cup of coffee and eyed us each in turn. “I’m going to sit on the beach and bake.”
“Don’t forget the sunscreen. You burn easily.”
“That would be twice I’d get burned today.” Bill propped his head on a fist.
Poor guy. Jackson garnished the Spanish omelet with green onions and tomatoes and delivered plates to the table. We all dove in. Conversation was sparse and light.
* * * *
After seeing Bill trek to the beach, Jackson and I drove down Ocean Avenue to the end of the boardwalk and the town park. The gazebo was surrounded by folding chairs on three sides. People had gathered, filling most of the seats, and Sam was sitting in the gazebo talking with several people, none of whom I’d seen before. Arlene Baldwin sat in the front row next to an older woman who could have been Vinnie’s mother. Jackson insisted on planting himself down front. I refused to join him and found a seat in the last row. A great vantage point from which to scan the assembly and note who was present. I knew practically no one in Candle Beach except for Grody, Jackson, Vinnie—no longer with us—and the ELT bunch, who were probably soaking up rays and flirting with the kind of sunburn that would wreak havoc with their makeup and Penny. I chuckled to myself. Still, I was on the alert for suspicious behavior, whatever that might be.
“Scoot over, Dodie,” Lola whispered.
“Lola? What are you doing here?” I asked and shifted one seat over.
“When you mentioned where you were going this morning, I thought, oh shoot, I shouldn’t let you go to Vinnie’s memorial alone.” Lola inspected the crowd and smoothed her elegant white lace dress that set off her golden tan and blond hair. She looked spectacular. Lola knew how to rock a funeral. I glanced down at my capris and blouse. No competition. “Is Jackson here?”
Oh no… Was Lola boyfriend hunting? “He’s down front. You didn’t need to come. Vinnie wasn’t that close a friend.”
Lola was no fool. Her eyes widened, then narrowed. “You want to study the assembly and see if anybody appears shady.”
Sheesh. Was I that obvious? “Keep that to yourself.”
Lola had barely mimed zipping her lips when someone tapped my back. “Hi, Dodie.”
It was the Banger sisters trailed by Edna, Carol, Mildred, and a clearly unenthusiastic Vernon. They trooped into the row in front of Lola and me. “What are you…?” Never mind. Why ask?
“We like a splendid funeral,” said one of the sisters.
I corrected them. “It’s not a funeral. Just a memorial service.”
“Is there a body?” asked Vernon.
Mildred shushed him. “We’re here to support Dodie. The deceased was her friend.”
“We’re like an 11-52,” Edna whispered to Mildred and Vernon. “Funeral detail. Without the corpse.”
“Dodie, how are you holding up?” asked Carol.
“Fine.” I smiled my appreciation. You had to hand it to Etonville folks. Nothing brought out the spirited inner daffy of the town’s citizens like a death.
A murmur went through the throng, then a hush fell over it. Sam stood and walked slowly to the edge of the gazebo and spoke into a microphone. He welcomed everyone, said how pleased Vinnie would have been to see old friends and Candle Beach acquaintances, and reminded the gathering to turn off their cell phones. He paused for a moment, then reviewed the order of the service: an invocation by a minister from a church Vinnie supposedly attended; a eulogy by Sam; remembrances by anyone who wished to speak; and, finally, a reading to close the service. We settled in and everyone bowed their heads for the prayer.
Next, Sam began to speak. He described Vinnie’s vitality and love of life—I’d seen that in the past—and his entrepreneurial gifts for business ventures—that I had never seen. Vinnie had changed these last years…what had led to his abrupt shift in organizational skills? Sam continued on, recounting Vinnie’s early days at the shore surfing and partying, then his maturation as he segued into the charter boat business—no mention of his partner Jackson. Odd. Sam’s voice was soothing as he recalled Vinnie’s life and added, regretfully, that his time had come too soon. No mention of the words “drowning” or “murder.” Sam Baldwin was a mystery to me. A chameleon. A cigar-chomping, gravelly-voiced dock worker one moment and a comforting, community-minded colleague and philanthropist another. Which was the real Sam?
After about fifteen minutes, he invited anyone in attendance who wished to speak and offer a recollection of Vinnie to come forward. As usual at these services, unless you were in Etonville, individuals took some time to venture forth. A young woman from the front row awkwardly approached the microphone. She introduced herself as Maxine, Vinnie’s fiancée. Aha, now things were beginning to get interesting. I craned my neck around Vernon. When I knew Vinnie, he was having fun playing the field, but obviously he’d opted to settle down. Maxi
ne was a petite, twenty-something brunette dressed in a stylish black suit and heels. She carried a white handkerchief and dabbed at her eyes as she spoke. She appeared doll-like, fragile.
“Vincent was my soul mate, my best friend, my confidant,” she began in a soft, wispy voice.
Hearts broke throughout the crowd as Maxine shared how they met at one of Sam’s charity events—hmm—and their plans for the future. I tried to get a glimpse of Jackson to see his reaction, but he’d shifted his attention away from Maxine to study the houses beyond the park. Was this a passive-aggressive response to Vinnie’s fiancée? It hadn’t occurred to me before, but there was a possibility Jackson was jealous of Vinnie’s new life: another boat, money, a future wife. Of course, Jackson had some money now… I wondered what would become of the IOU now that Vinnie could not pay up.
Maxine haltingly read a selection from Jonathan Livingston Seagull that she said was appropriate given Vinnie’s life at the shore and anyway was one of his favorite books—really? The she broke down. Arlene leapt to her feet and escorted Maxine back to her seat. Other folks told stories, some funny, about their experiences with Vinnie, and the assembly responded appreciatively. Things were winding down and the service was ending when Jackson rushed to the gazebo. Sam, who had been about to bring the minister back to the microphone for the final prayer, paused and moved to the side.
Lola poked me. “Jackson’s going to speak.”
Oh no.
“So… I’m Jackson and I didn’t know Vinnie like some of you. Like more recently.” Jackson seemed nervous as he handled the mic. Unusual for him. “We were best buds back when. Before the big storm. Vinnie was my bro.” Jackson exhaled noisily. Wow. Vinnie’s death must be bothering him more than he’d been letting on. “We were partners. Our boat was the JV…for ‘Jackson and Vinnie.’” He laughed uneasily and hesitated.
Lola leaned in to me whispering, “Is he done?”
“I hope.”
Then Jackson roused himself. “I want to say miss ya, dude. The shore won’t be the same without you. Won’t be like those years we took the JV out…fishing…partying…the two of us…actually sometimes it was the three of us.”
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