The Secret of Seaside

by Agatha Ball

  Johnny was so spaced out, he didn't even hear Jake over the din of the crowd.

  "He'll have some water," I answered for my friend.

  "Pre-partying?" he asked, giving Johnny a knowing look.

  "High on life," I replied.

  "High on something," Jake remarked, pushing the glasses toward me as Johnny just wandered away.

  I took a polite sip of my pint and tried to look casual. “So, did you know Byron?” I asked.

  He leaned his elbows on the counter. “Yeah. Mean old bastard,” he said. "I’d say that nephew of his did us a favor.”

  “Do you think he actually did it?” I asked. "I mean, it just seems pretty dumb, to come walking into town, meeting people, making sure that everyone knows your name, and then going and killing the one person you’ve told everyone you’ve gone to see.”

  Jake shrugged. "I don’t know. Crime of passion? Idiot? People do dumb things in the heat of a moment.”

  “I guess," I said, taking another sip. "He just doesn’t seem the type.”

  “And what kind of type would that be?” Jake asked.

  “I don’t know. Rougher. Colder. Like some of the guys who camp out and come to the bar. A drifter or something.”

  "Don’t judge a book by its cover,” said Jake. "Some of those rough guys, they’ll be the ones to save you in a tough moment. They’re only that way because they’re survivors.”

  “Sure,” I said, wanting to explain and then realizing that I couldn’t put into words the feeling I had in my gut. "You're probably right.”

  “All I know is that I’m glad they got him. We’ll all sleep better tonight knowing that the guy is behind bars.”

  "Did you deal with Byron a lot?” I asked Jake.

  “Not really,” he said, giving his counter a wipe.

  "I heard he really didn't like Yvette."

  "That's putting it nicely," Jake said with a humorless chuckle. "That ex-husband of hers was up to something and double-crossed him. A man like Byron'll screw you over from here to next Tuesday, but heaven help you if you hit him back."

  “That's what some other folks have been saying. So, were you and Yvette talking about Byron earlier?”

  “Earlier?”

  “I saw you two walking by the coffee shop," I said. "Figured you were talking about the murder and how that was going to affect things.”

  “Ah,” said Jake, rubbing the back of his head, looking a little embarrassed. "No, we weren’t talking about that...”

  “What were you talking—”

  And that’s when Yvette’s voice chirped up behind us. I turned around. She was dressed in a little red number that was so tight, it looked like it had been painted on.

  “Ah,” I said, realizing what their conversation was more likely about and Jake's reluctance to get into specifics with me. I raised my pint. "Happy dead dude night!"

  Yvette sidled over to the bar, leaned over, and gave Jake a kiss on the cheek. "Pour me something hard,” she said, sitting down and giving him a wink.

  Jake gave me a look and I realized that was my time to vamoose. I smiled at Yvette while he was putting together her beverage. "How are things at the cafe?” I asked as I slid off my stool.

  “Much, much better,” she said brushing back her frizzy blonde hair.

  “I heard a lot of people are really happy about Byron,” I noted offhand.

  “I would never speak ill of the dead,” she said, taking the whiskey on the rocks and holding it up to Jake in a toast. "But let’s just say I’ll never speak good of him, either.” She downed it all in one big, long gulp and set it down hard on the bar. "Pour me another.”

  Jake seemed only too glad to oblige.

  “Seems like he was on everybody's bad side. What’d he do to you?” I asked.

  I'm pretty sure that these weren't her first two drinks of the night, because she actually answered me. Her voice slurred a bit as she said, “Oh, Byron and that bastard of an ex of mine were in cahoots. Business dealings and such. Byron was running people out of town and I am glad he's gone. Now, if someone could just get rid of my ex." Jake gave her a wink and she laughed just a little too loud. "I should ask that nephew of his to finish the job."

  "What business were they doing?" I asked leaning forward.

  She shrugged. "I have no idea, but it wasn't good. All I know is that Byron was madder than hell when it turned out my ex was stealing from the till and used the money to take his girl-toy on an all-expense-paid trip to the Bahamas. You'd think I would've had more of a right to be angry, but Byron acted like my ex cheated on him and like I encouraged him to do it. Made no sense at all! That bastard was trying to drive me out of business. Lucky for us, that nephew of his decided to come in and take matters into his own hands. I don't know what made him do it, but I will personally fund that young man's entire legal defense as service to the community."

  "Too late!" said Jake, taking a tip jar from behind the bar. It had a piece of paper taped to the front that read "Free Nate Edwards Legal Fund."

  Yvette took her cocktail purse from her shoulder, opened it, and poured all of her loose change into the jar. Jake turned around and started ringing a big brass bell, which caused the entire bar to cheer and lift their glasses.

  "Next round is on the house!" shouted Jake.

  I picked up my beverages to get out of the way as everyone started rushing the bar. Johnny had drifted over to the dart board. He was watching the players like they were shooting darts through space and time. I put a glass of water in front of him.

  "Thanks," he said. "Something so weird is going on here." He raised his glass as one of the players hit the dead center of the board.

  "Bulls-eye," I replied.

  Chapter Nine

  We hung out for only another hour. The bar was so loud and noisy, I couldn't hear any conversations and Johnny was starting to nod off. I walked him over to his shack by the beach and made sure he passed out in the general direction of his bed before I grabbed my bike and headed for home.

  Granny's little apartment above her bookshop didn't have a whole lot of room, so she rented me a cottage for the summer as part of my wages. My place was on a hill, which is why it was so cheap. Most tourists wanted an easy walk down to the beach. Sure, it was a bit isolated at the top of a gravel road, surrounded by nothing but tall, golden grass. And, yes, I’d taken to walking my bike so I wouldn’t pop the tires on the rocks. But still, I liked it very much.

  The cottage was covered in blue-gray clapboard. Two windows flanked the red door and there were sweet little window boxes filled with bright geraniums. I lifted my bike up the three wooden steps leading to the slatted porch and opened the front door. Most nights, I didn’t even bother locking the place, but with the murder, I found myself turning the deadbolt as soon as I got in.

  The cottage was not much more than a studio. On one wall was an antique brass bed covered in an old patchwork quilt. On the other was a ratty, green velvet couch and a television set that got a whole two channels if the antenna was angled just right. A braided blue-and-white rug added a splash of contrast to the light pine floor. The kitchen walls were blue-gray beadboard, painted from the same bucket that had been used to paint the kitchen cabinets and the outside of the house. There was a cooktop and oven, a small farm sink but no dishwasher. I had a landline, but no internet. The cable companies only provided service in town. The owner talked about maybe getting satellite up here, but then figured out if he started marketing the place as a retreat away from the distractions of everyday living, he could make bank off of that angle without having to pay extra utilities.

  I stripped off my skirt and t-shirt, letting them stay where they landed, and made my way into the bathroom. I turned on the faucets to the claw-foot bath and sat on the edge, resting my elbows on the lip of the pedestal sink as I waited for the tub to fill.

  My brain just couldn't stop thinking about Nate and wondering what he was doing. It was crazy that Stan had arrested him just for being in
the wrong place at the wrong time, namely that he came to town just in time to find out his uncle was dead.

  I climbed into the tub and soaked until my fingers got pruney.

  It sounded crazy, but all I could think is that anyone could have done a better job than Stan figuring this out. Everyone in the town hated Byron. There were half a dozen people I had met today who had a motive. Something wasn’t right.

  I looked at my wrinkled fingertips.

  Had he really died from drowning? Or had something else happened?

  The phone started ringing and I dragged myself out of the bath to see who it was.

  "Hello?" I answered as I wrapped a towel around me.

  "Oh, Paige..."

  My heart skipped a beat as I realized it was Granny. She never called at night.

  "I'm so sorry, I hate to disturb you but..." her voice trailed off.

  "Are you okay?" I asked, scrambling around the room to find pants and a shirt.

  "It's probably silly, but... I've looked everywhere for him but I can't find Captain. Did you let him out? Is he with you?"

  "No!" I said. "A tourist must have let him out."

  "Oh, what if an eagle got him! Or a shark!" The panic in her voice edged towards hysterical. "I've looked everywhere. He sometimes goes outside for some fresh air, but he always comes back for dinner. Only this time, he didn't come back. Oh, Paige, if something happened to him..."

  I stopped her. "I'm on my way over. I'm sure he's fine. Probably found some leftovers behind the café and has been having himself a buffet of leftover fish and chips."

  "Please hurry!" she said.

  "I'm headed out now," I said. "I'll search all the way between here and there. We'll find him."

  I hung up and threw on my clothes and a jacket. I grabbed a can and a spoon from the kitchen. Granny called Captain to dinner by tapping on the lid of his tuna can. Maybe if I tapped on the lid as I went, I could call him out of hiding. I grabbed a flashlight and stuck it in my pocket as I headed down the hill, calling for Captain.

  I didn't have to go far. Halfway between my shack and the town's main drag, I heard a plaintive little meow and Captain came into sight.

  "Oh, you fool cat," I scolded as I walked over to scoop him into my arms. "You scared the daylights out of Granny."

  But he wouldn't let me pick him up. He dashed into the tall grass and out of sight. I took off after him, trying to track him by the movement of the grass ahead of me.

  "What are you doing?" I shouted after him. "CAPTAIN!"

  The grass cleared and Captain was sitting on a fallen log, as pretty as you please, licking his front paw like he had been there the whole time and the chase was all in my imagination.

  I wasn't playing around this time. I gave the can another tap, then popped the corner of the top. THAT got his attention. I held it out, and as soon as he stretched to sniff, I grabbed him. He struggled, but I unzipped my hoodie and cocooned him inside my jacket, and he settled down. Between balancing the cat and the cat food and the flashlight, it was going to be a wonder if I made it to Granny's place with everything.

  "What is going on with you?" I asked as I walked toward the road. It was at that moment that I stumbled on something soft that didn't feel right. I shone the light down from my flashlight. "Oh no," I said, backing away.

  I dropped the can and the flashlight and fumbled for my phone as Captain tried to leap free again, but I wasn't letting him go anywhere. The phone rang several times before the line picked up.

  "Seaside Police Precinct. What seems to be the problem?" Officer Fred yawned.

  "Fred?" I said into the receiver as I peered through the grass just to make sure I wasn't going crazy. "I need to report a dead body."

  Chapter Ten

  The red and blue lights of the police car were making me queasy as they flashed across the dark hillside. The entire town had left the party at Jake's Tavern and was now out to see what the commotion was about. Granny came racing toward me in her quilted housecoat. I numbly passed Captain over to her. "I found him for you," I said.

  She gathered me up into her arms, pressing Captain between us in a great big hug sandwich. "Do you think I'm worried one wit about this idiot cat right now? Are you all right, Paige?"

  I nodded. I mean, time was all wonky and it felt like maybe I was in a dream that I might be able to wake up from later. "I was just out looking for Captain and I..." I couldn't say much more. Just pointed in the direction of the body.

  Stan sauntered over, his thumbs hooked into his belt. "Well, quite a bit of excitement for a sleepy town like Seaside." He pushed back his hat. "Gonna be a couple days until we're able to figure out who this fellow is."

  "What do you mean, Stan?" asked Granny, her arm still around me.

  "Nobody I recognize and he's been stripped of all identifying information. We'll send him down to the coroner. Cross check the missing person's reports. Fingerprint him..." He seemed at a bit of a loss as to what he was supposed to do aside from those things. "You know. Figure it out."

  I shivered. It was so cold out, and I couldn't keep my body from trembling violently. I just wished I could get my legs to stop shaking.

  Granny rubbed my shoulders. "Come on with me. I'm not letting you sleep in the cottage by yourself on a night like tonight."

  I felt like I needed more answers, though. I kept feeling that hand beneath my foot. I just needed reassurance, as crazy as it sounds, that he had been dead. That he hadn't just been injured and then died while I freaked out. I mean, the fact he hadn't said, "Ow!" was a pretty clear indication, but I needed to make sure I hadn't ignored someone who needed my help while I had gotten as far away from the body as I could to flag down the police.

  "Can you tell how he died?" I asked.

  "Garroted," said Stan, miming a choking motion, in case I didn't have enough of an imagination. He sighed. "I guess this means we still have a killer on the loose."

  Some pieces came together slowly in my head. "So Nate is free?" I asked.

  Stan seemed really disappointed. "Yeah. I'll have to call the precinct and tell Fred to let him go. I was really hoping this was an open-and-shut case."

  "I'm so glad that you will be able to devote yourself to finding the real killer now, though," I replied, a little pointedly.

  He waved my words away, like he hadn't understood them. "Don't leave town. I’ll need to bring you in tomorrow for a statement."

  "And where do you think she is going to go, Stan?" chided Granny.

  "Well, I don't know," he replied defensively. "But I'm supposed to tell people to stay in town. That's not such a crazy request."

  She shook her head. "Really. The very idea. My granddaughter has had quite an ordeal. A little human kindness would not be uncalled for. I'm taking her home and will personally ensure that she does not 'skip town.' As if she were some sort of a murderer. Really, Stan."

  "All these murders started when she arrived," he muttered under his breath.

  "What did you say?" she snapped at him, eyes flashing.

  He backed down and kicked at the ground. "Nothing."

  "I thought not," she replied, grabbing my hand and her cat, and stalking away with her chin in the air. "That man has rocks for brains," she growled as she steered me down the hill and toward her little apartment.

  The crowd parted and let us through. I wouldn't have tangled with Granny, either, if I had been in their shoes. I could hear them whispering and feel all their eyes on me. Tomorrow was going to suck. I mean, not as bad as it sucked for the guy who was now dead. But I had a feeling all the gossip I was going to be deflecting was going to make me wish we could trade places.

  Main Street was quiet. The shops were all dark inside, but their fronts were bathed in the glow of the street lamps. Thankfully, the sound of the ocean drowned out the hubbub on the hill.

  Granny unlocked the front door to the coffee shop, ushered me inside, and locked the door quick as you please. I got the feeling she still hadn't walked off he
r irritation at Stan.

  Behind the counter was the door to her apartment. She opened it and I followed her up the narrow hallway with its darkly stained, beadboard wainscoting. It led to her small living room. She had painted all of her furniture bright colors—red and turquoise. Her walls were painted a bright, cheery yellow and covered in hopeful sayings about goals and dreams that seemed really, really out of place and shallow after you've stumbled upon a dead body. She pulled a pillow and some bedding out of a closet and wordlessly made me a nice little bed on her narrow couch.

  She steered me beneath the covers, she kissed my forehead, and planted Captain between my ankles. "He's always been a good watchcat," she informed me. "He probably knew something was up and snuck out to watch over you."

  "Good old Captain," I replied, scratching him under his chin. The shock was starting to wear off and his warm, rumbling purr was a comforting reminder that right now, in this immediate moment, everything was okay. The cat was better than a personal zen master.

  "Try to get some sleep," Granny instructed me as she turned off the light and went into her room.

  I shifted onto my side, trying hard not to disturb the cat. He settled himself into the crook behind my knees. I stared at the light beneath Granny's door as I tried to sleep, but the Sand Man had nothing for me tonight. Every time I tried to close my eyes, I kept going back to that visceral memory of the field. I felt so powerless, so trapped by the world. I hated it. And I vowed that when the morning came, I wasn't going to let myself feel that way ever again.

  Chapter Eleven

  I didn't sleep much. In fact, I was up well before the 4:00 a.m. hour I usually had to rise in order to get the baking done for the shop. I yawned and went downstairs. There was a lot of therapy in making up the cinnamon rolls. Most mornings, I would let the mixer do the kneading, but today, I really enjoyed pulling the dough out and beating it into submission with my hands. I could almost imagine that last night was nothing but a bad dream.