A Tiny Dash of Death

by Carolyn L. Dean

  “Yeah, you’re right,” Claire said in a subdued tone of voice, wrinkling her nose as she looked out of the window. “Maybe we should go to Hazelton and ask around that bar you mentioned? What was it called?”

  “The Pearl’s Plank,” Scott answered. “Yeah, we can go there, but it will probably be useless to go in the middle of the day. Let’s go back to your place and grab Roscoe. It’s cold but pretty clear, and I have a kite. Would you like to come fly a kite with me?”

  Claire smiled, nodding. That sounded like a wonderful idea after the tense meeting with Captain Karl.

  Chapter 9

  They passed the time until heading to Hazelton by playing on the broad beach outside of the resort. The day was windy, making it perfect for flying the long dragon kite that Scott had pulled from his car. It took a couple of false starts before the lightweight kite finally caught the sea breeze just right and lifted off the damp sand, its long tail snaking behind it. Claire tried not to laugh out loud as she watched the colorful kite go higher and higher, tethered only by the slim string that she held in both hands. It had been years since she’d flown a kite, and she was almost giddy with the simple accomplishment of seeing it sail overhead, like a bright flag. She could feel Scott watching her but didn’t care, as she carefully watched the dragon fly on the ocean wind.

  Left to his own devices, Roscoe took the opportunity to try and chase off a large flock of seagulls that had settled on the sand nearby, scattering them in a burst of flapping wings and annoyed flight. The little dog was very proud of himself until the seagulls decided to take their revenge and began to divebomb the small dog. With a sharp yelp, he dashed back toward Claire and slid to a stop in between her feet as he warily watched the hesitant gulls. She reached down, scratching his head and laughing at him, and he managed a couple short barks, just to show those birds who was boss.

  After that, Roscoe made sure he didn’t stray too far from the pair, but Scott helped lure the dog back out onto the sand by dipping the kite down and teasing him with its tail. Roscoe finally began to lunge after the brightly-colored enemy, barking like mad but never truly getting close enough to succeed. Claire strongly suspected he didn’t want to, because he slowed down once or twice before getting too close. He was no dummy.

  The time on the beach was fun and distracting from the stress of the week. It was just what Claire needed, laughing and talking with Scott about nothing important for the hour or so they spent. In the end, the cold got to them and they retreated inside and headed for the bakery.

  When they arrived, they saw an older man wearing a chef’s coat standing at the counter talking animatedly with Mrs. Applegate who was standing with her arms crossed. “I said no, Chuck,” she said. “I don’t need any of your silk ties. Why don’t you go talk to the gift shop?”

  Chuck smiled brightly, his pencil-thin mustache stretching over his lips as he gestured emphatically. “Come on, Myrna! We’ve been friends for a long time. What’s the harm in putting a few for sale on your counter? It won’t take up much real estate and I’ll give you a buck for each tie sold.”

  Mrs. Applegate shook her head. “You were already turned down by the gift shop, weren’t you?”

  Chuck shrugged, never dropping his too-bright smile. “It’s not my fault they don’t know a good deal with they see one. Everyone comes into your bakery, though, and just think of the good service you’d be performing for a guest that may have forgotten his tie. Give it a chance.”

  “And you’re sure this time it won’t blow up in my face?” Myrna said, raising an eyebrow. “Like when I let you put that vending machine with rotten candy next to the door? Or how about when you tried to put that stupid coin game in here for charity? I came in and the water had leaked out all over my carpet, Chuck. It took a week to dry out.”

  “Ah, Myrna! You’re killing me!”

  “I will kill you if you don’t turn around and take your ties out of here,” Mrs. Applegate said. “Or worse yet, I’ll tell Juanita that you’re up to your old tricks again. Just where are these supposed Italian ties made, anyway?” She flipped one of the gaudy things over, pulling out a tab and reading what it said with a disapproving frown. “China?”

  Chuck blanched when Mrs. Applegate had mentioned Juanita’s name. He quickly began gathering up the ties that he had laid out on the counter. “Now, now, no need to get nasty, Myrna. I know a ‘no’ when I hear one. I’ll take my business elsewhere.”

  Turning, he smiled at Scott and Claire before leaving as if he’d been told yes, instead of no. Despite his heavy-handed sales tactic, Claire couldn’t help but smile at the man as he left.

  “Wow, what a character,” Claire said as they walked up to the counter. “What was that all about?”

  Mrs. Applegate scowled and shook her head. “That was Chuck Hendricks. He’s a chef over at the resort dining room, but he’s always got some scheme going on. I’m surprised he doesn’t camp out in the main lobby with a briefcase full of watches. I bet he would if he could figure out how to get away with it. His wife is a sweetheart, though. Juanita used to be a big exec over in Seattle until they retired here. She still does consulting whenever she gets bored.”

  “So why is he here trying to peddle ties?” Claire asked, baffled at the man’s behavior. “Or work as a chef?”

  Mrs. Applegate shrugged. “Same reason I still work in a bakery. You’ve got to keep moving and keep busy. Despite his car-salesmen exterior, Chuck is a nice man and would give you the shirt off of his back. He doesn’t really need to sell anything, but he says he likes to keep in practice. I just wish he’d sell good things, instead of the junk he dredges up on the internet. I bet those ties would have fallen apart in a week.”

  “He tried to sell me on one of those pyramid scheme product purchasing groups, once,” Scott said, leaning on the counter as he looked at the baked goods available to buy. “He kept asking me if I’d like to be a ‘platinum diamond’, or something like that. Said it was the next big thing coming down the pipe. Fortunately, I avoided that particular bullet, thank goodness.”

  “Yes, the best advice I can give you is if you see Chuck coming toward you with a smile, then practice saying no under your breath before he starts talking.” Mrs. Applegate said. “Now, what can I get you kids, and your little dog Toto, too?”

  Claire laughed. “Roscoe has too much white to be Toto, but I bet he’d love some water. I’d like a piece of blackberry pie, though.”

  “Ooo, that sounds good. I’ll have a piece of that, too,” Scott said.

  “With or without ice-cream?” Mrs. Applegate asked, smiling brightly.

  Scott and Claire only looked at each other for a moment before they said in unison. “With, please!”

  Chapter 10

  The drive down the coast was pleasant through the tree-covered hills and small beaches broken by huge rock formations. The larger ones sported their own trees, thrusting up into the sky and protected from the worst of the sea’s fury. When Hazelton came into view, it was underwhelming in its presence, seeming more of a haphazard collection of buildings scattered around the road than a true town.

  The bar was a boxy, faded brown affair with too many neon signs and beer advertisements. Compared to the Gaelic Jig, it was as much of a disappointment as Hazelton was compared to Brightwater Bay. Still, this was their destination, and they parked next to the smattering of weather-worn cars parked in the gravel parking lot.

  “Welcome to the height of Hazelton nigh life,” Scott said dryly, sweeping one of his hands toward the ugly building.

  “Charming,” Claire said, glancing at Scott with a grimace. “I won’t feel bad if we aren’t here long.”

  Scott laughed, nodding as they both got out of his jeep. “I hear you loud and clear. You won’t find any argument from me. Come on, let’s go in and see if we can learn anything and then head back to Brightwater Bay.”

  The interior of the bar was every bit as unappealing as the outside, composed of red pleather booths with c
racks and the occasional duct tape repair. The green linoleum floor was dirty and scarred, matching the divot-riddled wooden bar top. A small TV blared a wrestling show from the corner above the bar. It had the total attention of the bartender, a grim-faced older man with a gray buzz cut and wearing a stained, plaid shirt. Claire couldn’t help but think how he perfectly matched the bar in his appearance. She made a vow to herself she would not go to the bathroom in this place for the life of her. No way.

  Walking up to the bar, Claire was suddenly struck by the strange circumstances she’d found herself in. A few months ago, she was living in a barren apartment in Arizona she hadn’t even decorated past placing furniture. Now, she lived in a small, oceanside town and was walking into a bar to ask questions about a murder.

  She should be terrified, but she had to admit, she couldn’t be happier.

  “What can I get for you folks?” the bartender listlessly, finally tearing his eyes away from the spectacle of a masked wrestler flying off the top turnbuckle onto a man wearing a matador costume.

  “Couple of beers and maybe some information,” Scott said. “Bottles, please.”

  The man grunted, reaching into a cooler and pulling out a couple of bottles and setting some glasses next to them before sliding the beers over. “That’ll be six-fifty,” he said flicking his eyes back toward the TV. “Anything else?”

  “Just some information,” Scott said, and the bartender turned and looked at him, his face confused. “What do you want to know? Can’t promise anything, though, unless it’s where the best fishing is around here.”

  “No, nothing about fishing,” Claire said, pouring her nondescript beer into her glass. “We wanted to know if a woman named Ellen Portman came in here?”

  “Ellen Portman?” the bartender said, not looking away from the TV this time. “Can’t say I’ve heard the name.”

  Claire looked around the small, cramped bar, noticing how few people there were. “Are you sure? I hear she came here fairly regularly?”

  “Yep,” the man grunted. “I’m sure.”

  “I don’t think she would have been your usual customer,” Scott said. “She’s a tall blonde and dresses well. Takes care of herself. She might have been in here with a guy named Dexter Cable.”

  The bartender looked up this time, staring at Scott for a long moment before shaking his head slowly. “Nope, never seen them. Look, even if I did I wouldn’t say. It’s not my place to rat people out for whatever they might do. They come here to escape things, not get found.”

  Claire exchanged a glance with Scott and they turned away from the bar, going over to one of the booths. She wiped some stray crumbs off of the red pleather before sitting. “What now?” Scott said, taking a long sip of his beer and grimacing. “Sheesh, I hate crappy beer but I’m not about to try anything from a tap here.”

  “I don’t know. Go back to Brightwater Bay, I suppose,” Claire said, unhappily. “We haven’t confirmed if Ellen was seeing Dexter. Can we assume she was? If so, what does that mean? That just makes Darryl seem like a more likely suspect.”

  “Oh, honey,” came a raspy voice from behind them. “You can believe that they were seeing each other. They couldn’t keep their hands to themselves, and once Clark had to kick them out of the men’s bathroom. Shameless.”

  Scott and Claire turned, watching as a woman stood up from the booth behind them and came over, hip-bumping Scott out of the way as she sat next to him. She gave him a wide grin, reaching over and squeezing his bicep and wiggling her eyebrows at him before turning her attention back to the table.

  Claire studied her and wouldn’t have been surprised if the woman chain-smoked. She wasn’t that much older than Claire, but her face was wrinkled from years of tobacco use along with an over-abundance of makeup. Her voice was scratchy and worn, but she had a ready smile and obvious gumption from the way she’d flirted with Scott.

  “Name’s Betty,” she said, reaching across the table and shaking Claire’s hand. “Sorry for eyeing your boyfriend, but it’s not like we get much tall and handsome passing through. Now, what’s this about Dexter? Why did you want to know who he was keeping time with?”

  Claire shook her head, grinning at Scott’s blush at the boyfriend comment. “Well, he’s just a friend so you’re welcome to flirt with him as much as you like.” She ignored the glare Scott gave her as Betty smiled, showing off her lipstick smeared teeth. “We came because we heard that Ellen and Dexter were meeting down here. We wanted to confirm if she was cheating on her husband, Darryl Portman.”

  Betty snorted. “I didn’t know she was married. You wouldn’t have known it from the way she acted around here but yes, they both showed up some nights and then just sat in a booth acting like teenagers. I warned Dexter that she was bad news, but that damn fool wouldn’t listen. Why? Is Dexter in some sort of trouble?” Betty asked.

  “Not in trouble,” Scott said quietly. “He’s dead. He was found handcuffed to a crab trap about a week ago.”

  “Oh, heavens!” Betty said, holding her hand over her heart. “Oh, my goodness! I had no idea! I haven’t seen him for weeks. Do they know who did it?”

  Claire shook her head sadly at the obviously surprised woman. The death had only recently been in the Brightwater Bay Review and not everyone would have read about it yet. She was sad at having to deliver the news to an obvious friend. “No. That’s why we’re down here. We’re trying to figure out who would have a reason. Did Ellen and Dexter fight at all?”

  Betty sat there, still somewhat in shock at hearing about the death of her friend. After a moment, she blinked and looked back up with a tear in her eye. “I’m sorry. Dexter wasn’t really a close friend, but I knew him. It’s sad to know someone’s life has ended. Yes, they did fight the last time I saw them. I don’t know what it was about, but Dexter did leave really fast and he didn’t look very happy.”

  Claire looked at Scott, sudden hope blossoming in her eyes. “Maybe Ellen did do it?”

  Scott didn’t look convinced. “I still don’t think she’d be the type to do anything that required dragging Dexter’s corpse around.”

  Betty shrugged. “Or she had the other guy do it.”

  “Other guy?” Claire asked.

  Betty nodded. “Yes. Just before she and Dexter had their argument, I saw her and another guy a few times. Scary guy with a big beard. Looked like a sailor to me. He didn’t talk much but if you’re thinking of someone dragging a dead body around, I could totally see this guy doing it.”

  Scott and Claire looked at each other. “Captain Karl,” they said in unison.

  “Thanks, Betty,” Claire said as she stood. “We have to get back to Brightwater Bay.”

  “You’re welcome,” Betty said, giving Scott a playful glance. “Are you sure you want to go back just yet, handsome?”

  “Um, I’m…her ride. I have to go,” Scott said. “Sorry.,” he added, the tone in his voice leaving no doubt that he wasn’t sorry at all.

  “It’s all right, sweetie. Just come back whenever you want. I’ll be here.” Betty said, getting up and letting him out.

  Claire noticed he jumped, reacting to the pinch Betty gave him as he passed. Claire couldn’t help but giggle as they left the ratty bar, earning a look from Scott that devolved into laughter once they both got into the car.

  “Wow,” Scott said after he’d started the jeep and cranked the heat up. “I think that’s the most scared I’ve ever been in a bar. Ever.”

  “Oh, she was a sweetheart,” Claire said, still laughing softly. “You could do worse.”

  “No way,” Scott said. “Betty was way too much woman for me, but at least we got some good information out of her.”

  Chapter 11

  The next day during lunch, Claire went down to Daisy’s coffee shop to meet with Molly. The interior still had the new-car look and smell, having only been in business for about a month. It was already a popular place for both town’s people and visitors passing through to the ferry that ha
d a few minutes to burn, and Claire loved the collection of kitsch and mementos lining the walls.

  Daisy greeted her, smiling happily as she and Roscoe came in and scratching the small dog under his chin when Claire stopped by the register. “Hey, Claire. How is your day going?”

  “Good! I popped in to meet with Molly for lunch,” Claire said, looking back and seeing her friend already sitting in a booth and sipping at a latte. “Can I get a mocha?”

  Daisy nodded and picked up a nearby cup. “I’ll bring it back to you when it’s ready.”

  Claire smiled, then worked her way back to her friend and sat down, grinning. “Molly, you will die after hearing what I have to tell you.”

  “Oooh,” Molly said, rubbing her hands together and grinning at Clair. “It sounds juicy! I’m not as big a gossip as Sandy, but I do love to hear juicy. Did you go down to that bar in Hazelton?”

  “Oh, yes. Scott and I went down there and ran into an old barfly while we were there. She told us that Ellen was indeed seeing Dexter. She even told us that they had to be chased out of the bathroom once. I’m so glad she didn’t go into details, but that pretty much confirms that Ellen was involved with Dexter. She even told us they argued the last time she saw Dexter there.”

  Molly opened her eyes wide as she listened to what Claire was telling her. “So it could have been Ellen? What about Darryl? I’ve never seen that man lose his temper, but I suppose anything could happen if he found out, or Ellen told him.”

  “Those are thoughts,” Claire said carefully, still not wanting to believe badly about Darryl, “but Betty also told us that Ellen had started seeing some scary guy with a beard. Scott and I think it might have been Captain Karl. He told us he was having trouble with Ben’s crab traps already, and he could easily have pulled one of them up. The only thing we were missing was why. If he was also seeing Ellen, then he could have wanted to get rid of some competition.”