Death By Blue Water (A Hayden Kent Mystery Book 1)

by Kait Carson

  They finished their safety stop at the fifteen-foot mark and when Paul indicated his intention to surface, Hayden nodded. His diving competence showed. He handled himself well underwater, especially in an emergency. He seemed to have gotten over his disbelief that she had done the initial dive alone.

  Climbing back on Cappy’s boat Paul helped her take her tank and buoyancy vest off. Together, he and Cappy inspected the defective rig.

  “Thank you so much, lieutenant,” Hayden began. She searched for words to express how she felt. This man saved her life. She knew that.

  Paul waved her thanks off. When she persisted in trying to thank him as he went over the air hoses millimeter by millimeter, he finally said, “It’s my job. Really, no big deal.”

  He tapped at the each of the hoses with the point of a pen. “Right there,” he said. “Both the air hoses are nicked, or starting to rot. You can’t see it until you bend them. Are both these hoses the same age?”

  When Hayden nodded, he continued, “You should check them before every dive. Don’t rely on an annual inspection. It’s a good thing you weren’t alone this time.”

  Hayden couldn’t think of a thing to say in her defense. Instead, she hid her embarrassment by drying her face and hair with a towel.

  Paul stalked off and sat down on the captain’s chair under the Bimini top. He pulled a clipboard out of the dry bag he’d brought with him and began to write. Finally, he handed her a hastily written report of what they’d seen underwater. Unaffected by seasickness and always able to read on a boat, Hayden skimmed the words and made a few edits.

  Paul had written the dead man was lying in a closed cabin. She corrected the statement to indicate the cabin had an opening in the roof. She was so tired it didn’t occur to her he should have seen it when he did his inspection. After all, he had been in the cabin and photographed every inch. Signing her name to the corrected version, she handed the report back to the coast guardsman. He snatched it from her, apparently irate that she’d corrected his work. Glancing up, she decided she hadn’t read him right. His face showed no anger or irritation. In fact, she thought she detected sympathy. Good looking though he was, Hayden realized she was having a hard time getting a reading on this man.

  Janice sat on her boat. She hadn’t said a word about the events underwater. Hadn’t even asked about what they found. Hayden noted she still looked uncomfortable. Her face had an even more sickly color than before. Hayden speculated that most of Janice’s job consisted of sitting on an unmoving boat in a pitching sea. Today the seas seemed relatively flat. She must have something else going on. Maybe she was pregnant. Or maybe she had an odd skin tone. Hayden looked closer and saw the telltale sheen of sweat on the woman’s face. No, she decided, she was either seasick or sick.

  Glancing over at his Ensign, Paul signaled his intention to return to the cutter. “We can reach you at this number?” His blue eyes bored into Hayden as he asked the question.

  Hayden felt small next to his height. This man had just saved her life, had the best looks she’d seen in a long time, and could dive. It was a shame about the circumstances that caused their meeting. Still, he could be married, involved, or gay for all she knew. “Yes. Let me give you my work phone too. I’m a paralegal at Huffman Koons and if you need me, you can reach me there. Officer Kirby, do you need more contact information for me?”

  Kirby shook her head. “I’ll get it from Paul. That will let you get on your way. You must be beat. If you feel the least bit of discomfort, get to the hospital. You’ve had quite a day. I’m waiting for the recovery team.”

  Hayden smiled her thanks at the first indication that anyone considered her anything but a crazy woman with a made up story. Her heart went out to the ill woman who now had a longer wait ahead of her on the water.

  Cappy offered to secure the patrol boat so it didn’t drift off the wreck site. Janice smiled her agreement. Paul looked from dive charter captain to marine officer and gruffly said, “No, I’ll do it and unhook you at the same time. No need for you to get wet and your diver has had enough.” He crossed the gunnels to the tied on Patrol Boat and tied on a secure line.

  Paul turned and faced Hayden and Cappy. “Do not ever let this woman, or anyone, dive alone. Especially not on a wreck of this depth. Today could have been a double tragedy.” Then Paul stepped off the boat and dropped into the water. Seconds later, he resurfaced, returned to the Patrol boat and untied the line to free the tiny dive boat.

  “Nice guy,” Hayden said to Cappy once she was confident the roar of the dive charter’s engine covered their voices.

  “Yeah, for a water patrol rat, not too bad. At least he wasn’t causing me trouble.”

  “How did the safety inspection go?”

  “Didn’t have one. The ensign never boarded.”

  He wrapped an arm around Hayden. “What happened with your regulator? It would have killed me to lose my favorite diver.” Cappy’s voice was gruff.

  Trembling uncontrollably, she managed a shrug. Hayden’s tears mixed with the salt water on her face as the emotion of the day caught up with her.

  And in the back corner of her mind, a new question formed.

  What caused the malfunction of a freshly inspected regulator?

  Five

  The bright Florida sunshine streamed in through the bedroom window and woke Hayden. She bolted upright, grabbed the alarm clock, looked at the time, shook the clock, and stared at it again.

  “Seven-thirty, damn. Don’t even have time for a shower. The hell with it.”

  Tiger Cat lifted his head at the sound of her voice. The cat stretched, then languidly circled and curled into a tight ball where his mistress’s restless form had been.

  Hayden kicked off the covers and bolted for the closet. She dressed in khaki pants, a light blue cap-sleeved, textured sweater, and a navy blazer.

  Sleep had eluded her the night before. No, maybe that wasn’t true. She’d seen the dead face float in front of her eyes more than once. She wasn’t sure whether she was awake or asleep when it happened. The corpse seemed to live behind her eyelids. Experimentally she squeezed her eyes shut. The morning sunshine faded and the bloated face filled her vision.

  On her way to work in Key Largo she gunned her car past a deserted house on Craig Key. Something about the place gave her the creeps. She’d returned to the Keys ten years ago and the house had been under construction. Only the weeds had grown taller in all that time. The gaping doors and windows surrounded by dark concrete walls seemed sinister. If there was going to be crime in the Keys, it should emanate from within those walls. Not underwater. Not on her favorite dive.

  She pulled into the little asphalt parking area in front of the classic Keys Victorian house that served as the office of Huffman Koons. Today the pale sea foam green and yellow color scheme of the house failed to comfort her. The collection of cars already in the lot dashed any hope she cherished of entering the office unnoticed.

  “You look like five miles of bad road, Kent. What happened to you?” Grant Huffman, her boss and friend, greeted her by last name.

  “You should see it from my side. It’ll be in the papers.” She gave him a tired smile.

  Concern filled his face. “Not again?”

  “Again.” She pulled her mouth into an uncharacteristic frown.

  She went to her office and closed her door behind her. Looking at her desk, she sighed. As the firm’s lone paralegal, she had the respect of her attorneys, but she also had the workload of a Trojan. The door opened and Hayden looked up to see her boss sit down in one of the two chairs in front of her desk.

  “Take the day off, Hayden. You don’t look like you can do anyone any good today. Especially yourself.”

  “Thanks for the concern, Chief. Won’t matter where I am.” Her fingers worried the pen she held. “Do you want to hear about
it?”

  “Do you need to tell me?” The set of his face told her he asked the question as an attorney.

  “I need to tell my friend, I don’t think I need to tell the counselor. Maybe you’ll see something in it I don’t. Have you heard of anyone missing, maybe missing on the water?”

  He shook his head. “A smuggled Cuban?”

  Considering the question, Hayden said, “I don’t know. Never crossed my mind. Maybe, but he didn’t look Cuban. Of course that could have been from being in the water. And he was wearing swim trunks. All the pictures I’ve seen of the smuggled Cubans, what’s the term? Balseros? Show them fully dressed.” Thoughtfully, sticking to the bare facts, she told him the story of her dive and strove to see it through his eyes.

  His concern touched but didn’t surprise her. They’d been good friends for a while. A lot of people, including his ex-wife, thought they had something more personal between them. Hayden sometimes wished they did, but they both agreed, it could ruin a great friendship and a wonderful working relationship.

  “I’m so sorry. How awful for you.”

  A sad smile crossed her face. “Worse for that poor man. I can almost feel his terror.” She ran both hands through her short brown hair. “I wish I could’ve done something for him. Helped him somehow.” Staring blindly into the space before her, she dropped her hands to the desk and said, “Crazy huh?”

  “No.” Grant touched her hand. “Human.” His grey green eyes searched her pale green ones. “You know there was nothing you could have done, don’t you?”

  “Yes, my head knows it. My heart feels helpless.” She picked up a file from the stack on the corner of her desk. “If the cops come, you know where to show them.” Her words were half in jest but with an undertone of sadness.

  Grant came back to her office just before lunchtime. “What’s up, Chief? You look like I feel.”

  “The police are here, Hayden. They want to talk to you.” He paused for a beat. His eyes clouded over. “At the station.”

  His words hit her like a slap. It must have showed.

  Grant closed the space between them, but paused when she said, “Why at the station? They didn’t do that the last time.” Her stomach went into freefall and dropped to her toes.

  “I don’t know, but I think I better go with you. This time as your friend,” he paused, “and your attorney.”

  She opened her drawer and removed her handbag. “Grant.” Her voice cracked and tears welled into her eyes. She slammed her fist into the desk in frustration. She couldn’t figure out what she felt. Tiredness coursed through her, followed by grief, whether for herself or the dead man, she didn’t know.

  Grant’s hand snaked out and grabbed hers. “Don’t let them know you’re upset. They’ll feed on it like sharks.”

  “That’s not the point. I’m upset because I have nothing to be upset about. I expected them here for a statement. Not for questioning. That’s what the trip to the station means, doesn’t it? Questioning.” Hayden squared her shoulders, opened her handbag, and took out her compact. She gazed into the mirror and grimaced at her reflection. “I’m tired. I hardly slept last night. This stinks. It’s not going to get any…”

  The sound of someone clearing their throat stopped Hayden in mid-sentence. Grant spun around. A woman wearing the forest green uniform of a Monroe County Sheriff Deputy stood in Hayden’s doorway. The hungry look on her face frightened Hayden.

  “You have no business coming in here,” Grant spat. “Unless you have a warrant you haven’t shown me. This is a private office.”

  The officer smiled around a toothpick she rolled in her mouth. “Door was open,” she said. “No harm in walking up to it.” She reached beside her and touched the jamb as if to prove she hadn’t entered.

  Hayden raised her hand to stop Grant from saying anything further. She came around the desk, noted the nameplate on the woman’s ample breast, and offered her hand. “Officer Barton,” she said professionally. “Why don’t you come in? I’ll be happy to give you my statement here.” She turned and walked back to her desk.

  “As you can imagine, I had rather a sleepless night.” Hayden stood in front of her seat. With a wave of her hand, she offered one of the visitor chairs to the officer. “I would like to get this over with. Tell you what little I can, and start to put it behind me.”

  Barton took two forward steps in response to the gesture then stopped and crossed her arms over her chest. The cop’s brown eyes bored into hers with the intensity of someone looking right into her brain.

  “No thanks. My captain wants you to come down to our office on Plantation Key. He prefers to take statements there. You can follow, or ride with me.”

  The matter of fact tone left no room for argument.

  With a glance at Grant, she asked, “You coming with her?”

  Grant nodded and opened the door wider, all but ushering the tall cop out. “She’ll be with me. I don’t want her driving right now.”

  “Suit yourself.”

  Hayden gathered her handbag and double-checked, making sure she had her wallet and identification. A frisson of fear brought goose bumps to her arms. She’d somehow become the center of the story. She had no idea why or when. The worst she’d anticipated included giving a long statement and having to look at photographs of the man in the wheelhouse. Being questioned as if she was a suspect never crossed her mind. Nobody treated her like a suspect the last time she found a body.

  Hayden shook her head to clear it and answered Grant’s cocked eyebrow with a shrug of her shoulders. Looking up at him she said, “Let’s get this over with. This is not how I planned my day. You either, I guess.”

  Six

  As a rule, Hayden loved traveling in Grant’s Jag. He bought a new one every year, even after Ford took over the brand. The cars were always cherry red. Didn’t matter if the color was standard, he paid for custom paint in the years it wasn’t offered. Today the warmth of the caramel colored leather seats and the new car smell heightened the hollow feeling in her stomach. To quell her fear of the coming interview, she gazed out the window at the ocean views. Even the glorious turquoise blue of the water failed to calm her.

  She remained in her seat after Grant parked the car in the lot in front of the white stucco building housing the Monroe County Sheriff’s Office. The walls swayed and danced in her vision. Blinking hard, she cleared the image. Her hand groped for the door handle and grabbed empty air. With a start, she realized Grant was holding the door open.

  Embarrassed, she offered him a weak smile. “I’m scared.”

  “It will be fine.”

  For a moment, when she entered the cool of the building, her throat closed and she couldn’t breathe. Grant looked at her. Hayden read the alarm in his face. She opened her mouth and closed it again when she was unable to force any sound past the obstruction. The woman behind the counter was saying something Hayden couldn’t catch. The pounding of her heart drowned out the words. Terror rose in her like a wave. Grant reached out and grasped her arm.

  “Can you get her a glass of water?” Grant said to the officer who wanted them to follow her. “I think she’s going to faint.”

  The woman hurried off in the direction of the rear of the building. Hayden shook herself and the world fell back into place. “I think I’m okay.” She daubed perspiration from her upper lip. “Let’s get this over with.”

  A muscle jumped in Grant’s jaw and his eyes searched her face. His expression told Hayden he didn’t agree with her assessment of her well-being. When the officer returned, he took the triangular paper cup and handed it to Hayden. She drained it in one long gulp and handed the empty cup back to the waiting officer.

  “Ready now?” the uniformed woman asked.

  Hayden gave a slight nod in response to Grant’s questioning look. She and Grant followed t
he cop to a small room located in the middle of a very long hallway. From the outside, the building looked much smaller. Hoping her fear didn’t show on her face, Hayden took a deep breath and walked into the interrogation room.

  An unwelcome dampness filled her eyes. She blinked to clear them. In an effort to calm herself, she studied her surroundings. A grey metal table sat bolted to the floor flanked by four metal, straight back, chairs, two on a side. The walls were cinder block and painted a stark white. A metal lamp hung suspended from the drop ceiling over the center of the table. The compact fluorescent light fixture inside curled around itself exposed and naked. Hayden couldn’t decide if the lamp came out of the box ugly or had sacrificed the bottom in the distant past when the CFL bulb was too big to allow it to fit.

  Taking a closer look, she wondered if the light concealed a microphone. If there was any truth in television, it should. She noted an extra wire wrapped around the hanging pole of the lamp and decided it was a microphone cord. The knowledge that they needed her permission to tape the interview was cold comfort. A large clock that displayed the usual twelve-hour reading on the circumference and military time circling inside decorated the wall. A mirror with black curtains on either side completed the grim decor.

  Grant place a hand in the small of her back and guided her to a chair. He sat next to her. The police officer receptionist left them, closing the door behind her.