Murder by the Seaside

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  “Patience?” A voice from long ago croaked outside my door.

  I righted myself. I needed to get a grip.

  “Mrs. Davis?” I shoved the screen door open and motioned Adrian’s mother inside.

  She made the sign of the cross on her chest and moved to the dusty tweed couch. “Thank God you’ve come home—and on the day my baby is charged with murder.” She whispered the final word and rolled her eyes to my ceiling. “I always knew you’d save him.”

  Lies. She hated me. I knew it at eighteen as much as I knew it at twenty-nine. She thought my parents were fruit loops and I would lead her baby to a nudist commune out west if she didn’t intervene. She’d intervened to the tune of a 2001 Mustang convertible.

  “There’s always a greater plan at work. You work for the FBI. You can clear his name. You still love him enough for that, don’t you?” Her expression challenged me to deny it.

  “Hi, Mrs. Davis. It’s good to be home. Thank you for asking.” I swept my hair into a ponytail to waste time while I cooled my jets. I’d regret using the rubber band on my wrist as soon as I tried to remove it. Adrian was magic. He caused me to pull my hair out without ever speaking to me.

  “I worked for the FBI,” I explained. “Past tense. I’m a counselor now. Maybe I could offer to talk with you later about how you’re handling all this?”

  “There’s nothing wrong with me. I need you to clear his name. My son is innocent. He needs you, Patience. If you ever loved him at all, how could you let him go to jail for something he didn’t do? Adrian isn’t a criminal.” Tears coated her eyes and my blood pressure dropped a fraction.

  “Look, Mrs. Davis. Even if I wanted to help, I can’t. I’m not in law enforcement. I worked in human resources. I interviewed new hires and arranged fundraisers. Sometimes they sent me to colleges to recruit people. I’m no investigator. I’m hardly the one you’d want responsible for Adrian’s well-being.”

  Inch-long black roots sprouted into cherry-red tips on her head. Her hair never stayed the same long. She still stuffed a size fourteen body into size ten shorts though. Years of tanning showed in the wrinkles over her aging face. Owning a tanning salon on an island seemed like a bad idea to me, but Sunny Daze Salon was always busy.

  She shifted under my gaze and cleared her throat. “You always did hold a grudge, Patience Price. I know you planned to run away together. You wanted to keep him from being all he could be. Selfish. You wanted a partner to run around with, ignoring civic responsibility, avoiding education, and destroying any hope of a decent future for the both of you. What if he had gone with you? Where would you be? Not working for the FBI. Not holding a master’s degree. He wouldn’t have played college ball for four years or graduated from a good school—with honors. You’d both be broke and probably divorced after a shotgun wedding somewhere. I’d be raising your kids and you’d be reading cards with your mom.”

  Blood boiled under my cheeks. “Adrian never talked to me about college. I didn’t even know he applied.” I kicked myself every day for years over that. Thanks to my parents’ obsession with island life, the only thing I thought about back then was leaving town. College seemed like something I could do later when I settled on the West Coast or in Canada. How was I supposed to know Adrian went home at night to fill out applications so he could attend immediately? He deceived me, made me look stupid and feel worse. I should’ve been the one with college plans. I was the levelheaded one, darn it.

  “I was never angry he went to college. I was mad he lied to me. One minute we had plans for a life together, the next minute he’s playing ball in Florida. I never saw it coming. He duped me. It won’t happen again.”

  Mrs. Davis jolted upright and snatched up her purse before I could toss her down my steps. Shotgun wedding. Jeez. Who said that to someone?

  She knocked the screen door open with a loud bang and yelled at me on her way to the sidewalk. “Help my boy. You owe him that!”

  If there was anything in my reach, I would have lobbed it at her. I slammed my door shut and locked it. No wonder Adrian was a creep. His mother was the devil. I dragged the folding chair around and grabbed my laptop again. Raising my kids? I’d never let her touch my kids. They’d be better off being raised by wolves.

  I closed my eyes and took deep, calming breaths. Counting backward from ten, I opened my eyes and resolved to be thankful she didn’t wind up as my mother-in-law. Eyes back on the search engine, I typed Adrian Davis. He appeared in old articles from his football days. Then in some technology magazine for building the winning fighter robot during grad school. I’d read all those years ago. I sorted the search results, starting with the most recent. His face appeared in various local papers, endorsing everything from the Humane Society to literacy. He donated to St. Jude and his alma mater. He even did a public speaking stint through state high schools about scholarships and dream chasing.

  I knew there was a reason I had stopped checking up on him. Adrian Davis was a regular everyday hero.

  Bleh.

  His eyes pierced right through the screen to mine. Would I have ruined him? His easy smile still ended in one dimple. Heavy brows and lashes still made it seem as if he kept all his secrets in those gorgeous gray eyes. I’d definitely like to turn him in. He owed me an apology. Or at least an explanation. I went to the White Pages and jotted down his address. No harm in walking past his house. I wasn’t sure how it would help, but I was curious. How had he ended up an advocate and benefactor while I was broke and living in an apartment haunted by dust bunnies and local legend?

  I tapped the address into my phone and threw my purse over one shoulder. I needed to eat something. Keys in one hand and flyers in the other, I headed to the Tasty Cream. The island wasn’t that big. If Adrian was here, I’d find him, and then I’d turn him over to Sheriff Murray. Any decent lawyer would get him off. He didn’t need me.

  I frowned.

  Crossing the street to the Tasty Cream, I looked both ways. Music played on outdoor speakers. This time people sat at the booths and tables eating instead of outside on their phones gossiping. I turned a head or two on my way in. Probably the whole town already knew I was home. I nodded and smiled on my way to the counter. The flyers fit nicely in the corner near the register. Mrs. Tucker winked.

  “What can I get you?”

  “More fries and a diet soda.” I needed to drop off the flyers but I couldn’t shell out six bucks for a burger.

  “No shake? No burger? Are you sure?”

  I hadn’t buttoned my jeans since I finished the last shake. “Yeah. Just soda. Did you hear any more about what the sheriff was up to this afternoon?”

  She stopped and looked at me. The restaurant seemed quieter behind me. “Surely you know.” Mrs. Tucker rested her elbows on the counter between us and settled in for a story. I wished I’d ordered the shake.

  “Adrian beat the snot out of Brady McGee in front of a hundred people last night. They had a huge fight over some gambling thing, and Adrian got him good. Then fishermen found Brady dead this morning as they came in from their shifts.”

  “Where did Adrian and Brady fight?”

  “At the football field. One minute they were watching practice, the next thing they were rolling around on the ground.”

  “Why were so many people at the football field?”

  “Scrimmaging. There were buses here from all over the state. Even a couple of vendors. He can’t deny what he did to Brady. Too many witnesses.” She shoved a fry basket across the space between us. A Styrofoam cup followed.

  I pushed a fry into my mouth and mulled it over. “Does Adrian always watch football practice?”

  “Yeah. Since he came home, he’s never missed a practice. Coach Peters thinks he might be after his job. Looks like he won’t have to worry about that anymore.”

  I made a mental note to stop at the s
chool and visit Coach Peters. He’d have details. His keen eye never missed a thing. In the four years I swam for our high school swim team, he never let me get away with giving less than 100 percent. He saw when I cheated, replacing the infinitely easier flutter kick for the dolphin kick or when I stayed underwater an extra second to get away with doing only half the bobs he ordered as a warm-up.

  So, Adrian came home to coach high school football? I shook my head. No. Everything I’d read online suggested he’d done well for himself. He was an activist, not a middle-aged overweight man-child who’d been holding on to the good old days for way too long.

  “I saw them rolling on the ground.” The mailman, Mr. Glazer, stood beside me with his bill in hand. Mrs. Tucker rang him up.

  “Brady said Adrian cost him a thousand dollars when he missed a perfect pass his senior year at Miami,” Mr. Glazer said. “Adrian told Brady to stow it. Then Brady said he wanted his money back.”

  This was getting good. “Brady wanted Adrian to give him a thousand dollars because he bet on a game Adrian played in and lost?” That sounded like the Brady I remembered—mean, irrational, ready to fight.

  “Well, it wasn’t because he played in the game. He missed the pass.”

  “Who cares?” My voice hitched.

  “It was Adrian’s fumble that cost Brady the grand.”

  I dug in my wallet and placed a five on the counter. “Thank you, Mrs. Tucker.” I took the paper basket and Styrofoam cup and left. I needed to walk. Hopefully Adrian was enjoying his freedom while it lasted. Having a hundred people watch you beat the daylights out of the same guy found bonked on the head twelve hours later seemed pretty incriminating.

  My trip down Main Street to the harbor served a dual purpose. I needed to think, and I also had to look for open office space. I plotted my trip in my head so as not to miss any prime real estate. On the way home, I planned to take a walk on Colt Court, Adrian’s new street. All the little shops had closed up for the day. Sidewalk displays had been moved inside for the night, signs flipped, blinds pulled. Island Brew and the Wild Horses Saloon, neither of which served any alcohol, despite their names, had lines out their doors. The former kept coffee lovers sated and the latter served couples having a late dinner.

  I crossed the street to get a good look at the harbor. A speckle of sailboats skated in the distance. The setting sun made silhouettes out of the farthest vessels. Large fishing boats chugged their way back to dock for the night. On land, four men dressed in waders and ribbed tank tops stood in a huddle under the marina sign. From my vantage on the sidewalk, there was no clue there’d been a murder there that morning. Even the crime-scene tape was gone, or out of sight. No chalk outline of a body anywhere, either. Who could tell? The foursome created a wall.

  My soda disappeared long before the fries. I tossed them both into the trash on the closest corner. Decorative iron cases around the cans caused more than one tourist to do a double-take. They were, in fact, trash cans. Pretty ones. I dusted my palms together then anchored them over my expanding waist. Fries for two meals in one day. What would become of me in a year?

  Every shop in sight had a window full of cutesy displays. No For Rent signs. My parents paid more per month for The Purple Pony than I dreamed of making. Main Street wasn’t the best place for a counseling practice anyway. No parking or privacy.

  On Poplar I noticed a space like the art studio downstairs from my apartment. It was a cute cream-colored house with blue shutters and a sign in the window. I dialed. The Realtor’s recording advised me to keep walking.

  Yeesh. Cute was costly. Message received.

  Misty Park looked like it had when I left. Abandoned. The park was named after the famous Misty of Chincoteague book and movie. Misty put Chincoteague on the map, though most of the people I spoke with still hadn’t heard of it. I walked through the untrimmed grass and slumped onto a squeaky swing.

  This was not the plan I’d had for my life. The master’s degree was supposed to open doors within the FBI. I wanted to counsel agents who were forced to discharge their firearms. Sometimes women agents had trouble readjusting to full-time careers after maternity leave. The government needed a counselor on staff, and contractors were expensive. I used to acquire them as needed and evaluate the quotes for the contract. Moving me into a counseling position would have saved the government mega bucks over the course of my career. Had it been longer.

  A black squirrel ran across the wire overhead, through the trees, around a telephone pole and straight to the greatest news I’d had all day. An old boathouse at the edge of the park had a For Rent sign in the window.

  “Bingo.”

  I called the number immediately, listened to the recording and liked what I heard. The place was empty and in my price range, and the landlord meant to help with upkeep. I left a message. I’d take it. My fingers crossed in hopes that it hadn’t already been rented. My savings were meager, but I’d put the money away exactly for this purpose. An office.

  The smile fell from my lips before I had a chance to relish it. Someone ducked behind the trees in the park. As much as I wanted to run, curiosity took over. I had to know. Was it Adrian? If it was, he was busted. I gripped my phone, ready to call the sheriff.

  “I see you. Behind the tree. I see you. You can come out.” When no one jumped out in a hockey mask, my confidence built. They were hiding from me. “Come on.” I picked up my pace, heading straight for the tree.

  Mrs. Davis stepped out, and I almost had a coronary.

  “What are you doing there?” I pressed one palm to my chest. Jeez. Good thing it wasn’t a lunatic killer.

  “I’m keeping an eye on you.” She managed to look angry. At me.

  “I’m fine, Mrs. Davis. You don’t need to look out for me.”

  “I’m not looking out for you. I’m making sure you’re helping Adrian. From the looks of things, you’re on vacation while my son is who knows where. I don’t think you’re really working this case.”

  What? My hands flew into the air. My mouth flopped open. “That’s because I’m not working this case. I’m not an investigator. I’m a counselor. A counselor who needs an office and some clients.” I looked back at the little boathouse.

  “You’re not going to find any patients on this island. Who’d want to be seen getting counseling? No one, that’s who. You’re from the FBI. You owe Adrian. Help him!” Now her hands were in the air. We stood twenty feet apart yelling and only the squirrels seemed to notice.

  “I was in HR.” I stamped my foot and turned on one heel. “Stop following me.”

  On the way home, I thought of the things I should’ve said to her. I veered past Adrian’s giant house on the marsh. I checked the mailbox. Empty. I marched up a couple dozen steps to the front door and tried the knob. Locked. The wide wrap-around porch encircled his entire house. As inviting as the rockers and swing looked, it was getting dark.

  I bounded down the steps to the road, hoping to avoid any wild ponies. Chincoteague had its pitfalls. One was the island pride: wild ponies. I shivered. The ponies freaked me out. They wandered around loose with their giant teeth and crazy twitchy skin. All the way home I kept an eye out for ponies and stalking mothers of criminals.

  Climbing the steps to my place, I sang a victory song. I made it. I’d steered clear of ponies, found some cheap office space, checked on Adrian’s house and told his mom to leave me alone. It was a great feeling. A highly successful outing, to be sure.

  I took a deep breath and leaned into the door. Safe and sound. I kicked my shoes off and pulled my sweaty T-shirt over my head. The shower called out to me. Humidity was the sworn enemy of unruly hair and out-of-shape human resource workers. I shimmied out of my jeans and checked my e-mail.

  Claire would be back Friday night. Excellent.

  A creak sounded, and I froze. The window rattled in its old woo
den frame. The wind? I slid from the chair and plastered my body to the wall. Of course, my pepper spray was nowhere around. Again. I waited, barely breathing. Listening.

  Another creak.

  I shut my laptop and grabbed it in both hands. An expensive weapon, but my life was worth it. Moving to the window, I searched for shadows outside and saw nothing. The knob on the door didn’t give when I turned it. Locked. I slid the dead bolt and backed away, eyes on the window.

  Three Chicken-Little steps backward, my life flashed before my eyes. A hand clamped over my mouth. One wide arm wound around my waist, pressing my techy weapon into my ribs. Damn it. I stomped my foot into his and hurt myself. My assailant wore boots. Double damn it. I blanked on everything I learned in the self-defense refresher courses at work. My feet slid against thirty-year-old linoleum as I was dragged into my dark hallway.

  Chapter Three

  Instead of my pitch-black bedroom, the creep dragged me to the bathroom, where he flipped on the light and eased his grip by a fraction. I wiggled my arms, hoping to elbow him in the gut. No luck. His sweet breath blew over my cheek. He smelled like cherry ChapStick. The cylinders in my brain backfired. No.

  “Don’t be mad.” The whisper heated my cheek.

  Fire climbed from my toes to my hair. When his grip loosened further, I connected my bare foot with his shin. He let out a wail and I took full advantage.

  He had the good sense to know I wasn’t finished and lifted an arm to block my attack. The weight of my laptop knocked against his elbow. I hoped to knock his head off, but I had to settle for his funny bone.

  “Yeow!” Adrian stepped back, into the side of my tub, and fell in. I cranked on the water.

  My heart hammered, threatening to bust free. I raised the laptop over my head and backed through the bathroom door. Infuriatingly, his dimple caved in. Fully clothed and sitting under my shower, he had the audacity to smile at me.