Murder on the Lost Coast (He said, She said Mystery Series Book 2)

by Jeramy Gates

  Joe came out of the shower with steam wafting up from his bathrobe. I asked if he was ready for a bandage and he said, “In a minute.” Then he toppled onto the bed and almost instantly began to snore. I resisted the temptation to join him. I turned the volume down on the television and opened my Kindle.

  I had been reading an old Agatha Christie novel, and I picked up right where I’d left off. It seemed strange, seeing the familiar words pop up on the screen. When I’d started that chapter, I had been in the comfort of my own home, curled up on the sofa with my sweet little baby-girl next to me and hardly a care in the world. Now, I was miles away with no way to check up on her, and no idea what might be going on at home.

  I reminded myself that I wasn’t supposed to be thinking that way. I was on vacation. Autumn was perfectly safe in the care of Grandma and Sheriff Diekmann. I had nothing to worry about. What I needed to do was to relax, even if I had to force myself to do so.

  It was about then that Joe’s snoring got really loud. I couldn’t help giggling as he snorted so loud that he nearly woke himself up. He rolled over on his side and fell silent again. As I looked at him, I felt an irresistible urge to join him. My eyelids were getting heavy, and I felt like I was about to fall asleep in the chair.

  I gave in to temptation. I crawled into bed and curled up with him, my eyes rolling back in my head as the warmth flooded over me… I was asleep in seconds.

  About an hour later, the sound of the sheriff’s helicopter flying over the inn woke me. I crawled out of bed and sauntered over to the window, pulling on my robe and blinking the sleep out of my eyes. I watched the chopper land on the hilltop behind the lighthouse. The wind was blowing, and I saw the pilot struggling against it as he brought it down. I drew my gaze to the west, and saw dark clouds looming on the horizon. The break in the storm was just about over.

  “What time is it?” Joe said from the bed, his voice dry and cracking.

  “About noon.”

  “Are you kidding?” He rubbed his palms against his smooth-shaved scalp. “Maybe we should just spend the day in bed.”

  “Can’t. The sheriff is here.”

  “So?”

  “Don’t you think we should tell him what we know?”

  “About what?”

  “Don’t be that way. Jacob’s life might be at stake. We should do whatever we can to help.”

  Joe groaned. “You’re determined to turn this into a working vacation, aren’t you?”

  “Of course not. We’ll do our civic duty, tell the sheriff what we know, and then we’ll spend the rest of the weekend doing whatever we want. It will be glorious.”

  “Uh-huh.”

  I wasn’t sure why, but despite the morning getting off to a rough start, my spirits were high. The nap must have done me some good.

  After getting dressed, Joe and I climbed the hill up to the lighthouse. Joe’s leg seemed to be feeling a bit better. I wasn’t sure if it was a sign of any significant improvement, or just an indication of how much aspirin he’d taken. At least that he was feeling halfway human again. The glint was back in his eyes, and he was able to walk without wincing. The fresh bandage on his hand helped, too, and the fact that he was now properly dressed. He hardly even looked like the same man who’d collapsed into bed a few hours earlier.

  When we reached the top of the hill, Charlotte, Dana, and Miguel were conversing with the sheriff outside the lighthouse. Miguel saw us coming over the crest, and pointed in our direction. The sheriff nodded and wrote something in his notebook. I noticed that two deputies were conducting an investigation inside and around the lighthouse. Nobody paid much attention as we approached, until we reached the group. Charlotte introduced us:

  “Frank, meet Joe and Tanja Shepherd. They’re the ones I told you about.”

  Sheriff Hillman was short and husky with salt and pepper hair and a light five o’clock shadow on his chin. He had bright blue eyes and the weathered complexion of a lifelong sailor or fisherman.

  “Ah, the detectives,” Sheriff Hillman said, looking us up and down. “Charlotte tells me you used to be in law enforcement.”

  “I worked for the FBI,” I said. “Joe used to be a cop. If you need anything Sheriff, we would he happy to help out.”

  “Right,” he said. “I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

  It was clear from the look on Hillman’s face that he wasn’t impressed by our credentials. In fact, his body language and his choice of words came off as dismissive, if not even a little hostile.

  “In that case, I guess we’ll just head back to the inn,” Joe said with a wry grin. “I’ve been wanting to try that cedar spa.” He took my hand and drew me away. I hesitated, expecting the sheriff to protest, or at least ask for our account of the story, but he remained silent. Reluctantly, I went along with Joe. As we walked up the path, I paused halfway between the lighthouse and the chopper to look back at the group.

  “Something wrong?” Joe said.

  “I don’t know. There’s something weird about that sheriff. Did you notice how he just brushed us off?”

  “He doesn’t want outsiders interfering with his investigation. That’s not surprising. When I was a cop, we didn’t like interference either. Not even from other cops.” He gave me a sideways glance, and added, “Not even the Feds.”

  “Very funny. That’s not what I’m talking about.”

  He let out an exaggerated sigh. “All right, what’s bothering you?”

  “Look at them all standing there. They know each other, Joe. The sheriff didn’t blow us off because he’s territorial, it’s because we’re outsiders.”

  Joe pulled his gaze away from me to stare at the group huddled together in front of the lighthouse. They were talking quietly, occasionally glancing over in our direction. I couldn’t help wondering what they were talking about. There was something about the situation that seemed strange, almost conspiratorial.

  As we were watching them, one of the deputies came running up to the sheriff. They spoke a few words and the sheriff mumbled something. He glanced at us, and then came hurrying in our direction.

  “One moment,” Hillman said, waving us down. “I need a word with you.”

  The sheriff slipped and nearly fell as his dress shoes lost their grip on the slick, grassy slope. He steadied himself and then rushed up to us. “Can I ask where the two of you were last night between midnight and three a.m.?”

  “In bed,” Joe said. “Where else would we be?”

  “Can anyone else vouch for that?”

  “Can anyone vouch that we were in bed?” I said. “No, sheriff. There was no one else in bed with us. Does that seem unusual to you?”

  He silently glared at me. Joe spoke up, trying to be the peacemaker:

  “Charlotte woke us up this morning,” He said. “And several people saw us leave dinner and go to our room last night.”

  The sheriff scratched the back of his neck as he looked back and forth between us. “I see. So what you’re saying is that no one can vouch for your whereabouts, except the two of you?”

  “What’s this all about?” I demanded. “Are you accusing us of something, sheriff?”

  “You should know,” he said. He gave us a clever smile.

  I narrowed my eyebrows. “Look, the last I heard Jacob was missing. In fact, my husband risked his life to bring Jacob’s boat back this morning, thinking that Jacob might be on it. Why are you suddenly treating us like suspects in a murder investigation?”

  “Because my deputies just found Jacob Scott’s body.”

  “That’s impossible,” Joe said. “We searched the lighthouse this morning and didn’t find anything.”

  The sheriff glared at us. “You went in that lighthouse? Do you realize that’s a crime scene in there? I thought the two of you were cops.”

  “We thought Jacob had a heart attack,” I said. “Charlotte asked us to go in.”

  “Uh-huh. Well now, I’m telling you to stay out.”

  “Sherif
f, Joe and I have a lot of experience with this sort of thing. When I offered our help, I meant it with the utmost sincerity. If you’re worried about our credentials, we can give you a number of references. Local, and federal. There’s no need to treat us like suspects.”

  “Is that so?”

  “Of course.”

  He looked at Joe. “I’m told that there was an incident between you and Jacob yesterday.”

  My eyebrows shot up. I glanced at Joe, and saw him glaring back at the sheriff. Hillman went on: “I also understand you boarded his boat, Mr. Shepherd; that you were looking to teach him a lesson.” He made little quotation marks with his fingers as he said that last part.

  I had a sudden sinking feeling. I glanced past the sheriff at the group of locals huddled together in front of the lighthouse. Even from a hundred yards, I could see the guilty look on Miguel’s face. He sold you out, I wanted to say to Joe. After everything you went through this morning, he just fingered you as a suspect…

  I couldn’t say that, of course. Not with the sheriff standing there. But I had a pretty good idea that Joe was already thinking the same thing. I searched my mind, trying to analyze events in the way the sheriff might see them. It was true that we’d had an altercation. It was also true that Joe had trespassed onto Jacob’s boat. Both points against us…

  “Are you sure Jacob was murdered?” Joe said, beating me to the punch. “It seems to me that he could have easily fallen off his boat in this weather. That’s probably how his boat ended up drifting loose on the bay.”

  “Well, I suppose that’s a distinct possibility, isn’t it?” said the sheriff with mock sincerity.

  “I don’t understand,” I said. “You just implied that Joe was a murder suspect. What are you trying to say, sheriff?”

  He glanced back and forth between us. “What do you think I’m saying?”

  I crossed my arms. “Is this some kind of game? Was Jacob murdered, or wasn’t he?”

  His grin widened. “Maybe the two of you should take the weekend off. Enjoy your vacation. Pretend like this little upset never happened. Go on with your lives.”

  “But sheriff-”

  “I won’t ask again,” he said, interrupting me. “I don’t know how things work where you’re from, but around here we leave the policing to the police. Do you understand?”

  I glanced at Joe, and he just shrugged. There was no point arguing, especially if Joe wasn’t going to back me up. “Point taken,” I said. “We’ll stay off your turf, sheriff.”

  “Thank you.”

  We turned to leave, but after two or three steps, Joe paused and turned back to face the sheriff. I pulled on his arm, unwilling to risk further confrontation, but Joe resisted.

  “I just have one question,” he said.

  Hillman’s eyes narrowed. He let out a testy snort. “What’s that?”

  “I know Jacob’s body wasn’t in that lighthouse. We searched it top to bottom, and Charlotte was with us. Where did you find him?”

  Hillman put his hands on his hips and chewed his lip as he looked us up and down. After a few seconds of consideration, the sheriff gestured for us to follow him. He led the way back to the lighthouse, past Charlotte and the others. Then, instead of going back inside, he circled past the tower and led us to the cliffs overlooking the beach south of the lighthouse.

  Sheriff Hillman stood on the ledge, gazing down towards the rocky shoreline. Joe and I joined him, leaning cautiously forward to get a good look over the edge. There, a hundred feet down, we saw Jacob’s body sprawled out on the rocks. The waves crashed over his corpse, shaking him, but for the moment lacking the strength to pull him out.

  “That’s him, isn’t it?” said the sheriff.

  I nodded.

  “Maybe next time you meet an old timer, the two of you will have a little more patience with him.”

  I met the sheriff’s gaze with a furious look that only seemed to amuse him. I fought the urge to tell him it was Jacob who had almost crashed into our boat; that it was all his fault, and Joe never would have done anything to hurt him.

  Instead, I glanced at Joe and saw my husband standing motionless beside me, his eyes fixed on the body in the waves below. There wasn’t much more to say. Jacob was definitely dead, and if he had been murdered, then we were definitely suspects.

  Chapter 10

  Joe

  Jacob’s body was face-up on the rocky beach, arms spread wide. The waves crashed into him, momentarily encapsulating him in foam. As they pulled back, the waters left the eerie outline of an angel with its wings spread wide.

  “I hope the tide’s not coming in,” Tanja said in a worried voice. “His body could be swept out to sea.”

  “Not if I have anything to say about it,” said Sheriff Hillman.

  I heard a loud gasp behind us. I turned to see Charlotte speaking to one of Hillman’s deputies about thirty yards back. Apparently, he had just given her the bad news. Charlotte covered her mouth and fled down the path towards the inn. The deputy watched her for a few seconds and then ambled over to join us.

  “She’s not taking it well,” he said to the sheriff. “I didn’t get to question her much.”

  “Don’t worry about it, Ed. I’ll talk to her later. First, we need to get the body back to town.”

  “Yes, sir. I just spoke with the Coast Guard. They’re sending a rescue chopper.”

  “ETA?”

  Deputy Ed glanced at his watch. “About ten minutes.”

  “Perfect. I want you to take Donny and do another sweep. Take pictures of everything, and try to grab a few prints, just in case.”

  As the deputies went back to work, the sheriff got a call on his radio. The dispatcher wanted some information for the Coast Guard pilot. Sheriff Hillman walked away from us, apparently wanting to deal with the issue in private. He was gone for several minutes. By the time he’d returned, we could already see the red and white helicopter flying in from the north. Two minutes later, it was hovering directly overhead.

  I watched in fascination as a two-man rescue team rappelled down to the beach, while a third lowered the rescue basket using the chopper’s winch. At the sheriff’s request, they documented the entire process with a high-resolution digital camera. The team worked quickly, meticulously preparing the body and then moving it into the basket. Once ready, they winched the cage back up to the vehicle, and rejoined the crew on board.

  The entire process went surprisingly fast. Within fifteen minutes of their arrival, the rescue team was headed back to Humboldt Bay. As the chopper vanished in the distance, Sheriff Hillman turned his attention back to us.

  “The storm’s picking up again,” he said. “I have to get back while I still can. Tell Charlotte she has my condolences.”

  “Wait a minute,” said my wife. “That’s it? You’re leaving, without even conducting an investigation?”

  The sheriff pressed his lips together. “Do you have a problem with the way I do my job, young lady?”

  “You can’t just leave!”

  “I can’t?”

  “Of course not. You have to conduct an investigation. You need to find out if Jacob was murdered or not, and who had the motive and the opportunity to do it. Besides Joe, I mean. Obviously, Joe didn’t do it. You understand that don’t you? He used to be a cop, for God’s sake.”

  The sheriff looked at me. “Is she always like this?”

  I shrugged, unwilling to risk Tanja’s wrath. Hillman grinned and shook his head. “Mrs. Shepherd, take a moment to look at the situation from my perspective. I got a call that Jacob Scott had gone missing. When I got here, it took all of ten minutes to find his body at the bottom of a cliff, which is conveniently located just behind his home. Now, I don’t know how things work in the FBI, but around here we don’t just assume every body we find at the bottom of a cliff is a murder victim.”

  “But-”

  “You’re right,” he said, interrupting her. “It is possible that Jacob Scott was murdered.
On the other hand, it’s also possible -and this is far more likely- that after a long day of fishing, Jacob came home late, had a few drinks, and mistakenly wandered off the cliff thinking he was headed the other direction. It has happened before, more times than I’d like to count. In fact, I’ve seen perfectly sober people walk right off these cliffs. And from what I know of Jacob, he had a reputation as a serious drinker. He may have gone out in his boat this morning, still drunk, and simply fallen overboard.”

  She started to speak, but Hillman silenced her with a glare. He widened his stance and put his hands on his hips. “I don’t have time to sit here and speculate on all the things that might have happened. For now, I’m considering Jacob’s death accidental. I suggest you accept that before I change my mind and charge you with his murder.”

  He looked back and forth between us, as if daring us to say something. We didn’t.

  “Now here’s what’s gonna happen,” the sheriff continued, once he was satisfied that we weren’t going to argue with him anymore. “I’m going to fly back to town and wait for an autopsy report. If I find any evidence of foul play, I’ll be back here as soon as the weather allows. In the meanwhile, I don’t expect anyone will be going anywhere. Do we have an understanding?”

  “Are you saying we shouldn’t leave town?” I said with a half-grin. The sheriff didn’t seem amused.

  “I’m gonna tell you one more time: Forget about all this. Enjoy your vacation. If I catch you poking around in my investigation again, I’ll arrest you both.”

  He walked over to join his deputies, and all the three men climbed back into the police chopper. The pilot started the engine and they took off. Just like that, it was all over.

  As the helicopter vanished over the hills to the north, things got strangely quiet. Tanja and I stood looking down at the beach, the icy wind gusting in our faces, the storm on the horizon growing darker by the minute. Jacob’s angel shape was now gone, except for the vague outline of the wings. Footprints filled with sea foam cluttered the area. Nearby, a gull landed on the rocks. Neither of us spoke for some time. Eventually, Tanja broke the silence: