Rip Tide (A Ripple Effect Cozy Mystery, Book 2)

by Jeanne Glidewell

  The well company was across the street from a large, fenced-in boat storage facility. The sign on the door was faded and the building was old and in ill-repair. It appeared to me as if Mack was in dire need of an influx of business. And we were about to pretend to be a couple of those much-needed customers.

  "Can I help you, ladies?" A gruff, raspy voice asked from behind a pile of metal pipe. A solidly built man who stood well over six-and-a-half feet looked up from a wooden chair when we walked around the pipe. He snuffed his cigarette out in a tin can half-filled with sand. Sand was a plentiful resource in this neck of the woods, but to degrade it with cigarette butts just seemed wrong to me. But he did show concern for our well-being when he cautioned us, "You might want to step away from those well casings, ladies. They've been known to become dislodged and avalanche down to the floor. And, excuse my French, ladies, but it's one hell of a hassle to restack them."

  "Yes, sir," I replied as both Regina and I moved away from the pile. I could see his point as the pile didn't look particularly stable. In fact, it looked as if it was on the verge of cascading toward Reggie and me. But I pushed the notion aside, and asked, "Is Mack here, by any chance?"

  "You're looking at him. Mack Schilling here." As he introduced himself, he shook both of our hands. Without a doubt, Mack Schilling had once been the picture of physical fitness. But aging had made his six-pack look more like a keg.

  He was a bear of a man but his handshake said otherwise. His grip was surprisingly lame, but it might have been out of gentlemanly respect. Had we not been ladies, Mack's clench might have crushed walnuts.

  I started to respond, but Reggie beat me to it. "Nice to meet you, Mr. Schilling. I'm Regina, and this is my mother, Rapella."

  "It's a pleasure to meet you ladies, as well. What can I do for you today?"

  Before either of us could reply, a strapping middle-aged fellow stepped from behind a wall dividing the small office area from the larger public area where we were located. He had that ripped appearance indicating he spent a lot of time in a gym. However, I could see where his body might mature into that of his father's if he gave up whatever intense work-outs he was engaging in. He glanced over to see his father speaking with the two of us gals, and asked, "Got it, Papa?"

  "Yeah, son. I can take care of these nice ladies. You need to get the men lined up for the job in Portland, anyway. I told the Strykers you'd be there by now. Give them a ring, Trey. Let them know you're on the way."

  "All right. I'll tell them we'll be on the road in ten minutes." Mack resembled the younger man enough that I knew calling him "son" was not just a habitual moniker. Mack's Wells, Inc. was a family business, it seemed. Like a lot of ma and pa operations in this area, it probably passed down from one generation to the next, until the next successor in line had no desire or ambition to take over the company. Mack turned back to Reggie and me, and asked, "Now what brings you two lovely ladies in here today?"

  "Well—" I began. I paused when I realized I hadn't thought of a credible ruse before walking in the shop. Before I could come up with one, he cut in.

  "That's a deep subject, ma'am. And it also happens to be what we do best around here." He laughed heartily at his own play on words. I could tell it wasn't the first time he'd used that one, and he no doubt cracked himself up every time he pulled it out of the hat.

  After a few more gritty guffaws, Mack choked and began to cough. As soon as he was able to quell his cough, he reached in his front pocket for a cigarette and a tarnished Zippo. I tried to recall if I'd seen this dedicated smoker at the protest the previous morning. If he hadn't attended, he'd missed a golden opportunity to support his habit. And best of luck to the city of Rockport in forcing this massive man to go outside his own business to light up.

  I laughed politely, and said, "Yes, a well is exactly what we need."

  "Where do you want us to drill this well?"

  "Um, you know, out in a rural area, west of town." I didn't think telling him I wanted him to dig a well next to my travel trailer in the RV park would fly very far. "Although I'm really not ready to commit yet. I just stopped by to get an estimate."

  "I need you to be more specific, ma'am, because the location could greatly affect the cost. I wouldn't want to give a nice lady like you a bid that's way over-blown." Mack was built like a giant Sequoia, or a man who could handily chop one down. But despite his easy-going, teddy-bear demeanor, I felt uncomfortable around him. It was as if there was a barely concealed fuse lit just below the surface of his smile. I was glad my daughter had accompanied me.

  "Okay. It's out on, er, I should say, it's by a road. No, I meant to say—"

  Aware I was floundering for words, Reggie stepped in. "It's just west of Holiday Beach off 35 N. Highway, Mr. Schilling. It's fairly sandy ground, barely above sea level. I don't think you'd have to drill very deep to find water." I'd discover later she'd described an area where Milo's younger brother lived.

  "We never have to drill very deep," he replied with a wink. "But I'd still have to see the—"

  "Maybe it'd help you narrow it down if I told you I recently moved into one of those flipped houses out—"

  "Did you say flipped houses?"

  "Yes, but I just—"

  "Who'd you buy it from?" Mack interrupted, suddenly very serious, as if his reaction rested on my response. "Not those Hammerhead buffoons, I hope."

  "Why, yes. As a matter of fact, that's exactly who sold it to me. A couple of extremely delightful men own the business and were a real pleasure to deal with."

  "Yeah, right. Sorry, lady. Can't help you." His reply was practically venomous. He immediately spun around to return to the chair he'd been sitting on when we had first entered the building. It was obvious that, as far as he was concerned, the conversation was over and we were not to let the door hit us in our rear ends on our way out.

  "Why not?" I asked in stunned disbelief. I was sincerely alarmed by the man's abrupt mood change.

  "Yes, why can't you help her?" Regina added with rugged tenacity. After all, her husband was one of the buffoons Mack clearly had no use for.

  "All I can say is, you better watch your back with that no-account outfit. I haven't been paid for the last three jobs I've completed for those charlatans. And I don't see any sign of that changing any time soon." Mack was worked up now. Just the mention of Milo and Cooper's company had transformed the gentle giant into a nail-spitting monster of a man. My uneasiness increased. I could smell the acrid odor of the man's fuse smoldering.

  "Why not?" I asked for the second time.

  "You tell me, lady! It ain't from not trying. I've had more than one go-round with those guys. Claypool paid me to fill up a dry well, and then advertised the property as having a well with a constant supply of water. The well was dry again before the ink on the purchase agreement was. Now the couple have to have water delivered regularly or go to the expense of having a new well drilled. The MC Boneheads are involved in a law suit over that deal now, too, which serves them right."

  I could tell by Reggie's body language she wanted to tear this guy a new one. She clearly didn't take kindly to having her husband referred to as a "buffoon," much less a "bonehead." I didn't want to split hairs, but if it weren't for my allegiance to my only child, I'd have agreed with Mack. I hadn't known Milo very well, or for very long, but I had detected a measurable amount of boneheadedness in his character. And before you look up "boneheadedness," if it's not recognized by Funk and Wagnall, it should be. In fact, it should be found frequently on every politician's Wikipedia page.

  I turned to my daughter and could almost visualize tiny puffs of steam escaping from her ears as she moved a couple of steps closer to Mack Schilling. Before she could ask to borrow a step stool from Mack so she could bitch-slap him, I said, "I'm sorry to hear you've had such disturbing issues with Cooper and my son-in-law, Milo."

  Mack took a step backward as his eyes blinked rapidly several times. He stared at Reggie and me before glancing ov
er at a forklift sitting next to the delicately balanced pile of well casings. It was as if the idea of using the piece of equipment to manually remove us from the building was flitting through his mind. Before the opportunity was lost, I needed to get him talking, even if it took provoking him to do it.

  "Actually, Mack, I thought you looked like one of their spear-fishing buddies Milo introduced us to the day we were signing the paperwork in his office. Have you ever gone out spear-fishing with him and Cooper? Are you the buddy they introduced us to?"

  "No, definitely not. You must be referring to Pinto, who I can't believe even associates with those two blowhards. Pinto's way out of their league, as am I. Those two are definitely not buddies of mine. I've never stepped foot in their office, nor do I ever plan to."

  "Out of their league? Really? And just what league are you in?" Reggie was fuming. When Mack didn't respond, Reggie asked, "I'm curious. Exactly what league does pond scum fall into?"

  "Listen lady. I not only don't enjoy fishing of any kind, I also don't take any pleasure in being in the company of those two bast—"

  "Gee, can you think of any more insulting B-words to call my husband and Cooper? Buffoons? Boneheads? Blowhards? And now bast—"

  I decided it was time to step in before the two came to blows. It'd be like watching a full-grown fox wrestle with a baby bunny. Not that my next remarks were any less provoking than Reggie's. "I doubt they were too fond of your presence either. Nor would they want to take you out fishing with them. It's not like you're much of a prize, you know."

  My cutting remark flew over his head like a paper airplane. Mack said, "However, I did see them when I took my wife, son, and daughter-in-law out for an evening cruise on my new ultra-expensive yacht," he boasted. His vanity left a bad taste in my mouth. "They were standing next to Cooper's boat, hiding their spear-guns and trying to pretend they were working on the motor. But I'd already spotted them with binoculars before they even realized we were in the vicinity. They were bailing off the boat with their guns when I first saw them."

  "Why would they hide their spear-guns?" I asked. I was baffled by why Mack would consider their actions shifty.

  "Why else? Spear-fishing season wasn't open at the time. If a game warden had been anywhere in the area, I'd have turned them in. Poachers are a plague to sportsmen everywhere, but Moore and Claypool are the two most despicable offenders around. And Cooper Claypool was the worst of the worst when it came to being unprincipled."

  "Oh, my. Your hatred of the man obviously runs very deep. You didn't have anything to do with his recent death, did you?" I don't know what made me ask him point-blank if he was involved with Cooper's gruesome death. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Reggie's mouth drop open as she rapidly scanned the room. Looking for the nearest exit, I'd guess.

  With bugged-out eyes, Mack Schilling pointed to the door and bellowed, "Get out! Both of you! What are you two, anyway? Undercover cops? I had nothing to do with that jerk's death, and that's exactly what I'll tell the investigators if they hassle me about it. The way I see it, he got what he had coming. Karma's a bitch, you know. Now get off my property before I throw you off."

  We believed him and high-stepped it out of the building. I swear it was an accident when my foot caught the edge of a well casing on the bottom of the delicately-balanced stack, causing the entire pile to begin cascading down, one by one rolling across the large concrete floor. Restacking them would keep this boorish man busy for quite awhile, I thought spitefully. And, I admit, gleefully.

  Back in the car, with Mack standing on the doorstep of his shop, meaty hands on his hips, glaring at us, Reggie peeled out of the parking lot. It took several long seconds for her wheels to get traction in the muddy puddle the recent rain had created. The ensuing spray of dirty water coated the front window of the irate man's shop and turned his light blue sweatshirt a speckled brown. He lifted his arm to shake a fist at us before extending his middle finger just as we reached the asphalt pavement.

  "By his reaction, I'd say if he wasn't the perpetrator, he knows who was," I remarked. "My question sure put a burr under his saddle, didn't it?"

  "You have any doubt it wouldn't?" Regina replied incredulously. "Could you possibly have been any brasher when you pointed your finger at him and practically accused him of being a murderer?"

  "I know I could have been a bit more tactful, but I think—"

  "Tact is not in your DNA, Mom. I'm just relieved we didn't get filled with lead on our way out. Didn't you see the little snub-nosed revolver lying behind his butt can on the desk?"

  "No, actually I didn't. But, I suppose you're right," I agreed. "I should have been more discreet. I have to ask you, honey. Did you know Milo and Cooper were spear-fishing illegally?"

  Her face flushed at the question and she remained silent.

  "Okay, that's all the answer I need, Regina. I have to say I'm not very proud of your new husband. Or you, for that matter. What I don't understand is why Milo would toss my redfish overboard like it was nuclear waste for being a fraction of an inch too short, but think nothing of poaching fish with a spear-gun."

  "It was always Cooper's idea, Mom. He pressured Milo to go until Milo caved in and joined him. Cooper was ticketed by a game warden twice, by the way. Thankfully, Milo was not with him either time. Cooper was out alone and probably had his back to the game warden's boat and didn't see or hear him approach. I'm pretty sure the second time, he was banned indefinitely from spear-fishing in the entire state of Texas. Not that something like that kept him from doing it anyway. He tried several times to get Milo to go flounder-gigging out of season too, but Milo always refused."

  "I'm beginning to question Milo's choice in both friends and business partners. So, how about these lawsuits I'm hearing about? Were you aware they existed?"

  This time Reggie vehemently denied knowing anything about them. She said, "But that might explain why in the last couple of months Milo's been turning every nickel over a dozen times before he spends it."

  Although I didn't say anything about their financial woes to my already distraught daughter, I thought, It also explains why since the day we arrived in town, we've had to pick up every tab when out with Milo and Reggie, no matter how small the bill. I didn't want Reggie to feel bad when it wasn't of her doing, so out loud I said, "At least our visit with Mack provided some very intriguing information. We have a few new leads I think we should follow."

  "If you say so, Mother."

  "I do." I sat back in my seat with a satisfied smile on my face.

  "Oh, no!" Regina gasped. "We forgot you had ice cream in one of your grocery bags. That's going to be a mess."

  "It'll clean up. It's not having the ice cream on hand to appease your father that concerns me. In fact, let's stop back by the store, after I pick him up some Crown at Spanky's, so I can purchase another carton of Blue Bell."

  "All right," Regina agreed. "But for both our sakes, why don't you just stay in the car and let me run in and buy the ice cream."

  My daughter can be so uptight and fussy at times.

  Chapter 14

  "Fine detective work, my dear Watson," Rip remarked after I'd told him about our encounter with Mack Schilling. Naturally, my description of our interaction with him was abbreviated, omitting the part of being ordered off his property following my rash accusation and the ensuing accidental well-casing avalanche. What Rip didn't know wouldn't hurt me. He flashed me an endearing smile and added, "Now I remember why I love you so much."

  "Oh? So it's not my penchant for getting thrown in the slammer?"

  "Not hardly. You spent too much time with Lexie Starr, and her impulsiveness rubbed off on you, I'm afraid. But despite your aggravating habit of being over-the-top lackadaisical about the risky situations you get in the middle of, and being too set in your ways, there's still no other woman in the world I'd rather share the rest of my life with."

  "Same here, honey." I leaned over to kiss Rip, convinced Regina had not already sp
illed the beans. I was thankful Rip had gotten over his little snit. He'd always been the type of person who couldn't stay mad at someone for very long. He certainly never held a grudge, as I have been known to do.

  Rip and I were sprawled out on the couch in front of the television with my head nestled into the crook of his arm. On TV was an old rerun of Family Feud, from back when Richard Dawson was the host. We'd finally upgraded to a thirty-two inch flat screen the previous winter, even though I was reluctant to spend money on a new one when the old twenty-inch model still had a pixilated, but visible, display. Rip's persuasive pitch for a better television finally won me over. He'd hung it on the wall, and I had to admit it was nice to have the extra room in the living area. A crystal clear picture with which I could actually distinguish between John Wayne and Betty White was handy too.

  Deep in thought, Rip caressed my back for a few moments before saying, "It certainly sounds like Mack Schilling had a motive and the temper to go along with it. You didn't happen to get a chance to ask him about his whereabouts Saturday afternoon, did you?"

  "No. It was the next question I'd hoped to ask. But something came up and we weren't able to continue the conversation. And I'm sure he'd have clammed up and refused to respond even if I had."

  "Hmmm. Is the iPad handy?"

  "Yes it really is. Very handy, in fact. I find myself using it all the time now to research information about something, or someone. You wouldn't believe how many times I've been able to find out—" I shut up when I realized he was staring at me like three or four marbles had just escaped my head via my right ear. "Oh! Did you mean, 'Is it where I can retrieve it easily'?"

  At Rip's nod and disrespectful, "Duh," I stood to pick it up off the kitchen table. "What do you want me to search?"

  "See what you can find out about Mack Schilling. Now that we have a name, there might be something on the Internet that's revealing."