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

by Jeanne Glidewell

  "Good idea. Mack called Trey, the younger man, 'son,' and Trey called Mack 'Papa,' so it's clearly a family business." When I searched Mack's name, I found many sites mentioning his well-digging business. He seemed to be highly respected in the community and had received many positive reviews from former customers. The only less-than-flattering comments were that Mack needed to wash his overalls more frequently, and his help should watch their language around impressionable children and ladies. Nothing too earth-shattering.

  Then I happened upon a Mack Schilling in the society pages of a previous edition of the Rockport Pilot. "This is odd, Rip. It's a birth announcement for a baby named Chandler, born to a Joyce and Mack Schilling, III. Mack was too old to have a baby unless he'd divorced Trey's mother and married a woman young enough to be his daughter."

  "Think about it, though. The father of this baby has to be Trey. Trey's not an uncommon nickname for the third in line to be called when three generations in a row share the same name. It could get confusing if you don't give at least one of them a nickname. It's quite possible Trey had a bone to pick with Claypool and Milo, too."

  "You're right. Possibly even more provoking than his father's 'pissed-off bone', as Julio Sarcova put it. Now that I think about it, Trey would be in the same age bracket as the two boys. Let me Google 'Trey Schilling' and see what pops up."

  It didn't take long to discover Mack Schilling, III, was a twelve-year veteran of the Texas Parks and Wildlife Department. An Aransas County game warden, to be more exact. Trey had been married to a Joyce Chriswall-Schilling for four years, after divorcing a Peggy (Adcoff) Claypool sixteen years prior. Coincidence? Hard to tell at this point. At the time the newspaper was printed, Trey and Peggy had a three-year-old son named Adrian Claypool, who would now be twenty-one. They also had a son named Chandler, as confirmed by the birth announcement I'd just discovered. Chandler would now be seventeen.

  In a separate article about Trey's father, Mack, Jr., who owned the well service company Regina and I visited, it was mentioned that his son was a part-time employee.

  "Being a game warden might have given Trey a second reason to be infuriated with the murder victim. I'm surprised Mack didn't mention his son worked for the Parks and Wildlife Department. What are the chances Trey was aware of Claypool and Milo's poaching? Mack told us he caught the two fishing out of season one day, but he didn't have the authority to arrest them like his son would have. What are the chances it was Trey Schilling who got Cooper banned for life from spear-fishing?"

  "Quite good, I'd guess. Between the fact MC Hammerheads stiffed his father on a number of occasions, and the likelihood Trey arrested Cooper for poaching, I'd say there was plenty of bad blood between the two men, and possibly Milo, as well."

  "I hadn't thought of that, Rip. Could Trey be our killer? And could he be gunning for Milo now? Is it possible one or both of the Schillings have their sights on Milo?"

  "Of course it is. Anything's possible. Even if Trey's not our killer, whoever is could want retribution against Milo just as badly as he did Cooper if the perp's anger is based on a business deal with the MC Hammerheads company that soured. And, let's face it, darling. It's still not totally out of the question Milo was somehow involved in Cooper's death. I'm still teetering on the fence about that possibility. My gut tells me he's not, but my mind tells me I shouldn't disregard him as the perpetrator, or an accomplice, only because I have a personal interest in the outcome."

  "That's true. He still seems to have the most incriminating evidence and opportune circumstances of anyone." I agreed with Rip's assessment, even though I prayed those factors were entirely coincidental. "We can't totally believe anything Milo tells us. After all, he lied to us about knowing anything about the cut on the back of Cooper's head immediately after we discovered the body."

  I was shocked by the direction the case had suddenly taken. We couldn't burn daylight dillydallying when a killer was on the loose, and Milo might have a target on his back, regardless of the fact we didn't know for certain he wasn't personally involved in the murder. No more lolling on the couch wasting precious time, not that we'd wasted all that much in the last few days. "We need to get our rears in gear, my dear!"

  Then Rip said, "I agree! Let's invite Regina and Milo to join us for supper at Paradise Key. I'd like to delve into the financial status of MC Hammerheads Construction Company and discuss the lawsuits they're involved in and/or being threatened with. I'd also like to get a better idea of Milo and Cooper's past interactions with the Schillings. That will help me determine if Milo needs police protection."

  "Will Detective Reeves and/or Sheriff Peabody cooperate if you request the department assign officers to keep an eye out for Milo? I know Joe wasn't sold on having you involved in this case to begin with."

  "If the department resists, I'll hire a couple of security guards to protect him myself. I still have a few in my back pocket. And, they're not just wanna-be cops, as some call them. They're skilled, top-notch individuals."

  "Oh, good. That's a relief. I'd like to ask Milo what he knows that he's not sharing with us. It's obvious he's not being completely forthright. We can't help him if he isn't up-front and honest with us. I'll be tactful, of course."

  "Ha! That's funny, Rapella. Tact is just not in your DNA, so let me do the talking. Okay?"

  That was twice in one afternoon I'd been told the exact same thing. And by the two people dearest to my heart, at that. There appeared to be a consensus that I couldn't be counted on to use diplomacy when discussing critical matters. It hurt my feelings and put a big fat bumble bee in my bonnet, but I decided it probably was best to let Rip handle the situation. At least somewhere, buried deep in that DNA the two were talking so disparagingly about, was the ability to recognize when even my most persuasive arguments were not going to influence Rip, a former law enforcement officer with a butt-load of experience in manipulating suspects.

  I picked up the phone and rang my daughter to make dinner plans for the evening. I wouldn't be taking "no" for an answer, either.

  * * *

  We had reservations for four at five o'clock. Regina had argued it was too early for supper, and informed me her bummed-out husband just wasn't up to going out. So I, in turn, informed her that her father was not issuing an invitation, he was issuing an order. She finally agreed when it dawned on her she and Milo had no choice but to join us for supper whether they liked it or not.

  We were seated by the window overlooking the shallow water of Cove Harbor. Paradise Key was located right on the water and we watched an aerodynamically-designed "cigarette" boat glide up and tie off to the dock alongside the restaurant. Two young couples disembarked, climbed the steps, and took a table on the outside deck, where an exceptionally talented one-man band was entertaining the customers. Paradise Key was one of the most popular eating and drinking establishments in the area, and for good reason.

  We all placed our orders for adult beverages. I ordered my customary tequila sunrise, Rip requested Jack and Coke, and the kids settled on fruit-flavored margaritas. I debated over what to eat and decided on a meal I rarely ordered anywhere else because of the expense; a surf and turf combo. That delectable entree at Paradise Key was worth bending the budget a bit.

  As expected, Milo's mood was subdued, Reggie's was apprehensive, and Rip's and mine were inquisitive. Reggie exchanged an anxious smile with us, but Milo was finding it difficult to make eye contact with any of his dining companions. After a long, uncomfortable silence, I asked, "So, kids. What's up with you two? What have you been doing today? Milo?"

  Rip flashed me an expression that I deciphered as, "What part of 'let me do the talking' didn't you understand?" I ignored him and turned to hear Reggie reply to my question after waiting several long moments for a response from Milo. "He was working on finishing up a job Cooper had been overseeing."

  Rip flashed me another look that clearly meant "Put a lid on it!" And trust me; I can expertly interpret every facial expression in
Rip's repertoire. I realized he'd hoped to have a few slugs of whiskey under his belt before he launched into an intense discussion regarding the murder case, and wasn't pleased I'd tossed him into the middle of the ring before he was prepared to throw a punch. But he recovered well from the abrupt change in ambiance amongst our foursome. In a no-nonsense voice, he asked his daughter, "Can your husband no longer speak for himself, Regina Louise?"

  Nervously, she turned to Milo and said, "Um, yes, Daddy, of course he can. He's just worn out. Tell them about your project, babe."

  "Just removing some drywall to replace some studs and insulation. That's all." Milo explained as briefly as he could without looking up from the table and the napkin he was mindlessly toying with.

  "Would that be at the Sarcova home, by any chance?" Rip asked. Milo's head jerked up and he looked Rip in the eyes for the first time that evening.

  "Possibly to eradicate black mold from inside the walls?" Rip added, staring at Milo as he waited for a response to his inquiry. With another remark spoken in question-like fashion, he continued. "Black mold that was intentionally covered up to save on the expense to fix an issue you both knew wasn't honest or ethical to conceal?"

  When Milo spoke again, his voice was loud and edgy, "That was Cooper's fault, not mine! I was trying my best to convince him we needed to correct a wrong he'd knowingly committed."

  "How's that?" Rip asked. "And lower your voice, son. We don't need to cause a scene in a public venue."

  "Okay," Milo replied. You could visibly see his manner change into one of resignation. "The company has been in dire straits financially, I'll admit."

  As if a light bulb went on over her head, Regina addressed her husband. "Is that why you wouldn't agree to let me get a new car?"

  Rip turned to Regina and spoke sternly. "Sit back and keep quiet, Regina. This conversation doesn't concern you. And it's of no consequence why Milo didn't want you to replace a perfectly good vehicle with an unnecessary and exorbitantly priced car you wanted for nothing more than to flaunt as a status symbol. It was a ludicrous idea on your part even if he could afford it. But right now we have more important things to concentrate on. Your husband is still a prime suspect in a murder investigation. We're trying to get to the bottom of it before it adversely affects both of your lives."

  Reggie sat back in her chair, her mouth gaping open in shock. As far as I could recall, her father had never spoken so harshly to her before. I reached under the table to pat her knee consolingly. I could feel her pain.

  Just then the chair behind me tapped the back of mine as our waitress seated customers at the adjoining table. I glanced over my shoulder to determine if I should reposition my chair to allow more space for the diners behind us. I heard a loud gasp as I looked into the disgruntled eyes of Dr. Patrick O'Keefe. My jaw dropped even lower in shocked surprise than Regina's just had after the tongue-lashing from her father. It wasn't just the Irishman who'd shocked me, but his dining partner, Avery Curry, as well. Considering she'd complained he was stalking her, she seemed to be very accommodating to her ex-husband.

  Avery smiled and waved at me in greeting. She started to address me by saying, "You wouldn't believe what happened after you left Jugs—"

  "Oh, no! I'm not sitting at this table, miss!" Avery hadn't had time to complete her sentence before her infuriated dinner date exclaimed loudly. "This table won't work for me."

  Confused, the waitress said, "But I thought you requested this table next to the water-front window?"

  "That was before I noticed who was sitting at the table next to it!"

  Avery looked befuddled, as did our waitress, who stumbled over her next words. "Um, I'm sorry, sir. I, uh, didn't realize, uh, there was a problem with, um—"

  "I don't want to be soaking wet for a third time this week. And with that lady behind me, the likelihood of it happening is extremely high." The redheaded doctor was too wound up to let anyone else finish a sentence. He ordered the waitress to take them to a different location. "Move us to a table out on the deck so we can enjoy ourselves and listen to the music."

  The clearly confused waitress led O'Keefe and his equally baffled ex-wife across the large room toward the door to the outside patio. "I'm so sorry, sir," I heard her mumble before the din of the other customers swallowed up her voice.

  "Well, so much for my wish not to make a spectacle of ourselves," Rip said with a roll of his eyes. "Let's wait to continue our discussion until all the other patrons stop gawking at us."

  Our drinks arrived, and Rip downed half of his in one long swallow. It seemed to bolster his resolve as he turned back to his son-in-law and said, "Continue with your explanation about the company's financial situation, son."

  I could tell by the look on the younger man's face he had hoped the disruption would put an end to the inquisition. He took a deep breath, and said, "The renovation of the Sarcova house was Cooper's responsibility. I was trying to get a duplex ready to sell and had run into a few major complications. It wasn't until after the contract was signed on the project that Cooper told me he'd covered up black mold inside the walls of several rooms with fresh sheetrock and paint. Eradicating the mold properly would have severely cut into our profits, he said. I was livid, but I didn't know how to approach the buyer and admit he'd been screwed over. Neither of us had anticipated a medical emergency would occur involving their young son."

  "So you're telling us you didn't agree with your partner's cover-up scheme?" Rip asked.

  "You're damn right I didn't agree!" Milo's response was spoken with sincere abomination. "You may not think very highly of me, sir, but I am not a monster. I would never put the life of a child at risk just to save a few bucks. That's one of the things Cooper and I had been arguing about for several weeks before his death. When we were approached by Julio Sarcova about his son's illness, I was appalled. I insisted Cooper immediately correct the matter and make good on Hunter's medical bills, but he balked at the idea."

  "Why?" Rip inquired.

  For a guy who had very little to say, Milo suddenly couldn't stop talking. He spoke directly to Rip as he replied, "Cooper was in charge of all the finances regarding the MC Hammerheads Construction Company. I was more the hands-on partner who supervised the projects, dealt with suppliers, and lined out the subcontractors. We'd recently taken on a number of projects, and had been paid for two large renovations we'd already completed. I assumed we were in great shape, money-wise, and had hopes of expanding the business. When I told Cooper I wanted to purchase several more duplexes to flip, he tried to convince me it wasn't a good move on the part of the company. I persisted and finally got him to admit we were nearly bankrupt. He eventually told me he'd borrowed money from the company account to pay off some gambling debts."

  "In Texas, gaming is illegal. Where was he gambling?" Rip asked.

  "Online. He got hooked on some poker site that costs real money to play, and it was real money you had to pay when you lost. He was also into some loan shark for a lot of money he'd lost when he went to Vegas with his girlfriend the first week of September."

  "You are referring to the woman accompanying Dr. O'Keefe this evening?" Rip asked, pointing to the couple now dining out on the deck.

  "Yes, sir. O'Keefe and his ex-wife out there split right before Cooper took Avery to Vegas on a gambling vacation. I'm surprised to see O'Keefe and Avery dining together tonight, considering the bitter custody battle they've been engaged in."

  "Oh!" I said. "So you know about Liz?"

  Regina looked at me in bewilderment as her equally bewildered husband nodded in agreement. Milo stopped for a few seconds to regroup and remember where he'd been going with his response to Rip's inquiry about Avery Curry. "So, anyway, he was being badgered and harassed by some dude to pay up. The demands became increasingly threatening."

  "Is the loan shark local?" Rip wanted to know. He swallowed the last bit of his drink and signaled to our waitress to bring him another. Reggie was still nursing hers, as was I. H
owever, I noticed the Vodka Collins Milo had ordered after he'd drained his margarita was already half-finished. He quaffed the remainder down in one long swallow and asked the waitress for a refill when she arrived with Rip's drink.

  "No. If I remember right, the loan shark lives in El Paso. But he has this thug working for him who's been putting so much pressure on Coop that he started drinking heavier and heavier. The goon was leaving threatening messages on his cell phone using a voice-modulator like you see on TV when someone's being held for ransom."

  When Rip briefly glanced at me in perplexity, I said, "There's probably an app for that."

  Milo nodded his head, and agreed. "Like everything else, there is an app for that, and I'm sure that's what this guy was using to bully Cooper. I tried to get Coop to take the matter to the police, but he wouldn't listen. Said the caller was all talk. I listened to a few of the messages and I thought the voice was British, but I couldn't be certain because of the way it was altered by the modulator."

  Rip nodded but didn't respond. He motioned for Milo to continue.

  "Eventually, to get this thug off his back, Cooper borrowed money from our business account without telling me. He acted like he wasn't bothered by this guy's terrifying messages, but I knew he was worried. I know I was concerned about what this thug might do to him. So I can't say I totally blame him for tapping our business account. He'd originally planned to get it paid back quickly, no doubt hoping I'd never have to know about it. With his recent out-of-control drinking binges, and all, I wasn't convinced he hadn't accumulated new debt in the meantime. This same dude with the British-sounding voice left a voice-mail on our office phone about a week ago. I discovered the threatening message Friday afternoon when I stopped by our shop to get some time-sensitive documents. On the taped message his eerie-sounding voice said, 'This is your final warning.' Coop had been on the verge of alcoholism for twenty years, but even at his worst, he was at least a functioning drunk. I'm sure that's why he was already blitzed by noon Saturday when I ran into him at Crabby's."