Coastal Cottage Calamity (A Logan Dickerson Cozy Mystery Book 2)

by Abby L. Vandiver

  “Lord have mercy,” she said and whooshed again.

  I had to guide her over to a chair and fan her with my hands.

  “Are you okay?”

  “Am I okay?” she screeched. “Do I look okay? You tell me that my daughter is a murderer and then expect me to be okay?”

  “Miss Vivee,” I said. “I didn’t say she was a murderer. I just told you that she and Oliver had had words.”

  “And that she told Oliver that she’d kill ‘em.”

  “Yeah. Well. That too. But I didn’t say she was a murderer.”

  “I don’t know how you manage to live on your own, girl. You can’t put two and two together and come up with four.” She grimaced at me. “You sure you went to college?”

  I ignored her question.

  “This changes everything,” she said.

  “Changes what?” I frowned up my face.

  She started digging down in her purse. “I can’t just let the investigation be a brain teaser to keep my mind sharp. Not anymore. I’ve got to actually solve this thing.” She found her memo pad and a pencil.

  “No you don’t, Miss Vivee.”

  “I have to save my child,” she said and pushed my fanning hands away. “You’ve got to hurry and get me my notebook. We’ve got to work quickly.”

  “Hold on, Miss Vivee.”

  She swiveled her neck and looked up at me standing over her. “Listen here, Missy. You don’t tell me to hold on. I don’t know what kind of poison killed Oliver. It might just be the kind that disappears before even an autopsy can get done. So we can’t waste any time.”

  “Miss Vivee. I can almost assure you that modern technology doesn’t miss anything these days. As much as you watch TV, you should know that. Don’t you watch Forensic Files? CSI?”

  “You don’t know what you’re talking about. This isn’t television. This is real life.” Miss Vivee was working up a lather. “And the killer could get away,” she said. “Did you ever think about that, Missy?”

  “If there is a killer, Miss Vivee, Bay’ll catch him.” I assured her. “They caught Gemma Burke’s killer didn’t they?”

  “I caught Gemma Burke’s killer,” Miss Vivee corrected. “I’m the one that figured it out. Don’t forget that.”

  That was true.

  “Bay’ll be upset,” I said, singing out the words. “He told you to leave it to him.”

  She grabbed my arm and pulled down on it making my face even with hers. “We can’t tell Bay that Renmar is a suspect. It’ll kill him.”

  We can’t tell him because that man was all business. He’d threatened to throw me and Miss Vivee in jail – his two best girls – I’m thinking he’d do the same to his mother.

  “We won’t have to tell him anything,” I said. “Because we won’t be finding out anything.” I sat down next to Miss Vivee and looked directly in her eyes. “No investigating, remember?”

  “I raised Bay. What you think, he’ll really arrest me for obstruction of justice?”

  I raised my eyebrows and pulled my lips in a tight line.

  I kind of did.

  “I’ll do this by myself. I don’t need you,” she said, she seemed to have fully recovered from her near death experience. She hopped up, turned and looked at me. “I can still drive and I’m still able to do anything I put my mind to.”

  I thought about how she had ran over Mac with that two-ton monstrosity she called a car and fractured his hip, his obvious limp showing what she was capable of. Then I could vividly see her tearing through the streets, people diving out of her way as the crunching sounds of the bones of her victims lay in plain sight in the gas fumes of her car as she drove away . . .

  I studied her. She did the same to me. I shook my head and took in a breath.

  How in the world did I think I could win this argument with her?

  Chapter Thirteen

  “Miss Vivee,” I said. “What makes you think that’s the way Oliver died? That he was poisoned?”

  I had decided to try and play two against the middle. Keep Miss Vivee happy by getting her a notebook and indulging in conversation – only – about the “murder.” And I was keeping my new boyfriend happy by not telling him anything about what Miss Vivee and I were doing.

  Wasn’t quite sure how that was going to work out.

  Bay had left for Atlanta to accompany the body. He’d been right – it’d only taken one call from the Bureau’s medical examiner in Atlanta to the judge in Yasamee to quash Ron Anderson’s injunction. And of course with it all covered in yellow tape, Ron hadn’t ventured over to Oliver’s beach house. He and his wife were staying, per Sheriff Haynes, at the Stallings Inn, the only other bed and breakfast in Yasamee.

  We were in Miss Vivee’s greenhouse in the Maypop’s massive backyard. I had followed her and Cat out to her greenhouse after lunch with no intention of telling her about my fish. But she kept after me about what exactly was said during Oliver and Renmar’s spat, and what I think it meant. And we weren’t there having that conversation for more than five minutes before I blabbed everything I knew. By that I meant my secret fish find.

  Maybe Bay was right, Miss Vivee just had this hold over me.

  “So. This extinct fish might be the reason that Renmar and Oliver were arguing?” Miss Vivee asked.

  “I don’t know,” I said. I was walking around the greenhouse looking at her flowering plants. Now that I’d told everything, I didn’t want to keep talking about it, but Miss Vivee drew me in. “They are always on that Island together – were – on that Island together, and she sure doesn’t want anyone to know what she puts in that bouillabaisse of hers.”

  “I’ve see her make it plenty of time,” Miss Vivee said. She stopped working on the plant in front of her and gazed off thoughtfully. “Can’t say that I paid any attention to the kind of fish she used.” Miss Vivee shook her head. “How could I have not paid any attention to that?”

  “No reason to be upset about it, Miss Vivee. Fish is just fish.”

  “Evidently not,” she said and sighed. “So tell me about the argument again.”

  “I told you,” I said. “Renmar said she’d kill anyone before she’d let them put her hands on it. Or something like that.”

  “You’re not very good at eavesdropping, are you?” Miss Vivee said.

  Most people would think that was a good thing.

  The greenhouse was overflowing with plants and herbs. Tables lined the entire interior, part and parcel of her trade as resident Voodoo herbalist. Her son-in-law, Louis, had introduced her to the age old practice of healing using roots, potions and concoctions. Furthering her studies by moving in with a Voodoo Queen in New Orleans for five years, Miss Vivee claimed to be a master herbalist.

  “Oliver didn’t hit his head on a rock, that’s for sure,” she said, I guess answering my earlier question of why she thought Oliver had been poisoned. Although Oliver’s head wasn’t on the rock, it was laying precariously close enough that I thought he could have hit it if he had, perhaps, stumbled and fell.

  “How do you know?” I asked.

  “No blood,” she said matter-of-fact.

  I thought back on it and couldn’t remember seeing much blood. But I miss a lot of things. Unlike Miss Vivee, I didn’t have a second sense about causes of death. I had a degree in anthropology – the study of humans. When I dug up the remains of a body and wanted to know a cause of death, I sent it off to a lab.

  “No blood could just mean that hitting his head wasn’t what killed him, Miss Vivee. It doesn’t mean he was poisoned.” I gave her a “isn’t that true?” look. “Like I said before, maybe he had a heart attack. Fell to the ground dead.” I looked over at her. “Hit his head then.”

  “That’s the same thing you said about Gemma Burke,” she said and threw me a glance over her shoulder. “She had a heart attack. You remember that? Is that all you can come up with? Heart attacks?”

  “I’ll admit I was wrong about Gemma Burke.”

  �
�And you’re wrong about Oliver, too. When have you ever seen a rock on the shoal? Or along the coastline for that matter?” she asked.

  Okay, so I had to admit that there usually weren’t any rocks that large on the coastline. Sand filled the area. And even though sand was the product of the erosion of rock, no one I’d ever heard of had suffered blunt force trauma by sand.

  I thought about where there were rocks.

  Up by Oliver’s house. A pain shot through my thigh as I thought about my spill into Oliver’s rock garden. And on my Island. Stalling Island had lots of rocks.

  “Okay, so why do you think he was poisoned.” I could feel myself giving in to her. Next she’d have me driving her to strip bars in Atlanta to find clues like she did when Gemma died.

  “Didn’t you see all the drool around his mouth?” she asked me.

  “No.” I walked over and plopped down on the stool next to where she stood. She was pruning a plant perched on the high-topped table as she talked.

  “Well it was there. Lots of poisons make you foam or drool. But what really got me,” she said her thoughts seeming to drift off. “Was the burn on his lips . . .”

  As she talked I let my eyes float across her shelves of “medicines” on the wall behind me. I remembered how she told me that the pretty orange one that I was holding could kill me. I had immediately put it back.

  Then I thought about Bay’s dad. How I’d learned how she’d helped him “pass over” so he wouldn’t have to suffer through the pain of the cancer that had wrecked his body. And Mac thinking that Miss Vivee had concocted a recipe of death for “The Hussy” as she called her, who she thought Mac was cheating on her with, making it look like a heart attack.

  Miss Vivee definitely knew about poisons.

  But what was the likelihood of another murder in Yasamee in the course of a few weeks?

  Oliver. Poisoned. Oliver. Poisoned. I heard Miss Vivee’s voice over and over in mind. I shook my head to clear my thoughts.

  Very unlikely I told myself. Another murder was very unlikely. But listening to Miss did give me pause. Like my mother, Miss Vivee was usually right.

  “I’m sure, Miss Vivee,” I said probably trying to convince me more than her. “If you noticed all of that, so did the FBI. No need of poking our noses in.”

  “Wasn’t the FBI that was there,” she said and snipped at the plant in front of her. “It was their liaison.”

  “Same difference.”

  “Ask him that after you ask him if there’s a difference in pay between him and an agent.”

  “What I meant, Miss Vivee, is it is the FBI.”

  “Doesn’t matter. I’ve got all that stuff down in new my notebook. Thank you,” she said and nodded at me. “Now I have to investigate this. It’s different now that my daughter is involved. She’s a viable suspect.”

  “Viable suspect?” I mouthed.

  “The right thing to do is tell Bay,” I said out loud.

  “How is that the right thing to do?” The volume in her voice rising. “The extinct fish and Renmar and Oliver’s argument might not have to do with him being murdered,” Miss Vivee said.

  I rolled my eyes.

  “Especially, as you always like to say, if Oliver was murdered. Don’t want anyone even thinking that the two could be related. Not even Bay until I can work this thing out.” Her level of excitement working up ten notches. “I know what I have to do,” she said and gave me a firm nod. “Tonight, I’m going over to his house and see what I can find.”

  “Who’s house?”

  “Oliver’s.”

  “No you’re not.”

  “Yes, I am. Me and Mac.” She looked at me. “It’s what we’re gonna do,” Miss Vivee said, her face and tone resolute.

  “Does Mac know he’s going to help you break the law?” I asked.

  “He’ll know as soon as I tell him.”

  “I’ve had enough trespassing onto federally protected lands to last a life time,” I said. “I’m not going and you can’t go without me.”

  “It’s not federally protected,” she said.

  “Yeah. No. Not federally protected. The federal government just marked it as a crime scene to protect it from people coming onto the property.” I hope she caught the sarcasm in my voice.

  “I don’t need you to go, you know,” she said raising her eyebrows as if testing me.

  Sometimes she acts just like a spoiled little kid.

  Then, as if she heard me, she turned and gave me a sickly sweet smile. “Just go if you want to.”

  “I don’t want to,” I said. “And I am not going to. And I don’t want to hear anything about you going.”

  “Okay. Suit yourself.”

  Chapter Fourteen

  Although I told her that I wouldn’t go with her to “search” Oliver’s house, I did take Miss Vivee to the Jellybean Café to meet up with Mac the next day. She said they needed to discuss “strategy.” I, of course, was very interested in hearing how two ninety year-old people, one with a limp and a cane, were going to covertly break into an FBI protected property, gather evidence, and get back out without getting caught.

  At the prospect of seeing Mac, Miss Vivee had gotten all dolled up. She put on her “come hither” red lipstick and swiped her cosmetic sponge with her pressed powder across her wrinkles. And she left Cat at home. After she got ready to go, I couldn’t get out the house or drive the 1.7 miles to the diner fast enough for her.

  When we got to the diner Viola Rose met us at the door. That little bell attached to the handle must have a special ring when Miss Vivee entered because Viola Rose never failed to be there to greet her.

  Everything on Viola Rose was shiny – the rings on her fingers, buttons on her blouse, the arm full of bangles, even the buckles on her shoes. Pink and bedazzled – her lips were glossy, her eyeshadow shimmery and her eyes sparkled when she smiled. She wore her strawberry blond hair teased high. The bouffant nest to a gaggle of pens.

  “Good lawd! Did ya hear about all the commotion?” Viola Rose said as we walked in the door.

  “What commotion?” Miss Vivee said, she stretched her neck trying to look past Viola Rose to find Mac. When she saw him I saw her eyes light up as she smiled at him.

  “That Ron Anderson and his wife, Chuckie,” Viola Rose said. “For God’s sake, what kind of name is that for a woman?”

  “Charlie,” I corrected.

  “Is that supposed to be better,” she said, eyes big. “They come in here this morning and that man was having a duck fit. Passing out flyers and talking about your grandson.”

  “Do tell,” Miss Vivee said, eyes back on Viola Rose.

  “Said black people oughta know their place.” Viola Rose glanced over at me before she continued. “That he wasn’t a real FBI nothing and that Bay couldn’t tell him what to do.” Viola Rose was getting worked up at the memory. “Thought he was talking to a restaurant full of plain ole white folk, when all along he was talking to the folks that love Bay like he was they own. Hell, we all helped raise that boy.”

  “Ron Anderson better be glad I didn’t hear him say anything about my grandson.”

  “Oh, don’t think I didn’t let him know. I was ‘bout two shakes offa’ jerking a knot in his tail. Acting like the sun comes up just to hear him crow. We all knew that he was lyin’ lower than a no-legged dog. Talkin’ ‘bout he was going to own the whole town after the reading of the will.”

  “What will?” Miss Vivee asked.

  “Dang if I know,” her voice went up two octaves. “I’m guessing he meant Oliver’s, but I never heard tell of him having one. That Ron Anderson ain’t nothing but a snake in the grass.”

  “I got my snake gun loaded, Viola Rose,” Miss Vivee said with a wink. “And you know I don’t miss.”

  “Ha! Miss Vivee they gonna have to tie you down once you die, just to keep you from getting’ back up.”

  “Don’t plan on dying, Viola Rose. At least no time soon.”

  “I hear ya.
”

  “But, I will get white-eyed and faint right in the middle of your diner if you don’t get me seated and give me something to eat.”

  “I say. Sorry ‘bout that Miss Vivee.” Viola Rose grabbed a couple of menus and leaned in close. “Gus said I gotta give everybody a menu now.” She glanced over at Gus cooking on the grill and then back at Miss Vivee. She lowered her voice. “Mac’s here. And so is Koryn. It’s Saturday, you know she came for my Shepard’s Pie. Want to sit with either of them? Or just you and Logan?”

  “I’m here to meet with Mac,” Miss Vivee said, raising her chin up an inch.

  “Do tell,” Miss Vivee said, a smile appearing on her face as wide as the Mississippi.

  “Viola Rose, I’ve told you about your insinuations. Don’t let them spill over on to me and mine.”

  Viola Rose chuckled as she walked over to Mac’s table, which was just one over from where Koryn was seated. Miss Vivee and I paused long enough to say “Hi,” to her then scooted into our seats opposite Mac. Viola Rose placed the menus on the table and left to go get coffee for a customer who’d requested it as we passed his table.

  I put my arm over the back of the purple, red and yellow striped booth and pushed up. “Hey, Koryn,” I said and she twisted around so she could see me. “You want to join us?”

  “No. I’ve got my book.” She held up a hard cover.

  “Oh. Okay,” I said. “No more Saturday dinners at Jellybean’s, huh?”

  “No,” she said. “After the people, Gus’ Shepard Pie is what I’ll miss the most.”

  I laughed and turned back in my seat.

  “Why is she going to miss people and pie?” Miss Vivee asked.

  I turned my neck and glanced back at Koryn. Wasn’t sure if I should share her news, but it was Miss Vivee. I leaned over and said, “She’s moving to Nevada.”

  Miss Vivee glanced over her shoulder at Koryn.

  “When?”