Seventh Chapter

by Kathi Daley

  Jack picked it up, looked at the caller ID, and answered. “Jack Jones.” Jack’s smile turned into a frown as he listened to whoever was on the other end of the line. “Okay. I’ll be right there. And no, don’t bother to call him. I’ll take care of it.”

  “What was that all about?” I asked as Jack hung up.

  “That was the new deputy working under Rick. I think his name is Kyle. He called to inform me that a body washed up on the shore just north of here.”

  “They called so you could cover it for the newspaper?” I asked.

  Jack nodded. “They also wanted to know if they should call George.”

  I gasped. “Bosley?”

  “I’m afraid so.”

  Chapter 2

  Tuesday, October 23

  Brooke Johnson was a go-getter and the event chairperson for the island. I’d first met her shortly after arriving here to help Garrett with the remodel of the resort after he suffered the stroke and was hospitalized. Brooke was one of the suspects and one of the witnesses in the very first cold case mystery the group and I had investigated after the Gull Island Writers’ Retreat was established. While things had turned out all right, it was touch-and-go for her for a while. I think she appreciated the fact that Jack and I, along with the other writers, had gone out of our way to help her. We’d been friends ever since.

  “Sorry I’m late,” Brooke said as she rushed into the café, where I was nursing a cup of coffee. “My oldest forgot her lunch, so even though I had a substitute taking over my class so I could take the day off to firm up everything for the festival, I had to run over to the school. Of course, once I got there, it seemed everyone had a question that couldn’t wait until tomorrow, so I was trapped in the hallway outside the main office for a lot longer than I planned.”

  “It’s not a problem at all,” I said. “I really admire the way you juggle a husband, three children, a career in teaching, and also manage to oversee most of the events the island sponsors. I’ve pretty much decided you must not sleep.”

  “Sleep?” Brooke chuckled.

  I smiled. “A rare commodity in your life, I’m sure.”

  She took off her jacket and tossed it onto the seat of the booth, then slid in next to it. “Before we start talking Harvest Festival, catch me up on what happened to that writer who’s been staying out at your place. I heard his body was found washed up on the beach.”

  I had to hand it to the Gull Island gossip hotline. They were fast. Of course, Brooke was well connected, so I was sure she was one of the first to hear the news when there was something scandalous going on. “His name was Bosley Newman. He was a friend of George’s and had been on the island for about two weeks, researching the lighthouse on Skull Island for a book he was writing.”

  “So how did he end up dead?” Brooke asked as she motioned for a waitress to bring her a cup of coffee.

  “We aren’t sure yet. Bosley told George he’d stumbled on a secret that, while not recently established, could have ramifications in the present.”

  Brooke wrinkled her nose. “Secrets can be nasty things. Hard to keep and even harder to deal with when they finally come to light. Trust me, I know that to be true.”

  I tilted my head. “I know you do. So far, we don’t know anything about it other than that Bosley had come across one.”

  “Wow. I’m so very sorry. And I’m so sorry for George. I know how hard it is too lose a friend. Is there anything I can do?”

  I shook my head. “I don’t think so. Unless you know something about the history of Skull Island?”

  Brooke leaned forward, resting her arms on the table. “I’m not sure exactly how events correspond with specific dates, but I do know the place served as the location of more than one bloodbath in its history.”

  I scrunched my nose. “Bloodbath?”

  Brooke nodded, then took a sip of the coffee the waitress set down in front of her. “Based on what I’ve heard along the way, I believe the island was initially occupied by an indigenous people. Then, at some point, some pirates came along and massacred them to take over and build their own settlement. The pirates lived there for a while but were eventually chased away by the Spanish settlers who came to the area to build missions all up and down the southern part of the East Coast. This happened centuries ago. The Spanish left when the English arrived. I’m pretty sure every time the place changed hands, blood was shed. They say the island is haunted, and I don’t doubt it. Do you think something that happened there is behind the death of George’s friend?”

  I leaned back against the booth. “I don’t know. At this point, no one knows what happened. Bosley’s body was washed up on the beach, so it looks like it most likely was dumped from a boat. Rick is still waiting for the medical examiner’s report to determine time of death and whether he died as a result of drowning or was killed prior to being dumped into the ocean.”

  “When was the last time anyone saw or spoke to him?” Brooke asked.

  “Friday. At least, that’s the last time anyone from the resort spoke to him. George is spending the morning going through the notes Bosley left in his cabin. Then he’s going to try to create a timeline that will show us where he went and to whom he spoke. Once we get a list of people to talk to, I guess we’ll start asking questions and see where that takes us.”

  Brooke put her hand over mine. “If I can do anything, don’t hesitate to ask.”

  “Thank you. Listen, I know your schedule is tight today, so we should probably get to what we came here to discuss. I brought a rough sketch of the way I envision the layout looking. I dug out photos from some of the harvest festivals in the past to give some excitement and color to the spread.”

  “That’s great,” Brooke said. “I have the articles I promised you all written, but feel free to edit them as needed. My main objective is to get island folks as well as people in the greater area to come to the event in droves. The school can really use a boost to the budget this fund-raiser provides.”

  “We’re going to feature the festival on our website, and Jack and I are both planning to volunteer wherever you need us.”

  “That’s great, because I have you both scheduled for the haunted house on Friday evening and the kiddie carnival on Saturday morning. I’m hoping to have enough volunteers so that each shift will only be around four hours. The haunted house runs from five to nine on Friday, so that’s a four-hour shift already. I’ll e-mail you the details.”

  “Okay, I’ll look for it. Are you moving the haunted house to the wharf, as we discussed at the planning meeting?”

  Brooke nodded. “We are. I hope the weather holds, because the wharf won’t be a good place to be during a storm.”

  “I think there’s supposed to be a storm rolling in this afternoon, but it should blow through by Thursday morning.”

  Brooke let out a breath. “That’s good. The volunteer who’s organizing the haunted house wants to do an indoor/outdoor thing. The guests will first walk through a haunted graveyard that zigzags along the wharf, then the actual haunted house will be set up in the old cannery at the end of the wharf. The cannery has a spooky feeling, even without the decorations. When the place is decked out with terrifying monsters and things that jump out and startle you, it’s going to be amazing.”

  “I bet. I can’t wait.”

  Brooke and I spent the next hour eating and discussing the specific highlights and updates to the event. As always, Brooke had put a lot of thought into every aspect of the four-day celebration, and I could tell it was going to be awesome. I’d had a blast last year, and despite the investigation into Bosley’s death, which I knew would most likely become completely engrossing, I was looking forward to my volunteer duties. Brooke and I chatted a while longer, then she returned to her list of errands and I went to the newspaper. As I came up, I saw Jack had strung orange lights in the window while I was with Brooke. There were fall leaves and shiny orange pumpkins on the counter as well.

  “Wow, the place looks
greats,” I said to Jack after greeting Kizzy, who acted like she hadn’t seen me in a month.

  “I figured with most of the businesses in town decorating, we should too. I wanted to get a skeleton for the door, but the Halloween shop was out of them. I might go back later to take a look around for an alternative. That is, if we have time. I have a feeling this is going to be a busy day.”

  “Have you heard from George?” I wondered.

  “No, but I did hear from Rick. According to the ME, Bosley died between nine p.m. on Friday and four a.m. on Saturday. The official cause of death is a blow to the head. It appears he was already dead when he went into the water. Rick doesn’t have any idea where the murder occurred or who might have killed him yet, but he’s highly motivated to find out and actually asked if we want to help with the long list of interviews that need to be conducted.”

  That was a switch. While Rick had been pretty good about working with us in the past, it was usually us who went to him with the request to be involved. “I’m certainly willing to help out. Do we have a list to start from?”

  “George and Rick got together and went over the notes Bosley left in his cabin. They’ve compiled a list from them. Given that Bosley was here to do research, the list is fairly extensive. We don’t know what the secret he alluded to was, so all the people mentioned in Bosley’s notes seem equally likely to have had a conflict with him.”

  “Maybe, but not everyone on the list can be equally likely to kill someone,” I said.

  “That has to be true, which is why we’re meeting Rick to discuss the list. He suggested we grab lunch. I told him we’d meet him at Gertie’s at one.”

  “Luckily, I only had a muffin and coffee when I met Brooke. I have her notes and articles, by the way. I’ll work on formatting everything she gave us while you finish what you’re doing.”

  “I’m almost done here. Did Brooke say when she needed us to work?”

  “Friday evening for the haunted house and Saturday morning for the kiddie carnival. She’s going to e-mail a schedule and instructions. Did you hear they were going to move the haunted house to the old cannery on the wharf?”

  “I did hear some chatter about that. It’s a spooky location. I just hope they had someone go through the place to check for safety issues. I’m pretty sure the building has been vacant for quite some time.”

  “Brooke is very thorough; I’m sure she thought of that. The biggest issue in her mind was the weather, because there’s an outdoor component.” I brought the page layout up on the large monitor, then made a few adjustments. Brooke’s articles were a tad on the long side, so I’d need to do some editing to get everything to fit. Overall, however, the two-page spread was going to look awesome. I felt certain the Gull Island News could help attract the visitors the community hoped for.

  “Was the ad for the weekly specials sent over from the market?” Jack asked.

  “Yeah. It was in the in-box when I looked earlier. The Halloween shop sent ad material as well. They’re having a blowout this weekend, which makes sense if you don’t want to store inventory until next year. We should be able to finish the formatting for tomorrow’s run before we meet Rick. I just have a few edits to make with this layout; then I can start on the ads.”

  “Don’t forget to include the information the shelter sent over about the dog parade.”

  “I left room for it on page five. Maybe we should enter Kizzy.”

  Jack paused, as if to give the idea some thought. “It would be fun for her, but we’ll have to look at the timing of the parade and compare it to our other volunteer duties. I think the parade is on Saturday morning, and you just said we were scheduled to work the kiddie carnival then.”

  “I suppose I can ask Brit or Vikki if they want to do the parade with Kizzy. Not that she’ll care if she misses it, but it would be fun to dress her up and let her strut her stuff.”

  “We’ll see if we can work it out.” Jack held up a photo.

  “What’s that?”

  “One of the photos I took at the house fire last night. It was small and did minimal damage, but as I mentioned, it seemed to have been intentionally set, so there’s an active investigation.”

  “I hope they catch whoever’s behind these fires soon.”

  “I do too. In general, an arsonist working an area is a cause for great alarm, but there’s something odd about the way these fires don’t seem to be set to do much damage to property.”

  “Why bother to set a fire if you aren’t trying to burn something down?”

  “Maybe this arsonist is just really bad at it, but it’s more likely the minimal damage is intentional.”

  “Maybe it’s just a bunch of kids messing around.”

  Jack shrugged. “Maybe. Let’s get that layout uploaded.”

  ******

  By the time one o’clock rolled around, the newspaper was formatted and ready to print and I was starving, which was a good thing because Gertie’s on the Wharf is one of my favorite places to eat. Like the other business owners in town, Gertie had decorated her place with colorful leaves, bright orange pumpkins, and seasonal accents that made her customers feel right at home. Rick had arrived ahead of us and was sipping a cola while he looked at the menu. I planned to have hot pastrami with a cup of soup, which seemed perfect on a blustery day.

  “Storms comin’,” Gertie said as she delivered a coffeepot to our table. “I heard we’re supposed to get a significant amount of rain. I’m hopin’ it’ll move through before the festival opens on Thursday night. A lot of people have worked really hard on it; I’d hate to see it have to be canceled.”

  “The storm’s supposed to blow in this evening and blow out by Thursday morning,” Rick said. “If it does rain this weekend, it won’t be the first time they’ve had to move things inside. Not that an indoor event is preferable, but it’s possible.”

  “It might be possible, but it would cut down greatly on attendance,” I pointed out.

  “If there’s one thing you can’t control, it’s the weather.” Rick shrugged.

  Rick was right. Worrying about rain wasn’t going to change a darn thing.

  “I heard about your renter,” Gertie said to me after filling our water glasses. “Any idea who’s responsible for that poor man’s death?”

  I glanced at Rick. “That’s what we’re here to discuss.”

  Gertie tapped her pencil on her order pad. “Uh-huh. That’s what I figured. I met him once or twice. Seemed nice enough. A little scatterbrained at times, but nice all the same. I sure do hope you find out who did it. It just isn’t right.”

  “Seems you have quite a bit of information given the fact that I haven’t yet provided any details to the public or made an official statement,” Rick said.

  “You know ol’ Gertie has her ways of knowin’ what there is to know. Now, what can I get y’all for lunch?”

  We placed our orders and Gertie went to the kitchen to prepare our meals, and Rick handed Jack and me each a sheet of paper. “George and I came up with a list of people Bosley spoke to or planned to speak to. Unfortunately, that amounts to a lot of people. We tried to prioritize; the names at the top of the list are the people who might have a stake in something that happened during the time period Bosley seemed to be focused on, which as near as we can tell, is between the hurricane of 1893 and the desertion of the island after the last lighthouse keeper died.”

  The list had some predictable names: Sam Castle, Ron Remand, Zane Carson, and Billy Waller, all of them descended from men and women who’d lived on Gull Island back then. There were also people who seemed to me to have less obvious links, such as Pastor Blaine Branderman of the Gull Island Community Church and Buck Johnston, a commercial fisherman.

  “Why are Pastor Branderman and Buck Johnston on the list?” I asked.

  “According to Bosley’s phone records, he called the Gull Island Community Church seven times during the past two weeks. I spoke to Pastor Branderman, who said Bosley had visited the
church four times in the past week. Bosley was interested in looking at old documents that have been stored in a secure room in the basement since the church was built. George and I think there might be church records that will help us determine what Bosley was up to. As for Buck Johnston, he’s a fourth-generation fisherman in the area, like Trout Kellerman and Tizzy Tizdale. None of them would have been born yet, but they might have photos, diaries, or family histories that could shed some light on what Bosley had latched on to.”

  “Are you sure the years between the hurricane and the death of the last lighthouse keeper in 1924 is the relevant timespan?” Jack asked. “It was my understanding that Bosley was researching the entire history of the lighthouse.”

  Rick took another sip of his cola before answering. “While we didn’t find anything that unequivocally states what time period Bosley was focused on, it does seem that after he completed a general overview of the entire span of time, he focused on the thirty-one years we’ve identified as most likely to be relevant. We have a lot of ground to cover because we don’t know what he was interested in, so starting off by speaking to folks who had a connection to the island as far back as the 1890s seemed like a good way to narrow things down.”

  We paused our conversation when Gertie brought us our lunch. She stayed with us for a few minutes while she made sure we had everything we needed, then went to help another customer who’d just come in.

  “So, who do you want us to speak to?” I asked.

  “I’d like you to start at the church. Pastor Branderman is expecting you and has agreed to give you access to the same documents Bosley was interested in. I’m hoping something will jump out and provide us with a motive.”

  “Sounds fine,” Jack agreed. “Although digging through a room full of old documents seems more like a George thing.”

  “George drove down to Savannah to talk to another writer friend Bosley confided in and went to for help. Brit offered to go with him so he didn’t have to drive alone with the storm coming. They won’t be back until late tonight or even tomorrow, so I thought the two of you could start on the church documents. George seemed to think it was important to figure out what he found in the church.”