An Alpaca Witness

by B L Crumley

  “Hi, Fern!” I waved.

  When she reached me, she pulled a small paper bag from her giant purse. “Treats,” she grinned.

  I took the bag and looked inside. Caramels and fudge. “Are you trying to put me in a sugar coma?”

  “Of course not, you have to share with me.” She dipped her hand in the bag and pulled out a piece of chocolate fudge. “Are you ready for your surprise?”

  “Uh, it isn’t the candy?” Now I was getting nervous.

  “No, silly,” she took a bite of fudge. “It’s this.” She made a sweeping motion with her hand to the vacant shop in front of us.

  “This what?” I had a feeling about what she might be implying, and it scared me to death, so I played ignorant.

  “Come on, I know you’re not that dense.” Fern fished a key out of her purse and proceeded to open the glass front door.

  I tried to prepare myself for what I suspected was coming and followed her into the darkened space. My aunt spun in a circle. “Isn’t it fabulous?”

  I took in the small seating area with a few café-style tables and chairs. A glass display case connected to a counter on the opposite side.

  “Well,” Fern prodded. “What do you think?”

  “This used to be a coffee shop, didn’t it?” I tried to remember. Some of the businesses at the port had been around forever, while others experienced higher turnover.

  “Tea shop,” Fern clarified. “They served these tiny cucumber sandwiches. I think they were trying to be British or something, but it didn’t work. Food was like cardboard, and the tea was even worse. They were only here about a year.”

  “And now it’s vacant.” I stated the obvious.

  “Yes, and ready for you if you want it,” Fern said, her voice ringing with excitement.

  My gaze snapped to hers.

  “Oh, I see I’ve startled you,” she remarked, then added. “Don’t worry, I didn’t buy the place. I just wanted to show it to you. This used to be your dream. And now it can become a reality.” She paused. “If that’s what you want.”

  Wow, I didn’t even know what to say. This had been my dream. A very long, long time ago. I was going to marry Kenny and open a shop and sell cakes and breads and cater events. He was going to supply the seafood, and I was going to charge a bundle for fancy hoity-toity food.

  It’s what I did now, only I worked for a hotel. This would be my own. This could actually happen.

  “Charlee, are you okay?” Fern stepped closer. “I didn’t mean to upset you.”

  “No, you didn’t. I’m just surprised,” I admitted. And unsure. “You’re right, this was my dream for a very long time. And I think it still is. I enjoy what I do, and I’d love to be my own boss, but I don’t know if I can handle the rest of it.”

  “You mean, staying here.” Fern got straight to the heart of it.

  I nodded.

  “Charlee, you know I love you more than my own kids, so don’t take this the wrong way. But it’s time for you to make a choice. The truth is, you were betrayed, and it sucked,” she stated bluntly. “But that was ten years ago. You can keep on letting that dictate your life, or you can take charge and say to heck with all of them and do what you want.”

  My aunt made it sound so easy. She’d always been tough and thick-skinned. She’d been my defender and protector through all the difficult times. And now she was challenging me to be brave, like she’d always been, and I didn’t know if I had it in me.

  “If this isn’t what you want, then that’s fine. But it’s time to let go of the past, whether you go back to Portland or stay here. You need to move on. Date somebody!” She threw up her hands.

  I chuckled.

  “Charlee, it’s time for you to be open to all of life’s possibilities. So, if you want this, I’m here to help.” She reached for the bag in my hand and pulled out another piece of fudge. “This stuff is really good,” she mumbled between bites. “But I know you can make it better.”

  “You’re right,” I acknowledged. “About all of it.” Tears pooled in my eyes. “I want to let it go, but how do I do that when every time I see them it’s like my heart is being ripped open all over again?” Crying now, I rummaged through my purse for a tissue.

  Fern pulled me into a tight embrace. “You face it, hon. I never said it was easy, but I do believe that it will get better.”

  She released me, and I blew my nose. “I do want this. I’m just not sure I’m ready for it right now. Can I think about it?”

  “Of course.” She patted my back. “Take all the time you need. Here, have a treat.” She gestured to the bag in my hand. “It’ll lift your spirits.”

  I smiled and reached for a caramel.

  “Well, I’ve got to get to my hair appointment.” Fern patted her curly red hair. “What do you have planned for this afternoon?”

  “I’m going to try and talk to Floyd. He works at the cannery, so I was hoping to catch him there. I told Preston I wouldn’t go to his house.”

  Fern nodded. “That’s smart. Good luck and let me know if you need anything.”

  “Thanks, I will.”

  Chapter Eleven

  Before I headed to the cannery to find Floyd, I stopped at my car to make sure I didn’t have raccoon eyes. My makeup was in decent shape, good enough for me to go chat with someone I wasn’t trying to impress anyway.

  I didn’t text Preston. Despite the fact that I’d told him would, I figured since Fern knew what I was doing that was safe enough. Besides, if Preston wasn’t busy, he might show up.

  As I neared the cannery building, I scanned the parking lot for Kenny’s truck. Then it occurred to me that it was highly unlikely he still drove the same vehicle that he had in high school.

  Then again, it didn’t matter if he was here. I was moving on. I had moved on. I wasn’t in love with him anymore. Was I?

  Enough. I needed to focus on finding Floyd.

  I walked along the side of the building toward the fish processing area, where I assumed Floyd worked. Two men were outside carrying a heavy-looking cooler that I assumed was full of fish or maybe crab. Commercial fisherman, locals, and tourists all used the cannery to process their fish and seafood, so it wasn’t uncommon to see coolers, bags, and various types of crates.

  They were nearing the back door when they spotted me and stopped. “Can I help you?” one burly man with a beard asked.

  “Hi, I was hoping to speak with Floyd Henderson.” I flashed a friendly smile. “Is he working today?”

  “Yeah,” the bearded man replied, reaching for the door handle. “He’s inside, I’ll get him.” The men carried the cooler through the door and disappeared.

  Suddenly nervous, I began to pace. I took a deep breath through my nose and exhaled out of my mouth. It didn’t help.

  “Hi,” a man said gruffly.

  I looked up as a man wearing water-repellent gear stepped outside. “Hi. Are you Floyd?” There was a slight resemblance to Earl in the face, but Floyd was younger and much slimmer than his brother and had several days of stubble on his face.

  “Yeah,” he nodded.

  “I’m Charlee King.” I approached him and extended my hand.

  He eyed me warily, holding up a gloved hand. “No need for that.”

  I let my hand drop. Okay then. “First, I wanted to say I’m sorry for your loss.”

  He dipped his head in acknowledgement.

  “And I was hoping I could ask you a few questions about your brother.”

  His eyes narrowed as his gaze raked over me. “Are you the mayor’s daughter?”

  “Yes.” I smiled widely again.

  “You found the body.”

  I nodded.

  “Huh,” he grunted. “You ain’t with the cops, are ya?”

  “Oh no. Your brother was killed on my aunt’s
property. I know my aunt didn’t kill Earl, and I was hoping you might know something that could help me figure out who did.”

  “Fine.” He scuffed his boot against the concrete. “What do ya want to know?”

  I got straight to the point. “Was Earl involved in something illegal?”

  Floyd averted his gaze. “No.”

  He was lying, and I worried this conversation might end before I learned anything. “Floyd, if you’re just going to tell me the same lies you gave to the cops, this isn’t going to help anyone.” He scraped his boot on the pavement again, looking at the ground.

  “Don’t you want whoever killed your brother to pay for their crime?” I was riding on the assumption that Floyd hadn’t killed Earl, which I hadn’t ruled out, but my first impression of him was that he wasn’t the type to murder his sibling.

  And yes, I could be wrong, but none of his previous crimes had been violent, and other than being rough around the edges, he didn’t seem dangerous. Preston’s warning rang in my mind. Then again, let’s just hope I wasn’t wrong.

  “Why ya doing this again?” Floyd finally looked up at me.

  “Because I want to clear my aunt,” I said honestly. “And I don’t want a murderer to go free. I didn’t know your brother other than meeting him briefly, but I would like there to be justice for his wife.”

  He nodded. “Patty is a good woman. She didn’t deserve this.”

  “So, are you willing to help me, Floyd?” I asked gently, hoping I’d coaxed him into telling me the truth.

  “Yeah, all right, but…” He pointed a gloved finger toward my chest. “You don’t breathe a word of this to the cops, and if I find out you do then…” he lifted his hand and made a cutting motion across his throat with his finger.

  I instinctively stepped back. Maybe it was a bit premature to dismiss Floyd as a suspect.

  “I understand,” I gulped. “What was Earl involved in?”

  “He was helping me deliver stuff,” he said in a lowered voice.

  “What kind of stuff?”

  “We don’t look in the packages.”

  “Is it safe to assume that it was drugs?” I asked.

  He shrugged his shoulders. “Could be.”

  Okay, so Earl was helping Floyd smuggle drugs. “How long has this been going on?”

  “I dunno. A while.”

  I was beginning to think Floyd also did drugs, since he was having difficulty answering basic questions.

  “Are we talking a year? Six months?” I probed.

  “Six months or so, I guess.”

  “How did Earl get involved in this?”

  “He said he needed money.”

  That was interesting, because Patty said she and Earl were financially doing fine. Maybe she’d lied. “Didn’t he sell his business to Russell Jenkins? I thought that was his retirement.”

  Floyd scoffed. “Jenkins screwed him over. Hardly paid him squat for the business. I told my brother he could make some of my deliveries for a while, you know, to help him out. Earl got me out of some scrapes, so I figured I at least owed him that.” A nice sentiment, however misguided.

  “So, Earl was making deliveries. Where to?”

  “Here, there,” Floyd replied vaguely. This man was trying my patience.

  “Local? Out of town?”

  “Both, some in town, some out of town. Occasionally, we go to Portland, but mostly focus on the area here. Smaller fish, less competition,” he explained.

  “Do you think this could have gotten him killed?” It’s possible there was a deal gone wrong, but then wouldn’t the murder have occurred when he made a delivery? And not in Fern’s barn.

  Floyd shook his head. “Like I said. We’re not selling drugs. We deliver packages. We don’t even handle money. Most drops, we don’t see nobody.”

  It looked like I needed to go higher up the food chain. “Then who do you work for?”

  Floyd darted his gaze to the left and then right before turning back to me. “He goes by Sting Ray.”

  I bit my tongue from saying, are you kidding me? “Okay. And do you think Sting Ray might have been involved in Earl’s death?”

  “He don’t have a reason to want him dead. As far as I know, Earl never screwed up on his drops.”

  “But it’s possible?”

  Floyd shrugged his shoulders again.

  “How would I get in touch with Sting Ray?”

  Floyd’s eyes rounded. “You don’t.”

  “Well, I think it would be helpful if I talked with him. He might know something. Don’t you want to know who killed your brother?” I pressed again.

  “Fine,” he grumbled. “Most nights he’s at The Black Oyster.”

  “Thank you.” The Black Oyster was a seedy bar on the edge of town. I figured they would have been shut down by now. Rumor back in the day was they never passed inspection and operated without a liquor license. Then again, it was probably a suitable hangout or place of business for a drug dealer, smuggler, or whatever he was.

  “I really appreciate your help, Floyd, but I’d like to ask you one more question.”

  He nodded. “But make it quick. I gotta get back to work.”

  “Where were you the night Earl was killed?” I asked quickly, retreating another step. I figured if I asked that first, Floyd wouldn’t have talked to me, but I needed to know.

  He scowled. “I was working.”

  “Making a delivery?”

  “Yeah.” With a shake of his head, he turned and went back inside.

  I waved for no reason. “Well, thanks, Floyd,” I muttered. Like everyone I’d talked to, his alibi was worthless.

  And despite his silent threat to have me whacked if I said anything to the cops, I don’t think he killed his brother. Returning the way I’d come, I made my way along the side of the building. Just as I reached the sidewalk, I heard someone call my name.

  “Charlee!”

  Well, this was just swell. I continued walking. I was going to pretend I didn’t hear Kenny calling my name.

  “Charlee, please.” His voice was closer now.

  I stopped and spun around, and Kenny nearly ran into me. “Hi,” I blurted awkwardly, trying to think of a way out of this situation.

  “Hey, I didn’t know you were still in town.” His brown eyes searched mine. “What are you doing here?”

  I couldn’t see how he didn’t know I was in town, especially after yesterday’s lunch with Preston and the standoff with Ashley.

  But then, they were divorced, and I wasn’t sure how much they communicated. Still, he must have heard. But as to what I was doing there, well, I needed to think of something. Fast.

  “Um, I was just browsing some shops with Fern.” I gave him my best fake smile, even though I knew he saw right through it. “We got fudge.” I opened my purse and pulled out the small paper bag. “Would you like some?”

  Oh boy, how embarrassing. Was this really the best I could come up with?

  He chuckled and I noticed his eyes crinkled at the corners. He’d aged in ten years, but in a good way. He was still lean, toned, and handsome. His face was a little less round, more chiseled. This wasn’t helping.

  “You and your sweets. No thanks, I’m good.”

  Whew, I don’t think he saw me come from behind the cannery, or I know he would have asked about it. I shoved the candy back in my purse.

  Then we just stood there staring at each other, and I could tell from his expression that he had something on his mind but wasn’t sure if he should say it.

  Part of me hoped he wouldn’t. That he would say goodbye, turn around, and leave. And the other part of me wanted him to spit it out, and then I could say my piece and we could be done with it. And move on. Because that’s what I needed: closure.

  “It’s really good to see you,
Charlee.” His mouth curved up slightly. It was his sad smile.

  I wasn’t sure I reciprocated that feeling, so I didn’t respond.

  “I’m sorry I didn’t get to talk with you last week at your dad’s party. To be honest I was so surprised to see you, and then Ashley interrupted, and well, you know.” He shoved his hands in his jean pockets.

  “Yes, I know.”

  He sighed. “Can we talk?”

  “Now?” I swallowed.

  “Yeah, or do you have somewhere you need to be?” His eyes told me that he hoped I didn’t.

  “No, I don’t,” I answered honestly.

  “Do you want to walk?” he asked. Like we used to, is what he implied.

  With me working at the cannery and Kenny fishing on their charter boats, we’d walked along the harbor every chance we got. To get away from everyone else. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea. I ignored that thought.

  “Sure,” I nodded.

  He fell in beside me, our strides very similar as he was only two inches taller than me. “I’ve been wanting to say I’m sorry. And I know I’ve said it before, but I’ve been carrying around this guilt for the last ten years, and I want you to know how truly, deeply sorry I am.”

  I kept walking. I was glad he was sorry. He should be sorry. But I couldn’t say either of those things. Well, I could, but that wouldn’t be polite. Fern’s admonishment slipped into my mind. I needed to be honest.

  “I feel like I’m the reason you’ve stayed away all these years, and I feel terrible about that.”

  I stopped and looked at him. “You’re right. But you’re only part of the reason. Ashley is the other part. And your daughter. I know she’s not to blame for any of this, but she’s still here, and reminds me of what I thought I would have had with you.” My voice barely wavered, and it felt good to say it. Like a weight was lifted, and it only took finding the courage to be honest.

  Sorrow masked Kenny’s features. “I am so sorry.”

  “I know you are. And unfortunately, you being sorry doesn’t help me feel any better. Honestly, it makes me feel worse. Because I loved you, and even though you hurt me, even now, I don’t want you to hurt, because that makes me hurt.”