After introducing us to Detective Jeff Parmenter from the Martin County Sheriff’s Department, Lou asked me to repeat John Haines’ last words.
“John Haines said something like, ‘Granddaddy told me not to tell… I knew better… I shouldn’t have opened my big mouth.’”
With that as our intro, Dan explained about marine salvage. When he finished telling the two officers what he’d told me, he added, “John Haines’ grandfather Arthur built his construction business on the mahogany recovered from the wreck of the Georges Valentine. Arthur Haines survived the accident that killed five seamen. One could argue that he made out like a bandit, because he did.”
“I was told that John Haines liked to brag about his associations with the Georges Valentine,” I said.
“I went back to the journal kept by Captain Rea, the Keeper of Gilbert’s Bar House of Refuge. In his entry a few days after the Georges Valentine sank, Rea specifically noted that a few of the sailors were less than helpful while he was trying to rescue their shipmates. He suspected they were hoping to get involved with the salvage operations. They would have made more money from sharing the profits of recovery than they were being paid as crew.”
“Cara, did you see the man who might have been the assailant?” Lou folded his big hands on the table. A deep frown creased his face. To Lou, life was sacred. The idea of letting a friend or colleague drown to line someone’s pockets was deeply disturbing.
“No, just his signature in the guest book. I didn’t even see his car. Only mine and the sports car that Mr. Haines drove. At least I assume it was his. Adeline pointed out the Mercedes as belonging to Mr. Haines. I’m taking her at her word.” I hesitated, thinking back. “The man signed his name with a flourish. Gabriel Marciano, Camogli, Italy. I remember that it was Gabriel, like the avenging angel. Marciano, like Rocky Marciano, and Camogli reminded me of camouflage.”
“That’s impressive.” Dan grinned at me. “And it further reinforces my theory. You see, Camogli was the home of many the members of the crew of the Georges Valentine. If they weren’t brothers, they were at least cousins or distant kin. I would bet that your murderer came here to settle an old debt.”
“And he did,” Detective Parmenter said. After pushing back his chair, he stood. “I have a hunch he’s already boarded a flight to Italy.”
I shook my head. “I don’t think so,” and I told him what I suspected.
Chapter 13
Shortly before sunrise on October 15, an unmarked police car parked in the lot of the Marriott on Hutchinson Island. A golf cart shuttle dropped off two men a couple of blocks from the House of Refuge. One of the officers was my detective pal Lou Murray, who wore a conspicuous pair of orange shorts with a Harry and the Natives tee shirt. Detective Parmenter had dressed more conservatively in brown Dockers, a light yellow polo shirt, and tennis shoes.
Off shore, a boat dropped anchor. Two officers on board raised binoculars and scanned the shoreline.
All four men were off duty. My hunch hadn’t been given much credit by the powers that be, but Lou had enough respect for me and for Dan to follow up.
Meanwhile, Dan and I watched my cell phone like it was an angry water moccasin poised to strike. Our coffee cups cooled in our hands. We sat huddled on my deck, staring out at the sherbet-colored sky as the sun reclaimed its rightful dominion over Florida.
At eight, we’d given up.
Dan smiled at me as he reached over to tap my fingers. “It was a good try, Cara. Especially when the flight manifests didn’t turn up Mr. Marciano’s name.”
I slid down from my high captain’s chair. “Except I sent Lou on a wild goose chase.”
“All investigations are wild goose chases in the beginning.”
His calm assurance made me smile, and I leaned in to kiss him just as the phone rang.
“We got him, Cara,” said Lou, loud enough that Dan could hear him too. “Mr. Marciano showed up an hour ago. He brought a wreath of evergreens with a picture of the Blessed Mother and set them on the water. I let him finish his prayers before I read him his right and handcuffed him. Your pal was right: Mr. Marciano’s father lost two brothers when the Georges Valentine went down. According to him, Arthur Haines cut the lifeboats loose and locked five men in the hold of the Georges Valentine. Haines was a strong swimmer and pretty confident that he could survive the shipwreck.”
“Which he did,” I said.
“Right,” Lou agreed, “and he founded his family fortune on the lives of those five men. But the Haines family’s lucky streak ran out two weeks ago at House of Refuge. Karma, eh? Got to love it.”
--The End--
Joanna Campbell Slan is the national bestselling and award-winning author of thirty books, as well as being a contributor to many of the Chicken Soup for the Soul books. When she isn’t walking the beach with her Havanese pup, Jax, she’s writing books for one of her three mysteries series and building dollhouses. Joanna and her husband David live on Jupiter Island, Florida.
Visit her website, JoannaSlan.com. You can read two of Joanna’s books for free by going to http://bit.ly/teardownanddie and http://bit.ly/inkreddead.
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Happy Homicides
Dying for School Tea: A Beach Tea Shop Novella
By Linda Gordon Hengerer
Editor’s Note: Chelsea Powell and her sisters are providing treats for Citrus Beach High School’s Freshman Orientation. Can they solve the murder of the beloved softball coach before secrets are revealed and someone else dies?
Chapter 1
Monday morning
Chelsea Powell placed delicate Spiced Peach Pastries on serving stands. Local bakeries were asked each year to cater the annual Freshman Orientation at Citrus Beach High School, and this year was the first year Beach Tea Shop was asked to participate.
The tea shop on the Atlantic coast of Florida was gaining a reputation as a go-to caterer, mostly with local residents. They had fans as far away as Palm Beach, an hour to the south, who made a point of stopping in whenever business or pleasure brought them to Citrus Beach.
She straightened the green toile tablecloth, and set black canisters full of white plastic forks and spoons in two places on the table. Green plates and white napkins on either side of the canisters completed the table setting. Tiered trays with pastries were placed in the center and bookended the utensils, plates, and napkins.
Tables on either side of her were full of various treats and drinks, and everyone had decorated with the school colors of green and white. Pots of greenery were mixed with vases of unscented flowers.
Sugared fragrance rose in the air, baked into caramel-crusted pastries, spilled on tablecloths, and stirred into hot coffee or iced tea. Buttery croissants, flaky pastry dough, and sweet and savory pastry creams contributed to the overall festive feeling.
Another school year was beginning, still shiny with possibility. Parents, students, and faculty members mingled in harmony, their chatter mixing with music played by the marching band. The cafeteria windows overlooked the football and soccer fields, and a football scrimmage was underway.
Chelsea, Dani, and Alex Powell graduated from CBHS several years earlier. Dani was holding down the fort at Beach Tea Shop. Chelsea and Alex were on site, looking forward to catching up with friends who worked at the school, as well as with former teachers.
“Almost done,” said Alex, as she deposited the last box of t
reats on a cart behind the table. The cafeteria in the school was full of parents, incoming students, and welcoming committees from various groups and teams. Everyone wore school colors in one form or another.
Chelsea acknowledged Alex with a nod. “I hope we brought enough. Orientation just started and we’ve already gone through half of the pastries. We’re not going to last two more hours.”
Alex looked around at the crowd. “I think we’ll be fine. Once they start going into the classrooms there won’t be as many hungry people here.” She poured herself a cup of tea from one of the pump-top thermoses they used for off-site events, adding a splash of cream and a sprinkle of sugar. A judicious sip of the steaming beverage met with her approval.
The noise level dropped as parents and students moved out of the cafeteria. They left behind crumpled napkins, paper plates with only crumbs left, and mounds of paper cups. Chelsea and Alex quickly cleaned up the mess, replenished the pastries, and refilled thermoses.
Chelsea and Alex were dressed in their Beach Tea Shop uniforms, black pants and white shirts. Instead of aprons, they wore the white t-shirts with CBHS Class of 2020 in green which had been handed out to everyone attending Orientation.
“All set for the next wave,” Alex said. She sampled a broken pastry. “Mmm, delish. Do you want to go see Mr. Seppi? I’ll take care of things here while you’re gone.”
Chelsea nodded. “I won’t be long.”
~*~
Mr. Seppi wasn’t in his classroom when Chelsea stopped by. She checked a few of the classrooms near his and didn’t see him. She walked down to the gym to see Mrs. Garabedian, and struck out there as well. Looking at her watch she saw fifteen minutes had passed, and headed back to Alex in the cafeteria.
The first rush of hungry people was followed by a steady stream of students and parents. They wanted to chat, or grab another sweet or drink before heading to their next appointment.
Sarah Malden stopped by. She knew Chelsea and Alex through visiting their former hostess, Brittany, at Beach Tea Shop. Brittany was in her first year at Florida State University in Tallahassee, having graduated two months ago. Her friend Sarah was a senior at Citrus Beach High, helping out at Orientation.
“Have you heard from Brittany?” Sarah asked Chelsea. “I saw her before she left for college. Her room was organized chaos.”
Chelsea laughed. “Was she checking things off a list as she packed them?”
“You know she was,” Sarah answered. “She mentioned you might still be looking for a hostess, and suggested I talk to you. I’m looking for an after-school job so I can save money for college, and I’m familiar with what Brittany did.”
Alex said, “We hadn’t thought about it. BevAnne has been helping out, and it was slower this summer while our regulars were gone on vacation.” Alex and Chelsea looked at each other, silent sister communication honed by the past year of working together.
“We have been getting busier,” Chelsea said. “When are you available? Brittany was working after school, from 2:30 to closing, and on Saturday from 10 am until 2 pm. She averaged 10 to 15 hours a week.”
Sarah smiled. “That sounds good to me.”
“Come in after school on Thursday. We’ll talk to Dani and get a schedule worked up,” Alex said. “Are you playing softball in the spring? We can start training someone who will replace you after you graduate, and she can fill in when you can’t.”
Sarah stared out the window toward the athletic fields, an unreadable look on her face. “I don’t think so. I want to save enough so I won’t have to work when I’m a freshman.”
Was there a more pressing reason why Sarah didn’t want to play softball? Chelsea felt unsettled. She had played softball for several years, but not the school year when their parents were killed in a car accident. She and her sisters were still in high school and dropped extra-curricular activities that first spring without their mom and dad.
Chelsea thought of Amanda Duncan, who’d been a teammate. Rumors swirled through school that she was involved with Coach Johnson; Chelsea had believed she wasn’t. The two girls were friends off the field, had grown up together. After Amanda’s parents divorced and her father remarried, Amanda looked at Coach as a father. Was there something going on that Chelsea wasn’t aware of?
The day after school ended, Amanda killed herself. Some of the other kids in their class said it was because she was in love with the coach and he didn’t love her, but that never made sense to Chelsea.
Guilt at not being there for Amanda ate at Chelsea’s soul. She’d tried to talk to Mrs. Duncan after the funeral. Joshua, Amanda’s younger brother, told her they didn’t want to see her. If she had been a real friend, he’d said, Amanda would still be alive. Chelsea had been devastated by his words, at a time when she was already reeling from grief.
She went to school in California and stayed for work after graduation. She felt stifled by grief and guilt whenever she was in Citrus Beach. Still, she’d moved back at her grandmother’s request last year.
Every year new rumors about Coach Johnson taking an interest in a particular girl were rampant, but most people chalked it up to idle chatter. Junior and senior girls, a handsome and athletic coach; catty gossip implied they welcomed his attention.
Chelsea had a different perspective now that she was older. Was the coach targeting girls and behaving inappropriately with them? She hoped that wasn’t what happened to Amanda. Something her grandmother said years ago took on a new meaning.
If there was reason to believe the persistent talk about the coach was true, Sarah could have been at risk. Her parents were divorced, as were Amanda’s. Had Coach Johnson misbehaved with Sarah? She resolved to talk to Sarah after they’d gotten to know each other better.
If Chelsea found out the gossip was true, she might be able to clear up the rumors about Amanda. People were much more aware of predator coaches now than they were when Amanda died.
Alex rubbed her hand down her sister’s arm. “You okay, Chelsea?” she asked.
Chelsea came out of her reverie. “Sure, all good,” she replied. She smiled at her sister and Sarah. “Let us know how Brittany is doing when you come in Thursday.”
~*~
“I’ll meet you at Beach Tea, Alex. I want to see if I can find Mr. Seppi before I go,” Chelsea said. She finished packing away the canisters of plastic ware, fitting paper plates and napkins around them so they wouldn’t tip over in the box.
“Promise me you’ll come right after you see him,” Alex said. She disassembled the pretty china plates and green patterned glasses they used to make a tiered serving tray and packed them in a plastic tub. She and Chelsea folded the tablecloths and placed them around the glasses and china plates to cushion them.
“I will,” Chelsea replied. The box and tub were put on a wheeled cart, and Alex took them out to her SUV. Chelsea gave their area one more look to make sure they had everything, and then went in search of the teacher she wanted to talk to.
Chapter 2
Monday afternoon
Dani Powell rolled out puff pastry dough to make Spiced Peach Pastries. During an afternoon lull at Beach Tea Shop, Chelsea and Alex were telling her about their conversation with Sarah Malden.
Strong September afternoon sun filtered through palm trees before falling through sparkling windows and lighting up the inside of Beach Tea. A gentle ocean breeze blew through the fronds, making shadows that danced on the black and white tile floor.
“She’ll be a great addition, don’t you think?” asked Alex. She snacked on spiced peaches from a small dish Dani put in front of her. Chelsea and Dani knew it was best for everyone that Alex have food throughout the day; hungry Alex was cranky Alex.
Dani cut the puff pastry sheet into squares, and then cut slits in opposite corners. “She’s been here enough with her mom and visiting Brittany to know what the job is. I think she’ll fit right in.” Dani spooned peaches macerated with pumpkin pie spice and sugar into the middle of the pastry squ
ares. Pulling up the free edges of pastry, she pinched the corners together and centered them over the peach filling. She moved the pastries from the cutting board to a parchment-lined baking sheet, brushed them with egg wash and sprinkled coarse sugar on top, and put them in the oven.
Chelsea watched her sisters, uncertain whether to voice her concern about Sarah and Coach Johnson. He was a sensitive topic. After Amanda died, Chelsea had blamed him for Amanda’s death, accusing him of doing something that made her take her own life.
Principal Wayne Black had summoned Nana Jean to a meeting with Chelsea to address her accusation. He knew about the death of Chelsea’s parents several months earlier, and was willing to overlook her outburst this one time. If she persisted in making false accusations against a popular coach, he would see what legal action could be taken against her. Nana Jean assured him it wouldn’t happen again, and left with a chastened Chelsea.
After they got into the car to return home, Nana Jean soothed Chelsea’s frustration. “I know you thought you knew Amanda, but she had been through a tough time with her parent’s divorce. Maybe something else was going on that you weren’t aware of.” Nana Jean’s voice hitched, but she continued. “You never truly know what someone will do.” They were both quiet for a moment.
“I’m sorry, Nana Jean. I don’t think Amanda committed suicide. Maybe Coach didn’t kill her directly, but what if he did something that made her feel like she had to.” Tears fell freely. “I don’t know why she’s gone. Why wouldn’t she have come to me if she was feeling like that?”
Chelsea fiddled with a button in the armrest to open the window and then close it. Tears continued to leak from her eyes and she brushed them away. “I just want to understand why she’s gone. I don’t want to get you into trouble, so I won’t say anything about Coach again.”
Happy Homicides 4: Fall Into Crime: Includes Happy Homicides 3: Summertime Crimes Page 4
