by Tracy Sharp
“Thanks. I think.” Jackson was protective of me. We’d met many moons ago in Juvie. Both there for stealing cars. He taught me how to fight, and he’s been looking out for me ever since.
“Welcome.” He grinned around a clam.
I was quiet for a while, rolling it over in my mind. I really didn’t want Shannon’s death to be anything more than an accident. If foul play was involved, I’d want to start poking around. And dammit, I wanted my vacation. I’d earned it. I wanted to watch scantily clad men surfing and hanging around on the beach.
Jackson pulled me out of my thoughts. “Come on, Kicks. Admit that it’s possible that this isn’t just a shark attack or a drowning.”
Grudgingly, I nodded slowly. “Okay. It’s possible.”
“And given the circumstances, maybe even likely.”
“Jax, what do you think happened out there? Someone grabbed her and pulled her under the water, and swam away with her, with no one even seeing a hint of them?” The idea made me shiver. I’d never liked being in the water where I couldn’t at least see the sand beneath me. Not knowing what was under me, down in the murky deep, creeped me out. A lot.
Jackson said nothing. Just gazed at me with those clear, narrow, green eyes. His way of telling me that yes, that is what he thought happened to Shannon.
That there was a killer in Bass Bay grabbing women underwater and dragging them into the deep.
***
“A shark expert,” I said. “So they think it was a shark attack.”
“You say that like it’s a good thing.” Jackson stood at the sliding glass door, frowning at the television.
The local news ran a clip of Dr. Nicholas Logan, oceanographer and marine researcher with the East Coast Shark Project, walking into the Bass Bay precinct. He was a handsome man in his early thirties with black, rectangular framed glasses and dark, shaggy surfer hair.
The ocean waves rocking behind Jackson were an amazing sight, reminding me I was supposed to be on vacation. It didn’t seem to be turning out that way, I pouted inwardly.
“I’m not buying it.” Jackson said.
“Jackson. If they brought in a shark expert, they must be pretty certain that a shark did all that damage to her.”
He shook his head. “Kicks, trust me on this. Something is up. I’m telling you.”
I stood, hands on my hips, watching the TV. “You think the damage was done after she was killed?”
“I don’t know. Not all sharks live in the ocean. Lots are of the two-legged variety. You know that.”
I turned and searched through the cupboards for coffee. I found a can and looked at the sell-by date. It was over a year ago. I opened the can and took a sniff. There was a faint scent of coffee. I made a face. I hate weak coffee.
“We’re going out for breakfast, Jax. The coffee here is ancient and I didn’t get a chance to go grocery shopping, what with swimming into the dead girl and all.” It wasn’t funny, but when I get nervous I have a tendency to giggle, laugh, and make jokes. It’s not appropriate, but there it is.
In my Jeep, Jackson rested his elbow on the window frame and rubbed his chin in thought. “Where do you suppose he’s staying? Bass Bay isn’t that big.”
“Who? The shark expert?”
“Yeah.” Jackson eyed the myriad hotels, motels, and bed and breakfasts we passed as we drove along Ocean Drive. Breakfast traffic was crazy. But I was betting traffic at any time during tourist season was crazy in Bass Bay.
I ran a hand through my hair and winced. It’s cut into a choppy bob, and I’d forgotten to put sun block on the back of my neck yesterday before my run. The back of my neck was slightly sunburned. “You won’t be happy until we find out what her cause of death was, will you?”
“Nope.”
I sighed. “Let me get some food and coffee in me first, and then we’ll go find Dr. Logan. One should never talk to a shark expert on an empty stomach.”
“Good point.”
“And when he tells us that it was a shark attack, we’ll put it away and enjoy the rest of my vacation, right? Because I am on vacation. Right?”
“Right.” Jackson glanced at me, grinning.
“What’s so funny?”
“Nothing. I just have a feeling this is going to be more than your run of the mill shark attack, that’s all.”
“Well, even if it is. I’m on vacation, Jax. Okay? I have a date with the sand and the ocean, all week long.”
“If it’s just a shark attack, I’d be careful just how deeply you dip your toes.”
***
As luck would have it, the Bass Bay morgue, where we’d tailed Dr. Logan from the police station, sat directly across the road from an outdoor food stand that served breakfast sandwiches and coffee. I had mine iced. Jackson opted for iced tea. The tables were round, wooden and painted white. The umbrellas shading them had sea shells and fish all over them.
“Cute,” Jackson said, looking at the umbrellas.
“There he is,” I said.
Dr. Logan was flanked by two policemen. One of them was Detective McCool. Even as the two men entered a place filled with the deceased, I couldn’t help looking at both their rear ends.
I played little games like that to amuse myself. Sitting and waiting for people we wanted to question was rarely an exciting time. And the thought that Shannon Cook was abducted in the sea, killed somewhere else then dumped back into the water, filled me with a deep, creeping dread.
Jack tried to engage me in one of our favorite waiting games. We pick the most unattractive person, real or from film or television, and ask the other if we’d rather sleep with that person or die. It was Jack’s turn.
“Okay, okay. I got a good one.” He smiled. “Mr. Krabs off SpongeBob.”
“Just a character named Mr. Crabs pretty much puts me off.”
“It’s Krabs. With a K. Haven’t you seen SpongeBob?”
“Can’t say that I have.”
“Oh, it’s a riot. You should check it out sometime. Really funny, Kicks.”
“Right. Is this what you do when I’m not around? Watch cartoons?”
“Sometimes. So what do you choose?”
“I choose death. I’m not getting jiggy with Mr. Krabs.”
And so it went, for forty minutes while we waited.
I was picking at a nail when Jackson said, “Here he comes.”
I followed his gaze.
Dr. Logan emerged from the M.E’s offices with Detective McCool close behind. Unfortunately, several media vehicles had also shown up by then, and reporters moved in from every angle.
I said, “I don’t think it would be prudent to question Dr. Logan right now. He’s being attacked from all sides. Let’s just tail him and see where he goes.”
We waited until Dr. Logan and Detective McCool finished tactfully answering the reporter’s questions. They kept their answers short and vague, and said that the investigation is ongoing.
“They think there’s more to this than just a shark attack,” Jackson said, watching Logan and McCool. “Look at their faces. They’re playing their cards close to their vests.”
Looking at their pensive expressions, I had to agree with Jackson. There was more to it.
Damn it.
***
We tailed Dr. Logan for an hour through town, shopping at a farmer’s fruit and vegetable stand, and to a surf shop called The Surf. We waited for him to come out then followed him to one of the several marinas in Bass Bay.
Dr. Logan’s boat was a large, expensive-looking houseboat. Knowing nothing of boats, other than they float on the water, large and expensive-looking were the only words that came to my mind when looking at it.
We unceremoniously showed up on the dock, looking in at him through the windows. It was kind of impossible not to. The boat was covered in them. He must’ve heard my motorcycle boots on the wood because he turned pretty quickly.
He didn’t try to hide the annoyance on his face as he emerged from the cabin. �
��Look, I understand you’re just trying to do your jobs, but I’ve had all I can take from the media for now. I need some breathing space. Come back later. Okay? Or not.”
“Dr. Logan,” I said, placing my hands on my black jean clad hips. I wore a black t-shirt with a picture of a shark’s jagged, toothy smile on the front. “We’re not reporters. We’re private investigators.”
He stared at me. “And that makes you less a pain in my ass?”
“No. Just correcting you.” I grinned.
His gaze dropped to the picture on my t-shirt. “You’re not helping your cause by wearing that thing.”
“No?” I asked him, widening my eyes innocently. The truth was I’d just thrown it on after getting out of the water. It was the first t-shirt I grabbed when I was changing. Bought it from a roadside gift stand on the way. I thought it was cool. “Sorry. I’m not known for my dazzling taste in attire.”
“You’re making public opinion of sharks worse. They’re endangered, you know. Because of t-shirts like that.”
I lifted my brows, feeling scolded. “You want me to take it off?”
Logan blinked, opened and closed his mouth, but nothing came out.
I smiled. Winked. “Gotcha.”
He smiled in spite of himself.
“Dr. Logan,” Jack said. He’s more eloquent that I am. And more diplomatic. And more tactful.
Just generally more fit for society than I am.
Jack continued, “We just have one question.”
“Right now,” I added. “One question right now. But it always leads to another question. And another. You know. Like that.”
Logan shook his head and gave a humorless snicker. “Why do private investigators want to know if the girl found washed up on the shore was attacked by a shark?”
I took a step forward, my smile falling away. “Because I found her.”
His face softened. “Okay.” He exhaled. “Then yes. She was attacked by sharks.”
I frowned. “Sharks? As in plural?”
“Yes. Sharks. I found bite marks from three different shark types. A Great White, a Blue shark, and a Bull shark.”
I stared, my mouth dropping open.
“What do you think happened,” Jackson said. “A shark grabbed her while she was swimming?”
Dr. Logan’s gaze flicked from me to Jackson. “It’s not that simple. The sharks weren’t to blame.”
I barked out an incredulous laugh. “What? The sharks weren’t to blame? Seriously? I mean, I know your life’s work has been sharks, and that you love them, but, really? You found bites from three different types. How can you stand there and say that?”
Dr. Logan studied me, his lips pressed together like he was trapping words behind them.
“What are you not telling us?” I asked him.
“I’m not supposed to talk about it. It’s a homicide investigation.”
Jack snorted. “Yeah. I can see how it might be tough identifying the guilty sharks involved. Do they have mugs shots on file? Previous criminal activity?”
I gave Jackson a sideways look. “I thought you said she was attacked by sharks.”
Logan pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “The one arm left on Shannon’s body... there were deep rope burns around the wrist. She’d been bound.”
I stared. Turned and looked at Jackson, realization dawning on me. “Holy shit.”
Jackson stared back at me. “I knew it.”
Logan nodded at us. “It looks like someone fed her to the sharks.”
***
Logan invited us onto his boat. He offered us bottled water, iced tea, or beer. It was a little early for beer, but it didn’t stop him from popping one open, anyway. Jackson and I opted for water. It was close to ten o’clock and it was getting hot. They were calling for temperatures in the mid-nineties with high humidity. Being near the ocean was good, because the breeze cooled us. I was thankful I wouldn’t be baking in New York.
“So no one hired you to look into Shannon’s death?” Logan settled onto one of the bench seats. He took a long pull off his beer and turned his face into the wind, looking out over the ocean.
“No,” I said. “You use her first name when you refer to her. Did you know Shannon, Dr. Logan?”
“Nick,” he said, leaning forward, clasping his beer loosely between his knees. His jeans were worn at the knees.
He nodded. “Not really well, but I knew of Shannon. I think most people who are from here did. She was a rising star on the surf circuit. She’d been on TV, and I think she was featured in a few magazines in the last year.” He wiped the back of one hand across his top lip, visibly shaken. “This is awful.”
I felt myself slipping deeper and deeper into P.I mode, and I knew Jackson was, too. Neither of us could help it. It’s just what we do. “That puts her in the public eye, at least locally.”
“More than locally,” Logan said. “I think the news had spread. She was so young, and so talented. Someone hated her.”
It seemed so simple an explanation. Someone hated her.
“Well,” Jackson said. “There’s hate and then there’s hate. Takes a special kind of hate to tie someone up and feed them to sharks. You know what I’m saying?”
Logan nodded his head. “Yeah. But she must’ve really pissed someone off.”
***
It didn’t take long for the police to speak to the press about Shannon’s death being a possible murder. They said they suspected foul play and asked that anyone watching who had any information about what happened, to please come forward.
It also didn’t take long for the word to spread that Shannon was found by a private investigator.
I recognized Shannon’s parents when they climbed out of their S.U.V and headed to the beach house. Jackson and I were seated on the deck, watching the waves surge in.
“Mr. and Mrs. Cook. We’re so sorry for your loss.” I approached them halfway down the stairs on their way up to the deck.
Their eyes were red rimmed and their faces stricken with grief. Both nodded and whispered their thanks.
“Please come up,” I said.
“Can we offer you some iced tea?” Jackson said. He’d bought a case of it earlier this morning.
Mr. and Mrs. Cook both shook their heads and thanked us. When they were seated at the table, shaded by the sun umbrella, Mrs. Cook spoke. “Ms. Ryan, we’ve learned from Chris that you were the one who found Shannon in the water.”
“I am,” I said. I didn’t know what else to say. The horror of seeing Shannon turning under the water was something I could never explain with accuracy to anyone. It wasn’t something I wanted to describe to her parents.
“We understand that you are a private investigator,” Mr. Cook said.
With a sinking feeling, I realized where this was going. Still, I held out the hope that the Cooks were only making conversation and trying to find out a little more about how Shannon was found. “Yes. Jackson is my partner.”
Mrs. Cook gave a gentle nod. “We’ve done some research on you, as a private investigator. You come highly recommended.”
I remained silent, not wanting to hear the rest. I really didn’t want to take this case. Really. Somewhere inside my brain, I still had the pipe dream that I’d be able to salvage some part of a real vacation.
Yet, I also realized at the moment Shannon had floated up to me, her dead blue eyes looking straight into mine, that my reason for being in Maine had changed drastically.
Mrs. Cook continued. “We know that the police are doing everything they can to find out what happened to Shannon, and to catch the animal who took her.”
I nodded. “Yes. They are.”
Her voice cracked and her eyes welled. “But, you and Mr. Quick might be able to explore avenues that the police wouldn’t have full access to.”
What she was saying was that Jackson and I could get into the dark corners. The nooks and crannies, and speak with people who aren’t quite as open to speaking with
the police. She was right. Jackson and I are good at that. We may be able to unearth things faster than the police could. We also didn’t have the same legal constraints holding us back as police did. And sometimes, we did bend or even break the law to find answers.
I glanced at Jackson, whose entire body language told me that he was already in. He sat forward, leaning toward them with his hands clasped on the table. His face was open and his brows rose. He wanted this job. He wanted justice for Shannon.
“We will pay you, of course,” Mr. Cook said.
Still, I couldn’t find the words to accept. Something about this case made me want to run and scream. The violence of it. And the possibility that this wasn’t an isolated incident. That this could be a serial killer who would strike again. The kind of case that would drag me through the ringer and tear me up.
Mr. Cook’s face crumpled and tears leaked from his eyes. “Please. Please help us.”
And something broke inside of me. “Of course. We’ll do everything we can to find out who did this to Shannon.”
And just like that, I was in.
I cut my eyes to the waves. The tide was rising.
I hoped I wasn’t in over my head.
Chapter 2
As private investigators are apt to do, Jackson and I started questioning suspects. Jackson liked to use a big white board to construct time lines, record suspects and make connecting lines between people, events and places. He even used different colors to categorize them. However, we weren’t in NY and he’d left in a hurry to get to Maine.
So he made do with what we had available at the beach house. He found some colored chalk in a kitchen junk drawer, and some post-it notes near the phone. He held both up and grinned.
“You are the organization king, Jax,” I said.
“Indeed I am. Let’s get to work.”
I carried a beer for each of us over to the kitchen table and watched as he removed a couple of pictures and knick-knacks from one of the robin’s egg blue walls. As far as I was concerned, anything he did with that chalk would be an improvement. The bright blue was giving me a headache.
