by Tina Kashian
“I thought he was asleep, but I called his name, then shook him. I think he’s dead.” Melanie’s hand covered her mouth to stifle a cry.
Dread tugged low in Lucy’s gut as she reached out to touch him. His flesh was lukewarm, and Lucy could find no pulse.
Oh, no. Gilbert was dead.
Chapter Five
Michael called 911 on his cell phone and the Ocean Crest Police arrived, followed by the paramedics. The police drove onto the beach in official Jeeps, the same vehicles that cruised the beach during the day. Their tires sprayed sand when they came to a halt by the body. Headlights illuminated the gruesome scene.
Bill Watson, Katie’s husband, hopped out of the first Jeep. Tall and fit with a buzz cut, he was handsome, with a chiseled profile and blue eyes. He approached Katie and Lucy first. “You two okay?”
“We’re fine,” Katie said, then pointed to Gilbert. “He’s not.”
“Who is he?” Bill asked as he watched a paramedic press two fingers to Gilbert’s carotid artery.
“Gilbert Lubinski,” Lucy said, her voice low.
Bill’s gaze snapped to Lucy’s. “One of the town’s landlords?”
“Yes.”
Bill looked to the paramedic. “Is he dead?” The paramedic nodded.
Not good. Lucy already knew Gilbert was dead, but to have it officially confirmed made her stomach flip like a fish on a line.
Another Jeep arrived, and a man stepped out and came jogging toward them, his flashlight beam bouncing across the sand. Lucy immediately recognized him as Detective Calvin Clemmons—still Ocean Crest’s sole detective until Bill finally could be approved and promoted from beat cop to detective.
In his late thirties, with a head of straw-colored hair, a bushy mustache, and a sharp profile, Clemmons was dressed in a gray suit, not an officer’s uniform. The detective’s gaze zeroed in on the body before looking to Lucy and Katie huddled together. “What happened here?”
“We’re not sure,” Lucy said.
Things had been frigid between Clemmons and Lucy when she’d first returned to town. A grudge against Lucy’s sister, Emma, and her family, combined with Lucy’s interference in Clemmons’s past investigations hadn’t helped. But after eating her mother’s enticing cooking and a slice or two of baklava, the detective’s relationship with Lucy had defrosted a bit.
Lucy hoped this new incident wouldn’t set things back between them.
“It’s Gilbert Lubinski,” Bill told Clemmons as the detective went to the body. “The coroner has already been called,” he added.
Clemmons snapped on a pair of gloves and bent to examine the piece of driftwood that rested on the sand three feet from Gilbert’s head. As he was examining the scene, more lights bobbed in the distance as the county coroner arrived. Dressed in a white coat with CORONER in bold, black print on the back, the man began to process the body.
Clemmons stood and directed his attention to Lucy. “You found him?”
“No. Melanie Haven did. I think she’s in shock.” Melanie stood two yards away, her arms wrapped around her body in a protective gesture. Her expression was a combination of terror and shock, her complexion the color of old parchment.
The detective’s laser-eyed look homed in on Melanie. “Ms. Haven?”
No response.
“Ms. Haven.” A bit louder this time.
Still no response.
Lucy walked to her and shook Melanie’s shoulder. “Melanie?” she inquired, her tone soft.
A blink, then Melanie focused on Lucy’s face. “Lucy, is he really dead?”
“I’m afraid so.”
“How?”
“I don’t know.”
As if on cue, the coroner spoke to Clemmons, his voice loud enough for those close by to hear.
“Based on my initial examination, he was struck on the back of the head by that,” the coroner said, glancing at the piece of driftwood, “but I don’t think that’s what killed him.”
“Then what?” Clemmons asked.
The coroner raised a hand, a pair of tweezers clutched in his fingers. Trapped in the tongs was a large, brown wad of something. “This was lodged in his throat. He was asphyxiated.”
Lucy leaned forward to get a better look. At first, she thought it was the kalamata olives in her couscous salad, and her gut tightened. Then she recognized it. “Is that . . . is that saltwater taffy?”
“Root beer.” Melanie’s voice was weak but still carried.
Clemmons swung around, his eyes focused on Melanie. “What did you say?”
Melanie licked dry lips. “It’s root beer saltwater taffy.”
“How do you know that?” Clemmons demanded.
“Because I made it and brought it to the bonfire.” Melanie’s already sickly complexion paled another shade. Lucy worried she would vomit, or pass out, or both.
Clemmons stalked toward Melanie. “And did you know Gilbert Lubinski?”
“Yes. He was my landlord.”
“What was your landlord doing at the bonfire?”
“He was on the beach when he saw us. He wanted to know about my rent.”
“Your rent?”
Lucy placed a warning hand on her friend’s arm, to no avail. Melanie, in shock, was uttering all that came to mind.
“He raised it and . . . and I was behind. We fought about it,” Melanie said, her eyes never leaving Gilbert’s body.
Lucy knew where this was heading. She also knew how bad it looked for Melanie. Behind Clemmons’s beady gaze, she could see him connect the dots, and Melanie, like her candy, was in a sticky mess.
* * *
“This is the last box,” Katie said.
The following morning, Lucy had awakened in her new apartment. Katie had promptly arrived to help unpack books, DVDs, and magazines and stack them on the built-in shelves next to the television.
“I’m getting a new TV. This one’s ancient. Have you seen anything like it in a long time?” Lucy made a face at the wooden piece of furniture that held the TV.
Katie chuckled. “Other than out by a curb? It’s vintage and reminds me of our high school years watching MTV together.” At Lucy’s laugh, Katie waved a hand. “Forget the TV, what about the pink, plastic-wrapped sofa?”
Lucy patted the sofa. “I’ll keep it for now—minus the plastic.”
Their lighthearted joking was a way to avoid talk of the tragedy at the bonfire last night. Finding Melanie standing over Gilbert’s body on the beach wasn’t something Lucy would be able to forget.
But Lucy was unable to ignore the topic for long. Biting her bottom lip, she sat down on the carpet. “What do you think about last night?”
Katie stopped stacking books on the shelves. “Other than the fact that our night out turned into a nightmare?”
“What did Bill say?”
“Not much. Bill’s been working and also studying for his exam to become a detective. I don’t need to ask him to know that Melanie’s in trouble.”
At this disturbing news, Lucy dropped the stack of magazines she was holding. “She’s definitely on Detective Clemmons’s radar, then?”
“This time I don’t blame him. The evidence points to her.”
Lucy sat back on her heels. “Why? Because Melanie and Gilbert argued on the beach regarding her raised rent, or because they didn’t have a rosy landlord/tenant relationship to begin with, or because he was suffocated with her saltwater taffy?”
“All of it.”
“But he was also hit on the back of the head with a piece of driftwood.”
“You saw the piece of wood next to Gilbert. Melanie could have lifted it and struck Gilbert from behind. Plus, she was separated from the group and alone at the time of the murder.”
“You don’t honestly think Melanie killed her landlord over raised rent, do you?”
“Maybe there was additional motive we don’t know about,” Katie said.
Lucy rubbed her temples. “I can’t imagine. But either way, I can’t
stop thinking about Gilbert. I’m having a hard time forgetting his face.”
“A man was murdered, Lucy. It was frightening.”
“It’s not just that . . . I mean, it was scary, but he is . . . was Mrs. Lubinski’s nephew.”
“Your new landlady? What’s she like?” Katie asked.
“Words cannot do Eloisa justice.”
Just then, a low growling captured their attention. Lucy whirled to see Cupid standing at the top of the stairs, his white teeth flashing in a menacing snarl. A string of drool had gathered at his lower jaw and threatened to drip onto the carpet. His tail curled up, and his shoulders were thrust back in what looked like an attack stance.
In short, the small dog was terrifying.
The door to the first floor was partly open, and this time, Lucy realized she was at fault. She’d made numerous trips to her car for items and hadn’t bothered to fully close the door.
It took seconds before Lucy realized it was Gadoo, not herself or Katie, who was the focus of the dog’s attention. The black and orange cat sat outside on the deck licking his front paw. Lucy had cracked open the sliding glass door to let in fresh air, as well as enabling Gadoo to come and go as he pleased.
At the first sight of the vicious shih tzu, Gadoo’s back arched and he hissed.
Oh, no.
It was clear the two pets were not going to make a smooth transition as roommates anytime soon.
Next up the stairs was Eloisa herself. Dressed in a black tutu with a black-and-white-striped, sequined top and black tights, she looked like a sparkling, senior citizen ballerina.
Lucy jumped to her feet and brushed her dusty hands on her yoga pants. “Hello, Mrs. Lubinski. This my best friend, Katie Watson. Her husband is an Ocean Crest police officer.
Lucy didn’t know why she felt compelled to add that information. Perhaps she wanted her landlady to know she wouldn’t throw wild parties with a friend like Katie around. Or, more likely, Lucy felt sorry for Eloisa because of her nephew’s death and didn’t quite know what to say.
Lucy swallowed and decided to address what had occurred on the beach last night. “I’m sorry about your nephew, Gilbert.”
Eloisa’s face fell, but then her skinny shoulders pushed back. “Gilbert didn’t deserve to be murdered, but I knew that boy well enough to admit he had a knack for angering people, me included. He wanted to put me out to pasture, send me to a nursing home and take my house.”
“Max told me.”
Eloisa sniffed. “I still can’t believe he’s gone. Despite everything, it’s very sad. That’s why I’m dressed like this. It’s the closest thing I have to mourning.”
That was the closest? What else was in her landlady’s wardrobe?
“He was my brother’s only child.” Eloisa pulled out a tissue from her glittery, cross-body handbag and blew her nose. Lucy hadn’t noticed the bag. She’d been too focused on the tutu.
“After Peter died, Gilbert spent his inheritance buying properties,” Eloisa said. “Most were good investments, but some were doozies. From what I heard, he wasn’t a well-liked landlord.”
Lucy recalled Melanie’s red face as she argued with Gilbert over her raised rent. Then the image of Melanie’s pale face hovering over Gilbert’s lifeless body took its place. She couldn’t imagine Melanie murdering anyone, even her landlord.
Lucy reached for a tissue box on the coffee table and handed Eloisa a clean tissue. “Do you know anyone who disliked him enough to want to kill him?”
Eloisa blew her nose, louder this time. “That’s what the police asked me.”
“The police were here?”
“Bright and early this morning. You must have slept through it.”
Lucy’d returned to the apartment late last night and had been so tired, she’d slept soundly her first night here.
Eloisa pulled a business card from her handbag and put on her Minnie Mouse reading glasses, which dangled from a chain around her neck. “‘Detective Calvin Clemmons,’” she read. “He paid me a visit this morning. He’s good-looking, with his blond hair and mustache.”
Lucy had never thought so, but Emma had dated him in high school, so she must have found him attractive. But then she had called him “Clinging Calvin” before breaking up with him. It wasn’t very nice of her sister back then.
“Still, the sight of a detective on my porch gave me a fright. I would have had a glass of wine, but I no longer drink. Alcohol is bad for my nerves.” She held out her hands. “See, rock steady. No shaking for my age.”
“What else did the detective ask you?” Katie said.
“Well, for one, he wanted to know about my relationship with Gilbert. I told him the truth—that Gilbert wanted me out of here.”
“You did?” Lucy said.
Eloisa’s gaze turned from Katie to Lucy. “It’s not a secret. Even your fancy real estate broker knew.”
“Max is my brother-in-law,” Lucy said.
Eloisa waved a hand, her glittering rings shining in the morning sunlight. “Whatever. Then the detective asked me if I was on the beach last night.”
“That’s easy. You weren’t,” Lucy said.
“I was.”
“You were?” both Lucy and Katie asked in surprised unison.
“Not at the bonfire, but on the beach. It was my poker night with the gals. I won, left early, and walked home. You know what they say, ‘Quit while you’re ahead.’ That damned Phyllis always wins, but last night was my lucky card night.”
Lucy didn’t think anything about last night was lucky but held her tongue.
“So, you walked home alone? At night?” Katie asked.
Eloisa’s gaze narrowed on Katie. “What’s wrong with that? I took a self-defense class with the county sheriff last year, young lady. I can handle myself. Plus, Ocean Crest is a safe, family town.”
Katie stared, her blue eyes wide. Lucy bit her tongue harder. She didn’t mention Gilbert, let alone any other crime that had occurred over the past summer months.
Lucy finally spoke up. “You walked on the boardwalk, then partly on the beach to get home?”
“It’s much faster that way. I saw the light from the bonfire. Heard some music, too. You seemed to be having a grand time. If I didn’t have a purse full of cash, I would have been tempted to join you.”
“Cash? You could have been robbed,” Katie blurted out.
Lucy eyed Katie. Her friend tended to cut to the chase, but failed to read a person’s facial expressions to know when to quit.
Eloisa patted her small breasts. “All the Jacksons were safely tucked away. No one would have known.”
This time Lucy did laugh, then swiftly covered it with a cough when Eloisa eyed her curiously.
“You told Detective Clemmons all this?” Lucy asked.
Eloisa nodded. “That’s right.”
Lucy would have loved to have been a fly on the wall. She could just imagine the stuffy Clemmons with his little notebook, scribbling down his notes as Eloisa Lubinski talked.
Eloisa whistled and Cupid obediently trotted to her side. “I’m off to take care of things for Gilbert. The funeral director needs clothes from his home. It’s not a task I’m looking forward to, but there’s no one else to do it.”
Lucy sobered. “I can help. If you need anything, please ask.”
As soon as Eloisa disappeared down the stairs into her own apartment with Cupid on her heels, Lucy left the door ajar. She may not want any surprise visits from the dog, but if her landlady needed her, she wanted to hear.
“She’s something,” Katie said.
“Her dog, too. But I like her.” Lucy realized it was true. There was something refreshing about her new landlady.
“She does have spirit. And what girl doesn’t like glitter? I’m jealous I can’t wear it anymore. Not without people staring at me like I’ve lost my mind.”
Maybe Katie was right and it was the clothes. Whatever the reason, Lucy felt protective of Eloisa Lubinski.
> “She doesn’t give a fig what people think. It’s inspiring, actually.” Lucy collapsed on the sofa, and the plastic crinkled beneath her. She really needed to remove the damned plastic. One task at a time. “You think Clemmons will consider her a suspect?”
Katie shrugged. “He’s more focused on Melanie, but yes, he might. If Mrs. Lubinski told him she’d been walking on the beach and was close enough to see and hear the bonfire, even if it was only for a short while as she headed home, she was at the crime scene.”
“It’s crazy. Gilbert was struck on the back of the head with a piece of driftwood. You think she could have picked that up?”
“It wasn’t a huge piece of driftwood.”
Katie was right. Lucy had seen the driftwood. It wasn’t big, but still . . .
Katie joined her on the sofa. “It still looks worse for Melanie. Lucy, how well do you really know Melanie Haven?”
Chapter Six
Pots simmered on burners, the industrial-sized mixer whirred, and mouthwatering aromas perfumed the air. Lucy and her mother were hard at work in the restaurant’s kitchen, preparing for the day.
Soon the doors to Kebab Kitchen would open, and customers would rush in for lunch. They would be mostly a mix of Ocean Crest regulars and motorcycle-riding tourists from the Bikers on the Beach festival, but all the restaurant’s guests would be hungry and eager to savor the Mediterranean specials of the day—lamb stew with rice pilaf, tabbouleh salad, and choereg, an Armenian sweet bread served with cheese.
“It’s been a busy week,” said Lucy. Standing behind a prep table, an apron draped around her neck, she was chopping fresh mint for the tabbouleh salad.
“The week of the motorcycle festival is always busy,” said Angela, glancing over Lucy’s shoulder. “We don’t get much of a break, and then the season will start.”
“It’s all good—right, Mom?”
Her mother picked up a chef’s knife and began chopping with more energy than necessary. “Your father liked it. He just handled the paperwork. I had to do most of the cooking.”
It wasn’t the first time her mother had complained that she’d had it harder than Lucy’s father over the thirty years Kebab Kitchen had been open. But Lucy knew Angela and Raffi had both labored hard when they’d worked full-time—her mother as head chef and her father as the experienced businessman who handled the ordering, inventory, invoices, timesheets, and payroll. Now they were semiretired, and Lucy was the manager and Azad was the head chef. Butch, their longtime African American line cook had stayed on to help. But it had been difficult for Angela and Raffi to completely relinquish their roles.
