The Boathouse (A Pelican Pointe Novel Book 14)

by Vickie McKeehan

  “Good call,” Tucker noted as he took Roxie out of Bodie’s arms and held her up. “Look at you. I’m betting you’ll be queen of the castle in no time.”

  “She’s eight months old, has had all her shots, and Cord’s already spayed her. I know because I sat with her through most of it.”

  “Are you certain you don’t want to keep her?” Bodie asked, catching the wistful tone in Ellie’s voice.

  “I wish I could. But I already have Farley, and Hollis already has Sammie. Two strays picked up together along the Coast Highway at the same time. Those two dogs are inseparable. Who knows how long they were traveling together before someone spotted them and called Cord? Anyway, since Hollis and I are practically living together now, we didn’t have to split them up. We don’t have a lot of room at either place. I don’t have room. No, Roxie’s all yours. I know you’ll take good care of her.”

  Bodie took the little girl out of Tucker’s arms and scratched the pup’s chin. “No worries there. Roxie’s already captured my heart.”

  Twenty-One

  As June flew into July, Oliver looked forward to getting three days off. Since the Fourth fell on a Saturday, he’d get Friday and the weekend to spend with Chewy doing whatever he wanted to do. He could sleep late. Teach Chewy some new tricks. Or just hang out watching TV and playing video games.

  But first, he had to make it to Friday.

  His Wednesday started off bad. First, Kris phoned at six o’clock and woke him out of a deep sleep. Kris wanted him to know that he had no choice but to pull a double shift at the warehouse and wouldn’t be home until after ten.

  That meant Kris couldn’t drive him to work, and he’d have to walk.

  Tempted to stay in bed, Oliver had a decision to make. He didn’t want Kris coming home to find him still sacked out. With that in mind, he forced himself to get up. He let the dog out into the backyard to do his business and then poured himself a bowl of cereal.

  He tried to gauge how long it would take to walk to work so he’d know when he needed to leave. After putting it down on paper, he decided that it would take forty-five minutes to walk from his house to the scrapyard.

  “Don’t worry,” Oliver told Chewy. “Kris will be back in a couple of hours to let you out. Don’t poop on the carpet. Okay? And don’t chew on anything except your toys. Got it?”

  The dog whined.

  “Yeah, I know. It’s not fair. You could use the doggie door. But Mr. Ferguson had to order it, and it won’t be in until next week. Until then, we gotta show Kris we’re not gonna mess up the house or the floors.”

  At eight-fifteen, Oliver bent down on one knee to hug Chewy goodbye. With a great deal of reluctance, he locked the house and headed down Dune Point toward Tradewinds. At the corner, he veered into the older section of town, heading further south and a little eastward. At one point, he cut through Beacon Lane trudging along, not looking forward to another day of grunge work in the yard.

  He was lost daydreaming about the upcoming three-day holiday when an older model station wagon pulled up alongside him. Oliver jumped when the driver yelled out his name.

  “Oliver. Hey kid, your name’s Oliver, right? You work at old man Jackdaw’s wrecking yard, right?” the older boy asked.

  For the first time, Oliver recognized Todd Ferrin, a senior who went to the same school. Oliver took a few seconds before he fumbled out an answer. “Yeah. That’s me.”

  “Great. You know the place pretty well then, right?”

  “Yeah. I’ve been working there for almost the whole month of June.”

  “Good. Then you know that far corner in the back, the one where Jackdaw stores several old Mustangs and a couple of classic Camaros for parts?”

  “Sure. But Jackdaw’s fussy about anybody getting near that area. I know where you’re talking about, though.” Oliver was more than a little thrilled that a senior even knew he existed, so he went on, “But the old man doesn’t like anyone poking around back there. He’s always yelling that it’s off-limits.”

  “I know. I’ve been there a time or two,” Todd relayed. “But the thing is, I have this ’69 Camaro, a 396 SS that I’ve been restoring. I need the SS emblems from the front and the rear to make mine complete. Every time I’ve been out there, Jackdaw won’t let me go near the cars. And I was hoping maybe you could help me out, take a look for me.”

  “Really? What’s in it for me? Because if I lose my job, I’m in deep shit with my uncle. Plus, Jackdaw gets red in the face if I even venture near those cars.” But Oliver’s mind raced with possibilities. Thinking he might make some money off Todd, he couldn’t let the opportunity pass. It might even be enough to pay off his debt to Ferguson and quit the junkyard for good.

  “Tell you what. I’ll give you ten bucks right now to take a look, forty more if you get me both emblems off the right Camaro.” Still sitting behind the wheel, Todd handed Oliver some pictures of what he wanted and a ten-dollar bill. “We got a deal?”

  Oliver’s brain rushed to do the math. The fifty bucks would be more than enough to cover his debt and have money left over. But more importantly, he could leave the junkyard behind forever. “Okay. It’s a deal.”

  “Here’s my number. Call me when you have something.” With that, Todd hit the gas and shot down Beacon, fishtailing the old Chevy station wagon on the pavement.

  On the route to work, Oliver studied the pictures to get familiar with the cars and the emblems. The only thing he knew about classic cars was what he’d seen in the movies or playing video games. The pictures helped.

  Just before nine, he reached the junkyard. Jackdaw was his usual grumpy self, barely grunting at him and then ordering him to remove old plumbing from a section of the yard. The first thing Oliver did as soon as he got the chance was to hunt down a screwdriver without the boss getting suspicious.

  Oliver had to wait until almost noon before the old man hopped in his truck with his Doberman and left him alone to run an errand. It wasn’t the first time Jackdaw had left him on his own. But it meant Oliver didn’t have a whole lot of time to do his search because the guy never left him alone for long. Even now, Oliver waited a full five minutes to make sure the boss had gone before venturing toward the old cars at the back of the property.

  It took him at least fifteen minutes to search the rusted-out cars and locate a Camaro like the one in the photograph that still had the emblems Todd needed.

  Working as fast as he could, he popped the hood. Using the flat-head screwdriver, he nudged the clips off the back of the emblem, making sure he got all the pieces. He slipped the parts into a baggie and went around to work on the rear emblem. This one proved harder to get at, though. Located under the lip, he’d need to get inside the trunk first. It took him several minutes to work the screwdriver between the trunk lid and the car’s body until he could trip the lock.

  When the lock sprang open, a horrible smell hit his nose. The awful odor caused him to back up a step. After lifting the lid, he spotted two empty eye sockets staring back at him. Oliver slammed the trunk shut and took off running as fast as he could.

  He ran and didn’t stop to catch his breath until he reached Crescent Street. Even then, he kept going. When he got to Main Street, he spotted the hardware store across the corner.

  On instinct, he darted inside, out of breath. The man behind the counter wasn’t much older than he was.

  Oliver blurted out, “I need to see Mr. Ferguson.”

  Owen Kessler gave the boy an up and down glance. “He’s back in his office, but you can’t go back there. He’s working.”

  “Watch me,” Oliver said, daring the older boy to get in his way. He zigzagged down the main aisle to the back of the store, shouting for Tucker.

  Tucker came out of his office and ran smack into Oliver. “What’s wrong?”

  “I found a body, well not a body exactly, but I saw a head, a skull. It had these empty eye sockets. It was awful.”

  “What? Slow down. Where was this?”
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br />   “Where do you think? At the scrapyard. In the trunk of an old car.”

  “Are you sure of what you saw, one-hundred percent sure?”

  “I’m sure. Look, I’ve seen enough horror movies to know a skull when I see one. And the smell in the trunk was the worst thing I’ve ever smelled.”

  “Okay. Okay. I believe you. Come in here, take a seat, and we’ll call Brent. You tell him exactly what you saw.”

  “There’s no time for that. If we don’t get back over there quick before Jackdaw comes back, he’ll get it out of that car and get rid of it. He will. You’ll never find it then. I wasn’t even supposed to be near the cars.”

  “Those old cars next to that open field with all the high weeds?”

  “Yeah, a dark blue Camaro near the fence. I think it’s a 1970 model like the one in the photos I saw. Here, I have a picture.” Oliver dug out a piece of paper from his pocket.

  Tucker’s jaw tightened when he stared at the wrinkled photo. “Let’s go. Show me what you found.”

  Once they got to the truck, that’s when Tucker used his cell phone to alert Brent. “Oliver Tremaine found another body at Vernon Jackdaw’s place. We need to hurry over there before Vernon misses Oliver and realizes his secret’s out in the open. We’re heading that way. Meet us there.”

  Tucker didn’t have a problem locating the blue Camaro. And when he got his first look into the trunk, there was no doubt in his mind that the remains were human. He made Oliver keep his distance near the junkyard office and act as a sentry, keeping a lookout for when Jackdaw returned. But it wouldn’t do for the kid to get another look at that skull anyway. The thing creeped Tucker out, and he was a grown man.

  Brent arrived before Jackdaw, bringing Colt and Eastlyn with him. They each took turns peering into the trunk.

  Eastlyn got down as close as she could stand it to view the bones, covering her nose from the odor with a bandana. “Male victim. Look at the teeth.”

  “Probably. Call the medical examiner,” Brent barked. “And get down to the entrance.” He leveled a finger at Eastlyn. “You stop Vernon from coming onto his property. I don’t care what you have to do but keep him away. Don’t let him set foot back on site.”

  “You got it.”

  Brent pivoted to Colt. “Get the VIN and hunt down who this car is registered to. I want pictures of what that trunk looks like before the coroner gets here. Take care to get me usable photos, ones not out of focus.” Angling toward Tucker, he went on, “You, get the boy and get out of here. I don’t care where you wait, down by the road or back at the store, your choice but take the boy and leave. Now.”

  “Okay.” Tucker didn’t argue. He swung by the junkyard office where he’d left a shaken Oliver. “Come on. I’ll buy you lunch.”

  “You will?”

  “Yeah. Neither one of us wants to be here when Jackdaw gets back.”

  “That’s the thing. He’s usually never gone this long. It’s been like an hour. And he never trusts me to stay here by myself for longer than half an hour.”

  Tucker got to his truck and started it up. “Who knows? Maybe he had a lot of business to take care of today. It is the first of the month.” But Tucker didn’t believe that. Something was off. He let it go to see to the boy, who just couldn’t stop fidgeting.

  Even when they walked into the Diner and Oliver spotted Bodie, the teen still couldn’t settle enough to look at the menu.

  Bodie knew by looking at Tucker’s face that something had happened. She didn’t know what and she didn’t ask. After all, it wasn’t every day that Tucker showed up with Oliver. When the kid couldn’t figure out what he wanted, Bodie did it for him. “How about I bring you a cheeseburger with everything on it, a big side of fries, and a chocolate shake?”

  Oliver’s eyes lit up. “Really? Sure. That’d be great.”

  “I did my part,” Bodie said to Tucker. “I got Oliver to eat. It’s up to you to tell me why Oliver’s with you in the middle of the day.”

  “Give it another hour, and it’ll be all over town anyway.” He got to his feet and motioned for her to follow. He picked the corner by the restrooms to unload the news.

  Bodie gaped. “I’m not sure which surprises me the most, another body surfaces or the fact that Oliver was out there with this guy for a month working for a killer.”

  “Technically, we don’t know Vernon Jackdaw did anything wrong. Yet. He could’ve towed the Camaro with the body already in the trunk. And it’s been sitting there ever since. Brent’s running down the owner of the vehicle. It could be the body is someone else entirely. It doesn’t mean it’s Gordon Carnaby. Could be the owner of the vehicle is the killer.”

  “You don’t believe that, do you?”

  “At this point, I’m not sure what I believe.”

  Several hours later, after Brent arrived back at the police station, he found Vernon Jackdaw sitting in the lobby, his arms clutching a bunch of file folders.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “I heard the ruckus over my police scanner. Half the County called out to my place. I saw the commotion and figured I best get home and get my files together.” He handed off a stack of manilla folders, maybe eight inches high. “There’s my paperwork for most of those old cars I keep in the back. I heard you found a body in one of them. I figure you gotta trace the ownership. Cause I damn sure didn’t keep no human remains back there on purpose, which means somebody had me tow the car into my lot where it’s been all this time.”

  “Maybe you should come into my office and let’s sort this out together. First off, if you didn’t know the body was there, then I need to know why that area was off-limits to everybody but you?”

  Vernon stood up and followed Brent into the other room. “You gotta be kidding me. Some of those are valuable classic cars. The price rises every day. I was holding onto them as an investment, hoping to keep them around until I could make a pretty penny for my old age. One of those Mustangs alone sold for near fifty grand last year at an auction house. I wanted that kind of money out of them. What’s wrong with that? Just because I deal in scrap metal and junk doesn’t make me less of a businessman. I know the current value of almost every vehicle on my lot. Just last week, I had a guy from Scotts Valley come over and offer to restore everything I had on hand, and we’d split the profit. I was still running the numbers, considering his offer. I’m no killer.”

  Brent began to peruse through the files until he came across the Camaro information. He noted the vehicle had been towed to the scrapyard from the harbor in September 1985 after getting ticketed for an illegal parking violation. The person who had reported the car parked there for over a week had been Joe Ferguson. The car was to Gordon Carnaby with a San Diego address.

  He looked up, directed a glare at Vernon. “How well did you know Joe Ferguson? Were you friends?”

  “How well? Hell, I knew him for forty years. Had dealings with him off and on through the years, but we were never what you’d call friends. I can tell you the man was a cheapskate. Was more than glad when he moved out of town.”

  “Have you ever been to Florida?”

  “Can’t say that I have. Why would I want to go down to some swamp infested place with gators and mosquitoes the size of my fist and all that humidity? That’s what I know about Florida. I got a perfect place here, beaches and mountains all around me. Why would I want to ever go anyplace else?”

  “How long have we known each other, Vernon?”

  “Well, I remember you as a kid, you and Ethan. I remember your grandma. She was a nice lady. Why?”

  “Because whoever killed the man in the trunk, probably executed two college kids the same night. This all took place right across the street from where my grandmother lived at the time. I want you to look me in the eye and tell me that person wasn’t you.”

  “I didn’t kill nobody. All I did was tow a car to my junkyard. That’s it.”

  “You want me to believe you never once went through the car?�
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  “No, sir. For the first few months, it was just there waiting for the owner to come back, pay the fine, and pay me the storage fees. The car was his property, not mine. I don’t go through other people’s stuff. Never have. That’s not the way I do things. Owner never came back. It’s not like I went looking for him. It sat there collecting rust. Sometimes it happens that way.”

  “And you never got curious as to why the owner never showed back up?”

  “No. Why would I? I’ve had cars like that before, vehicles I’ve towed in from the highway, abandoned. I store ’em. After the proper waiting time, if the owner doesn’t claim it, I file for the title. I either sell ’em or junk ’em. But the cars where you guys say you found the body, those I handle different cause they’re special, valuable. Ask Wally Pierce. He’s bought a few of those from me over the years. Wally bought an SS Chevelle once. The one he drives himself. Wally fixes ’em up, and I make a nice profit. That’s business, Brent Cody. And you know it.”

  Colt knocked on the door, stared over at Vernon. “I found out some things on the Camaro’s owner.”

  Brent held up his hand to stop Colt from revealing anything else about the crime scene. “Yeah. So did I. But let’s let Vernon get back home for now.”

  “I can go?”

  “For now. But you will not set foot on your lot until I tell you it’s okay. Got that?”

  “Sure.”

  “And you’re not planning a trip, are you, Vernon?”

  “No, sir. I’m staying put.”

  “Good. I’m sure I’ll think of something else to ask you, and when I do, I want you where I can find you.”

  After Vernon had gone, Colt closed the door. “Was that a good idea to let him walk out of here?”

  “Why? I have no reason to hold him. He brought in all his paperwork on those classic cars, including the Camaro.”

  “Yeah, well, Gordon Carnaby owned that vehicle. He’s been missing since 1985. He worked as a helmsman on the Stella Greer.”