by B R Snow
“I must say that I was delighted the night he got shot,” John Smith said. “And that was before I even knew what he’d done to my little girl.” He looked down the table at me. “Did you also have this figured out?”
“Yes,” I said, nodding. “I wasn’t sure for quite a while, but after talking with Detective Renfro yesterday, I was convinced Dr. Couch did it.” I flashed a sad grimace at the doctor. “I’m so sorry, Dr. Couch.”
“Well done. That’s very impressive,” John Smith said, glancing back and forth between the detective and me. “It was the caliber of the bullet, right?”
Detective Renfro and I both nodded.
“I was quite surprised when the ballistics report finally came back,” Detective Renfro said.
“I was completely wrong about the size of the gun used,” I said. “I was positive it was a twenty-two. You know, nice and light and quiet. Just a couple of soft pops in the night air.”
“But it wasn’t a twenty-two, was it?” John Smith said, glancing across the table at Dr. Couch.
“No, it was a twenty-five caliber,” Detective Renfro said. “Close, but very different.”
“Especially in popularity,” I said. “Twenty-twos are all over the place. But according to Detective Renfro, you don’t see many of twenty-five caliber pistols down here.” I looked at Dr. Couch. “And it’s the sort of gun that a collector might have. Like someone with an interest in antiques.”
“And our registration system confirmed that you own a twenty-five-caliber pistol, Dr. Couch,” Detective Renfro said. “We’ll need you to turn the gun over so we can do some testing.”
“I gave him that pistol for Christmas several years ago,” John Smith said. “Remember, Oliver?” He looked around and spoke to the table. “It’s a beautiful antique Colt. And you do love your antiques, don’t you? I remember the day we took it to the firing range. I was quite impressed with both the gun and your ability to shoot with it.”
Dr. Couch sat quietly, but his breathing was labored.
“And you left the restaurant right after Rocco had not so gently removed Gavin from the premises,” I said. “If I remember correctly, you said you needed to get back to the hospital.”
“I did have to get back,” Dr. Couch whispered. “One of my patients had developed an infection.”
“But it would have only taken you a minute to two to locate Gavin’s car behind the restaurant and take him out,” I said. “And as long as you did go to the hospital, nobody would have given it a second thought.”
“Except for the gun,” John Smith said. “That was a big mistake, Oliver.”
“It was the only gun I had,” he finally said, beaten, staring down at the grass between his feet. Eventually, he looked up and pleaded to Detective Renfro. “He came to my house earlier that day demanding that I sell my land to Jansmid. If I didn’t agree, he threatened to hurt my son.” Then he glared at John Smith. “This is all your fault.”
“A lot of it is, Oliver,” he said, nodding. “But I didn’t shoot him. If it’s any consolation, if it were up to me, I’d give you a medal.”
“You’re disgusting,” Matkazeme snapped at her father. She got to her feet, lifted Earl off my mother’s lap, and headed inside the house.
John Smith watched his daughter depart, then spoke to my mother.
“Do you think I should go after her?”
“No, John, I don’t,” she said. “Just give her some time to sort some things out. Like answering the question of whether or not she wants to acknowledge you as her father.”
“I was only trying to make sure she was safe,” he protested. “And set her and her mother up in something they’ll both love.”
“I’m not questioning your motives, John,” my mother said softly. “Only your methods. And, by the way, your methods suck. Sending that animal to threaten Oliver? Abducting your own daughter? And putting her under his control? You should be ashamed of yourself.”
John Smith sunk lower in his chair and seemed to become smaller from the full-on assault of my mother’s fury. I felt a tinge of sympathy for him. I knew exactly how he felt.
Been there, done that.
I caught my mother’s eye and smiled at her.
“You’re going to pay for this, John,” Dr. Couch said, climbing to his feet.
“Please sit down, Dr. Couch,” Detective Renfro said, immediately transitioning into full-on cop mode.
“Don’t tell me what to do,” Dr. Couch said, raising his arm and pointing a finger at John Smith. “You and I are by no means finished with this, do you understand?”
John Smith sat quietly at the table, apparently preoccupied with thoughts of his daughter.
“I said, do you under…” he said, his body stiffening as his eyes grew wide. “Do you-”
He reached into his pants pocket, and Detective Renfro jumped to his feet and pulled his gun.
“No, wait,” I said, scrambling out of my seat and positioning myself between Dr. Couch and the detective who was already pointing his gun at the doctor.
“Suzy, you need to move. Now,” Detective Renfro said, racking a shell into the chamber.
Then Dr. Couch slumped forward and fell face first onto the table.
“It’s his heart,” I snapped. “Put your gun away. He was reaching for these.” I bent down and picked up the bottle of pills he’d dropped on the ground. I fumbled with it but finally got the childproof cap off. “Call for an ambulance, Mom. How many do you need?”
“Three,” he whispered through a groan.
I placed three of the pills in his mouth and then held a glass of water to his lips. He managed to swallow the pills, then Josie and I helped him stretch out on the cool, damp grass. His breathing pattern was irregular, and his face was ashen.
“He’s having trouble breathing,” my mother said. “He shouldn’t be on his back. Help him sit up.”
Chef Claire grabbed some cushions off the recliners, and we used them to support his back. Josie and I held his shoulders, and my mother draped a couple of beach towels over him. We continued to hover around him as we waited for the ambulance.
“I think I’m going to be okay,” Dr. Couch eventually managed to get out. “Thank you.”
“Just sit there and take it easy,” I said.
“I can’t believe it,” he whispered.
“Can’t believe what, Dr. Couch?”
“That I’m a murderer.”
“I had some trouble believing it, too,” I said, gently squeezing his shoulder.
“Can I tell you something?”
“Sure.”
He wiggled a finger for me to come closer. I leaned over, and he whispered in my ear.
“Can you keep a secret?”
“I’ll do my best,” I said, frowning. “But I should probably tell you that my track record isn’t great.”
“I’m supposed to do everything I can to preserve life and do no harm.”
“Sure, sure. The Hippocratic oath and all that, right?”
“Yes,” he said, lowering his voice even more.
“What do you need to tell me, Dr. Couch?”
“Shooting that despicable creature felt great,” he whispered into my ear.
I caught the look in his eyes and the tight grimace I’d seen on the faces of evil people before.
It caught me completely off guard, and I recoiled.
Perhaps Dr. Couch merely wanted to get it off his chest to make room for the thousand-pound weight that was currently constricting his breathing.
Perhaps that look wasn’t the sole province of the truly evil.
Perhaps it lurked somewhere deep in all of us and was capable of rising to the surface during extraordinary circumstances.
I forced my neurons to move on, to focus on something else.
But I kept my promise to him and didn’t tell a soul.
Epilogue
Dr. Couch spent a week in the same hospital he’d spent most of his career working in and fully recovered.
At least as fully recovered as a man with a failing heart could hope to achieve. He remained under armed guard the entire time, and the news of his arrest for the murder of Teresa’s ex-husband spread faster than my incident in Gerald’s office. But since he knew everyone on the island, and was on a first-name basis with every cop, lawyer, and judge, he wasn’t considered a threat and was granted bail. He’s officially retired from practicing medicine and spends all his time relaxing at home and doing everything he can to make amends with his son while awaiting trial. Or until his heart gives out.
Probably not the way he’d anticipated spending his golden years.
Frederick moved in with his father and turned The People’s Paradise over to Jessie, the woman who had helped me place our original ad in the paper. The ads have been very successful, and we continue to advertise with her on a regular basis. One of the first things she did after taking charge was to get rid of all the ‘workers’ along with the posters that had been hanging on the walls. And she also painted the place and replaced the carpet. Now, the paper’s articles are more focused on the paradise themes people normally associate with Caribbean vacations. Instead of up the workers; the primary thrust of most articles is down the food and drink.
I’m pretty sure that Karl would have hated the changes, but Groucho would have loved them.
Madlenka Cooper arrived a few days after her daughter and ex-husband had reconnected at my mother’s house. Her loathing for the man she bore a child with was evident, and her reaction to the bruises on Matkazeme’s face was predictable. John Smith continues his efforts to make amends with both of them, and while the creation of the Mother Earth Institute is a big step in the right direction, the clock is ticking faster, and I’m not sure he’s going to make it before his time is up.
But the mother and daughter seem committed to making the Institute work, and Gerald has pledged the government’s support in making it happen. He was given the unenviable task of making sure the community of real estate developers can live with the thought that at least some of the mangrove swamps might escape the onslaught of bulldozers and cement trucks. Gerald has certainly got his work cut out for him, but I heard through my mother that he is already working with a group of investors on an eco-tourism resort to be built near the Institute.
His new mantra, ‘there’s no reason the environment and a growing economy can’t co-exist,’ seems to be catching on and I hear that The People’s Paradise is planning to do a three-part interview with him.
And the wheels on the bus go round and round.
Now that things have quieted down, we’ve finally been able to settle into a daily routine that works for the three of us and the dogs. We usually get up early and take the dogs for a walk on the beach before the sun begins to bake everything in its path. Then we’ll check-in with home to make sure everything is going well at the Inn as well as make jokes about the weather down here compared with the snow and mind-numbing cold Sammy and Jill are dealing with. For some reason, they don’t find the jokes quite as funny as we do. After that, we’ll either hang around the pool with the dogs or take a day trip. A visit to the shelter is usually followed by dinner, either at the restaurant or back at our place or my mom’s with friends and their dogs. Then we’ll usually settle in for a movie and a snack or a late-night swim. It’s certainly not an exciting lifestyle, once you exclude the murders, but we wouldn’t change a thing.
Except eliminate the murders.
We’re getting pretty tired of dealing with them.
My mom has adjusted quite well to the fact that she is no longer responsible for taking care of Earl. But Matkazeme makes it a point to stop by often with the dog who frequently manages to run into a lawn chair or trip over a garden hose. We’d originally thought his clumsiness was the result of the bump on the head and eye injury he’d gotten during the ill-fated kayak trip. But according to Matkazeme, who shakes her head in disbelief every time the little guy stumbles or trips over something, Earl is actually, in fact, a bit of a klutz. Which only adds to his cuteness factor.
And don’t tell my mother, but we’re already scouting around for King Charles puppies and plan on giving her one for her birthday.
But today we’ve decided to finally pay a visit to Owen Island. Matkazeme and her mother have made it very clear that they have no intention of making any changes and that anyone who wants to spend some time on the island is more than welcome. So I find myself enjoying the stiff breeze as Captain Jack’s boat effortlessly cuts through the water as we head for Little Cayman. All four dogs are sitting in the shade with their heads up and their tongues lolling as they enjoy the breeze.
I’m finally back in a two-piece suit, but one that provides ample coverage of all areas that remain white and untouched by the sun. Josie and Chef Claire are sprawled out, and, like me, slathered in sunscreen, sunglasses on, hats pulled down low. We’re not speaking at the moment because they believe I’ve changed my mind about visiting the island since I’ve refused to succumb to their demand that I join them on a kayak trip from Little Cayman to Owen Island. I have every intention of joining them on the island, but they don’t know that yet.
Captain Jack slowed the boat as we approached the dock, and I hopped out to handle the lines. Josie and Chef Claire made one last attempt to convince me to join them, but I politely refused, and they headed for the kayak rental place in a mild huff. Captain Jack watched them go, then looked at me.
“They seem upset with you,” he said, laughing.
“They’ll get over it,” I said, reaching down to pet all four dogs that surrounded my legs.
“I’m not sure they know what they’re getting into. They’re going to be fighting that headwind the whole time. It’s a short trip over there, but it’s gonna take them a lot longer than they think.”
“Yeah, I know,” I said with a big grin. “I guess we’ll just meet you at the Hungry Iguana later.”
“Take your time,” he said, nodding.
“Conch fritters and Mudslides, right?”
“You’re a quick study,” he said, leaning forward to give the dogs one final pet before heading down the dock.
I followed him halfway down the dock, then stopped and climbed into a flat-bottomed boat equipped with a small outboard engine. As he had promised, Pastor Roy had left the keys inside a cooler filled with sandwiches, snacks, and several large bottles of water. I reached into my bag then tossed a fresh bag of bite-sized Snickers into the cooler. I poured one of the bottles of water into a portable dog dish I’d brought along, then a second, and waited until the dogs had drunk their fill. I glanced out at the water and saw two yellow kayaks being buffeted by the wind. I grinned, then whistled for the dogs to get into the boat, and I untied the lines. The engine started on its first pull, and I slowly headed away from the dock for the short trip to Owen Island.
A few minutes later, the dogs started barking like crazy when they recognized who we were following. Josie and Chef Claire turned around then stopped paddling. Immediately, the wind started blowing their kayaks back toward Little Cayman. I slowed the boat as I approached.
“Having fun?” I said, grinning back and forth at them.
“You little cheater,” Josie said, resuming her paddling. “You lied to us.”
“I didn’t lie,” I said, shaking my head. “I just said I wasn’t getting in a kayak. I didn’t say anything about not taking advantage of the remarkable advancements in technology. Like the outboard motor. Geez, it’s really windy today, isn’t it?”
“Maybe a little,” Josie said, shrugging.
“I’d offer you a ride, but the two of you seem pretty satisfied with your choice to paddle,” I deadpanned.
Chef Claire wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand and glared at me.
“You had this planned the whole time?” she said.
“I did,” I said, grinning at her. “One phone call to Pastor Roy to get the weather report was all I needed. Geez, that looks like quite a workout. I wo
uld have joined you, but working up a sweat like that is way down on my list of New Year’s resolutions. So, I guess the dogs and I will just meet you over there. I hope there are still some sandwiches left when you finally get there.”
“You got sandwiches?” Josie said.
“I do. Along with some snacks and a case of cold water,” I said, waving one of the bottles in the air. “Oh, and a fresh bag of bite-sized on ice. Just the way you like them. Not frozen, but really chewy.”
“I’m gonna kill you, Suzy,” Josie said, pointing her paddle at me.
“You’ll have to catch me first,” I said, placing my hand on the throttle. “Wanna race?”
I opened the throttle, and the boat slowly surged through the water. Eventually, the sound of their protests faded, and I chortled with a big, goofy grin on my face as I watched the pristine stretch of sand come into clear view.
Still laughing, I glanced down at the dogs.
“Can you believe the mouths on those two?”
