Johnnie Finds a Dead Body

by DS Whitaker

  Kemper’s eyes were stern. And she was never stern. “Shush. No arguing.”

  They went to the clinic. In the waiting room, Kemper read a National Geographic and he read Better Homes and Gardens. But he only had to wait fifteen minutes. The x-rays showed nothing broken. Still, the doctor told him to rest for a few days. Advice he planned to ignore. Because being idle and lying in bed reminded him of the VA hospital, and that was worse than some discomfort he might feel at work.

  A calendar appointment pinged on Johnnie’s phone as they exited the clinic. His library book! He had to return it by closing time—five o’clock—or incur the wrath of the head librarian, Ms. Teller. The last time he was there, she stared at him over her reading glasses with a scowl that could take the paint off a barn.

  “Hey, I need to get back to my scooter.” The time was 4:32. His throat tightened and panic froze his brain. Johnnie concentrated on his breathing. In…out…in…

  Kemper gave him a serious look. “Let me drive you home.”

  He wrung his hands. “No, I have to get to the library. Now.”

  “What? No, you need to rest.” They got in the truck and she started the engine.

  “Please. You have no idea. The librarian? Ms. Teller? She fucking hates my guts. I’m on probation. If I’m late again, she’ll put me on the no-lending list permanently. The book is in the seat compartment of my scooter.” Johnnie rubbed his face with his hands and groaned.

  Kemper pulled out of the parking lot. “Okay. Calm down. Tell you what, I’ll return it for you. You just get yourself home to rest. Deal?”

  “Really? You’d do that?”

  “Absolutely.”

  Johnnie nodded. “Thanks, Kemper.” Still, his heart raced with panic. “Text me after, okay?”

  “Sure. Just relax.” She gave him a quick smile.

  They continued the drive to Hawksnest Beach in silence for a couple minutes, until Kemper asked in a soft voice, “It’s a funny thing. I’ve been getting calls about missing wallets and jewelry at Hawksnest. More so than other beaches. Usually on the weekends.” She took her eyes off the road briefly to meet his, “During the weekdays, when you’re over there, have you noticed any bad characters lurking around?” She hunched her shoulders, chin jutting, miming a lurker.

  “No, I mean, sometimes there are teenagers acting like dicks. The signs say to lock valuables. But people are dumb and think they can hide stuff under their beach towels.”

  “What about that homeless guy? Do you know him?”

  “Cud? He wouldn’t steal. I mean, if people leave useful shit behind, he might recycle them. But like towels and flip-flops. Not anything valuable.”

  “Hmmm.” She wiggled her nose like she was thinking and kept her focus on the road.

  Johnnie waited for her to say something more, but she seemed preoccupied with her thoughts.

  As they approached the Hawksnest Beach parking lot, Merv moved two traffic cones to let them in. The parked news van, with its portable antenna raised, was an unwelcome sight. Thankfully, the news crew seemed to be taking some shots of the beach. While they were distracted, Johnnie jogged to his scooter, and gave Kemper the book. With adrenaline pumping, he straddled the Pig, gunned the small engine, and drove off before anyone recognized him.

  On the ride home, he envisioned his mug shot on the news with the headline “St. Johnnie Killer now on the loose”. St. John was a small island. Any kind of infamy stuck like tar, guilty or not.

  As his scooter climbed the winding narrow dirt road to Gertie’s, he made a mental plan to cook some spaghetti and take a nap. When he arrived, Cud was sitting on a wood bench by the driveway, waving to him.

  Cud was still at Gerties? Did he move in with her? Johnnie wondered if he’d need a new place to live to give them some space. The National Park Service lodging at Caneel Bay might be available, but he recalled how he hated it. Living with all those cheerful people playing hacky-sack every evening, and group sing-a-longs to acoustic guitar. One guy played jazz flute. It was like a grownup hippie version of sleep-away camp. He couldn’t stomach it.

  Cud jogged up. “Johnnie, we were so worried. Robin told us everything.”

  He took off his helmet. “Yeah. Robin and Kemper saved my life. I’m really tired.”

  “Johnnie boy, we have a problem.”

  He walked towards his apartment door, “I can’t take any more problems.”

  “Listen.” Cud waved a hand in his face. “That man with the black aura? What’s his name?”

  “Mark, I think. What about him?” He let out a prolonged yawn. Time for some sleep. He put his key in the door lock, but strangely, the door was unlocked already.

  Cud gritted his teeth, grabbed both Johnnie’s shoulders, his eyes wide and boring into his. “I know you are rightfully knackered after your ordeal, but I need you to listen.”

  Johnnie winced. Cud’s hand landed where Arturo had tased him in the shoulder. “Ow. Yes. Spit it out!”

  “Mark’s coming for you, son. And we need to set a plan.”

  ***

  Mary Taylor arrived at the funeral home west of Charlotte Amalie at five, an hour before the six o’clock service. It had to be a closed casket for obvious reasons. Robert wasn’t a religious man and he wouldn’t have wanted an elaborate service. Still, when his brother, Gus, asked to do a bible reading, she couldn’t refuse.

  She sat in the empty space. No pictures. No flowers. Organizing a secret memorial on a different island, while dodging a madman seemed insane. And the last-minute change of venue complicated everything. She spent most of the afternoon texting relatives the new location.

  Robert was found dead eight days ago, and his body released by the police only two days ago. What was the point of this service? Most of their relatives couldn’t attend, because getting flights during the Easter rush was nearly impossible.

  The funeral director came in, short, tubby and wearing a dark suit. “Do you know how many will be attending today?”

  Mary did a mental count. “About ten. My daughter’s flight just arrived. Roberta is on Spring Break, coming in from Texas. Some local friends. His brother from Georgia.”

  He took her hand. “How are you holding up?”

  She had to think. Holding up? I’m ready to scream...

  “Ow.” The director pulled away.

  Had she dug her nails into his skin? “Oh, no. I’m sorry.” She let his hand go. Mary stared straight ahead at the casket. “How am I? I don’t really know. It isn’t right. I cry myself to sleep every night. Then I have nightmares and wake in cold sweats. And poor Robert. All he ever did was care about the earth and protecting the oceans. A good person who never hurt anyone. Why did he have to die?” She realized she was raving and began to cry. In her purse, she dug for a tissue. “I’m mad and I want to hit something.”

  “I understand.” He clasped his hands in front of him. “Can I do anything to help?”

  She wiped her eyes and cleared her throat. “No. Is the security person here?”

  “Yes, outside. Anyone fitting the man’s description will be turned away and he’ll call the police.”

  “Thanks. I appreciate all your help.”

  The director gave a nod and left.

  Her friend Faye walked in. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”

  Mary said, “No.” She stood and greeted Faye with a hug. “Thanks for coming. I don’t know how I’m going to make it...”

  “You’re doing fine.”

  They sat down at the first row of chairs. Mary said, “I’ll be out of your hair soon. I promise. Can you believe Senator Crosswell hasn’t called me back yet? I can’t live this way.” She curled her hands into tight fists.

  “Look, your daughter will be here soon. It will get better.”

  “Maybe I should move permanently. Rent a small place near Robbie’s college.” Her eyes went wide. “I forgot to tell you. I got an email from the insurance company. Robert had a policy for two million.” She shook her he
ad. “Maybe he knew...”

  Faye patted her hands “Don’t decide now. Let the shock wear off. Take some time.”

  “Yes, I know. I know. I just hate feeling like I have no control.”

  A man strode toward them. Her brother-in-law Gus resembled Bob, with his brown hair, bushy eyebrows and hooked nose, but taller and thinner. “Mary, I’m so sorry.” He gave her a hug.

  “Thanks for coming. Gus, this is my friend Faye. I’m staying with her for the next few days.”

  They shook hands.

  Mary started with the pleasantries. That’s what you do, right? Better than talking about their loss. “How was your flight?”

  “Mary, I don’t know how to say this.” Gus clasped his hands tightly and avoided her eyes.

  He seemed upset, but what could be worse than this? “What? What’s wrong?”

  Gus blurted, “I just got an email from Robert.”

  Her hands flew to her mouth. “What? How?”

  “When I turned on my phone after touch-down, it showed up. But it was from a Gmail account I didn’t recognize. I almost deleted it.”

  Why would Robert send something to Gus and not her? “Let me see.”

  He handed his phone to her. She read the message.

  Gus, if you receive this, then I may be gone. Which means, you’ll want to know why I’m dead. It’s a long story, but a client asked me to falsify information on the biological impact study. When I went to confront the project manager, I overheard a conversation about bribing officials. Now the company’s fixer is after me because I stole the bribe money.

  Once the newspaper article hits the national news, I’ll be safe. But in case I don’t make it, I put you down as a co-owner on the safe deposit box at the Carib Bank. Contact Ms. Marie Bascome at the Washington Times or her boss and give them the evidence if I go missing. Mary knows my favorite password. Tell Mary and Robbie I love them and I’m sorry.

  Mary gave Gus back his phone and had to sit. The news identified the dead woman as Ms. Bascome. And the man who came to her house and held a knife to her throat was not bluffing when he threatened her life.

  She shuddered and held her head. “Gus, don’t tell Robbie. Don’t tell anyone. We’ll talk afterward, okay?”

  Gus put his phone in his jacket pocket. “Mary, I don’t understand. We need to tell the authorities…”

  Her face felt warm. The authorities were no help so far. Gus had no idea. In a biting tone, she said, “It isn’t safe.” She looked up, pleading to him with her eyes. “Promise me. You have to promise.”

  Gus held his hands up in surrender. “Yes, whatever you say.”

  Anxiety raged through every cell in her being. The last thing she needed was a panic attack or a complete melt down. She excused herself and went to the ladies’ room to collect herself.

  The bathroom was grossly ornate, with a pink tufted sofa, gold faucets, and marble floors. Running the tap at the sink, she splashed cold water on her face, causing her mascara to run. Which was worse, the dark baggy circles under her eyes or the black mascara streaks? It didn’t matter. Nothing mattered.

  The image at the coroner’s office of Robert’s purple and white skin and staring eyes haunted her. Like he was a ghoul in a low-budget Hollywood movie. Not the loving, sweet, silly man she’d lived with for the last thirty years. The man with the ruddy cheeks and hearty laugh who loved watching basketball and hiking and making pasta from scratch. Who volunteered regularly at local schools to teach kids about sea life. The man who wrote her love notes before every long business trip and crafted personal anniversary cards each year. The man who washed the dishes without being asked and rubbed her feet when they were sore. Her Robert was not that same man on the cold steel table.

  With some paper towels, she scrubbed her face.

  Mary slammed her hand on the towel dispenser. Under her breath, she muttered, “Robert, you stubborn, stubborn fool.”

  ***

  Dear Diary,

  It was a quiet day. KIDDING! Got arrested, beat up a pervert, got freed, and Mark—the ninja, black-aura dude—is after me. And it’s only Monday. Beating up chain boy was bad, but I hope Lou would say it was justified anger. There will be lots to tell her on Friday. Robin is so pissed. I should call her to apologize but I’ll give her a couple nights to calm down.

  Kemper is reassigning me to give small guided nature hikes to avoid reporters. Which is maybe worse than jail because these privileged Easter vacation looky-loos never wear the right shoes, bring their obnoxious private-school kids and complain the whole time. But hopefully they won’t know I’m the killer on the news.

  Cud told me he’d charter a plane to take me to the Bahamas to stay with his grandson. But I’m not scared of Mark and his stupid black outfits. I’ve seen his type in the military a thousand times. All show and no common sense or actual skills. Mark can eat my butt.

  And Cud said he threw away the thumb drive, so there is nothing to give Mark.

  In other news, I may start writing a short story about the altruistic pirate king. Not that I can write, but no one will ever see it but me.

  But this is the BIGGEST news. Cud said he might ask Gertie to marry him. That was fast. But Gertie said once she’ll never remarry. Not sure if I should tell Cud. Probably won’t.

  Good night Diary. Wish me strength for tomorrow. -Johnnie.

  Chapter 16

  It was nine o’clock on Tuesday morning. Robin opened her Outlook calendar. Dottie said something about an early meeting with the Tourism Minister of the British Virgin Islands. A discussion related to the proposal she was supposed to have read yesterday. But that never happened.

  Ten minutes later, Dottie escorted two men into her office.

  Dottie said, “Robin, Minister Jacque Lords and his colleague Thomas Smith are here to see you.”

  She finished her sip of coffee and shut off her computer monitor. “Yes, please come in.”

  The pair in front of her didn’t seem right. The first man was in a light gray windowpane suit, tailored to perfection, with a light purple paisley ascot and tan leather dress shoes so pristine you could eat off of them. The second was burly, smelled of too much aftershave, and wore a black T-shirt, black jeans and an ill-fitting tan linen Miami-Vice sort of blazer, with black lace-up boots.

  She extended her hand, “Gentlemen, nice to meet you both.”

  “Senator Crosswell, so nice to meet you, finally,” Minister Lords said with a titter.

  The other man shook her hand, his gaze intense, and said simply, “Hello.”

  “Please, sit. Call me Robin. I’m sorry, but I had a bit of a family emergency yesterday. I didn’t have time to look over the proposal.” She rested her hand on the binder as she took her chair. “Perhaps you could give me a quick run-down?”

  Smith, who she named in her head ‘Miami’, took his chair, giving her a black look, as though she said something terribly upsetting.

  The well-dressed man said, “Well, Robin, please call me Jacque. You know, my parents named me after Cousteau. They were close friends with him. Rest his soul. They don’t make men like him anymore.”

  Robin smiled. “No, they don’t.”

  “Anyway,” Jacque waved his hand, “darling, if you flip to page ten of the proposal, there is a sketch of what we have in mind.”

  Robin put on her reading glasses and located the page; it depicted a map of St. John and Tortola. She froze, her jaw slack. “Um, Jacque, am I seeing this right? You want to build a bridge between our islands?”

  Jacque smiled, extending his fingers like jazz hands. “Bingo!”

  “And connect them through Great Thatch Island?” Alarm bells went off in Robin’s head. Mary Taylor’s husband was doing marine life surveys there. Was this the project he couldn’t talk about?

  “Yes! But it is so much more than a connection. Great Thatch Island would be transformed into an international port of customs, including an airport with an eight-thousand-foot runway, desperately needed for mod
ern commercial aircraft, and a cruise-line terminal to boot. A receiving point for goods and tourism that can serve both our island territories. It makes perfect sense. After Irmaria devastated everything, we knew we needed additional transit hubs to bring in emergency supplies, construction materials…really the whole gambit. And think of the cross-promotional tourism possibilities!” Jacque wiggled his shoulders with a smile big enough to drive a Volkswagen into. Robin expected him to break into song, like a Broadway musical like Cats, but somehow more flamboyant.

  He continued, “Visitors could drive between the islands for day trips, expanding commerce exponentially. Plus, tourists would get two great destinations for the price of one. A game changer. The two segments of bridge would only need to span a mile. Honestly, I don’t know why this hasn’t been considered before.” Jacque clucked his tongue, “Like, duh!”

  Thomas Smith added, his face stony, “You’ll find the economic analysis in Section Two. It means a net eighty million a year in tax revenue for your constituents. Plus, will reduce the costs of recovery from future storms. With the state of the Territory’s debt and lost revenue, you’d be wise to back this.”

  The way he said wise felt like a threat. Like she was in an episode of the Sopranos.

  Smith bared his teeth as he talked. “We’re meeting with the Governor tomorrow. We’ve been assured he endorses the project.”

  Robin took off her glasses and rubbed the bridge of her nose. She ignored Smith. “Jacque, you know there’s a reason St. John doesn’t have a port deep enough for cruise ships, right? And the route for your bridge goes directly through waters with a protected reef system, designated part of the National Park by Federal statute. This is ludicrous.”

  Mr. Smith leaned forward, his chin jutting out, “Senator, with all due respect, if you read the goddamned proposal…”

  Jacque rested his hand on Smith’s shoulder, “Please, Thomas, let me.”