The Megalodon Mix-Up

by Amanda M. Lee

  The statement threw me for a loop. “I don’t have any intention of choosing the job over you. I get now why you wanted to keep it quiet, though. It’s ... a little scary. This is my first real job that doesn’t involve being an intern or asking someone if they want fries with their burger.”

  Jack chuckled as he collected my hand and gave it a squeeze. “Bernard and Millie have been doing this for years and they’re fine. I do believe Laura is going to become an issue at some point. She’s suspicious right now, but she doesn’t have proof. Eventually she’ll trip over that proof and she’ll want to make things difficult for you when she does.”

  “She already tries to make things difficult for me whenever she can swing it. I can handle that.”

  “Is there anything you can’t handle?” Jack’s eyes were plaintive. “Tell me. I would rather we deal with stuff together than hide our feelings or fears.”

  That was a nice sentiment. “I just don’t want Laura to make things hard for us. I haven’t learned everything I need to learn from this place yet.” I didn’t mean to say the second part out loud, but the words were already out of my mouth before I could pull them back. “I mean ... I’ve only been on a few assignments. I want to see more of the world before I lose the chance.”

  “You’re not going to lose the chance.” Jack was calm as he squeezed my fingers. “If it comes to it, I’ll quit my job. That way you’ll be safe.”

  I balked “You can’t quit your job. That’s not fair.”

  “There are hundreds of jobs I’m qualified for,” he pointed out. “You’re just starting. You need this job for a bit longer.”

  “I don’t want you to quit. Part of the reason I like this job so much is because of you.”

  He smiled, his eyes filling with delight. “That’s very sweet, but we don’t have to worry about this right now. Laura doesn’t know. She doesn’t have proof. We have time. We just need to play it safe in front of her for the time being. I think we’re both capable of that.”

  I swallowed hard and nodded. “Okay. I’ll do my best to keep from groping you.”

  He chuckled. “You’re obsessed with that word now, aren’t you?”

  “A little bit.”

  TY CROCKER DIDN’T LOOK like a normal scientist. He was young — in his early thirties — with long blond hair pulled back into a ponytail. He had one of those trendy beards that was well-groomed and (thankfully) devoid of food, and he was all smiles when he welcomed Jack and me into his office.

  “Welcome. I hear you’re with the Legacy Foundation. I’ve heard great things about the group.”

  “We’ve heard great things about you,” Jack said perfunctorily. He was good at getting information, even though he wasn’t always the easiest guy to get along with. “You’ve been with the aquarium for a few years, right?”

  “I consider this my home.” Crocker bobbed his head and smiled at me, his eyes lingering to the point I felt mildly uncomfortable. “You look familiar. Have we ever met?”

  “I doubt it,” I replied. “I’m not local.”

  “Yes, but there’s something about you.” He tapped his bottom lip, thoughtful. “Wait ... you’re the woman who fell in the Gulf near the whale yesterday. I have photos. That’s where I know you from.”

  Jack scowled as I fought to tamp down my embarrassment.

  “That would be me,” I conceded. “I swam with bull sharks and lived to tell the tale.”

  “You’re extremely lucky,” Crocker noted. “The whale carcass was enough to make the bull sharks territorial. They’re known to fight over food, go into frenzies. The more sharks that appeared in the area, the more likely they were to rip one another — and any interlopers — into pieces.”

  I swallowed hard at the unfortunate visual. “Oh, well ... .”

  “She’s fine,” Jack interjected, his eyes flashing. “She doesn’t need to be reminded of what happened. We got lucky and fished her out. She was a little shaky, but she’s back to her normal self now.”

  “I’m glad for that.” Crocker seemed sincere. “Things could’ve taken a tragic turn, but they didn’t. That’s good for all of us. The last thing we need is another shark attack right on the heels of that author dying. People are already irrationally afraid of sharks. An incident so close to the first would’ve unnecessarily added to a panic that could’ve resulted in sharks being slaughtered for no good reason. It’s happened before.”

  “Well, we don’t want that.” Jack shifted in his chair, clearly uncomfortable. “We do want to talk to you about the whale, though. It was big. I understand you were sent out to take a look. Do you have any idea how it died?”

  Crocker hedged. “I wasn’t aware you were here to investigate whales.”

  “We’re not,” Jack said. “We’re trying to figure out how Shayne Rivers ended up in the water. There’s no way of telling if she was dead before or after the sharks got to her. My boss is convinced there’s a large predator in the Gulf — something bigger than bull sharks — and we’re trying to figure out if a predator took down that whale or if it was something else.”

  “I see.” Crocker steepled his fingers, his expression grave. “I can’t say with any certainty what happened to the whale. Creatures die in the wild all the time. It’s rare that we can see a feeding frenzy like the one that occurred where Ms. Rhodes had her incident yesterday, but it’s not unheard of. It was a nice scientific find.

  “That said, I don’t know how the whale died,” he continued. “It was missing large portions of its anatomy. That could’ve happened from accidentally running into a ship ... or predators ripping apart the carcass after it died. As for a big predator taking it down, I think that’s unlikely. The Fin whale is the largest animal in the Gulf. There are no predators that could take it down.”

  “What about a Megalodon?” I asked automatically, earning a groan from Jack, which I opted to ignore. “A Megalodon is big enough to take it down, right?”

  Crocker worked his jaw, clearly trying to decide if I was serious. “Um ... .”

  “Ignore her,” Jack offered. “She’s just being Charlie.”

  “No, I want an answer,” I persisted. “Could a Megalodon have taken down that whale?”

  “Megalodons are extinct,” Crocker said finally. “They don’t live in the Gulf of Mexico.”

  “I understand, but let’s say a Megalodon somehow survived and was roaming around,” I said. “Could a Megalodon have taken out the whale?”

  “Not likely.” Crocker licked his lips, all traces of flirtatious energy disappearing. “A Megalodon would’ve eaten the whale. There would’ve been nothing to study after the fact. It wouldn’t have left a huge carcass behind.”

  “What if it couldn’t eat all of the remains? What if it was full?”

  “Sharks are almost never full,” Crocker replied. “Their entire existence consists of eating and then hunting for their next meal. They’re killing machines.”

  “So ... you’re saying it’s impossible that a bigger predator killed the whale and left the carcass behind,” I mused. “That’s kind of a bummer.”

  “Yes, a bummer.” I didn’t miss the look Crocker shot Jack. He clearly thought I was off my rocker. “Did you have any other questions? I should probably get back to work otherwise. As much as I love the idea of talking about Megalodons, I was under the impression you had legitimate questions about this area.”

  “We have a few,” Jack said. “I don’t want to take up much of your time, but I just want to clarify a few things regarding bull shark activity close to the shore. Most importantly, in regard to the author who died, would bull sharks have gone after her even if she was already dead?”

  Clearly more comfortable with Jack’s line of questioning than mine, Crocker relaxed a bit. “Absolutely. Bull sharks are scavengers, too. Is there a possibility she was already dead when she hit the water?”

  “There is. We’re trying to prove things either way.”

  “Well, I would love to be of help.
I hate it when the locals panic about shark activity. The odds of being attacked by a shark are slim. I’ll help however I can. What do you need to know?”

  Fifteen

  Jack was quiet on the way back to the resort.

  I was a big ball of annoyance.

  “I don’t like it when people talk down to me,” I announced.

  Jack arched an eyebrow. “I wasn’t talking down to you.”

  “Not you. I’m talking about the aquarium guy. Ty. Who names their kid Ty?”

  “It’s probably short for Tyler.”

  “I don’t like nicknames.”

  “Really, Charlotte?”

  I stilled, my agitation ramping up a notch. “That’s different. I never should’ve been named Charlotte in the first place. That name doesn’t fit me.”

  “I agree Charlie fits your personality better,” Jack said. “Maybe Ty fits his personality better.”

  “I still don’t like him.” I folded my arms over my chest and stared out the window. “He acts as if I don’t know that Megalodons are extinct. I know that. I watch Shark Week. I’m not a total idiot.”

  Instead of agreeing, Jack sighed. “I don’t think he was calling you an idiot. I believe he merely thought you were enthusiastic over something that couldn’t possibly be true.”

  “How is that different?”

  “Idiots aren’t cute. You happen to be adorable, something I think he believed from the moment he saw you ... until you started droning on and on about Megalodons.”

  Oh, well, that was just ridiculous. “All I said was that I didn’t think it was impossible for a large predator to be wandering around the Gulf munching on people. I hardly think that’s cause to nominate me for the Doofus Hall of Fame.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.” Jack pulled into the parking lot. The only open spot close to the front door happened to be next to J.D. Wells’ creepy van. “This thing really is garish.”

  I couldn’t argue with that. “I’m telling you, the only people who buy vans like this want to kidnap children and do detestable things to them – or dress like clowns.”

  Jack pocketed the keys and pushed open his door. “Clowns?”

  “They’re creepy.”

  He shook his head. “Come on, I have a plan for the rest of our afternoon.”

  “Does it include telling me I’m a moron for believing Megalodons could’ve survived?”

  “We’ll see how the afternoon goes.”

  IT TURNED OUT JACK’S IDEA wasn’t entirely bad. He found an outdoor bar, with appropriate shade so I didn’t melt, and we ordered iced tea and set up his laptop.

  “So, what are we doing?” I asked after the caffeine perked me up a bit. “Are we researching Megalodon migratory patterns? I think Chris and Hannah already did that. They didn’t find anything of use.”

  “Imagine that,” he drawled, his attention on his screen. “They didn’t find anything useful studying the migratory patterns of sharks when the land masses we call continents looked completely different. I’m shocked.”

  “Nobody needs your attitude.”

  “I’ll work on it.” He tapped a few keys. “As for what we’re doing, I’ve been running searches on some of these authors. It hasn’t been easy because tracking down real names is difficult. Luckily, I happen to know someone who could help.”

  “And who is that?”

  “I have a friend in the IRS.”

  “No one has friends in the IRS.”

  “I do. We served together overseas. He managed to help me track down real names to go with the pen names. It’s not exactly on the up-and-up, so I expect discretion if anyone asks where I got the information.”

  I was tickled he felt comfortable enough to confide in me. “Oh, well, I like learning things through nefarious means.”

  Jack grinned. “Somehow I knew that.” He motioned for me to move my chair closer. “Let’s see what we’ve got, shall we?”

  We started with Wells. He seemed the obvious choice.

  “His real name is John Smith,” Jack announced. “His wife’s maiden name is Christine Pratt. She’s listed as Christine Wells on his incorporation documents, but she never legally changed her name.”

  “Smith is a boring name.”

  “Which is probably why he changed it for writing purposes.”

  “True. What does it say?”

  “His background is clean, not as much as a parking ticket that I can find. Up until about a year ago he lived in a trailer park with his wife. They were living paycheck to paycheck, barely scraping by, and then he started making money with his books.”

  “Shark books?”

  “I don’t know. Haven’t you looked up his books?”

  “No.”

  “You have a phone.”

  I scowled. “And here I thought you were Mr. Information.”

  “I’m Mr. I Only Have So Much Patience and You’re Wearing On It.”

  I could see that. “I’m looking.” I scrolled through the information I found online. “It seems he started with a fantasy series, and it did pretty well. Then he wrote something called Killer Aliens: A Space Opera, and that has quite a few reviews, so that means it must have sold. I don’t see the shark book listed.”

  “He said he hadn’t published that yet, that he was hoping to rush the editing and get it out quickly,” Jack noted. “Maybe that’s a new genre for him.”

  I played with my bottom lip as I considered the logistics of Wells being a killer. “He’s kind of big,” I said. “I don’t mean that in a derogatory way. It’s just ... do you really think he could carry a body to the end of the pier and dump it over the side without help? That’s quite a walk.”

  “I’ve been thinking about that, too,” he admitted. “He has the van.”

  “You can’t drive a van on the pier.”

  “No, but you can drive a van to that small parking lot right next to the pier,” he pointed out.

  “And then what? He’d still have to walk the rest of the way.”

  “Not if he took a golf cart.”

  I knit my eyebrows. “What golf cart?”

  “The one the security guards keep handy at the base of the pier. I saw a few of them when we first arrived, and I checked. They leave them out there overnight.”

  “I bet they don’t leave them out there with keys. That would be an accident waiting to happen with so many bars on the premises.”

  “That’s a fair point, but it’s not hard to hotwire a golf cart. I know from personal experience.”

  “You’ve hotwired a golf cart?” I was skeptical. He was far too straight-laced for that.

  “Back in my younger days I liberated a golf cart from a local resort one evening.”

  I was learning more and more about him every day. “Did you get in trouble?”

  “I was grounded and had to work at the resort for free for six weeks. My father insisted.”

  I was impressed ... and slightly amused. “Oh, well, that’s terrible.” I fought the urge to laugh. “Were you a caddy?”

  “A cart kid.”

  “One of the guys who washes the carts?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I bet you learned your lesson on that one.”

  “I did,” he nodded. “Never stole another golf cart. That doesn’t mean Wells wouldn’t risk it to get rid of a body.”

  I sobered. “Okay, let’s say I agree that he’s a viable suspect, which I’m not sure I do. What’s his motive?”

  “Maybe Shayne Rivers was writing a shark book and was trying to steal his thunder. Didn’t that pimento cheese chick tell you that she was threatening to steal that mystery lady’s thunder by working with James Sanderson? Maybe she made a habit of stealing ideas from other writers.”

  It was an interesting thought. “The thing is ... there’s really nothing new left. Everything is old and just approached in a different manner. I can’t see stealing a shark attack book — of which there have been hundreds written — as a motive for murder.�
��

  Jack tilted his head, considering. “You’re probably right. That doesn’t seem like much of a motive. Maybe there’s more we haven’t discovered.”

  “Maybe, but he’s hardly the only suspect.”

  “True.” Jack moved on to Leslie Downs. “Okay, so I managed to pull police records. She writes under her real name. I don’t know if that’s smart or stupid.”

  “I would think most readers are normal and don’t want to hurt anyone,” I offered. “There’s probably only one wacko for every one-thousand normal readers.”

  “It only takes one wacko to cause a problem,” Jack noted. “That’s exactly what she did to James Sanderson, by the way. The story she told you was missing a few key details.”

  I leaned back in my chair and smirked. “I can’t wait to hear this. I knew she was off the minute I met her. Nobody has helmet hair these days ... unless they have severe mental problems.”

  “I’ll have to trust you on the hair, but if this author photo is any indication, I get where you’re coming from. So, Leslie Downs has been an author for several years. I don’t know if she ever published under a different name, but under her name she’s done some nutty stuff.

  “First, the James Sanderson thing was a bigger deal than I realized,” he continued. “Apparently it was all over the news.”

  “I don’t remember hearing about it.”

  “I’m betting if he’d been a Hollywood star things would’ve been different,” he said. “Anyway, according to the police report I managed to pull, Leslie Downs first tracked him down at some thriller conference in New York. He was signing books, and he did a question-and-answer session with readers. The first hint of trouble came when Leslie wanted to ask a question but wasn’t selected. She melted down and had to be escorted out of the building by security.”

  “That doesn’t sound freaky or anything.”

  Jack snickered. “That night, he was having dinner with his wife in the hotel dining room — an extremely ritzy establishment — and Leslie showed up at his table dressed as a waitress,” he said. “She asked for his autograph, went so far as to take his order, and then invited herself to sit down at his table.