“Did you buy that bit from Elwell’s wife that one of us did it?” It was Edith Hickle, the owner of the glass-bottom boat.
“I don’t want to,” said the man who owned Russo’s Grocery Store. I thought his name was Fred Russo. “Seems like she had as good a reason as any of us.”
“Yeah, all Elwell’s money and property gives her about ten million reasons.”
Ten million? I never would have suspected Elwell had that kind of money from the way he dressed. Armadillo shell hats must be way more expensive than I guessed. The two said their good nights.
“Eavesdropping?” Rhett said from behind me.
I jumped and clapped my hands over my mouth to keep from screaming. He was right behind me. Too close. His voice a whisper. Once the two heritage owners climbed in their cars, I dropped my hands and whirled around.
“What are you doing here?” I asked. I didn’t manage to disguise the annoyance in my voice. At least I hoped I sounded annoyed and not scared, which might be closer to the truth. That someone could walk up behind me without my knowing it completely unnerved me. Thank heavens it was only Rhett. There was a killer on the loose.
“After I walked my grandmother to her car, I took a walk down the beach. It’s a beautiful night.” He gestured toward the Gulf.
“What was that toast about?”
“I wanted you to know that I wasn’t going to throw you under the bus. I’ll keep your secret.”
“Why would you? That’s what I don’t understand. Even if you did say it was to protect me.”
“I have my reasons.”
The clouds had cleared, and the moon sparkled on the calm water. He was right about the beautiful night. “You’re always around,” I said.
“Get used to it. I live here. My boat’s here. It’s a small town. The better question is, what are you doing here?”
I started rattling off my story about my car.
“Yeah, I heard that, but somehow I don’t believe it. Am I right?”
“I’m here to help Vivi. Does anything else matter?”
“Maybe not.” He paused and stared down at me. “You intrigue me, Chloe Jackson.” Rhett walked away toward the marina.
CHAPTER 11
I intrigued him? Well, back at you, buddy. I didn’t want to outright follow him—that would be too obvious—but I did want to know which boat was his. So instead of walking behind the Sea Glass, I crossed in front of it. The soft sand slowed me a bit. I slipped off my sandals to make myself even quieter.
The sand was warm and dry between my toes, the air still heavy with humidity at this time of night. I walked in front of the Briny Pirate too, but cut between it and the two-story condominium building next to it. At the back edge of it, I ducked out my head and peered to the left. Rhett walked his usual confident stride about twenty feet ahead of me. I was just about to call out to him—enough of this sneaking-around stuff—when someone stepped out of the shadows behind him. I opened my mouth to yell watch out.
“Rhett.” A woman’s voice.
Rhett turned and waited for the woman. When she caught up, they continued on shoulder to shoulder. They walked under one of the marina’s lights, and I saw it was Ann Williams. Maybe he needed a handywoman, and she looked pretty darn handsy—whoops—handy in her sarong skirt and bikini top. Of course they’d be a couple. They looked stunning together. I did an about-face and headed home.
* * *
You could just sleep in, I told myself on Tuesday morning. Soft light filtered in through a crack in the tan curtains. It must be just before sunup. I stretched in Boone’s king size bed with its soft sheets. I’d left the slider ajar again so I could listen to the Gulf. You don’t have anywhere you have to be. But the soft slap of the waves called to me. And if I was going to get a run in today, it had better be now, before it got any hotter.
I pulled on shorts, a tank, socks, and my running shoes—threw the tan comforter up in a hasty attempt at making the bed. I filled my reusable bottle full of water and set out walking to the water’s edge. One of the many reasons I ran was because I loved to eat. Maybe I’d treat myself to something special today. I headed west again this morning, and it wasn’t because of Rhett and knowing his boat was in the marina somewhere. Yeah, yeah, yeah. The man was hot. I was young and single. Although, after what I’d seen last night, maybe he wasn’t. So I told myself I didn’t want to be facing the sun when it burst over the horizon. With no clouds in the sky, it would be brutal.
As I ran, I thought again of Rhett’s to secrets toast. It nagged at me. Sure, he’d told me that he wasn’t going to mention my sleeping on Boone’s boat. But was that just a cover story he wanted out there? Did it have anything to do with Elwell? That’s the only thing that made sense to me with the little information I had. I should have just been honest with Deputy Biffle. Because now the omission was bigger and the consequences scarier. It made me look guilty of something.
A couple of dolphins broke the surface about twenty feet out. I hadn’t seen any this close in before. They surfaced and dove and resurfaced. It looked like they were playing, but they were probably eating. It didn’t matter. They took my mind off my woes and let me enjoy a few moments of peace. The dolphins and I kept pace together until they circled back to the east.
I ran beyond the Sea Glass and Briny Pirate to the opening between it and the condominium where I’d peered out from last night when I was watching Rhett. I walked along the marina, catching my breath, wiping sweat from my brow. Some of the slips were empty, some occupied. I came to a boat named Scarlett. If Rhett’s family stuck to their weird obsession with Gone with the Wind, then surely this was his boat. It was a lot bigger, more expensive-looking boat than Boone’s, with a cabin that probably had plenty of sleeping space and an upper deck with a lounge area in the front. I almost stopped in my tracks when I noticed the next boat was named Tara. Instead, I kept going, cut back down to the beach, and ran home.
* * *
After I showered and ate a light breakfast, I pulled out my phone and read the local newspaper. This time there was an article about Elwell’s death, but no mention of the way he was murdered. There was also an obituary. He was survived by his wife, Gloria, and his daughter, Ivy. Why wasn’t Ivy at the memorial last night? Elwell had lived in Emerald Cove his whole life. He owned a car dealership in Fort Walton Beach and a land development company. Elwell also managed a slew of rental properties—maybe as part of his land development company. It was hard to tell if he owned them too.
The rentals and the land development both seemed like businesses that could create a lot of conflict. Heck, maybe even the car dealership was rife with problems that could lead to murder. The sheriff should know this, so hopefully, they were following those trails already. But I couldn’t count on it. I had to keep vigilant for Vivi—for Boone. I’d have to do some more digging. So far, all I’d done was read up on Elwell. I’d probably find out more by talking to people who knew him than by reading articles. And I had the day off, so it was the perfect time to do just that.
* * *
At ten fifteen, I approached a kiosk across from the large, circle-shaped town green that marked the middle of Emerald Cove. While I missed the skyscrapers, the “L,” and the Chicago River, there was no doubt this town was charming. A white gazebo sat smack in the middle of the green, with a flagpole at one end and a playground at the other. Benches and picnic tables were scattered around. Live oaks provided some shade. A group of kids played tag, while a male barbershop quartet practiced in the gazebo. Two-story, brick-fronted shops, galleries, and restaurants flanked the town green. It looked a lot like the set of the TV show Hart of Dixie.
A road wrapped around the circle, and the town’s five main streets spiked off it. I’d heard that from above it looked like a starfish, with each of the main streets one of the arms. The two lower arms led to the beach. The upper one connected to Highway 98 and went on into Destin to the west and Panama City to the east. The middle-west arm curled around
one of the coastal lakes and over to the harbor. The middle-east arm ended in a housing area. Various other streets ran off the main arms.
I stood at the window of the small, wooden kiosk, smiling at a young woman with dreads.
“Help you?” she asked.
“One ticket for the Redneck Rollercoaster, please.” Elwell’s wife’s accusation that someone in the Sea Glass had killed him hung with me. As did my concern for Vivi. A tour might give me some history of the heritage businesses.
“For ten dollars more, you can take a ride on the glass-bottom boat.”
“Do I have to ride the boat today?”
“No. It’s good for a week,” she said.
I forked over the extra money in exchange for my tickets. I drifted over to where a group of people were waiting in a queue to board the trolley. The ticket taker was one of the men who’d been at the memorial for Elwell. His name was Ralph Harrison, and he was the owner of the trolley. He wore a turquoise shirt embroidered with small pink flamingos and had a short, graying Afro. Four people stood in front of me. Two older women and two men who looked to be in their early forties.
Ralph introduced himself to each customer, making jokes with everyone as he worked his way down the line collecting tickets. When he stopped at the group in front of me, he said, “Who do we have here?”
One of the women hooked her thumb toward the man behind her. “I’m Gladys, and that’s my partner.”
The man turned as pink as the flamingos on the Ralph’s shirt and shook his head violently. “I’m her son,” he finally managed to choke out. He pointed to the man with him. “That’s my partner and that’s my aunt,” he said, pointing to the other woman.
The mom looked confused by her son’s embarrassment.
Ralph looked back and forth at them before bursting out laughing. “You’re in the right place. Get the heck on board.”
Ralph turned to me as the group climbed on board. The son was trying to explain to his mother why she couldn’t say he was her partner, and they all had a good laugh as they sat down.
“You’re the girl who showed up at Vivi’s bar,” Ralph said.
After the memorial service for Boone, there’d been a gathering at the Sea Glass much like the one for Elwell, only sadder, much, much sadder. The next day, I’d shown up at the Sea Glass and told Vivi I needed a job. I needed money to pay for my car. Vivi looked like she was going to say no when Joaquín intervened.
“We need the help, Vivi,” Joaquín had said.
Vivi had given a short nod, then said, “You train her. She’s your problem.”
Welcome to the Sea Glass, I’d thought, but at least I had a foot in the door. In the moment, I chalked up Vivi’s curtness to the stress of losing Boone. Now I wasn’t sure what it was about. I considered telling Ralph the truth, but decided it wasn’t worth it. No one else knew the real reason I was here; why should he? “I am. I’m Chloe Jackson,” I said as I handed him my ticket.
“Ralph Harrison.” He stuck out his hand and we shook. “You didn’t have to buy a ticket. You work for Vivi, so you’re good in my eyes.” He patted a couple of pockets before pulling out a piece of paper. “Here’s a free coupon for a milkshake at the diner.”
“Thank you.” I boarded and took the seat right behind the driver’s. The benches were hard wood, the large windows wide open. Maybe I could strike up a conversation and find out more about Ralph and any connections he might have to Elwell.
A few minutes later, Ralph climbed into the driver’s seat. Our eyes met in the rearview mirror. He started the trolley and put on a headset so he could talk as he drove. So much for hoping we could talk. It would be hard enough to find out anything about Ralph, much less Elwell. After a safety briefing—keep your hands in the trolley and don’t stand up—we took off around the circle with a jerk.
“Our first stop will be the beach. Finest sand in the whole wide world, and the whitest too. This sand used to be quartz from the Appalachian Mountains, which is why it sometimes squeaks when you walk. Emerald Cove was settled by New Englanders. Back then, they weren’t so much attracted by the mild winters and the clear water but by the abundant fishing. If y’all have any questions, just shout them on out.”
“Why’s it called the Redneck Rollercoaster?” someone asked.
“That’s a mighty fine question,” Ralph answered. He made it sound like no one had ever asked him that before. “When my grandpappy started this business, we didn’t understand the importance of the dunes, how fragile they are, or how important the seagrass is to their health. Folks would come out here in jeeps and drive over the dunes. Some dunes were so tall and dropped so low, it felt like a roller-coaster. Cheap entertainment, and a hell of a good time when you’re a teenager.”
Ralph’s voice had changed just a bit as he talked about the history. It sounded more tense to me. Even though I could see his smile in the big rearview mirror as he said the words.
Ralph pulled over by the dunes. “Great photo op here, folks. Stay on the walkways and off the dunes. We’ll take a ten-minute break.”
People climbed off, but I stayed on. “I feel like there’s more to the story, Ralph.”
He flipped off the mic and turned to me. “Aren’t you a perceptive thing. I guess the drinks last night didn’t leave me in top form.”
“Are you going to tell me the rest?”
Ralph rubbed his forehead. “This is the South.”
“Segregation?” The book I’d read about this area had mentioned whites-only beaches and venues.
“Yep. My grandfather and his friends weren’t welcome at the whites-only amusement parks along the Panhandle, so they made their own fun.”
“Maybe people need to hear that.”
“People are here to get away. Not for a history lesson. But if you are interested in history, I’ve got a story for you.”
“I’m all ears.”
“Back in the sixties, they brought a lot of pot from Mexico up here by boat. So much that when the Coast Guard went out after them, they’d just toss it overboard and skedaddle.” Ralph smiled at some far-off memory. “The bales of pot would wash up on shore or bob around close enough for fishermen to get them. They called it the save-the-bales campaign.”
“No way. Really?”
He chuckled. “Really. Now, I’m not saying I ever saved any bales. Just that I heard about them.” He reached in a cooler and got out a bottle of icy-cold water. “Want one?”
“Yes, please. What’s the real reason you call it the Redneck Rollercoaster?” My Northern prejudice might be coming in to play again. I’d always pictured rednecks as being white guys in baseball caps and hunting gear.
“Being a redneck is a state of mind. Just like all people from—where’d you say you came from?”
I hadn’t. “Illinois.”
“Just like all people in Illinois aren’t the same, neither are rednecks. I’m from a long line of Southern hunters with grannies who cooked collard greens and shrimp and grits. Rednecks make do with what they have. That’s where the name really came from. Can’t ride a real roller coaster. You make the best of what you have. And let me tell you, flying over the top of the dune was a heck of a lot of fun.”
“Things have changed a lot,” I said. “But all of you heritage owners have remained close.” I wondered how Elwell fit in with the group. What his background was.
“It was a lot different back then. No one thought these beaches with their scrub oak were worth much. Couldn’t have been more wrong about that. There were barely any paved roads to Emerald Cove, or Destin, for that matter.” He tipped back his head and drank the rest of the water in a few large gulps. “All of us owners were close. Are close.”
“It seems like you were all close to Elwell even though he wasn’t one of the heritage business owners.
“That’s true. Elwell, though,” he paused and shook his head, “now that boy had some problems and pissed off the wrong people.”
Before I could ask more,
he rang a bell and flipped his mic back on. “Getch your heinies back on board.”
Ralph’s good old boy routine hid a shrewd mind and a painful past. While some people used the trolley as a hop-on/hop-off, I stayed on for the full circuit, but Ralph didn’t share anymore information with me.
At one point, fighter jets drowned out his narration. “That’s the sound of freedom, folks,” Ralph said when he could be heard. “We have two nearby Air Force bases. Eglin, where the jets live, to the north, and Hurlburt, home of Air Force Special Forces, to the west.”
The heritage businesses were all within five miles of each other. Most were close to the beach, which made sense because at the time they opened, fishing was the big draw. When we got back to the center of town, I stood.
“Hold up a minute while everyone unloads,” he said to me.
He jumped down and helped people off as needed. He turned to the woman who’d made the partner comment earlier. “You and your partner have a good stay, ya hear?” He patted the son on the back, and they all had another chuckle. Once everyone was off, I climbed down. Ralph held out his hand and I placed mine in it for the last step. But once I was off, he didn’t let go. He tightened his grip to firm but not quite hurting.
“What are you really doing at Vivi’s?” he asked. “Most people don’t just show up some place and start working whether they’re welcome or not.”
How’d he know I wasn’t welcome? It made me wonder what Vivi had been saying about me. “I . . .” I told him the same story I’d told Vivi about my car. “Fixing a vintage Beetle is expensive. I didn’t have the money for the repairs.” I was an adept liar. It came from working around kids all the time. My friends gasped in horror when I said that, but I always pointed out that kids get lied to all the time—Santa Claus, Easter Bunny, Tooth Fairy, Elf on the Shelf. I’m proud to say I wasn’t above doing it at the library when absolutely necessary to prevent a catastrophe.
From Beer to Eternity Page 7
