An Equal Measure of Murder

by B. T. Lord

  Or was it because, despite feeling in the best mood she’d been in for weeks, there was still the knowing deep in her heart that perhaps she was being a little too optimistic about her recovery. Less than twenty-four hours ago, she’d been reduced to a quivering mass of nerves on Ellis’ boat because she’d allowed a memory to slip through her defenses.

  She paused and looked out over the barely discernible surf as it gently rolled in and out.

  She couldn’t deny how much she missed home. It was out there somewhere, beyond the horizon, beckoning to her. She missed her cabin, she missed her office. She missed Rick and Emmy and Doc. She even missed the irascible Bill Barnes. She longed to sit at Zee’s bar and stuff her face with one of his delectable burgers while listening to all the gossip he always managed to gather.

  However, it wouldn’t be fair to Clarke County to come back a mess. She had to return knowing that even if she wasn’t 100% healed, she could at least get through the days and nights with her emotions and sanity intact.

  Her thoughts were interrupted when she felt a buzzing in her pocket. Thinking it was Jace checking up on her whereabouts, she took off her glove and fished for the phone. Looking at the display, she was surprised to see Ellis Martin’s name.

  “Hello,” she answered.

  “Cammie, this is Ellis. I thought you’d like to know what I’ve discovered so far. By the way, are you in some kind of wind tunnel?”

  She laughed. “I’m actually walking on the beach.”

  “You have a thing for walking out in rainstorms, don’t you? You must be part duck.”

  She chuckled. “It may be raining where you are. It’s only misting here. Hold on while I get behind the sand dunes. That should cut down on the noise.” She scrambled up and over the sand dunes and sat down on the cold sand. “How do I sound now?”

  “Much better. I checked out the shops on both Eagla and Sarke, but no one reports missing a mannequin. I spoke to the captain of the ferry to see if he’d recently delivered any large packages to the islands and came up empty there as well.”

  “Sounds like you’re back to square one.”

  “Not quite. One of the shopkeepers told me about a seamstress she hires during the summers to do alterations on the pricey dresses she sells. She lives on Eagla and her name is Elsie Bond. When I called her, she told me she keeps several mannequins in her backyard shed that she uses when she’s doing her modifications. I had her check and sure enough, one was missing.”

  “But she has no idea when it was stolen?”

  “She knows they were all there at the end of October because she used them as costume props during Halloween.”

  “That certainly fits into our timeline,” Cammie replied. “The mannequin is stolen near October 31st and I see it being dumped overboard a few days later.” She paused. “Looks like it really was some kind of a teenage prank.”

  “There’s also the other theory we came up with - that it was some sort of trial run on where the tides would take a body. Unfortunately, there’s nothing I can do until I actually have a body to work with.”

  “Let’s hope it doesn’t come to that. In fact, I’m going to be positive and declare that the Case of the Washed-up Mannequin is officially closed.”

  He laughed. “I’m all for that. By the way, thanks for your help yesterday.”

  “I didn’t do anything except pepper you with nosey questions. Once an investigator, always an investigator, I guess.” She chuckled. “I should actually be the one thanking you. You were the only person on Eagla that took me seriously.”

  “I take it Glenn and Maud are no longer waiting to call the white van to take you away.”

  “On the contrary. After you and I spoke to them, they’ve been falling all over themselves being nice to me.”

  “Glad to hear it.”

  They said their good-byes and hung up. She climbed back over the sand dunes and continued her cold and slightly wet walk along the beach. Once again, she felt that tiny spark of excitement bubbling up over the conclusion of a case. Despite her words to Ellis, she couldn’t completely dismiss his worry that the mannequin had been some sort of trial run, but who on the island would be marked for such a death? As he’d explained to her the day before, the islanders had spent centuries policing each other. Even with his presence, she didn’t doubt they were still keeping an eye on their neighbors. Now that summer was over, and the strangers were gone, they were back to living with people they knew. Having lived in a small town for years, she was very much aware how much locals kept tabs on each other’s comings and goings. She didn’t doubt the Coffins were the same. That alone would make it extremely difficult to hide such a crime.

  It was probably what they’d first suspected – a kid on a dare throwing a mannequin out of a boat during a rainstorm. Growing up as the offspring of fishermen, the teenagers could probably handle a boat in all kinds of weather with one hand tied behind their back.

  Turning towards the hotel, her mind drifted once more to Twin Ponds. The only way she’d know if she was ready to return home was to dredge up the memories of what happened. If she could think about it without falling apart, she’d be good to go.

  Part of the process involved calling Rick after dinner. She’d catch up with him on what was going on, making sure to couch her reasons for calling in such a way that he wouldn’t think she didn’t trust him. After that, she’d call Doc and actually discuss the reasons behind her trip to Eagla. If she could get through that, she was sure Doc would give her the green light to return home.

  She didn’t delude herself that it would be easy. But the sooner she got this monkey off her back, the quicker she and Jace could return to their old lives in Twin Ponds.

  Violet felt her peace of mind slipping away. She had yet to get a good night’s sleep, and it was taking a toll on her. She was still upset Teddy had left. And if she’d believed that with her eldest gone, Andrew would buckle down and assist in packing up the house, she’d quickly discovered how wrong she was. Andrew was disappearing for long stretches of time. When he did decide to grace her with his presence, she felt she was sitting across from a stranger. It worried her that he looked as though he had the weight of the world on his shoulders. He constantly looked haggard and washed out, and she wondered if he too was having trouble sleeping. She’d always suspected he drank, but never to the extent she was witnessing since their arrival on the island.

  When she passed by his room the other day and saw him getting dressed, she’d been horrified by how thin he was. Already slender, it looked as though he’d lost an additional twenty pounds. Surely, it couldn’t be just the drinking that was making him look like a wraith?

  She could no longer run away from the fact that all of this was her fault. The hard truth was that she’d spent years enabling him. Unlike Teddy, who took over Edward’s financial consulting business, Andrew had always been a dreamer. She’d quietly subsidized his lifestyle so he could pursue his desire of becoming a writer. He constantly regaled her with plot points and character profiles and little twists and turns he’d scribbled down on random pieces of paper. She had yet to see the fruits of these ideas appear in a finished manuscript and tried her best to believe his creation of the next great American Novel was just around the corner. She couldn’t just abandon him. He had no other means of support. If she turned her back on him, he’d flounder.

  But isn’t he doing that now?

  She realized all she’d done was delude herself. His writing career was built on a house of cards. Yet, she was too exhausted to think about it. The only way she was going to get through the rest of the week was to focus on packing up what she could. Once she returned home, she’d make a decision on Andrew. She’d make a decision on a lot of things.

  After showering, she threw on a pair of jeans and a thick woolen sweater. She padded downstairs to make the coffee. Walking across the living room towards the kitchen, she slowed her step when she saw one of Phil’s framed photographs that had hung on the
living room wall sitting on the counter near the coffeemaker. Drawing closer, she picked it up and saw that it was a photograph of the house. It was in black and white, captured in a moment when the fog was rolling in from the ocean. It had always been one of her favorites, bringing forth memories of when the family had been united. Before Edward was taken from her. Before Andrew sank into alcoholism. Before Teddy –

  She deliberately veered her mind away. Her wistfulness at seeing the photo turned to frustration when she realized it was probably Andrew who had taken it down and left it on the kitchen counter. Once again, he’d started something only to leave it half done. Just like everything else in his life.

  Violet clicked her tongue in disgust as she realized that, as usual, she was going to have to be the one to take down each photograph, wrap it in bubblewrap and put it in the moving box. In the meantime, she’d put it back up on the wall so she could keep all the photos together when it was time to pack them. Hanging it on the nail, her eyes rested on the next photo, this one taken when she and Edward had first gotten married. Seeing his young handsome face, her heart shattered into a thousand pieces. The pain hardened her resolve to carry through with her decision to get rid of this house. It was time for another family to make their own memories here. Hers were done and ready to be stored away.

  She set about making the coffee and frying up some bacon and eggs, hoping she could coax Andrew to eat. When she was done, she walked to the foot of the stairs.

  “Andrew! Breakfast is ready!”

  Preoccupied with whether she should begin with the basement or the attic after breakfast, she jumped in fright when she heard a crash. Whirling around, she saw the photograph she’d just replaced on the wall lying on the floor, its glass front broken and the wooden frame missing a piece that had splintered off when it hit the hard surface. “How in heavens’ name…?” she muttered to herself as she hurried to get the vacuum cleaner out before Andrew came downstairs barefoot and walked over the glass. She was just finishing up when he appeared. She stifled a gasp when she saw the condition he was in. His khakis were wrinkled and stained, his shirt was ripped near the collar and his eyes looked sunken.

  My God, he’s wasting away before my eyes.

  “I thought we pay Splash to keep this place clean,” he said in a clear voice that belied his disheveled appearance.

  “One of Phil’s pictures just fell off the wall.”

  “Yeah? Which one?”

  “The one you placed on the kitchen counter.”

  He gave his mother a quizzical look. “What are you talking about?”

  She picked up the photograph, now missing the glass and handed it to him. “I found this on the counter when I came down to make the coffee.”

  He glanced at it and handed it back. “Sorry Mom, but I didn’t take it off the wall. Maybe Teddy left it there before he abandoned us to do all the work.”

  She swallowed a retort. “Well, it doesn’t matter. I’m making us some eggs and bacon.”

  “Great. I’m starved.”

  As he went into the kitchen to get a cup of coffee, Violet looked down at the photograph in her hand. Suddenly, she felt an icy chill run down her spine. “Do you feel cold?” she asked.

  “Nope.” Andrew glanced at her. “Maybe you’re coming down with something. It’s just like Teddy to take off when you need him the most.”

  “Let’s not talk about that,” she said firmly. She placed the picture on a nearby table and returned the vacuum to the closet. She was sure the cold she’d felt was from one of the uninsulated windows. Another reason to sell this house. Let the next owner pay for sealing the place against the cold winter winds.

  Violet went into the kitchen to finish preparing breakfast. As she passed Andrew, she caught a whiff of the unmistakable smell of liquor. Depression overcame her, and it was all she could do to get through breakfast without screaming out her pain and exasperation.

  An hour later, Violet was standing in the middle of the attic. Over the years the space had become a catch-all for the items they didn’t need, but never got around to tossing. She knew there were years’ worth of things up there, going back to the time of Phil.

  “Oh my,” she murmured as she found herself staring at endless piles of boxes under the eaves. This was going to take forever. The sooner she tackled it, the sooner she could get done. Especially since the sweater she’d put on that morning wasn’t keeping her warm against the chill in the unheated room.

  She pulled out the first box. Knowing she’d never be able to see the contents in the weak light thrown off by the lone lightbulb that hung from the ceiling, she grabbed the corners and dragged it across the floor towards the window where sunlight streamed in. She repeated the process with several more boxes. By the time she was done, she was already feeling warmer from the exertion. Returning to the first box, she took off the lid. Her hand flew to her mouth as she stared down in disbelief and horror.

  There, atop a pile of old toys was the photograph of the house in the fog. The glass front was missing, and the wooden frame was splintered in the exact spot as the photo that, only an hour before, had fallen off the living room wall.

  CHAPTER TEN

  Rick climbed into his vehicle feeling slightly defeated. It had been a long shot that he’d find any information on 123 Fern Street by talking to its owners, but as Cammie had often told him, it didn’t hurt to try. As expected however, they knew nothing about the history of the house. They’d been there for fifteen years and only knew it had been built in 1946.

  As Rick started to pull away from the curb, he paused. He’d seen the house countless times, but he’d never noticed how different it looked from all the other houses in the small community. Except for color, they all pretty much looked the same – the similar cookie cutter construction Emmy explained had been used after the Second World War to quickly create homes for the returning soldiers. Yet 123 Fern Street had, at one time in its past, been noticeably altered. It was much larger than the other homes, with a glass enclosed addition built in the back. The front porch had been widened and a dormer put in upstairs to expand the bedrooms. It suddenly occurred to Rick that if these changes were made after the house was built, there had to be construction permits and architectural plans filed with the town.

  He immediately turned his car around and headed back to HQ.

  “Will you stop breathing down my neck? I’m looking as fast as I can,” Emmy scolded as he stood directly over her while she worked at her computer trying to find the pertinent information.

  “I can’t believe I never noticed it before.”

  “That’s because you never needed to notice it before. Ah, here’s something.”

  Rick immediately grabbed his chair and rolled it next to her. Emmy inwardly sighed. If he sat any closer, he’d be in her lap. Which wouldn’t be such a bad thing.

  “Here are the original blueprints for the area.” She expanded the photograph and slowly moved her mouse over it. “Looks like some of the houses were slightly bigger than the others, but they’re all basically the same, including 123 Fern.”

  “Then one of the owners expanded it. Maybe it’s the person who lived there before 1955.” He looked at her. “We need to find those papers.”

  “Rick, the addition to 123 Fern could have been done at any time, not necessarily during the years that are missing.”

  “I know that. But if they were done before 1955 and the permits have also disappeared, it points to someone deliberately erasing any trace of their ownership. There’s no reason for that except to cover up their proximity to where the hatchet was buried. I smell a rat and it ain’t pretty.”

  “Okay. Please return to your desk and let me work in peace. Better yet, go out on your rounds. The sooner I track down what we need on the computer, the better the chances are that you won’t need to return to see Edwina.”

  Rick jumped out of his chair, grabbed his coat and flew out of HQ. Emmy laughed, then turned back to her desktop.


  After walking up and down Main Street, Rick climbed into his car and slowly drove down the back streets that made up the suburbs of Twin Ponds. Although the temperatures were hovering near freezing, the sun was bright, and the sky was a crystalline blue. Alone, soaking up the warmth from the heater, his mind instantly reverted back to 123 Fern and the mystery surrounding its missing records. Maybe he was just spinning his wheels. Maybe the lost real estate files meant nothing. Maybe it had absolutely no connection to the bloody hatchet.

  Maybe the Tooth Fairy really does exist.

  Yet, mixed with his instinct was a fear that maybe he was fixating on this too much in an effort to prove to himself that if there truly was a mystery, he could readily solve it. He’d show the world – and himself - he was every bit as good as Cammie.

  It was a truth he didn’t feel comfortable confronting.

  Is my ego really that big? Or am I that pathetically insecure?

  He sighed. There was no point going over it until Emmy finished her digging. As an accomplished hacker, if there was any chance of finding the records online, she’d do it. In the meantime, in an effort to let it go, he flipped on the radio, raised it to ear shattering decibels and sang along with Beyoncé.

  An hour later, he was turning back towards HQ when the radio went off. He instantly snatched up the receiver.

  “Em, what did you find?”

  “I’m still searching. But I got a call from the construction manager at what used to be the old Taylor mansion. He wants you to get down to the construction site.”

  “He find a bloody hatchet too?” Rick joked.

  “It’s worse. He says they found a skeleton while getting the ground ready to pour the foundation. I’ve already called Doc. He’s on his way over there now.”