Pelican Beach Murder

by Phyllis H Moore

  She saw tears in the girl’s eyes as she came nearer. “What’s the matter, honey?” Meg said.

  “It’s horrible,” the girl managed to say. “Something terrible happened, and when Beth, our instructor, got here this morning, there was a woman’s body in the water, just down there.” The girl turned and pointed toward the surf.

  Meg’s hand went to her mouth. “I’m so sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

  “The police are here talking to Beth. She’s real upset.”

  “I can imagine,” Meg said, recalling her own experience with discovering a dead body. “Does anyone know who the woman is?”

  “No, we don’t. None of us recognize her. She’s dead. The police told us she’s definitely dead, but her face is a mess.” The girl coughed as if she might throw up. “They thought coyotes might’ve … I don’t know, but now they think it might be stab wounds. We can hear them talking about it. I don’t know how they do that.”

  “How awful. Is she a young woman?”

  “It’s hard to tell. Her body looks good, but there are wounds there also. She has some tattoos, but that doesn’t mean anything. I think she’s younger because her shirt has the F-word on it.”

  Meg had been staring at the group, but her eyes shot back to the girl’s face when she mentioned the shirt. “The F-word? Did it say something about a mermaid?”

  “Yes, it said ‘I’m a F@#$ing Mermaid,’ and she’s wearing cutoffs. So she’s probably not that old.”

  “I think I might know who she is,” Meg admitted. “I don’t want to go over there.” She shook her head. “If there’s a butterfly tattoo on the nape of her neck, I know her. She has other tattoos, but I never could make out what they are.”

  “I can tell the cops,” the girl said. “Wait here unless I wave you to go on.”

  As Meg watched the girl walk away toward her yoga group, another police car pulled up and turned on their emergency lights. They began putting yellow tape around the area where the body was covered. She watched, but the girl never waved to her. Meg continued to stand at the edge of the water, taking sips of the cooling coffee. Eventually a uniformed female officer began walking toward her.

  “Hello,” the officer said. “I’m Leah Hendrix. I understand you might be acquainted with the victim?”

  “Is this a murder?” Meg asked.

  “We’re still investigating, but the woman is either a victim of an accident or homicide. We’re pretty sure of that. The scene is gruesome, and I don’t want you to have to view the body, but if you could give me the details you know about the person you think it might be, I can verify it.”

  She took a deep breath. “The woman I know, who often swims here at night, has been staying in the Charles house across the road.” The officer was taking notes on a computer tablet as Meg spoke. “She introduced herself to me as Echo Charles. She was about my height, slender with medium-length honey blonde hair. She often wore it up in a ponytail with clips on the side. Echo has pierced ears. When I saw her, she wore those large silver loop earrings, the really big ones. She has a small butterfly tattoo on the nape of her neck, just above where a collar would be.” Meg grabbed the back of her neck rubbing where Echo’s tattoo could be found. “Echo has other tattoos on her upper back and arms, though I’m not sure what they were, those Chinese symbols and such. She has one of those little silver balls piercing her nose.” Meg pointed to the side of her nose where Echo’s piercing was, feeling her hand shake.

  “I’ve seen her wear two tank tops. One of them said ‘You Can’t Touch These’ and the other said ‘I’m a F@#$ing Mermaid.’”

  The officer showed no reaction to Meg’s description as she continued taking notes. “Was there anything else? Anything about her clothing or habits you can remember?”

  Meg ran her tongue over her lips and swallowed. “She never wore a bra when I saw her. She always wore cutoffs, very short. The pockets hung below the bottom of them. She has a dark mole just above her upper lip on the right side.” She had to raise her hand again and motion to her own face to recall the location of Echo’s mole. “If it’s Echo, she came to the cottage where I’ve been staying a few times, maybe three. It was one thing and then another about the house she was staying in: the electricity was off, their phones died because they couldn’t charge them, they ran out of gasoline for the generator. There was always some inconvenience she needed assistance with.”

  “You say ‘they.’ Who else was staying there?” The officer glanced up from her note taking.

  “She said it was her boyfriend, Leon. I never met him. My gut told me he was abusive because Echo had bruises on her shoulder and upper arms. I questioned her, but she denied he ever hit her.”

  “Where are you staying?”

  Meg pointed to the cottage. “I walk down this way most mornings.”

  “What about a vehicle? Did you ever see her driving a vehicle?”

  “I’m terrible about identifying cars,” Meg admitted. “The first time she came over, she was driving a dark, rusted minivan, one like families used to have before the Suburban became so popular. It might’ve been navy blue, but the color was faded. A few days later, she drove up in a nice sports car. It was white, a Corvette. She said her minivan was out of gas and a friend allowed her to use the car.”

  “I’ll need to do a more thorough interview, and it might be best to get out of the sun and sit down. Is there anyone else at your cottage? Could we speak there in privacy?”

  “Sure. It’s just me there. My friend left earlier this morning. My cat and I are the only ones there now.”

  “Why don’t you go back home, and I’ll drive around and meet you there.” The officer began walking back to the group, and Meg turned to head back to the cottage. She was certain the body on the beach was Echo. Why would the officer want to continue to question her if it wasn’t?

  Meg felt hollow. She was glad Jean and Gizmo were on the road and didn’t have to experience the upset of knowing Echo had probably been murdered.

  Her thoughts rushed as she walked, considering all the possibilities of who could have perpetrated such a crime.

  Her first assumption was that the murderer must’ve been male. The statistics indicated it would be, and they would be someone close to the victim, a spouse or boyfriend. Leon? Having never met the man, Meg had no idea about his size, weight, or character. She couldn’t confirm that Echo had been abused. Maybe the younger woman had been accurate when saying she was clumsy. She was ditsy, in Meg’s opinion. If she had to describe her personality to anyone, she might say Echo was inane, maybe not stupid, but crass and immature. She had trouble believing Echo was in her thirties, as Katie had told her. It was believable that she would also be clumsy. Although, Meg had observed her march across soft sand in bare feet with the precision of a dancer, even graceful.

  By the time Meg was up the stairs of the cottage, Officer Hendrix was headed up the lane toward the house. Meg fed LaRue and prepared to make the officer coffee.

  The visit and interview lasted about an hour. She left Meg a card and said they would probably be checking back with her as more questions about the victim arose. Meg pointed out that one of the patriarchs in the Charles family was recently deceased, and she understood there was an extended family in the area.

  A vehicle arrived to pick up the body, which Officer Hendrix had confirmed was indeed Echo Charles. Some of the police cars had headed to the Charles house; Meg watched through binoculars as three officers ascended the stairs. She’d mentioned that she and Jean suspected the Charles house was a meth lab. Certainly police officers would be wary of entering such a place. No, they’ll be okay.

  If Meg had known her acquaintance with Echo Charles would have ended in that way, she might have packed her things and left with Jean, but it was the excitement of her friend’s arrival that Meg enjoyed, the anticipation of being able to show her best friend a relaxing vacation. She remembered the day Jean arrived, the plans she had for them both to enjoy, the c
arefree feel of the cottage and the beach, and the notion that they were far removed from the real world. However, the real world had found her. She wanted to return to the joy of preparing for Jean’s visit.

  Thirteen

  MEG WATCHED OUT of the window over the kitchen sink most of the morning, staring at the Charles house. Those officers have been there a long time. What’s taking so long? Two of the officers met another vehicle there, and four people ran up the stairs.

  Meg hoisted herself onto the kitchen counter and sat cross-legged next to the sink with a plate of green salad and crackers for lunch. She held a paper towel with a slice of lemon pound cake, nibbling bites as she had her eyes glued on the house across the road. She alternated a bite of cake and a peek through the binoculars, half expecting to see the Charles place blow up. No, that’s not going to happen. They’d know a meth house if they saw one.

  Besides Leon, the only other male suspect Meg could identify would be Anthony Anthony. He was probably older than Leon and had recently fallen off the wagon, according to Linda. Then there might be Rene’s husband or boyfriend. So, there were three possibilities in Meg’s small circle of knowledge about Echo. However, there might be a longer list of females.

  Shortly after noon, Meg watched as two men dressed in white biohazard overalls came down the stairs. They were carrying a stretcher between them with something covered in black.

  “What?” she said aloud. “It’s another body. No.”

  Meg couldn’t believe what she was seeing. Another body? Who could that be? She thought back to the last phone conversation with Echo. “Leon’s gone. He left,” she’d said. That was Wednesday night, the night before she’d taken the bags to the market. How many naked people ran on the beach that night? Meg tried to recall. She and Jean talked about the weird phone call from Echo. Jean had said she was certain the call had come from Tony’s phone, and then she went to take a shower.

  Meg remembered watching two people on the beach while Jean had showered. She was almost certain it hadn’t been three. But, had there been three earlier? Was that the same day? The following morning at the market, Tony had been aloof, not very talkative, but Linda was her normal self. That was yesterday and there was no one on the beach last night—no one they saw. They had waited, watching, and commented on it, then went to bed.

  Meg searched for a pad to make notes. Finding a legal tablet in a drawer with playing cards and dominoes, she drew a timeline and wrote down the days from the time she arrived at the beach cottage. She had no problem remembering the days she saw Echo because she was preparing for Jean’s arrival, or Jean was already there and plans were underway. Trips to the Thursday market also helped her recall dates and times. She might have to admit to spying on naked swimmers on the beach, but surely police officers could understand the temptation there. Echo Charles, rest in peace, Meg thought as she sat at the island with the tablet in front of her.

  She felt pity for Echo. Meg wondered what her life was like as a child. Would she ever know what motivated Echo? Was there really a Leon? Surely there was, but Meg had never laid eyes on him—just a motion behind a distant window.

  Glancing at the digital clock on the stove, Meg assumed Jean would be home, but she would give her another hour just to make certain. She doodled on the tablet, then started making a grocery list for Tom's visit. She planned to serve a cold melon soup with basil from the garden, shrimp salad, and carrot and celery sticks, and she would thaw out the rest of the lemon pound cake. No need to turn on the oven.

  A ping alerted Meg to a text from Dorie. She picked up her phone and read Just checking in. Has Jean left yet?

  Meg decided to forego the back-and-forth texting and call Dorie. There was too much to explain in shorthand typed with thumbs.

  Dorie was stunned. “Jean’s probably home by now, if she left before dawn. Are you going to call her?”

  “Yes. I was going to give her time to get settled, but I need to bring her up to date.”

  “Mom, are you scared to stay there? I mean, there’s a murderer on the loose.”

  “I’m confident that whoever did this is friend or family of Echo. I’m sure of that. From the reaction when her name is mentioned, she also had several enemies. Most of them seem to be family.”

  “Still, be careful.”

  “Don’t worry, I will.” Meg hung up, but she didn’t mention to Dorie that there was the possibility of a second body. It could have been drugs or cash the officers were carting down the stairs from the Charles house, for all she knew.

  The phone rang and Meg picked it up, assuming it could be Dorie again. She might have forgotten to relay something she intended to text earlier.

  “Meg, this is Linda. Did you hear about Echo? Has there been a bunch of activity down there this morning? Have the police talked with you?” Linda’s speedy questioning didn’t allow Meg to respond. She waited for the woman to take a breath.

  “Linda, it’s such a shock. I took my morning walk and….” Meg detailed the routine and how her walk was interrupted by the clump of yoga exercisers blocking the beach. She didn’t go into detail, not wanting to give Linda information the police might question her about later. She considered Linda a possible suspect due to her boyfriend’s relationship with Echo.

  Word traveled quickly in the small community; the group of yoga ladies alone could broadcast their findings well before noon. Linda asked probing questions, but Meg avoided answering. She simply said she didn’t know, even when she had strong hunches. There was no one she could confide in. That was made clear when she and Jean had inadvertently mentioned Echo to their waitress the day they went to lunch. Who would’ve known these people would be related.

  Again, the phone rang. That time it was Leah Hendrix. “Ms. Miller, I’m just leaving the Charles house to head back into Galveston, but I was wondering if I could stop by again and talk with you about some additional details?”

  “Sure, I’ll make us some coffee. I can’t seem to focus on anything but this terrible tragedy.”

  Meg placed two slices of lemon pound cake on plates. She watched Hendrix drive up the lane to the house and walked out to meet her at the top of the stairs. LaRue watched the detective from her perch on the porch rail and made no move.

  Hendrix pulled out a stool at the island and sat down with her digital tablet. She placed her sunglasses beside the tablet and massaged her temples with her eyes closed. Meg brewed two mugs of coffee, offering Hendrix cream and sugar, which she declined. “Pound cake?” Meg held the plate in the air.

  “I’d love some,” Hendrix said. “There’s been no break or lunch since we were called out this morning. It’s been one of those days. I appreciate this.” She pointed to the cake.

  “It certainly has been a long day. I have some shrimp salad. You’re welcome to some.”

  Hendrix smiled. “That’s my favorite.”

  Meg fixed a small plate of salad with crackers and put it in front of the deputy. “What can I do to help?”

  “You may or may not be surprised to know that was a meth house over there across the road. We had to call out the biohazard squad. I don’t know how anyone was living in there. It’s a mess.” Hendrix scooped salad into her mouth and took a swig of coffee.

  “I’m not surprised,” Meg said. “There was an odor about Echo, a chemical smell that I noticed when she was around. My social worker friend Jean was here visiting, and she mentioned the possibility of a meth lab. Jean left this morning before daylight. I’m giving her time to get home, and then I’ll give her a call.”

  “Did you ever see anyone else at that house—a boyfriend, visitor, anyone?”

  Meg took a sip of coffee, then stood as she placed the mug on the island. “I made a timeline, just for my own recollection, but there were a couple of things.” She picked up the tablet from the coffee table and took it to Hendrix, pointing to the times Echo came to her asking for the use of a phone, and questioning the electricity. “She came alone. She’d talk about a gu
y named Leon, but I never saw him. This is the day my friend Jean arrived. This day here, we rode bicycles over to that neighborhood to look at the pier and the water.” Meg pointed to the day on the timeline. “Echo ran down and intercepted us. She said Leon didn’t want people poking around over there. As I stood at the end of the driveway, talking to her, I glanced up and I could swear I saw someone backing away from the window. It was one of the few windows that didn’t have foil covering it. I have no idea if the person was male or female. It was just a hint of a movement.”

  “I see. And after that day, did you see anyone?”

  “No, I didn’t. This day here, Echo called me asking to borrow gasoline. She mentioned that Leon was gone.”

  “Gone? She said ‘he’s gone’?” Hendrix looked up from her tablet.

  “I tried to remember exactly how she’d said it,” Meg admitted. “I’m certain she said, ‘He’s left. He’s gone.’”

  Hendrix squirmed on the stool and took a sip of coffee. “Okay, why would you try to remember her exact words?” She looked directly at Meg.

  “I’ve been watching out this window all morning with binoculars. I saw those officers carry something down the stairs covered in black plastic. I assumed it was a body, and then I assumed it was Leon, and then I went back in my memory to try to remember the last time Echo mentioned him to me. Was it a body? Was it Leon?”

  “There was a male, no trauma, no struggle, although the whole interior of that house looks like struggle,” Hendrix jested, then looked ashamed. “That’s not okay. I shouldn’t have said that. You know not to repeat anything I say, right? The death of the male may have been accidental drug overdose, but that’s yet to be determined. There was no evidence of foul play, but the condition of the house makes it a difficult crime scene.”