From the Murky Deep
Page 1
FROM THE MURKY DEEP
A Dulcie Chambers Museum Mystery
by Kerry J Charles
EDMUND+OCTAVIA
THE DULCIE CHAMBERS MUSEUM MYSTERIES
by
Kerry J Charles
An Exhibit of Madness (Previous Title: Portrait of a Murder)
From the Murky Deep
The Fragile Flower
A Mind Within
Last of the Vintage
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events or locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
FROM THE MURKY DEEP Copyright © 2016 Kerry J Charles. All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions thereof in any form whatsoever. In accordance with the U.S. Copyright Act of 1976, the scanning, uploading, and electronic sharing of any part of this book without the permission of the publisher is unlawful piracy and theft of the author’s intellectual property. If you would like to use material from the book (other than for review purposes), prior written permission must be obtained by contacting the author at kerryjcharles.com or Edmund+Octavia Publishing at EdmundOctavia.com.
Cover Image: Boats at Sea, Saintes-Maries-de-la-Mer
1888, Vincent van Gogh
This image is in the public domain.
ISBN-10: 0-9894576-0-5
ISBN-13: 978-0-9894576-0-6
Edmund+Octavia, Falmouth, Maine, USA
To the one who keeps me sane
and always brings me fruit. LYT
CONTENTS
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Preview: THE FRAGILE FLOWER
About this Series
About the Author
For me, painting is a way to forget life.
It is a cry in the night, a strangled laugh.
― Georges Rouault
CHAPTER 1
He liked to run with his mouth open and his tongue hanging out on the left side. The kid took him to the beach quite often, and he especially liked to run there. It was early today, still a little misty. He took off as fast as he could go, down the beach, tongue hanging as always, ears flapping.
"Hey, Jack! Waitup!" the kid yelled.
‘Nope! ’ he thought.
When he got to Big Rock sticking up out of the sand, he stopped. Jack loved Big Rock. So many great smells. If he was lucky, maybe something crunchy to chew on. He sniffed and sniffed, drooling a little on the slimy seaweed. He heard the kid walking up behind him, humming and dragging a stick in the sand. The kid liked Big Rock too.
Jack nosed around the edge of the hard stone and into the water lapping up against it. No waves today, really. Not much. He sniffed again and sneezed, sending chilly seawater spraying out in front of him. He shook his head vigorously making his tags clatter. Jack liked that sound.
He nosed into the seaweed a bit more. Now that smell was interesting! Kind of like a person and rubbery at the same time. He stopped and snuffled into it.
The kid came around the edge of the rock behind him, still humming. Jack heard him stumble, stop, and then make a strange noise. It was loud, like a yell and a scream all mixed up. Then he heard feet thumping against the sand. ‘Oh good! We’re going to run!’ Jack thought. He turned and launched himself up the beach trying hard to catch up with the kid, who was still making that odd sound.
#
Detective Nicholas Black stood in the water looking down at the body. The photographer had just moved away. Nick had taken off his shoes and socks, and rolled up his jeans, but they were wet anyway. The mist had not yet burned off. It swirled around him, the rock, and the body lying in the water.
Nick heard heavy footsteps and a grunting sound behind him. “Stop being such a wimp, Johnson. Take your shoes off and get over here,” he said, not even turning around.
“Yeah, well that’s where you’re wrong,” muttered Adam Johnson and held up a pair of rubber boots, knowing full well that Nick didn’t see them. Johnson groaned as he heaved himself down onto the sand. He took off his shoes and, rolling up his pant legs as best he could, shoved his feet into the boots. It took him several seconds to push himself up to a standing position again. “There we go,” he said to no one in particular. He looked down and smiled at his work.
Johnson splashed into the water, managing to spray it onto the entire backside of his partner’s jeans. Nick turned around with an annoyed look. “Do you mind?” he said.
Nick looked back at the body, encased in a full wetsuit and wedged against the large rock that jutted out of the sand. “What do you make of her?” he asked. First impressions counted. First impressions were the most important, and typically what people tended to forget.
“Quite fit,” said Johnson. He leaned over and looked more closely. Without thinking, he stepped backward and began to kneel down. His bottom dipped into the ocean and one boot filled entirely with seawater. He jumped up, cursing.
Nick laughed. “That’s the fastest I’ve seen you move in a long time!” he said.
“Damn cold water!” grunted Johnson. He leaned over without bending his knees this time. “Look at her scuba gear. Not new. Not rented either, I don’t think. No markings like that. Either hers or borrowed from someone.” He pulled out a pair of latex gloves from his pocket and snapped them on his hands. Gently he flipped her air gauge over to see the front. He looked up at Nick. “Empty tank. She ran out of air.”
Nick kneaded the back of his neck. He’d been craning it at an uncomfortable angle to see everything he could without moving the body. “If it’s her equipment, then she knows what she’s doing. Strange that she would run out of air.”
“Yeah. Agreed. Ready to move her?” Johnson asked. Nick glanced up at the beach and signaled to the photographer. She nodded.
“Yup. Emily’s got all her pictures for now. Let’s get a couple of these guys down here to help.” He called to the uniformed police who had been skimming rocks on the glassy water. One of them let out a cheer as he counted eight skips. “Oooh, big winnah!” he heard another say. They all laughed and came over to where Nick and Adam Johnson were standing.
“Okay. Go time. Take off your shoes if you don’t want to get ‘em wet. Let’s put her up on the sand,” Nick said.
“Can we take the scuba gear off, sir?” one of the officers asked.
Nick looked at Johnson. “Guess we’ll have to,” Johnson said. “Just the vest with the tank and the weight belt. Leave the mask and flippers on if you can.”
One of the officers moved forward and unbuckled the weight belt. He had trouble trying to get it off. “Yeah, that’s too heavy for Larry,” another policeman said. They all laughed.
Nick had seen this before. Death was unnerving. Death like this was especially difficult. Humor was the only way that many could deal with it. He let the laughter die down then cleared his throat. “Let’s get the vest and tank off all in one go. Unfasten it in the front, pull out the arm closest to the rock, then roll her into the water more. Peel the vest off as she rolls over.” They managed without too much difficulty.
The police slid the stretcher under her easily in the water and carried her up onto the beach. They lowered the stretcher to the sand. “Let’s at least take off her mask and gloves to get a look,” Nick said. The mask came off easily, and left only red indentations on her forehead and cheeks.
Johnson pulled off her gloves. “No sign of grabbing or scraping really,” he said, looking at them closely.
“Check her fingers,” said Nick, still looking at the marks on her face.
“Nothing that shows any kind of struggle,” his partner replied. “Look at this, though. Interesting. Looks like a phone number.”
Nick swiveled around to look at the hand that Johnson held up. His mind began to whir furiously. ‘No,’ he thought, but he knew that number. Whose was it? How could he know it? He shoved his hand into his pocket and pulled out his cell phone. Quickly, he scrolled through his contacts. Then he froze. “Oh my god,” he said.
“What? What is it?” asked Johnson dropping the woman’s hand. It landed on the sand with a soft thud.
Nicholas Black held up his cell phone to show Johnson the number that he had just found.
“Well, I’ll be,” Johnson murmured.
#
Dr. Dulcinea Chambers, “Dulcie” to those who knew her for at least five minutes, sat in a meeting with what she thought could be possibly the two dullest people in the world. They were droning on about file organizational systems for the museum’s collections. Dulcie listened politely. As the director of the Maine Museum of Art it was her job to organize, oversee, follow through, make decisions…. She felt her cell phone ringing in her pocket. She’d turned it to “silent” mode so that it would only vibrate when a call came through. ‘Damn,’ she thought. ‘If only I could take it. It’d be the perfect excuse to get out of this meeting.’
Dulcie looked at the two people across the table from her. When the one currently speaking stopped to take a breath, Dulcie quickly interjected, “You sound as though you have this well in order. Is there anything that you need from me at this point?” They both shook their heads. “Well then, let’s go ahead with what you’re proposing. It seems like a great solution and will make file searching lots faster.” They both smiled and their heads bobbed happily up and down in agreement. “Keep me posted on the progress?” she added. Again, they nodded, and Dulcie stood. “Thanks for filling me in,” she said and left. They had already begun talking again, ignoring her as she walked into the hallway.
Dulcie closed the door behind her with a sigh of relief. She reached into her pocket and pulled out her cell phone. “Huh!” she said out loud. “That’s strange!” It read, “MISSED CALL: NICHOLAS BLACK.” She checked her voicemail. No messages. Maybe he had dialed her by accident? She hadn’t even remembered that he was still in her contact list.
Nicholas Black had entered her life several months before when the Maine Museum of Art’s board chairman and chief benefactor, Joshua Harriman, had been found dead in his home. Nick and Dulcie had pieced together some unfortunate facts that had led to the arrest of the culprit. Although Dulcie and Detective Black had shared a very pleasant dinner together after the case was closed, she had not heard from him since.
Dulcie decided to call him, curious to see why he had contacted her or at least why he would still have her phone number. She quickly pressed the Call Back button on her phone.
Nick answered before the first ring had ended. “Dulcie,” he said. “I mean, Ms. Chambers. Dr. Chambers.”
She laughed. “Just ‘Dulcie’ is fine. Did you call me? I have your number listed but no message.”
There was a moment of silence. “Um, yes I did.” He paused, not sure what to say. He couldn’t exactly blurt out that Dulcie’s phone number was scrawled on the hand of a dead woman that he had just pulled out of the Atlantic. “I need to talk with you about something, but it’s a little strange. Would you mind meeting me, as soon as possible?”
“Yes, of course,” she replied. “You have me intrigued. I’m done for the day with my scheduled meetings, thankfully. You have no idea what a welcome relief talking with you would be.”
“Don’t be so sure about that,” Nick said. He tried to make the comment sound lighthearted, but failed.
Dulcie was instantly concerned. “Do you have time now?” she asked. “Would you like to come to the museum, or meet somewhere else?”
“Somewhere else,” he said quickly. “Can you be at Roaster’s coffee shop on Commercial Street in about half an hour?”
“Yes, I can,” she said nervously. “Does this have to do with the Joshua Harriman case?” She desperately hoped not. Dulcie had found it very difficult to reconcile her feelings toward his death. She hoped nothing would rekindle her anger and sadness.
“No, not at all. I’ll see you in half an hour,” he replied.
Dulcie checked the time on her phone then put it back in her pocket. She continued through the maze of hallways that surrounded the museum’s public spaces until she reached her office. Leaving the door open, she sat at her desk and scanned through the schedule for the next day. Her assistant, Rachel, poked her head in. “How’d the meeting go?”
Dulcie rolled her eyes. “They have everything totally under control, as you can imagine. Our records are in good hands and will be absolutely thorough and complete. Beyond thorough and complete. Did I mention thorough and complete?”
Rachel giggled. Her curly brown hair bounced over her shoulders. “Better them than me!” she said.
Dulcie laughed and said, “Or me either! Rachel, I’m heading out for a meeting in a few minutes. I probably won’t be done before we close so I’ll see you tomorrow.”
“Sounds good. Have a good evening!” she replied.
“You too,” said Dulcie. With a quick wave, Rachel disappeared around the corner. Dulcie closed her laptop, slid it into her bag and slipped into her standard black blazer.
‘Hmmm,’ she thought. ‘Nicholas Black. Now why didn’t he ever really ask me out? I was sure he would after we had dinner that once. Maybe he thought I was too upset then.’ She paused after putting on her blazer, looking down at her petite frame in the outfit of the day. She was wearing a beige sheath dress with a black border at the hem and black leather pumps. I suppose I could attempt to look a little less boring. Color in my wardrobe wouldn’t kill me. However, the thought of actually shopping put her off the idea once again. Dulcie detested shopping. Nothing ever seemed to fit quite right, and the lights in the dressing rooms always made her look like a corpse.
She shrugged her shoulders in resignation and picked up her tote bag. From their brief conversation it did not sound like her meeting with Nicholas Black would be much of a social call anyway.
When she stepped outside, Dulcie immediately took off her jacket. It was only a lightweight linen, but the August sun had been blazing down all day and the morning’s wind was gone. She slowed her pace and thought, ‘They’d better have iced coffee at the ready today.’ Everyone on the street seemed to be mimicking her, walking slowly in the heat.
She finally reached Roaster’s and pushed open the heavy glass door. It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the dim light inside.
Nicholas Black looked up as she came in, watching her blink several times. His heart lurched once, briefly. ‘Get a hold of yourself,’ he thought. ‘Don’t be stupid. This is an investigation.’
Dulcie spotted him in a booth, halfway through a cup of coffee. She quickly walked over and slid in opposite him. “Good to see you again,” she said, smiling.
“You too, Dulcie. Really. I wish it could be under better circumstances.”
Her brow wrinkled. “What do you mean?”
“Well, to put i
t bluntly,” he glanced at his half empty cup, then said, “Oh, sorry!” interrupting himself. “Let me get you something.” She started to protest that she could get her own but he was on his feet quickly. “No, let me get it. It’s the least I can do after luring you here for something like this. What would you like?”
She smiled. Something about Nick always made her feel at ease. His voice was quiet and strong at the same time. “Iced coffee. Milk and sugar please,” she said.
“Good. Be right back.”
Dulcie watched Nick give her order and chat with the woman at the counter for a moment. ‘He must come here often,’ she thought. Then she remembered that the police station was only a block or so away. Bet this coffee is way better than what they have there. She smiled, imagining those terrible coffee vending machines that squirted out various syrups into hot water.
Nick came back, sliding her iced coffee and a straw along the table to her, and replacing his own cup with a fresh one.
Dulcie took a long sip. “Perfect. Thanks! Now, you were saying….”
“Yes. It isn’t pleasant.” He took a deep breath. “A body washed on shore this morning. A scuba diver. Looks like she ran out of air.”
“Good god, that’s awful!” said Dulcie. “But, how can I help? I’ve done some diving, and I’m certified, but you must have people to do that for you.”
Nick looked surprised. He hadn’t expected her to be a diver. “No, we don’t need any help from that angle at this point, but there is something else. We can’t identify her yet, but we do have a lead. Kind of an unusual one.” He had been spinning his cup around on the table somewhat nervously. He made himself hold the cup still and looked her squarely in the eye. “Dulcie, it seems that your cell phone number was written on her hand.”