Murder Comes Ashore

by Julie Anne Lindsey

  The shop door sucked shut behind me and the scent of Patchouli hit me in the face, snapping me into the present. I blinked as my eyes adjusted. Extensive window displays pressed the sunlight back outside where it belonged. Wildflower garlands adorned the high lavender walls. Exposed ceiling beams dripped with crystals twirling on invisible fishing line.

  “Hey, Peepee!” Dad waved from the counter where he printed custom T-shirts. His voice boomed.

  A dozen shoppers turned to stare. I lifted a palm hip high.

  Mom stumbled from the back room, smoothing her hip-long braid over one shoulder. The beaded curtain separating the two rooms stuck in her ruffled peasant shirt. She swatted it lose and the beads swung wildly into one another.

  Something wasn’t right. My parents were palm reading, sage burning, new ageists, but they were reserved palm reading, sage burning, new ageists. Dad didn’t boom and mom didn’t bumble.

  “Everything okay?” I lifted my brows and waited for more clues from their body language.

  “Of course, darling. I made fresh tea. How are you? How’s Adrian?” Mom met me center stage with her favorite milk glass teacup. “Here, sweetie.” She spun me by the elbow and positioned me closer to dad. His line of customers stretched through the racks of Purple Pony souvenirs. No one left Chincoteague without at least one visit to my parents’ shop. Some came for spiritual advice or a palm reading. Others wanted pictures of the fifty-year-old flower children running the joint.

  I sipped from the steamy cup mom handed me. Green tea with a dash of whiskey. “It’s good. Thank you.” Mom’s tea soothed all frustrations.

  I let the tastes settle on my tongue.

  “Here you go. One for each of you.” Dad slid a stack of freshly created shirts to the group before him. They dove in, giggling and passing the shirts through the group. When they each had one spread across their chests, Dad took a picture.

  I moaned. Binoculars around their necks. Notepads stuffed in pockets. Fanny packs. Sun visors. Now, thanks to my dad, matching shirts. On bright yellow cotton, over an image of a tree filled with birds, he’d pressed the words Birders Do It in the Forest.

  The group shoved fistfuls of cash at the register. Mom excused herself.

  Something was off. I finished my tea and set her cup on the counter. The group pushed past me with big purple bags, discussing where to have lunch. At the back of the pack was Minnie Peters, the local florist. She didn’t look my way, but I’d recognize her six-inch gray bouffant anywhere. I hadn’t seen her in the store until now.

  “Business is booming, thanks to the birds.” Dad sauntered near and looped an arm around my shoulders. “They love our earthy vibe here.”

  “Was that Minnie Peters?” I asked, examining Mom’s face for truth. “She’s helping Karen plan a celebration dinner following the election. Can you believe it? Like Beau has already won.”

  Mom stiffened. “I didn’t notice Minnie. I did notice you didn’t tell me how Adrian’s doing. I heard you saved his life last night.” She pressed a palm to her chest.

  “Karen’s upset about the size of Adrian’s sign,” I said.

  Dad squirmed but didn’t laugh. I got my sense of humor from him.

  “I heard she came at him with a hatchet. She needs to get over here for an aura cleansing before it’s too late. I made a note to call her mother after lunch. Did Adrian thank you properly?”

  “Mom, I’m not interested in Adrian.” I mentally counted to ten Mississippi while they stared.

  “Well, that’s not what your leaves say.” Mom tilted the empty cup I’d left on the counter and peered inside.

  Nope. They are just leaves. Shake it off. Focus.

  I counted to ten and started over. “I stopped in because I wanted to see you.”

  Dad shook his head. The tiny move said they knew better.

  “Fine,” I said. “You’re acting hinky. Tell me why.”

  “We’re not acting hinky,” Mom feigned offense. “Why would you say such a thing?’

  I narrowed my eyes in warning. “Intuition.” Something was off. I couldn’t put my finger on what it was, but definitely something.

  “Why don’t you and Adrian join us for dinner tonight?” Mom smiled sweetly.

  I rolled my eyes. “I can’t. I’m looking into something.” I squeezed Dad around the middle and kissed Mom’s cheek. “Be good.”

  “Of course,” they responded in unison.

  “I’ll find out what you’re up to,” I promised.

  “Namaste,” Dad called as I skulked out the door and into reality.

  A family of birders slowed me on the walk back to my Prius. I waited at every corner for crowds crossing the street on my slow drive home. Outside my apartment a group filled the road where I liked to park.

  Beep! I tapped the horn. The sea parted and I slid into my space. Then I elbowed a path toward my steps. “Excuse me. Pardon me.” Move! I pulled in a deep breath. One of the best things about living on the island were the people and the people watching. Unfortunately, people were also one of the most frustrating parts of island life, especially during tourist and birder season.

  A scalding hot hand curled around my wrist, yanking me to a stop. “You’ll scare it.” A portly man with beady blue eyes gawked at me as if I was the weird one. He pointed a chunky sausage finger toward my roof.

  I yanked my wrist free. “What is it?”

  A hush rolled over the crowd.

  “It’s a Black-Tailed Godwit,” they murmured in multiple shocked tones. “A Black-Tailed Godwit. Black-Tailed Godwit.”

  The whiskey in Mom’s tea added vertigo to the creepy whispers.

  “He’s a large shorebird and he’s traveled far to be here. Godwits live in Iceland, Europe and Asia but sometimes travel south for the winter to places like Africa, India, Indonesia and Australia.” Hot Hand rattled off an impersonation of Wikipedia. “Never North America. They’re never seen on our continent, but here he is on your roof!”

  The idea of having a throng of people stare at my house all night made me uncomfortable. Especially a throng of strangers with binoculars. “It’s probably a crow. Move along, people, before I call the sheriff.” My eyes slid shut for half a beat. I sounded like Karen.

  I didn’t need Sherriff Doofus to save me. I had water balloons.

  “He’s not a crow.” The hushed whisper carried from mouth to mouth. Heads turned my way, and voices chimed, “Not a crow. He’s not a crow. It’s a Godwit. A Godwit.”

  Hot Hand reached for me as I closed in on my steps.

  I turned on him. “Do it and lose a finger.”

  He pulled back as though I’d burnt him, cradling his hand over a bright red “Team Adrian” shirt.

  “Jeez.” I jogged up the steps to my door and hopped inside. Crowds were mobs waiting for a common enemy. Whispering, repeating and loitering. Matching shirts and promoting mayoral candidates on an island they’d spent only forty-eight hours visiting.

  Footfalls sounded on my stairs before I had the first balloon filled. “It’s me. Open up, boss.”

  “Hey. Come in.” I checked on the crowd before pulling Sebastian inside. At least thirty birders waited on the sidewalk, binoculars pointed skyward.

  “You gather quite a crowd.” He reached for my hips and hauled me toward him.

  “I have a magnetic personality.”

  “Yes, you do.” His lips touched my ear before dropping to my jaw.

  I held my breath, savoring the sensation.

  Sebastian pressed his forehead to mine. “I’ve missed you.”

  “You’re gone a lot. Are you working?” Was I a nosey girlfriend if I wanted to know where he went for days on end? Sure, his cases were confidential, but I’d worked at the FBI once too. I’d hired him, for goodness’ sake. I had rights. />
  “Most of the time when I’m on the mainland, I’m at the bureau. Chasing leads other times. You know how it works.” His deep brown eyes softened my resolve for better answers.

  I locked my fingers around his neck, heating from head to toe with ideas. He straightened to his full six feet and my chest arched against his.

  “The island case is my new top priority.”

  I blushed. Wait. “You mean me, or the other island case with the...ear? Did something happen I didn’t hear about?” I pulled back, gauging his response to the question. “Are there more parts? A whole body? Don’t tell me they found his head. Did they find his head?”

  Sebastian tightened his soft lips into a straight line. I couldn’t let him shut me out yet. This was too exciting and awful.

  My idea spilled out. “I was thinking you should talk with James Trent, the marine biologist. I bet the victim was attacked by sharks. It makes perfect sense, right? Some poor guy went out for a swim and one of these shallow water sharks got ahold of him. We’ve had so many tourists this summer.” That was the end of my theory. If the victim lived on the island or vacationed here, someone would’ve reported him missing. I hadn’t seen any missing person signs.

  “I came to invite you out for dinner.” He squeezed my hips in his hands.

  “Yes. I accept.” I twirled the ends of my hair around a fingertip. “Tell me. Am I right? Give me a clue. I promise not to tell anyone.” Adrenaline coursed through me.

  Sebastian didn’t waver. “I’ll pick you up at eight.” He kissed my cheek and let himself out.

  Grr!

  I had The Fuzz on my cell phone screen before Sebastian had made it back through the crowd to his Range Rover.

  “Chincoteague Police Station, how can I direct your call?”

  “Frankie, this is Patience.”

  Sebastian’s taillights disappeared in the direction of the station.

  She made a throaty sound and lowered her voice. “I hoped you’d call. I’m dying to tell someone. The medical examiner sent Fargas an e-mail this morning with her findings. That ear, those fingernails and the hair...”

  I vibrated with anticipation. “Yes?”

  “They didn’t go with that doinker you found. None of them. They didn’t go with one another either.”

  I rolled her words around in my head, overlooking “doinker” as much as possible. They didn’t go with each other. How many victims were there? This wasn’t a shark attack. Sebastian said this case was top priority. Mob activity and embezzlements aside, the FBI worked crimes where they suspected...”A serial killer.” I blinked to refresh my dried out eyes.

  “Mmm-hmm.” Frankie cleared her throat. “The National Seashore allows pets on leash only and you must clean up after them. Would you like the number to the ranger station?”

  Gah! Someone had interrupted the most fascinating call of my life. I collapsed onto my couch. “What happened? Did Fargas walk in?”

  “No, sir. You’re thinking of the one from the mainland.” Frankie used her peppy phone voice.

  What? I squeezed the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger. “Sebastian.” Man he was fast.

  “That’s right. Have a lovely day.” She disconnected. Dang.

  What else did he know? I rolled onto my back and exhaled.

  Adrian wanted to identify the victim to win the election. Wait until I told him there was a serial killer lurking around.

  Chapter Five

  I slipped down to Adrian’s office by way of the staircase hidden in my bedroom closet. The interior stairs were paneled over years ago. I found them when Adrian appeared in my apartment one too many times. The first floor had housed a number of shops over the years, while the upstairs, now my apartment, was rented to tourists in the summer and believed haunted by most locals. The only ghost at my place was the Ghost of Boyfriend Past. Adrian had used the secret stairs like a personal underground railroad when he was on the lam for murder this summer.

  I hadn’t boarded the secret passage up yet. Or told Sebastian about it.

  “Hey.” Adrian sat in his swivel chair near the front window.

  “How’d you know it was me? What if I was an assailant?”

  He glanced over one shoulder, crossing his wrists. “Assail me. I beg you.”

  “We should probably board that staircase up. For our safety.” I inched toward Adrian, dragging my gaze over framed photos of him with people in suits. Him cutting giant ribbons and standing outside a children’s hospital.

  “If that’s what you want, I’ll call a handyman.” He spun in his chair and my heart stopped.

  A learned reaction from a lifetime with him. Nothing more. The expression on his face wrenched my heart. Clearly he believed the steps were a symbolic connection between us. Was I ready to cut him off? Shut him out? Treat him like anyone else I grew up with instead of the man I believed was my soul mate for so long?

  “Patience? Do you want me to call a handyman?”

  Yes. It was time to let go of the past and move forward. Healthy minds move ahead.

  “I drove past the boat house today.” Wimp.

  “I’m handling the boat house. What do you want me to do about the steps?”

  My avoidance technique failed. He lifted his gaze to the wall I’d stepped out of. My heart thudded to a stop. He had me. I wasn’t ready to cut off his access symbolically or otherwise.

  “I didn’t come to talk about the steps.” I slid my bottom onto his desk and swung my legs in front like a coward. “I talked to my contact at the station.”

  “Frankie?”

  We really needed more people working at the station.

  I grimaced. “The intel I obtained is super horrific. Stomach-churning awful. Your plan to name the victim and woo the town is out. They haven’t identified the victims, and the case is now Sebastian’s top priority, which means he won’t likely share information with Frankie. He’ll use his coworkers at the bureau instead.”

  “Victims? Plural?” Adrian left his chair and walked to the desk. He stopped in front of me, blocking my view of the front window and filling my senses with him. Adrian always smelled fresh from the shower, minty soapy good.

  I nodded.

  Serial killer played in my head, but I couldn’t form the words on my tongue. Mass murderer? Not much better.

  “Are the victims from the island? Do we know them? Who’s missing?” Adrian’s voice dropped from the jovial tenor he used to get his way. He paced before me, hands on hips. “No one’s missing. What does that mean? How long could those bodies have been in the water and still reach shore? We had some hellacious storms last month.”

  “I don’t know.” Heat curled in my stomach and across the back of my neck. Post-traumatic stress. I had gone through an ordeal. I needed to accept the fallout of that soon. Or later. Talking about killers put me on edge. There was no way to know who was hiding a dangerous personality until they went full psycho, but then it was too late. “I need air.”

  Adrian pulled me off his desk and walked me to the rocking chairs lined outside the window. A gentle breeze carried oxygen to my lungs. The powder-blue-and-white-striped awning provided a perfect amount of shade. Every shop on the street looked similar, like a row of gingerbread houses. Victorian two-stories with hanging baskets and intricate wooden details stood between newer, more compact versions of themselves. Fern Street was cute, quaint and inviting, especially since the crowd of birders had dissipated. The whole town was a photo opportunity, except our building, which was weathered gray and a phenomenal eyesore. An ugly sunspot on the beautiful pallet of our street.

  “I need to paint the building,” Adrian said.

  Good. He noticed.

  “I bet the people would like that. You can renovate this building to island standards. If you wor
k with the Historical Society to get the details right, you might get your mug in the Chincoteague Chronicle. Great publicity for a mayoral candidate.” I stretched my legs out, rocking slow and long. Adrian always came out on top. I envied him. I climbed out from under the proverbial bus covered in litter and exhaust. He came out with a haircut and whiter teeth.

  “Or...” His sneaky tone interrupted my mental checklist of features the building needed to impress the Historical Society.

  “Or?”

  “We could look into this together.”

  “Into what?” I narrowed my eyes. Don’t say it.

  “What if we named the victims? We can ask a few questions around town, see if anything turns up. That’s safe enough. Aren’t you worried about this? If we don’t already know one of the victims, who’s to say someone from Chincoteague won’t wash up next.”

  He tugged on the string running directly from my heart to the islanders. What if someone was stalking our island? What if the body parts weren’t rolling in from a capsized boat offshore of another continent? What if they were my family and friends? My people. I would want answers. I chewed my lip in fear. “I can’t get involved again. I’m not a detective. I’m a counselor. I wouldn’t know where to start. Besides, the last time I nosed around a murder investigation, I was nearly killed by someone I’d known my whole life. Twice.”

  “So, you’re saying you think the killer is someone we know?”

  “No! Of course not,” I backpedalled.

  “Then what’s the problem? Don’t you want to know who those victims are? How they ended up piecemeal on the beach?”

  I ground my teeth.

  “I’m not saying we should catch the killer,” Adrian said. “I’m just suggesting we make sure all the islanders are accounted for and maybe drop in on a couple of the older folks to double check everyone’s got both their ears and all their fingernails.” Concern in his voice belied the teasing words. Adrian was worried.