Shallow Waters

by Kay Jennings

  SHALLOW WATERS

  A Port Stirling Mystery

  Kay Jennings

  Copyright @2018 Kay Jennings

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the publisher, except by reviewers, who may quote brief passages in a review.

  ISBN (e-book edition): 978-1-7339626-2-9

  ISBN (Paperback edition):978-1-7339626-12

  ISBN (Hardcover edition): 978-1-7339626-05

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously to give the fiction a sense of authenticity. Any resemblance to real people, living or dead, government organizations, establishments, businesses, or historical events, is entirely coincidental.

  Although, Jerry Jones could have used a good cornerback about then.

  Cover image: istockphoto.com

  Cover and Interior design: Jessica Reed

  Printed and bound in the USA

  First printing 2019

  Published by Paris Communications

  Portland, Oregon, USA

  kayjenningsauthor.com

  To Steve, because.

  Prologue

  Friday, 7:45 p.m.

  “What fool would be walking on the beach now, Mr. Darcy?” Lydia Campbell said to her border collie, who looked up at her from his bed near the fireplace, cocking his head in recognition of his name. She peered out her floor-to-ceiling window, focusing on the shoreline through the murky January gloom.

  Lydia thought she saw a light down below on the beach through the soupy fog. It flickered once or twice, and then it disappeared.

  There it was again. Definitely someone walking, closer to the cliff than the water, probably carrying a flashlight. The unsteady beam seemed to be moving in spurts from the base of the cliff toward the water. She hoped it wasn’t crazy old Ted Frolick from up the road.

  Turning her back on the window, Lydia pulled her cream cashmere cardigan closer to her slender body, shoved her bifocals up into her thinning silver hair, and went to the kitchen. She liked to have a glass of wine while the PBS News Hour was on, followed by dinner before the hour was out. Lydia liked proper order. She would check on Ted later to make sure he hadn’t wandered off again and gotten himself into a jam.

  While she poured herself a glass of her favorite pinot noir, the fog continued to roll in off the Pacific Ocean, drippy and menacing. It swirled in and around the gigantic sea stacks just off the southern Oregon coastline at Port Stirling, and continued its assault on the 300 foot cliffs rimming the deserted beach. Rarely a crowded seashore even in daylight hours, it was more isolated than ever on this damp, chilly Friday night.

  Lydia, a Port Stirling resident for the last fifteen of her seventy-six years, returned to the jigsaw puzzle on the card table in front of her window. She sipped her wine and listened to Shields and Brooks argue about the chaos at the White House, as the occasional star twinkled through the murky fog billowing in and out. Even with the TV on, she could hear the roar of the mighty Pacific meeting the headland. Her wood fire crackled and filled the house with cozy warmth, and a beef stew, smelling of the root vegetables in her pot, wafted from the kitchen. Lydia did not notice the light on the beach again.

  Chapter 1

  Saturday, 8:40 a.m.

  Matt Horning, Port Stirling’s first new police chief in 24 years, brushed aside an intricate spider web and ducked as he entered the tunnel. Three huge rocks huddled together on this stretch of the wild Pacific Ocean, and the one housing a tunnel carved out by centuries of the sea making its rush to the land, was as tall as a three-story building. Matt noted that the big-ass rock would be classified as a mountain in his native Texas.

  Foam left over from the 3:00 a.m. high tide churned around the entrance to the mouth of the tunnel. Matt was unaccustomed to the ocean’s fury, and he hesitated as he approached the opening in the passageway, his heart beating fast, and his mouth dry. He knew the eyes of the others were on his back, expecting their new police chief to be unwavering and resolute, but still he hesitated. Are you a good cop? Did you choose this place at the end of the world to prove it? Then fucking toughen up and prove it.

  He stepped gingerly into the shady opening, feeling the inside walls of the rock, pock-marked by centuries of unrelenting weather and monster seawater. Remnants of dead crab legs framed the shaft’s entrance, sending up a pungent stench.

  The space was claustrophobic to him, darker inside here than it had been on the open beach. Matt could see a slender shaft of light at the far end where the tunnel opened up again, and he kept a wary eye on the approaching waves. The smell of rotting vegetation and stagnant seawater was strong, with the barnacles and mussels clinging high up on the walls adding to the briny fragrance. As the wind ruffled Matt’s uncovered hair, he stepped over a small puddle left by the outgoing tide.

  “Oh, shit,” Matt said in a hushed voice, bending over with his hands on his knees.

  Over his shoulder, Officer Jay Finley, who had first alerted Matt to the grisly discovery and followed his new boss into the tunnel, croaked “Yeah”.

  The child was washed against the tunnel wall, her long blonde hair swimming out away from her fair face. Matt stared hard at her body, recognizing, of course, that the girl was dead, but wishing with all his strength that he could turn into a wizard and give her new life. Little Emily felt like his first friend in his new hometown, and, without wanting to, Matt loved that slight girl. But saving her now was beyond his powers. A sad, lifeless little body. All Matt Horning could do for her now was find her killer. This little girl’s death was a gross wrong that must be somehow righted.

  Emily was laying half in and half out of a shallow pool of water. She was wearing blue jeans, a white tee shirt, pink pullover sweater, white anklet socks, and one pink Nike—her right foot was missing a shoe. A barrette clung to her long blonde hair, in danger of falling off.

  “Mrs. Campbell and her dog found the body at about 7:30 a.m.,” said Jay. “She said there was no one else on this part of the beach, and she didn’t see anyone else until I arrived about 7:50 a.m. I was starting my shift and was up at City Hall when she called in to the dispatcher.”

  Matt moved in a slow, careful circle around Emily’s body while Officer Finley continued.

  “I can’t believe it. I just saw her a couple weeks ago at the Port Stirling holiday party. Mayor Fred and his wife, Marjorie, brought the whole family—Gary, Susan, Jack, and little Emily here. I was talking to Gary at one point, he’s the oldest, home for the winter semester break from his first year at the University of Oregon. Emily came up to her big brother. Offered him a cookie. All smiles and happy. Gary introduced me to her, and she stuck out her hand to me and said ‘It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Policeman’. She’s a cutie. Was.” Pure anguish swamped his voice. “Who the hell could do a thing like this?”

  Nothing Matt could say right now would help his young officer, so he concentrated on the task at hand. He leaned over closer to the body, not disturbing the sand and rocks around her. A lot of blood was visible on the front of Emily’s sweater, and he could see what looked like blood residue in splotches on the tunnel walls. The scattered dregs indicated that the previous high tide had likely washed away most of the residual blood. He could make out multiple stab wounds in the girl’s abdomen, but couldn’t, at first glance around, see any kind of weapon in the area. The girl’s skin was grayish white and waxy-looking, and she looked stiff.

  “I don’t suppose you found a weapon?”

 
“No, I did not,” Jay answered. “When I first arrived, I took photographs of the body and every square foot of the immediate area because the tide is coming in. There’s no weapon. I suppose, if the killer had dropped a knife before he left the scene, last night’s high tide would have taken it.”

  “What time was the high tide, and how much higher does it get?”

  “I won’t know for sure about the exact timing until I look at the tidal charts, but I would guess the high tide would have been between 2:00–3:00 a.m.,” Jay said. He explained to the native Texan how the ocean’s high and low tides varied depending on the moon’s cycle, the weather, and other factors.

  “I guess tides never mattered in your cases in Dallas, huh?” Jay asked in all seriousness. He was not a man of the world.

  As they surveyed the incident area, Jay continued to fill in his new chief. When he finished communicating everything he knew, and he and Matt had one last look around the scene, Matt turned to face the young officer.

  “Ever worked a murder before, Jay?” The greenish tint to Jay’s young face foretold the answer.

  “No, sir, I haven’t.”

  Matt motioned for Jay to follow him out of the tunnel. When Matt left Dallas for this tiny town on the edge of the ocean, he hoped he would never see another dead body. And, now, he wished he could protect his young officer from this gruesome part of their business. What would Jay think if he saw the darkness that hid inside people? What would he think if he knew the truth about Matt?

  They exited the tunnel, and approached the two people and one dog waiting for them higher up on the dry sand, away from the sea’s noisy, angry edge.

  “The first murder investigation is always tough. Don’t feel badly if it gets to you,” Matt said walking in step with Jay.

  “Officer Finley may not have worked on a case like this one previously,” piped in City Manager Bill Abbott, who had just picked up his new police chief at the airport and driven him directly to the crime scene. “But he’s one of your vets on the force . . . what’s it now, Jay, about five years?”

  “Almost six now, Mr. Abbott,” Jay replied.

  “He’s also got more local experience than almost anyone else at City Hall,” Abbott added.

  “I grew up here,” Jay told Matt. “But I’ve never seen anything like this,” he said, his chin pointed at the tunnel and Emily’s body.

  “You’ve done good work here, officer,” said Matt, acknowledging Jay’s efforts. He ignored Abbott and moved to Lydia Campbell and her dog, Mr. Darcy.

  “I’m Matt Horning,” he said, reaching to shake Lydia’s gloved hand. He put his other hand lightly on her shoulder and said, “You must be Mrs. Campbell. I understand you had the unpleasantness of finding the body.”

  His kindness made her tear up, and with her voice gone suddenly mute, she just nodded at him.

  “Thank you, ma’am, for having the presence of mind to call us right away. Please bear with us a few more minutes, and then we’ll escort you home.”

  Bill Abbott blew his nose loudly, then stepped forward and said, “Jay, may I borrow your badge for a minute? We were supposed to be at City Hall this morning to make it all official, but then . . .” Bill gestured back toward the tunnel as his voice trailed off. “Well, we do what we have to do. I don’t have a bible or the Port Stirling city charter, so I’m going to swear in our new police chief by asking him to hold your badge. –That okay with you?”

  Without saying a word, Jay unpinned his badge from his uniform and handed it to Matt. When Abbott finished the swearing in, all present, including Lydia, shook hands with Port Stirling Chief of Police Matt Horning.

  “Time to get to work,” Matt said, handing Jay’s badge back to him. He clapped his officer on the back, and wondered if, years later, the two of them would remember this moment. “Hell of a way to meet, huh?” Matt’s jaw had a grim set even though he directed a brief smile at Jay. “I thought I’d be sworn in at a quick little ceremony, and then we’d all go have a burger.”

  The gangly 28-year-old officer tried to smile back at his new chief, but the past hour had made that impossible. “Yeah. That might have worked better than this.”

  “You’ve done everything by the book, Jay,” said Matt gently.

  “Thanks, that means a lot, man. I don’t mind telling you that I’m scared.”

  “If you weren’t, I wouldn’t want you on my team,” Matt said. “I feel fear, too, but I don’t follow it. Don’t worry, son. This is a bad deal, but we’ll unravel it piece by piece, and we’ll break it. You with me?”

  Jay still looked like he could throw up at any minute, but stared his new boss in the eye and gamely said, “I’m with you.”

  Good thing, thought Matt, as he allowed himself a moment to gaze out to the craggy sculptures and beyond to the ocean’s horizon. Because someone in this beautiful place is a murderer.

  Chapter 2

  Saturday, 9:00 a.m.

  Lydia had taken several steps further away from the mouth of the tunnel, and was looking south down the beach now, watching a nearby seagull swooping in for a nimble, careful landing at the water’s edge. Now that the new chief had arrived and Jay’s and her watch over the child’s body had ended, it was as if she had permission to relax her vigil. Her ramrod back and shoulders slumped, and she stuffed her hands in the pockets of her blue Columbia Sportswear jacket. While the sea roared behind her, Lydia tried to focus on the lilt of the waves as they gently lapped near her feet, at the end of their long journey. Mr. Darcy heeled quietly at her side, and had perhaps inched a bit closer to his owner, one eye never leaving the seagull.

  Turning his attention to Lydia, Matt said, “Sorry to keep you, ma’am, but I have just a few questions for you. Are you doing OK?”

  “Why do people keep asking me if I’m OK?” Lydia said, rather more strongly than she intended. “Having just discovered a dead child, I’m doing as well as can be expected. And I’ve already answered many questions from Officer Finley; he was most thorough. But I want to help you if I can, so proceed, Mr. Horning.”

  She took her first real look at Matt since his arrival, and, noticing her eyes looking over his jeans, black sweater, black leather jacket with its burnt orange Texas Longhorns logo, and ridiculously out of place cowboy boots, Matt realized he didn’t look like much of a police chief to her. He fought the urge to smooth the dark hair curling around his collar; he had planned to get a haircut in his new hometown before starting his job.

  “Matt and Jay are just doing their jobs, Lydia,” Abbott inserted. “You’ve been very helpful, and we won’t keep you out here in the cold much longer.” He looked pointedly at Matt.

  “I understand you live near here, correct?” Matt said to Lydia, as if Abbott hadn’t said anything.

  Lydia pointed to one of the houses on the bluff above them. “That’s my home, there.”

  “Did you see or hear anything last night?”

  “One doesn’t really hear anything from the bluff except the sound of the surf and the wind,” she instructed the newcomer. “But I did see something last night.”

  Matt perked up. “What did you see, ma’am?”

  “I saw a light on the beach. It flickered a few times and caught my eye while I was sitting near one of my windows. It looked like someone walking along the beach with a flashlight.”

  “Could you see who it was?”

  She shook her head. “Too foggy to even see if there was a person attached to the light. All I saw was a flickering, and only for about five minutes, on and off.” The stern line of Lydia’s mouth softened a bit as her gaze drifted back toward the tunnel. “I…I wish I’d tried harder to see last night.”

  “You had no way of knowing, Mrs. Campbell,” said Matt softly, following her eyes. “Do you have any idea about what time this was?”

  “I know precisely what the time was,” the older woma
n said. “I had been watching the News Hour for a while but it wasn’t over, so between 7:30 and 8:00 p.m.”

  Matt wrote down in his notebook what Mrs. Campbell said.

  “You’re sure of the time?” he asked.

  “Yes, Mr. Horning, I am quite certain of the time.” Really.

  “Did the flickering light look like it could have been in this general area?” He indicated the tunnel.

  “I would say that, yes, this was about where I was looking. It’s a little hard to judge from down here, but I could tell you for sure if I was standing at my window.”

  “Did you touch anything inside the tunnel?”

  “I most certainly did not. And, I’ve already answered that question,” she snapped. “Of course I didn’t touch anything. It’s rather terrifying to come across a dead child, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Yes, I would say that’s true,” Matt said. “I’m sorry.” He looked into Lydia’s eyes, sharing a moment to let themselves feel what they were feeling.

  “Have you and your dog ever gone inside the tunnel before today?”

  “Well, yes, I suppose we have,” Lydia said with some hesitancy.

  “Everyone in Port Stirling has walked through that tunnel,” said Jay. “It’s a fun thing to do. At least, it used to be.” He looked sorrowful. The persistent wind made his ever-present cowlick stand straight up.

  Matt nodded at Jay’s remark. “Did you recognize the victim, Mrs. Campbell?”

  “No, I didn’t recognize her when I first saw her, but Officer Finley told me who she is, and once he’d said that, I did recall seeing her with our mayor’s family.”

  “Have you ever talked to Emily Bushnell?” Matt pressed.

  “No, I have not.”

  “Do you have any reason to want her dead?”

  Lydia gaped at Matt.

  “Am I a suspect, Chief Horning?” she said incredulously.

  “No, no, of course you’re not!” Abbott jumped in, taking Lydia’s hands in his. “We’re very grateful for your help, Lydia. The chief has to question everyone. Anyone who knows you knows you couldn’t hurt a fly.”